The circular driveway in front of Renfield Academy is packed tight with ivory pebbles the color of bone. The car grinds over them then comes to an abrupt stop, making me flinch. Nothing about this moment or the ones before it tonight seem real no matter how much I try to believe. My whole life has been turned on its head in a matter of hours.
Steeling myself for whatever might happen next, I follow the others out of the car into the chilly night air. The school lords over us, even larger close up. It’s ancient looking, the stone walls pocked with wear and tear. Gargoyles flank the enormous entryway and several more hunker close to the roof. Moss-covered turrets bookend both sides of the building. The place is overwhelming in its size and grandeur, like something straight out of a gothic novel.
“Renfield Academy was established in the late 1800’s” Iverson steps away from the car, fastidiously smoothing the wrinkles from her black pants. “We house 150 students here, all over the age of eighteen. There are slightly more vampires than familiars, but you’ll find it’s still a fairly even mix.”
I gape at the building, at how aglow it is. One-hundred and fifty students isn’t a lot given how large this place is.
“Our student body has decreased in size over the years,” Iverson says, as if guessing my thoughts. “This school services all of North America, but we do have sister academies across the globe.”
“Classes are in full swing,” Roman says. “Our academic day begins at dusk and ends at dawn.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Vampires don’t like to be out in daylight,” Valentine says. “That’s when they’re most vulnerable.”
“Right,” I say, remembering what little I know about vampires from the few horror movies I’ve managed to watch. “They burst into flame in the sun.”
Roman makes a disgusted sound. “We do not. We are just unable to transform, compel, or heal.”
“Actually, all supernaturals prefer the night,” Ms. Iverson explains as she leads us inside. “It’s easier to go unnoticed in the dark.”
A chill runs up my spine.
We enter a grand hall with a giant bronze statue of a striking man in a top hat and three- piece suit with a long overcoat that looks like it’s from another era. He’s got a skull in one hand and a large dagger in the other.
“That’s Renfield,” Ms. Iverson explains.
Even cut in stone he’s an intimidating figure. It’s something about the intensity of his eyes. The statue almost feels alive, as if he’s watching me. I rub the back of my neck to smooth the tiny hairs there, all currently standing on end.
“So why was the academy named for a familiar and not a supernatural?” I ask. “If vampires have more powers?”
“Exactly,” Roman says, eyeing me with surprise, and I think a bit of appreciation.
“Because our survival depends on all of us,” Iverson says. “Renfield serves as a reminder that we are only as strong as the weakest among us.”
Not a ringing endorsement for Renfield’s impressiveness or any familiar’s for that matter. But something about the statue draws me in even as it unsettles me. I feel a connection to it somehow. I can’t explain the pull, but it’s there. I turn in a slow circle. Maybe it isn’t just the statue, but this whole place.
Valentine leans closer to me. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
“Feel what?” I frown at him, my nerves thrumming.
“That you belong here. That quiet in your mind is proof. This place and the vampires here act as dampeners to our mind-reading abilities, a welcome silence, eh?”
So that’s why for the first time ever I feel something close to…peace? Even scared to death, it’s there, settling into my brain and bones. The relief it brings is like nothing I’ve known before.
“Being with them helps us focus our power and keep it from overwhelming us,” Valentine continues. “We can go anywhere without fear of losing ourselves to the thoughts of others. That’s intentional, a way to make us want to serve them.”
I suck in a breath. The last thing he said gives me another round of chills. Being here does feel like a sort of freedom, but in a way, isn’t it also a trap? Even so, I have this growing connection to the place already. The intense desire I had to go home is waning quickly. My stomach twists.
A way to make us want to serve them.
I shiver. I can’t give in to these feelings. Kaia is lying dead on the beach and Nicholas is injured, missing. I hate how this place is making the pain I feel for both of them disappear. Stubbornly, I picture them in my mind, the way I last saw them, brutalized and bloody. The second I can leave here, I will. Damn the tempting quiet, I won’t let it sway me. Tears prick my eyes and my heart starts aching all over again.
