Night School (4 page)

5

My troubled thoughts are interrupted by a loud cry of anguish from across the room. I’m on my sister’s bed in two seconds flat, pouncing on her with my best twin sister hug. “Are you okay?” I murmur, squeezing her tight.

“Of course I’m not okay!” she sobs into my shoulder. I pet her back, trying not to think about her runny nose seeping onto my delicate spider web sweater. “I had just gotten him away from Jane finally. And I gave up Jayden for him. We were supposed to go home and live happily ever after. It’s so not fair.”

Oh geez. I push her away. I should have known. While I’m busy suffering snot stains and worrying about the fact that my very existence on the planet may soon be coming to an extremely violent (or at least hungry) end, my dear sister is, once again, only concerned with her love life.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I saw how freaked out she was when she was trying to reach Magnus last night. The girl couldn’t even bear being incommunicado for a five-hour plane ride. Now she’s faced with the very real possibility that she may not hear Maggy Waggy’s
sweet wittle
voice or see his
zomg so beautiful
face for nearly a year.

I realize she’s glaring at me—I must have pushed her a little harder than I meant to. After all, while I may not have vampire super-strength, I
have
been working out a lot at the Oakridge High gym since becoming a cheerleader. “Sorry, Sun,” I say with a shrug. “I know it sucks. But what can we do?”

She flails back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling miserably. “The worst thing is he won’t even know where I am. Or why I didn’t come home. What if he thinks I’ve changed my mind? That I ended up running away with Jayden or something?” She swallows hard. “And what will Jayden think, for that matter? I told him we’d still be friends. He’s going to think that was just a line to get rid of him.”

I bite my lower lip. While I’m not a fan of the angsty love-triangle melodrama she’s spouting, I have to admit she does have a point. After all, technically Slayer Inc.’s the only one with the GPS coordinates on our whereabouts right now. And it’s not like they’re going to send out the secret location of their vampire-killing school to the local coven, even if we asked nicely.

Which brings me to my own immortal beloved. What’s Jareth going to think when he comes home from his international coven relations trip next week to find out my whole family’s disappeared without a trace? He’s got to know something’s not right; he’s the Blood Coven General, after all. Will he send out the troops for a worldwide hunt? Put my face on a blood carton? What if he gets lonely waiting for me to come back and decides to find himself another blood mate or just a human girl on the side?

I shake my head, not wanting to think of that, and reluctantly turn my attention back to my sister. “How can I survive a year without Magnus?” She’s wailing. “I might as well be dead.”

Sigh. Seriously, if she were narrating this story, you’d probably start seeing the same blank pages that
New Moon
had after Edward left Bella. (Which, I might add, was a terrific waste of trees, especially considering how many of those books there are.)

“May I remind you, sister dear,” I say, rising from her bed, “that two days ago you were ready to break up with your little vampire boyfriend ’cause he was all blood mating with another chick? And now, suddenly, you’re telling me life is meaningless and empty without him by your side?” I shake my head. “Come on, Sun, even you’ve got more spine than that!”

Sunny opens her mouth to retort—or maybe start crying again, who knows—but a knock on the door cuts her off. I glance over nervously. Who could it be? Evil fairies bent on our destruction? Or just more movers?

The knock sounds again. “Sunshine? Rayne?”

I grab a box of Kleenex off the dresser and toss it in Sunny’s direction. No need for whoever it is to see her so tear-stained. Then I turn back to the door. “Come in,” I say.

The heavy door creaks open and a curly orange-haired girl who looks a lot like Little Orphan Annie peeks her head inside. I squint my eyes at her. I swear she looks vaguely familiar, though I’m positive I would have remembered if I’d seen that haircut before.

“Hi guys!” she cries with a chirpiness that does indeed make me think she may, at some point in the future, be belting out a rousing rendition of “Tomorrow.” Not exactly the type of girl you’d expect for a Slayer in Training. But then again, these guys hand-picked super-size Bertha, so their selection process has always been a bit suspect, if you ask me.

“I’m Lilli! Welcome to Riverdale! Or as we like to call it, Slay School! It’s so great to have you! We don’t have any twins here! You’re the first!”

(Yes, in case you’re wondering, she really does speak entirely in exclamation marks. Which, I can tell, isn’t doing much for my dearly depressed sister’s nerves. Or mine, for that matter.)

