The Eternal Tomb (23 page)

They headed upstairs, passing the glowing demonic forms of the grotesqua dancing around the walls. They reached the second floor and pushed through crowds of younger vampires who jumped away, mainly due to Dean's smell, but also because Oliver and Dean were in the ninth Pentath now: the oldest kids.

They passed the classroom where Oliver had attended eighth Pentath, and headed up a smaller set of stairs. At the top, a narrow door to the school's attic stood open. This was their classroom.

Dean used to go to a home school with two other students: a zombie girl named Autumn Fitch and a human boy named Sledge. Autumn's mother, a zombie shaman named Ariana, taught the classes in Dean's basement.

It had been a good arrangement, until last spring, when Dean's family took a trip out to Spokane for the April school vacation to visit family (Dean had traveled in the trunk to spare his siblings from his odor). Dean's mother, Tammy, agreed to let Ariana hold class for Autumn and Sledge while they were gone. But one night, Autumn and Sledge, as they often did, got into a nasty fight about American football, specifically over the finer points of the Seahawks' off-season moves. Zombies in general, and Sledge too, were huge football fans. If Sledge could have kept himself in a normal school, he would definitely have been on a team.

The fight spiraled; they started pushing one another, and Autumn ended up biting Sledge. A zombie bite was infectious, and would turn a human in about forty-eight hours. But the smell of fresh blood led Autumn and Ariana to agree that letting Sledge become a zombie would be cruel, so instead they made a meal of Sledge's brains and entrails, and then, in a state of bloodlust, they left without cleaning up and proceeded to go on a rampage around the neighborhood. A disgusted vampire couple passing by beheaded Ariana, and Autumn barely escaped, minus her right arm.

So that was the end of the home school. The Aunders returned home to a grim reminder of what Dean really was, of what he was bound to become. Dean hadn't seen Autumn, and things hadn't been the same at home, since.

Of course, having a zombie in a vampire school should have been unthinkable, except in Dean's case there were two exceptions: First, Half-Light liked having Dean and Oliver in the same place, to keep an eye on them. And second, there was a new student in the ninth Pentath who liked having him around, too.

“Minion!”

Dean was just inside the door when his shoulders slumped. “Ugh, what already?” He moaned, rolling his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling miserably.

“I need my sweatshirt!” called Lythia LeRoux. She snapped her fingers expectantly.

“Get your own stupid sweatshirt!” Dean muttered, yet he obediently shuffled over to Lythia's desk, picked up her sweatshirt, and threw it up to her. “There, happy?”

Lythia scowled, brushing her upside down hair out of her eyes. “Don't talk back to me, slave!” she shouted.

“Will if I want to,” mumbled Dean, walking away.

“Give it a rest, Lythia,” Oliver snapped at her.

“Shut up, Nocturne!” Lythia hissed. She glared at him menacingly, her eyes glowing, but they were only a pale blue now, not the lavender they'd once been, and her look didn't have the same effect it once had.

“Whatever,” said Oliver, waving a hand at her dismissively as he continued across the room.

Lythia snarled, but didn't say anything further. Instead, she turned back to her ceiling-mates and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.

It had been a long two years, from the middle of the last year of eighth Pentath into this second year of ninth, with Lythia LeRoux as one of his classmates. She'd lost her demon during the Anointment ceremony, and so had been rendered just another middle-school student. Of course, she hadn't lost her attitude, or her evil streak, but she had lost all of her advanced vampire powers, along with that dizzying demon presence she used to have. She was still technically Dean's master, and could still command him to do her bidding, but without her demon strength, Dean could somewhat resist her, or at least complain loudly, and carry out his instructions lackadaisically and with almost no enthusiasm.

“So annoying,” Dean muttered now as he walked over to the far wall.

The attic was a long, triangular room with only two circular windows, one in the center of each end wall. The corners were piled with a hundred years of junk from the human school: old computers and typewriters, outdated globes and maps, microscopes and broken chairs. Hidden in these piles were the necessary vampire class supplies: weapons, texts, and, importantly, the set of triple reinforced titanium shackles.