“This way,” Ms. Iverson strides off down a hallway flanked with portraits of the Academy’s professors past and present. I scan them, taking in the intimidatingly beautiful faces of the vampires and the plainer, much more ordinary ones of the familiars. Every portrait bears an engraved gold plate with the professors’ names on them. Roman Black’s portrait hangs beside what must be his wife’s. Aria Black is a flaxen-haired pale beauty with dark blue-violet eyes which seem to follow my every move. On the placard bearing her name is the title “Head of Vampire History and Lore.”
We stop at a set of giant mahogany double doors, massive and imposing with carvings of women dancing through a forest of trees, surrounded by wildllife on them.
“My office and personal quarters are here.” Ms. Iverson waves a hand in front of the doors and utters a few quick words. The carvings come alive, the deer at the center running for the trees as the circle of women raise their hands to the heavens. There’s a clicking sound and then the doors swing wide.
“Come inside. There are things to be settled now that you’re here.”
There’s something ominous about the way she says it, an edge to her voice I can’t quite decipher. Relying solely on external clues is disorienting, especially with the empty silence of her thoughts. I’ve never liked hearing everyone’s thoughts all the time, and while the quiet inside my head right now is wonderful, I don’t know what’s happening or how much danger I may be in. Not knowing what Iverson and the others are thinking is disconcerting. Everything anyone says feels like it could be a threat.
Beyond the doors, floor to ceiling bookshelves line three of the four walls of the large room and a giant stained-glass window decorates the last one. A massive, ornately carved mahogany desk sits at the center with a pair of velvet chairs facing it.
Chained to each of them are the two vampires from the beach.
I gasp and jerk backward, my heart rate spiking. The vampires bare their teeth, low growls emanating from their throats—not loud, but so powerful that my chest vibrates. They buck against their restraints, wincing as the silver chains tighten and their skin starts to smoke.
The older one locks his attention on me. He flinches as if he recognizes me, his eyes widening, all threat draining from him in an instant the second I meet his gaze. That trace of humanity I saw in him on the beach is back. His jaw clenches and he swallows hard. In the warm glow of lamplight, he’s transformed, his face wiped clean of blood and a very human flicker in his eye. My heart quickens reflexively and it makes me uncomfortable. He is undeniably handsome. There’s something between us. A current I don’t understand. This monster hurt Nicholas, maybe even killed him! My hate for him should be absolute. And yet I can’t stop staring at him. Is this some kind of vampire charm that does work on familiars?
I force myself to turn away, ashamed I’ve stared so long. The other vampire hasn’t stopped growling, his fangs shiny with spittle, his eyes all animal hunger. I concentrate on him instead. He was the one who killed Kaia. Anger roils inside me. It’s a welcome relief from whatever I felt before. This vampire looks less contrite, more feral. Good. I need the reminder.
Standing just behind them is Aria Black, Roman’s vampire wife. She looks exactly like her portrait. Iverson introduces me to her, but she barely bothers to acknowledge me.
“They arrived about an hour ago,” Aria Black says, eyes pinned to the boys. “We had a hell of a time subduing them. Their strength is…impressive.” She looks at the two vampires with obvious appreciation. “I had to call in Yustaf to help me. They follow the pattern of the other newly turned we’ve encountered—very strong, very confused, and very hungry. They have no memory of how they were turned or by whom. But we’ve already managed to find out who they are.” Aria gestures to a file on top of the desk.
“Henry and Leo Barrett. Brothers. The fire in town this evening was their family home.”
The brothers visibly flinch.
“The firemen found the bodies of two people inside the wreckage. A man and a woman.” Here she lowers her voice almost respectfully as she glances at the two vampires, her face softening. “Presumably their parents.”
The vampires go still, silent, their expressions haunted. I don’t need to read their minds to know this news is painful, though they don’t seem surprised.
“We think their sire started the fire after they turned these two to destroy any evidence.” Aria folds her arms across her chest, her pale, narrow fingers drum thoughtfully against her biceps. “But without their bodies on scene the investigators will continue to search for them. And if any word of what happened on the beach gets out or these two are somehow spotted alive, I don’t have to tell you there could be trouble.”
