Night School Part 4

"Five more minutes," she pleads.

"How about five more seconds? One, two ..."

"Okay, okay!" My twin sits up, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. Has she been up all night crying? "Geez, you ever think of a career as an alarm clock? You're totally overqualified in annoyingness."

"It's for your own good, Sun," I say, rummaging through my tiny dorm-room closet for something suitable to wear. "You don't want that evil headmistress coming down on you. Or, you know, me, for that matter." According to my schedule, which was dropped off by Lilli when she came by with lunch yesterday-grilled cheese sandwiches and a huge jug of strawberry Kool-Aid, all of which I ended up tossing in the trash since Sunny wouldn't eat and I can't. I've got combat training most of the day so I'm thinking sweats are probably more practical than my normal lacy black dresses.

I have to forgo makeup, but I manage to get us both dressed and down to the field, where cla.s.ses are held, with thirty seconds to spare. The morning air is crisp and cool and the other students are huddled around one another for warmth. I look around for our one friend, but Lilli's nowhere to be found. Must be in a different cla.s.s.

A man in his forties, carrying a clipboard and sporting a p.o.r.n mustache and muscle ma.s.s that would make Mr. Universe extremely jealous, walks over to us and looks down at his list. "Which one of you is Rayne?" he asks.

I raise my hand.

"Okay, great. You're in my cla.s.s. Suns.h.i.+ne?" He turns to my sister. "They've put you with the beginners. They meet inside the gym." He points to one of the one-story outbuildings down at the end of the field. Sunny shoots me a worried glance-I know she doesn't want to be separated from me-but I give her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

"It'll be okay," I whisper in her ear. "You'll be in with a bunch of twelve-year-olds. How bad could it be?"

She nods, reaching over to hug me, holding on a second too long. Professor p.o.r.nstar clears his throat impatiently. Reluctantly, Sunny lets go and shuffles down the field at a snail's pace. I let out a frustrated breath. I gotta figure out a way to get her to snap out of this funk or she's going to get us both in serious trouble.

"Well, well, if it isn't Little Slayer."

Speaking of trouble. I whirl around, not surprised to see Corbin standing behind me, a smug smile on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. He's forgone his red robe for today's training and is wearing black sweatpants and a tight white T-s.h.i.+rt, which annoyingly accentuates his abs. I mean, yeah, the guy's a total a-hole, but that doesn't mean he's not ripped. In fact, he looks just like freaking Jason Stackhouse on that True Blood show. If only he were just as dumb, too.

"Well, well, if it isn't Big d.i.c.k," I mimic in my sweetest voice. "Are you in my cla.s.s?"

"I'm way above you in cla.s.s," he replies with a sneer. "But yes, I will be your partner today."

Wait, what? I try to mask my surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Mr. Klaus a.s.signed me to show you the ropes," he explains. "So we'll be sparring partners." He grins. "In other words, you're about to get your a.s.s kicked, Little Slayer."

"By you and what army?"

A few of his friends step up behind him, looking down at me with scornful expressions on their faces. Oh, right. That army.

He laughs. "Actually, I don't need an army to take you," he a.s.sures me. "In case you didn't know, I'm an Alpha here at Riverdale."

"Alpha?" There was that term again.

"Alphas are the best of the best," Leanna says haughtily. "First-tier slayers on the front lines, after they graduate Night School."

Night School? A vision of that creepy building across from the admin office flashes into my brain. "Wait. You guys go to Night School?" I ask.

"Um, well, not yet," Corbin replies, looking a tad sheepish for the first time since I've met him. "But we will," he adds. "Hopefully very soon. We're just waiting for our official invitation."

Interesting. I open my mouth to ask more, but Professor p.o.r.nstar, aka Mr. Klaus, blows the whistle. Guess it's time for fight club. I suck in a breath and turn to our teacher, who's pa.s.sing out wooden stakes from a red velvet bag.

"Okay," he says. "You guys know the drill. One of you is the slayer, the other the vamp. Slayers try to slay your opponent by touching the tip of your stake to your vampire's chest. Don't forget to dip them in red paint first, so we'll be able to judge your accuracy. Vampires, try to bite your slayer. If you get neck contact first, you win. Get a red mark anywhere near your heart, that means you're dead and need to leave the field."