Class mainly took place on a circle of thick floor pillows, centered around a design of concentric circles made from different-colored crystal sands. When the Pentath had begun, there had been seventeen pillows including one for Mr. VanWick, eighteen counting Dean's, which was over by the wall. Now, only eight remained. Ten students had received their
vampyr
demons and moved on to high school.

Oliver sat down cross-legged on his pillow and unloaded his supplies from his backpack: a black candle, matches, a pair of heavily tinted welder's goggles, a small ivory-handled knife with a short but lethal two-inch blade, and a slim black leather volume with a single Skrit symbol on the front, meaning Demonology and History.

Oliver glanced back at Dean. They made a habit of not talking during school, as it could be assumed that anything they said was being monitored not only by Half-Light, but also by the little gang of students assembled on the ceiling.

Their whispers attracted Oliver's attention now. Beside Lythia sat Theo and Maggots. Theo and Lythia had been fast friends, especially after Theo's girlfriend Kym had gotten her demon last spring and promptly dumped him. She was dating a high school boy now who'd nicknamed himself The Talon. Everybody else from Theo's old circle was gone, too, except for Maggots.

Oliver couldn't tell what they were talking about, but he stretched his senses and tried to hear:

“… forces …” he heard Theo mumbling.

“… closer to … radiance …”

“What about the Legion meeting?” Maggots blurted out.

“Shut up!” Lythia hissed as Theo socked Maggots in the shoulder. Lythia flashed a quick glance at Oliver, catching him watching. “Mind your own business, Nocturne!” she snapped. “Go back to daydreaming about your long-lost bloodbag!”

Oliver narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't reply. Instead, he filed away these latest tidbits of information. Oliver couldn't be sure what, but Lythia and Theo were definitely up to something. There were lots of secretive moments like this lately. He'd heard them mention the word “legion” before, but not “radiance.”

Berthold Welch crept through the door, slouching his undersized self across the room, hoping to avoid any interaction with the ceiling crowd. Back in eighth Pentath, he'd always been the target for tripping and other violent pranks. They were all too old for those kinds of kids' games now, but the verbal taunting could be twice as biting. Yet the ceiling crowd paid no attention to him tonight.

“Hey Oliver,” said Berthold, sitting on the pillow beside him.

“Hey,” said Oliver.

“Think tonight will be the night?” Berthold asked.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Probably not.” Berthold had been asking that question practically every night for the last two years. “But I guess you never know.”

“I hope it's my night,” Berthold said hopefully as he got out his supplies.

Oliver felt like telling Berthold,
don't bet on it
, but he didn't. You could sort of tell when kids were ready to get their demon. They'd dress older, be more obnoxious, and their demon dreams would be in full swing. Berthold was nowhere near any of those things. Oliver wasn't, either. He still hadn't had a demon dream since that night, almost three years ago now, when Dean had been killed. Then again, kids like Theo and Lythia had attitudes like they should have been demon-ready years ago, and yet they were still here, so maybe you never knew.

When the last student arrived, Oliver leaned to Berthold. “I think we know whose night it's going to be.”

Carly had appeared in the doorway. Her entrance set off an intense round of whispers from the ceiling trio. In the past, these whispers might have been because of Carly's lack of fashion sense—compared to other vampire girls, she was never very put-together—or her shy mannerisms, but this time they were different. Something had changed over the last few days. The mouse-quiet girl that Oliver had always gotten along with had suddenly transformed.

“Hey guys,” Carly said with a lazy drawl as she slouched in the doorway. She made a little salute, her mouth smacking on gum. “How's it hangin'?” She sauntered across the room, her leather bag and a skinny black jacket falling off her shoulder, revealing a teal tank top. Spike-heeled magenta boots clicked on the uneven wood floor.

Oliver didn't get it. This was the same girl who, up until about three weeks ago, had always arrived in sweatpants and oversized flannel shirts, her hair a rat's nest. Now her hair was slicked down straight and dyed cobalt blue.

She dropped down onto her pillow, legs thrown out straight, crossing her boots. “Hey Oliver,” she said around her gum. “How's your mopey self doing?”