“Roman,” Ms. Iverson says. “Take the car and see if you can spin a plausible story about what happened for the police. Compel if you must.”
She strides to a cabinet at the far side of the room near an enormous fireplace where bunches of herbs hang from the ceiling and removes various bottles, setting them on a nearby table.
“I need samples of their blood, Aria.” She tosses a small leather case to the vampire who catches it deftly with one hand.
Henry and Leo begin thrashing against their restraints again. Acrid smoke from their burning flesh fills the room. I put a hand to my nose to block the smell. Their growls build, vibrating through the room, through me so that my legs go all noodle-y and unstable. The older one, Henry, avoids looking at me directly, but I sense him sneaking glances and it’s unnerving and thrilling at the same time. I hate that his attention sparks something in me, something like what I feel for Nicholas, but more primal. I am a horrible human being, attracted to this monster. But then, maybe it’s because they’re right and I am a familiar, a monster in my own right. Or at least a monster protector. I feel sick.
“What’s the blood for?” I ask, my voice coming out small.
Valentine clears his throat. “To be turned, they had to ingest the blood of their sire. It’s in their system now. If we examine a sample, we can figure out who it is.”
“Why do you want to know?” I ask.
“Turning new vampires is strictly forbidden,” Valentine says. “Because of the treaty between the humans and us. So a punishment must be dealt to the sire responsible.”
Henry goes perfectly still at this. He stares intently at Valentine and then offers up his arm to Aria without a fight. He hasn’t spoken a word since I got here. He seemed too wild to be able to, but now his eyes have this razor-sharp focus. “Do it,” he growls, his voice gravely and hoarse. “But you only need mine. Leave my brother alone.”
“Very well.” Aria draws his blood with practiced efficiency, tying a rubber cord around his arm, flicking the inside of his elbow to get a vein. The vampire barely flinches when the needle pricks his skin. I don’t know what I was expecting exactly, but his blood comes out red and normal-looking. Henry looks surprised as well.
Aria hands the vial of blood to Ms. Iverson who places an ancient-looking carved stone bowl on the table in front of her and fills it with liquid so black it looks depthless. She utters strange words again as she carefully tilts the vial so the blood falls into the bowl, one drop at a time. It appears suspended in the dark liquid, like a dotted pattern of garish looking stars in an endless night. But then it slowly coalesces, forming fluid symbols that morph and change endlessly.
“House sigils,” Valentine explains in my ear. “For the vampire bloodlines.” He watches the changes in the symbols with avid interest. In fact, all of the teachers seem to be holding their breath. “The blood will settle when it finds the right one.”
Henry strains against his bonds, trying to get a better view of the bowl. Leo has grown still beside him, his gaze focused on Iverson while she continues her spell, her voice increasing in strength and intensity.
The sigils form and disappear faster and faster until it’s hard to read any of them. Then the blood disperses, thins, and disappears into the black liquid entirely.
Ms. Iverson stops chanting, her eyebrows knitting together.
“Why isn’t it working?” Aria asks, her voice tinged with concern.
Ms. Iverson doesn’t answer. She just stares into the bowl, jaw clenched.
“Who turned us?” Henry demands. The murderous look on his face intensifies. “Tell me!” This time when he thrashes against his restraints, a few links break, allowing enough give for him to free himself. Before anyone can react, he leaps up with fangs bared at Ms. Iverson his face inches from hers. “WHO?”
Iverson shakes her head, but doesn’t move, her whole demeanor calm and unafraid of this man who looks strong enough to snap her in two. “I don’t know. My spell has been blocked.”
Belatedly, Aria and Roman re-capture Henry and he roars.
“Again? How is this possible?” Roman asks, struggling to keep Henry restrained.
Iverson blinks. “It isn’t. Or it shouldn’t be. If there were another witch in the area tampering with the blood or working a blocking spell I would know it. I would feel it.” But something about her expression tells me she’s not quite sure this is true.
Still fighting to get free, Henry grinds out a vow. “I will find whoever it is.” His eyes flash, grow red again. “And when I do, they’re as good as dead.”