Okay then. We're playing vampire paintball. Or paint-stake, I guess.

He looks around "Any questions?" he asks, throwing me a stake. "Now, on the count of three ..."

I turn to Corbin, who, as it turns out, must be counting challenged. Before Mr. Klaus even gets to one, he grabs me, pinning my arms behind me, his hot lips searing my neck.

"You're dead!" he crows. His little lackeys cheer.

"Wait a second!" I cry. "I wasn't ready. Mr. Klaus didn't even blow his whistle yet," I protest, slapping at him to get him off of me. G.o.d, what an a.s.s.

"I've got news for you, chickie." Corbin laughs, shoving me unceremoniously to the ground. I land on my knees and pain reverberates up my spine. Jerk. "In real life, vampires don't wait for any whistle." He pauses, then adds, "Guess they didn't teach you that in home school."

He holds out a hand and I stupidly reach for it, a.s.suming he's trying to help me up. He laughs. "Your stake," he clarifies.

Oh. I can feel my face burning as I hand him the weapon and scramble to my feet unaided. I watch him dip his stake in the bucket of paint, not feeling all that great about having my new mortal enemy casually wielding in his hand the one thing that can kill me.

Not that I'm going to let him win so easily this time.

"Are you ready, Little Slayer?" he asks patronizingly. "I wouldn't want to dare begin before you were completely ready. Should I count to three? Maybe a hundred?"

I roll my eyes. "Bring it, Slayer Boy," I snarl. "If you think you can."

"Oh, I know I can."

He charges forward, so quick I have no choice but to duck his strike. Once down on the ground, I throw my arms around his s.h.i.+ns and yank them forward with all my might. His momentum interrupted, he lurches backward, slamming down on the field, b.u.t.t first. He lets out a cry of surprise-guess he figured he'd have it as easy as he did before. But I'm ready for him now.

He rolls over and leaps easily to his feet. His eyes are dancing with laughter. "Oh, you're more fun than I thought, Little Slayer," he purrs, circling me with the stake clutched firmly in his hand. "I am going to enjoy taking you down."

"Enjoy this," I reply saucily, giving him the bird, feeling better already. This is kind of fun.

I follow his moves, studying carefully, watching and waiting for weaknesses, as Teifert taught me to do. All the recent cheerleading has made me limber and strong, and I know I can take him. I just need to wait for the right- Corbin strikes again, jabbing the stake in my direction. I respond with a roundhouse kick, slamming my foot into his extended arm. He howls and the stake goes flying down the field. He dives after it, but I'm too quick, cartwheeling toward the stake (and yes, showing off a little!) and grabbing it mid-second-cartwheel. When I flip back to a standing position, he's right in front of me. Without even a pause, I shove him squarely in the chest, pus.h.i.+ng him back. Then I throw myself on top of him, using my entire body weight to bring him down.

A moment later, I'm straddling him, my hands pinning his shoulders to the gra.s.s, my mouth at his neck for the mock vampire bite. I've won!

Or have I? As my lips graze his neck, I freeze. He's so warm. And he smells really good. Like vanilla, mixed with sandalwood. I pull back a bit, watching the artery in his neck pulse, circulating blood through his body. My stomach groans in protest and I feel my fangs slide into position. G.o.d, I'm so hungry. If only I could take a small nibble. I lean in, opening my mouth wide ...

Corbin moans.

I sit up with a start, my face on fire and my breathing labored. What the h.e.l.l am I doing? I don't drink real blood-especially not directly from a human. Especially not from a human Slayer in Training attending a school run by Slayer Inc. One bite and I'd be dusted before I could even swallow down the sweet stuff.

"Rayne . . ."

I realize, suddenly, that Corbin's staring up at me, his eyes glazed and his breathing as heavy as mine. His arrogance has faded away, replaced by some kind of deep admiration, mixed with desire. Is he okay? Oh no, did I accidentally vampire scent him when I was daydreaming about his blood? Vampires have very enticing pheromones, you see, designed to bewitch hapless mortals if they're not careful.

And I, wrapped up in my bloodl.u.s.t, was so not careful just then.

