“Don’t [i]they[/i] sound like cheery people,” Jazelle grumbled when Priscilla finished her answer. The only other question now bouncing around her head was one she was sure Priscilla would be incapable of answering: out of everyone else to choose from--Lone Powers, those with chairs in the White Council, and who knew who else--why had the Necromancer wanted [i]her[/i]? She was not even from this world. It was an intriguing mystery. Dangerous, but intriguing.
	[i]Maybe I should write a book.[/i] The corner of Jazelle’s lips pulled up fractionally in a smirk at the thought.
	Her brows rose at Priscilla’s forced smile, watching the girl open the door to what she assumed was to be her bedroom.
	Sleep in. That sounded like quite the lovely notion. Since moving back in with her dad, she had made it a point to wake far earlier than him to avoid the risk of running into him in the mornings. Of course, it had not always worked what with his work--and drinking--hours as scattered as they were, but nine times out of ten, she managed to sneak out of the house undetected.
	Then, she remembered her backpack. She glanced to the shoulder she had had it slung over. She had left it in the courtyard. With the Necromancer.
	She scowled at her thoughts as Priscilla’s words trailed off.
	“What?” Jazelle focused on the other girl. “Oh,” she said when Priscilla’s last words registered. She took in the girl’s expression, her eyes showing what she hoped to be Jazelle’s answer. “No. But thanks,” she added. She glanced around the corridor, then slowly stepped into the room awaiting her.