“Wow, besides your hair color, you’re, like, totally identical, huh?! That’s so neat! Do you ever play switcheroo?! Like when you’re on dates with your boyfriends!?”

On cue, Sunny breaks into a fresh set of tears, pulling a pillow over her head. I cringe. Oh great. She had to say the “B” word.

“Is she okay?!” Lilli asks me, wide eyed and concerned as she glances over at my mopey sister. “Did I say something wrong?!”

“She’s
fine
.” I kick the lump under the covers in the vicinity of my sister’s butt. “
Right
, Sunny?” The last thing we need is to get a reputation of being whiny little emo bitches our first day here. “She’s just a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs right now.”

“Oh my God, I totally understand!” Lilli replies, shooting the Sunny “lump” a sympathetic look. “I was soooo homesick when I transferred here six months ago. Did you guys transfer, too?!”

“Actually,” I say, “until now I’ve been personally trained by the vice president of Slayer Inc. himself.” I look at her smugly. There. That ought to be worth some kind of street cred, right?

“Oh, right. You’re part of
that
Slayer Inc. group,” Lilli says knowingly.

I cock my head in question. “Is there more than one Slayer Inc.?” I had no idea.

“Well, technically they’re all under the same parent company,” Lilli replies. “But each franchise has its own rules. Like your group, for example. People here call them vampire sympathizers.”

I stare at her. “Vampire sympathizers?” What is she talking about?

“Yeah, I mean, you have to be a pretty evil vampire doing some pretty evil things to get yourself slain by one of Teifert’s slayers,” she explains. “Here at Riverdale, they’re not so forgiving. They believe the only good vamp is a dead vamp. And they teach their slayers to stake first and ask questions later.”

She gives me such a knowing look I have to suppress a shiver. This is not good. Now I’m not only stuck in a school with no blood substitute, but I’m in danger of getting staked by the student body at a moment’s notice. I really need to keep my immortality on the down-low here.

Lilli shrugs. “Well, um, anyway, I’m here to escort you to the main office! Headmistress Roberta has summoned you and you do NOT want to keep the headmistress waiting!”

I’m not sure this is entirely true for either myself or my sister. After all, we’re just witness protection fairies here, not slayer students worried about tardy slips. But I guess for our cover’s sake it’s best to go with the flow. Besides, to be honest, I’m curious to see what’s behind Dorm Room Door #1. Not to mention get a reprieve from Sunny sobbing.

So I drag my sister out of bed, force her to wash her tear-stained face, then follow Lilli out of the room. We step out into a richly decorated corridor, with textured plush carpet of a shadowy, crimson shade. The walls are paneled with dark, oily wood and golden-framed portraits of teenage girls brandishing stakes hang on every surface.

“These are our sisters of the stake,” Lilli explains, catching my curious glance at the paintings. “Slayers from ages past. Some of them have truly amazing histories. Like this girl Abigail Williams. She took out an entire nest of evil vampires waiting to pounce on her Puritan village in Salem, Massachusetts in 1692. Of course the stupid townspeople called her protection wards the devil’s work and burned her at the stake as a witch. Dumb assses.”

She shrugs. “Of course that was before Slayer Inc. was officially formed and sanctioned as a vampire protection agency. Back then, it was every slayer for herself.” She turns to the next portrait. “Like with Amelia Earhart here. She staked vampires all around the world, but got drained dry on her last mission—a renegade coven setting up shop on a small island in the Pacific.” She gives Amelia a pitying look. “The cannibal vampires ate every bite of her and her co-pilot. Their bodies were never found.”

“Are all famous women throughout history actually slayers?” I ask curiously.

Lilli laughs. “Of course not,” she says. “Some of them were vampires. But don’t bring that up to the professors. They get a little touchy about that kind of thing.”

I’m about to ask who, but she changes the subject as we head down a set of sweeping
Gone With the Wind
-type stairs and into a large, chandeliered foyer below, relating in way too much detail how the school was founded a hundred years ago and has trained some of the top slayers in the world, including Sally Ride, first slayer to tackle vamps in space.

Our guide pushes open the heavy double front doors and we step outside onto the grounds. The air is fresh but crisp, and I notice Sunny wrapping her arms around herself. As a vampire, neither heat nor cold bothers me much, but I mimic her actions just the same. Don’t want Slayer Lilli, as sweet as she seems, to develop any suspicions as to my mortal state.