“Fine,” said Oliver quietly. He was sad to be losing Carly, but these were the clear signs of a student on the cusp of cohesion: the bonding with a
vampyr
demon.

The only thing weird about it was how fast it had come on. Seriously, just last Friday, she'd been the same old Carly. But then she'd showed up Monday completely different, and changing at a furious pace.

Oliver glanced up and saw Lythia and Theo eyeing her, clearly jealous.

Cohesion was supposed to take at least a couple months, sometimes a full year, but Carly was the fourth case in their class of this accelerated cohesion happening in mere weeks, if not days. All in the last couple months. It was weird.

“Good evening students.” Mr. VanWick swept into the room, closing the door behind him and pulling off his long black coat. “Let's begin.” He wrapped a black ceremonial robe over his tweed suit and sat cross-legged on a pillow. Pulling the hood over his head, he struck a match and lit a black candle in front of him.

“First, the meditation.” All the students took their seats and lit their candles. He reached forward, his smooth white fingers curled around a jagged black crystal. He scraped this against the outermost sand circle, made of pink crystal powder. It ignited in a brilliant ring of low pink flames.

“Remember, the demon seeks a vessel,” he said in a low voice. “You are that vessel. We search among the ethers to find our demon, the one that is meant for us. “
Vampyrethhh …
” he breathed.

“
Vampyrethhh …
” the students repeated. Everyone closed their eyes, even Oliver. He didn't want to, but not participating meant staying after school, and possibly extra visits from Mr. Crevlyn.

“We begin the search for our demon in the familiar world,” said Mr. VanWick. “Step back inside your mind, search the dark corners. You are looking for a door. …”

They all spoke at once, their answers part of the cadence of the ritual. “I see a door,” they said.

Oliver saw a door in his mind, too. He was treading down a hall with burgundy carpet, its walls solid yet also made of stars. Ahead was the door. Oliver had seen it before: solid black wood with a silver knob and a white Skrit symbol etched into it. This was the symbol of the demon who had once been meant for Bane, but was now meant for Oliver, one of the most ancient and powerful demons in all of history: Illisius.

“Open the door,” instructed Mr. VanWick, “and enter the room.”

Each of the vampire children were experiencing something similar to Oliver: opening a door inside their minds and walking into a room with dark-wood bookshelves, a desk and comfortable chair, and a wide, diamond-shaped window. This was the visual image of the demon's place in each vampire's mind, their entry point.

Oliver entered the room. A cold, anxious feeling rushed through him. To come here was to tempt his destiny. One day he would enter this room and it would begin: through the window he would see his demon's history, as Illisius, in effect, downloaded himself into Oliver's mind.

But tonight, just like every other time he'd ever been here, what he saw beyond the empty bookshelves, beyond the black desk, out the wide window, was a land made of blood red rock, crooked spires of amethyst and jade here and there, and nearby, a giant statue head with gold coin eyes, lying on the ground. Everything was bathed in golden light from something just out of Oliver's view, something glowing brilliantly: the Gate. This was Nexia, where he was destined to go to fulfill his destiny. Same as always. The view gave him a chill, but it was also a small comfort. Cohesion had not begun.

“Does anyone see anything new?” asked Mr. VanWick. Oliver heard him distantly, out on the surface of his consciousness, like a voice through a thick window.

There was a frustrated sigh. “Still the sacking of Babylon,” said Lythia disappointedly. Her cohesion had begun, but it was early, and going slowly, as it was supposed to. Her demon had apparently been instrumental in the military efforts of Cyrus the Great and the Persians during the ancient Battle of Opis. She'd been stuck in this same place for a while. The dreams tended to move forward through history chronologically, reaching the present as cohesion got closer.

“Still the Spanish Inquisition for me,” muttered Theo. His demon had been fond of wagering on these types of bloody events. He'd been there for a few weeks, too.

“Just fog,” said Berthold sadly. His cohesion hadn't started.

“I see something new …” Carly said with a shaking voice. “A field of blood.”

Whispers shot around the room.