Embarra.s.sed and horrified, I roll off of Corbin and scramble to my feet. "I ... um ... I win!" I say, while waving a hand around my body, trying to fan away any residual scent, praying my teeth will retract before anyone sees them.

Corbin just stares up at me, totally bewitched.

Suddenly I find myself surrounded by the other Alphas. "Wow, that was rockin'," Varuka cries.

"Yeah, we've never seen anyone take down Corbin before," Mara agrees.

"You're one tough slayer chick."

"Maybe you'll be our next Alpha."

I smile helplessly, not able to speak and hide my fangs at the same time. I steal another worried glance down at Corbin. Is he okay?

"Hey Corbin," Peter says, nudging him with his foot. "You got beat by Home School."

The spell seems to break and Corbin scrambles to his feet. He glares at me with vile hatred deep in his emerald eyes. Guess the vampire scent has worn off. And he's so not looking pleased about the new girl kicking his a.s.s in front of his friends.

"Good job, Little Slayer," he manages to grind out, while brus.h.i.+ng himself off. "But I'm afraid next time you won't be so lucky." He gathers his friends and together they head down the field.

I watch them go, feeling my fangs finally retract. Lucky? He doesn't know how lucky he just was. And as for next time? Well, the hunger is growing. And I don't know how I'm going to be able to stop myself.

8.

"Oh my G.o.d, everything in my entire body hurts," Sunny moans as she limps down the cafeteria aisle, tray of food in hand. She sits down across from me and Lilli, who has invited us to her table to eat with her and her friends.

"I thought you were in a cla.s.s with twelve-year-olds," I remark, pus.h.i.+ng my food around my plate to make it look like I'm eating. I ordered a burger extra, extra rare and tried to suck the blood out of it before the others showed up, but it just made me puke. If I don't find Blood Synthetic soon, I'm in big trouble.

"Yeah. Try huge, strong, ridiculously well-trained twelve-year-olds," she moans, holding out an arm so I can see all the blue-and-black bruises already starting to form. "Who don't have a drop of respect for their elders." She sighs.

"How did you get to be a slayer?" one of the girls at the table asks curiously. "If you're totally not into the fighting thing?"

"Long story. Don't ask," Sunny mutters, shoveling a big spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

"Hey Rayne, do you want to come grab some more Kool-Aid with me?" Lilli asks, after slurping down the last of her drink. Man, the girl's addicted to the stuff. "You must be really thirsty after all that practice out on the field."

"No thanks, I'm good," I reply, pretending to take a sip of my water, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Even as a mortal, Kool-Aid was never my thing.

Lilli shrugs and jumps up from her seat. "Suit yourself," she says as she skips down the aisle.

"Don't look now," hisses her friend Evelyn to my right, "but Corbin's looking over here."

Of course, she said don't look, which always makes me automatically turn around to do just that. I see Corbin and his friends sitting a few tables away, their table piled high with food. Sure enough, the Alpha slayer has turned away from the group and is watching me intently with longing green eyes. When he catches me looking, he scowls and turns away.

I s.h.i.+ver involuntarily. What have I done to him? And is there a way to undo it? If only Jareth were here. He'd know what to do.

"I heard you took him down this morning," Evelyn says, forcing my attention back to my new friends. "No one's ever done that before."

"Yeah, everyone at school is talking about it," adds Amber, another one of the lunchtime gang. "You're, like, famous already."

Great. And here I was supposed to be keeping a low profile. What was I thinking, taking down the big bad Alpha slayer? Seriously, forget slaying-finding trouble should be my full-time job. I'm certainly good at it.

We spend the afternoon inside, listening to lectures on vampire history, vampire politics, vampires in literature, etc. By the two P.M. study hall break, I'm already all vamped out. I mean, I don't even think actual vampires know as much about their kind as these monotone Slay School teachers do. Or maybe it's just that vamps prefer to learn at their leisure, seeing as they've got more than a couple lifetimes to soak it all in. Mortal slay students are the ones who have to cram.

In any case, study hall is held in a beautiful, musty old library with stained-gla.s.s windows, well-worn wooden desks, and walls lined floor to ceiling with ancient books. There are a few computers scattered here and there, but since none of them connect to the Internet, I don't bother checking them out.