“Sorry,” she says, glancing over at us. “I forgot to warn you. It gets really cold here. Especially at night.” She shoots us a sympathetic look, then launches back into the tour. “There are two dorms on campus,” she continues. “The one we just left houses all the girls, and the one over there is home to all the male slayers.” She points to a nearly identical Gothic structure across the road. “Obvs, they want to keep the co-ed hooking up to a minimum. Which is too bad, ’cause some of the boys are completely hot.”

I look at her questioningly. “There are male slayers?” I ask, surprised. I thought this gig was girls only.

Lilli laughs. “Of course!” she cries. “Why, some of our most talented slayers through history have been of the male persuasion. Have you ever heard of Wyatt Earp? He slayed a couple of pretty hardcore vampires at the OK Corral back in his day. Then there was Jack Ruby, who managed to take out Lee Harvey Oswald, a vampire from the Grassy Knoll Coven, with a wooden bullet ...”

Lilli gestures for us to follow her along a narrow, winding cobblestone road that slopes gently downhill. We pass ancient-looking stone-faced mansions featuring elegant cornices and grand arches. Thick tendrils of dark ivy climb marble columns and grand carved doors bearing golden knockers mark every entrance. I can’t help but stare as we walk by, impressed by it all. This place is like freaking Hogwarts for Vampire Slayers. I wonder if I’ll get assigned an owl.

I turn my attention back to our escort. “These are the classroom buildings,” Lilli is explaining. “Though we do a lot of hands-on stuff down at the bottom of the hill.” She points to a football field-size grassy area below, nestled in a copse of pine. The wind picks up for a moment and I inhale the sweet scent of the needles. Delish. After a week in Vegas, the fresh air is more than a bit wonderful and, I realize, I’m looking forward to getting down there and working out. (Yes, this cheerleader stuff has ruined my Goth/vampire lazy sensibilities. Sue me.)

We continue down the hill, which gradually starts getting steeper as we go. “Cafeteria, nurse’s station, chapel.” She gestures to a beautiful Gothic cathedral to our right—stained glass and flying buttresses galore. “We’re not a religious school,” she adds. “But we do meet there once a week for announcements from the administration.” She shrugs. “Plus it’s a great hideaway if we’re ever under siege from an angry coven of vampires.”

I take an experimental step toward the cathedral, wondering if the force of God will push me away or something, but nothing happens. Hm. Their protective vault may not be as protective as they might like. Not that I’m going to share that little fact with them. Low-profile vamp all the way.

“What’s that?” I ask, squinting at the next building we pass, across from the chapel. Weird. While every other building on campus resembles a Victorian mansion, this one looks more like an abandoned factory. Built entirely of brick, it’s got boarded-up windows and barbed wire fencing. The whole thing screams “horror movie waiting to happen” and is totally out of place in this otherwise elegant, Gothic setting.

“Oh!” Lilli replies after taking a furtive look at the building, then turning away with a small shudder. “That’s ... Night School.”

Oh-kay. I wait for her long-winded explanation. The kind she’s given for every building, tree, and overturned rock we’ve passed on the property. But instead, bubbly exclamation girl seems to have suddenly turned mime. And while the momentary quiet should be somewhat of a relief, instead it makes me slightly nervous. I glance back at the building, a shiver crawling down my back. What is that place? And why is it here, an ugly wound on the otherwise beautiful Swiss mountainside campus?

“Here we are!” Lilli cries, interrupting my troubled thoughts. Her voice is all cheery chipmunk/exclamation points again. “The headmistress’s office and teacher quarters!”

I reluctantly turn away from the mysterious Night School and follow Lilli and Sunny into an impressive-looking two-story brick mansion at the bottom of the hill. Inside we find ourselves in a marble-floored lobby with sweeping staircase and majestic chandelier. I whistle, impressed. Seriously, this whole school is beyond opulent. Slaying vamps must command some serious coin. I’m so demanding a raise—or, let’s face it, a paycheck to begin with—when I see Teifert again.

A bored-looking receptionist reading, of all things,
Vampire Academy
waves us through and we step into a large office with dark crimson walls and mahogany furniture. Behind a massive desk sits an older woman, probably in her sixties, with watery blue eyes shielded by bifocals and a firm-set mouth, set off by thick frown lines. She wears a severe black suit with a high collar and a pristine set of pearls rests at her throat. If you looked up
headmistress
in the dictionary, you’d so find this woman’s picture. Cross-referenced with evil stepmother and fourth-grade math teacher.