Instead, I spend the hour wandering through the stacks, running my hands over the rows of hardcover tomes, breathing in that delicious old book scent. Nothing here has been written after the 1900s and I kind of like that. I pull out a crumbling first edition of Wuthering Heights and flip through it, sighing contentedly. I've always found the story of Heathcliff and Catherine so romantic.

After a few minutes, I put back the book and continue exploring. The next aisle is filled with "Otherworld Nonfiction," according to a metal plaque at the end of the row. My interest piqued, I step into the row, surrounding myself with large, thick hardcovers depicting vampires, werewolves, angels, and ...

Fairies.

Ooh. Talk about required reading. I start grabbing fairy books off the shelves until my arms are weighted down and I can barely see over the stack. Then I drag them off to a quiet corner, where I find a small, moth-eaten armchair next to a tiny table and Tiffany lamp. I set the books down and curl up in the chair, pulling my feet up and under me. Then I grab the first book and start paging through.

Time to get a little family history.

The Sidhe (p.r.o.nounced Shee) are also known as the "People of the Mounds," and they evidently go way back in Irish and Scottish history. They live in fairyland, a dimension beyond our own world, under a monarchial system; kings and queens living in the lap of luxury in beautiful otherworldly palaces. There are several different courts and none of them can ever seem to get along.

Besides their wings, they look just like regular people, as opposed to the pint-size pixies that make up a lot of the old fairy tales. But their powers go way beyond those of men. Besides being able to fly, some of them can also change shape at will. Pretty cool, if you ask me.

What's not so cool is how petty some of them seem to be. Like, for centuries Irish families have attempted to appease mischievous sprites by leaving little bowls of milk out for them at night. (Evidently, fairies are big on dairy as well as nectar.) If they forget-or the cat gets to the milk first-the thirsty fairy will get so mad they'll actually go and steal the family's baby and replace it with a green-tinged, vicious changeling child instead.

Like I said, so not cool.

The text goes on. Some fairies are unable to tell a lie, others can chat with animals and turn invisible. And most of them are deathly allergic to iron. I turn the page, my eyes widening as I find the section of text I've been looking for: "How to start your fairy transformation." Evidently, in addition to the elbow kissing thing, teen fairies take part in this big, fancy ceremony when they turn sixteen to kick-start the process. (Talk about a sweet sixteen!) But in extreme cases, the text seems to indicate, you can start the transformation by yourself, as long as you know the right invocation to accompany the elbow kissing part. And luckily for me, they've got it all transcribed in the book.

I look around the library: No one's nearby. I wonder if I should actually go through with this. After all, there's no turning back, as Mom said. And do I really want to be a fairy for the rest of my life? I mean, I'm already a vampire. And a slayer. That's a lot in and of itself.

Then I think back to Sunny's anguished face. Her desperate wish to remain mortal. She's my sister, as much of a pain in the a.s.s as she can be sometimes. And it's my job to protect her.

So really, what choice do I have?

I look back down at the book, whispering the incantation to myself, while repeatedly kissing each elbow and praying no one walks by-as, let's face it, I must look freaking ridiculous to say the least. But luckily the place remains empty and I finish the ritual, uninterrupted, with a little twirl, as per the book.

I plop down on my chair, feeling more than a little bit embarra.s.sed. Did I really just do a jig in the middle of the library, thinking it would turn me into a fairy? Seriously, Rayne, you're losing it, definitely losing it.

But just as I'm about to close my book and go home, the room starts to spin. I grab on to the sides of my chair, my heart in my throat. Is something happening? Did the ritual work? I try to look down at the book, but the text seems to waver in and out of focus. I try to stand, but my legs are too weak to hold my weight. My heart pounds in my chest and my breath comes in short gasps. What's going on? Am I becoming a fairy at last?

Before I can know for sure, I find myself succ.u.mbing to the blackness.

"Excuse me? Miss?"

Feeling a rough hand on my shoulder, I wake with a start. A beady-eyed man with a big nose and an even bigger potbelly peers down at me. He's dressed in light blue coveralls and is holding a broom.

"Sorry, miss," he says. "Library's closed. And it's well past curfew. You'd better get back to the dorm before Johan catches you."