Betrayals

by Lili St. Crow

  “I—” The water bubbled. The door banged a little, like someone was leaning on it. The sound echoed through the locker room. I blinked, waking up inside my own head. “Oh jeez. You’re in here.”

  “Uh, yeah.” He didn’t sound surprised. “Was thinking you might fall and hurt yourself or something. Drown. If you’re okay, or—”

  I kept my head on his shoulder. Pressed it down a little and made my arm tense up. “Don’t. Don’t leave.” My teeth ached. Even my hair ached. “There was… I saw… okay, it was my grandmother’s owl.” A brief flare of panic worked up inside me, I’d never really wanted to tell anyone about it, and the habit of the secret was hard to break.

  But this was Graves. And he didn’t disappoint me. He just accepted it. “Owl.” Nodded, his sharp chin dipping. “Okay.”

  “And it led me outside, and I ran. I think it was trying to get me away from the suckers. I ended up in some bushes and I saw…” The rest of it spilled out in an incoherent jumble, but he nodded every once in a while. I liked that about him. He was so smart you didn’t have to hold his hand and walk him through everything. He could fill in the blanks on his own.

  “You’re sure it was the same one?” His eyes had half-lidded. The not-water began to calm down, bubbling and fizzing. It stung my scratched hands and spread up my shoulder in little waxy dollops, heat sinking in.

  I suddenly wanted to wash my hair. My scalp crawled. My heart had finished its pounding and finally settled down. “I guess. How many werwulfen with white streaks on their heads have we seen?”

  “Point.” His head dipped in another nod. His hair, getting damp from the steam, fell in his eyes.

  He tossed it out with a shaking, sudden motion.

  I let out a sigh. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. It came out in a whisper. “I saw Christophe. During the day.” It was more like three or four days ago, but I didn’t want to tell him that.

  Graves stiffened. A full thirty seconds ticked by, him staring at the mirrored wall through veils of steam. “Jesus, Dru.”

  Like it was my fault. “I couldn’t get you alone to tell you.”

  “So you tried this?” But he was joking. He shifted uneasily, moving as if his arm was cramping, but he left it where it was, his fingers no longer burning my other shoulder. “Where did you see him?”

  “He came in through my window. You can’t tell anyone.”

  He rolled his eyes. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel the movement. And the rolling of teenage eyes has a noiseless noise all its own. “Duh. But what was he doing coming through your window?”

  Hell if I know, kid. “Giving me some things. Stuff like my mother owned. And telling me some things.”

  “How the hell did he have things that belonged to your mother?”

  Trust Graves to boil everything down to its essentials. “They aren’t; they’re just like hers. And, well, I guess he knew her.” I hadn’t thought about it just that way before. He’d certainly sounded like he knew her. And now that I thought about it, he’d said specifically that the wooden swords weren’t hers. I opened my mouth to go on with explanations.

  But he asked the other sixty-four-thousand-dollar question before I could. “Just how old is he, anyway? And who is he?”

  “I dunno.” I slid down a little further into the not-water’s embrace, and another cloud of dirt from my wet hair went through the bubbling jelly. Jeez. How much guck did I get rolled in? “I’m more worried about Ash not killing me. He had the chance. He got rid of those other suckers, and—”

  “You saw that?”

  “I saw one. Stands to reason he did the other two.” A tremor went through the center of my bones.

  “Jesus.” I could have died. There’s no way out of that classroom, and three suckers…” He was right nose to nose with me, Graves. Nose to nose.” My brain kept making a funny hitching stop when it got to the memory, replaying it, throwing up its hands in horror, and stalling like an engine. “And the fog…”

  But I didn’t want to think about the fog ever again. Thank God it hadn’t touched me. If it had… I didn’t know quite what would have happened, but it would have been bad. I knew that much, all the way down to my quivering, aching bones.

  It’s hard to argue with certainty like that.

  Graves was more worried about essentials. “A wulf working alone did that? And he just… what, ran away?”

  “Guess he heard the rest of you coming.” The shaking intensified. It wasn’t shivering. It was my body rebelling against everything. I wanted a cheeseburger, and I wanted to curl up and sleep, and I wanted things I couldn’t even name. Most of all, I wanted to just shut my eyes and make all this madness go away.

  My head was still on his shoulder. He was still holding me. He was still fully clothed and hadn’t said a word about it. A long silence passed between us, full of steam and the funny burpchuckle bubbling of the not-water. It hissed a little bit as I slid down some more, more of the dirt in my hair getting whisked free.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered finally. It scared me more than I wanted to admit. I was used to knowing what the procedure was in every situation; I was used to Dad knowing what I didn’t and giving me orders when I was out of my depth.

  I mean, Dad never let me flounder. Not like some parents, who will just sit there and watch you flail around. I’ve seen that a lot, and it always looks to me like the adults want the kid to fail. Maybe it makes them feel better when we do, or something.

  Graves sighed. “Okay.” His shoulders came up, the one I’d propped my head on, digging into my cheekbone. “We should get you cleaned up. And Dylan’s going to have a cow.”

  “Why wasn’t he there?” As soon as I said it out loud, I regretted it. “Someone always came to get me when the bell rang before. This time, nobody.”

  “Yeah.” Not-water splashed as he moved. “I was thinking that too. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He untangled himself from me, and I had to lift my head. The burning had settled into a more soothing heat, soaking in. My back hurt, but not as much as it could have.

  “Graves?”

  “Huh?” He swung back, and for the second time that night I was face-to-face with a shapechanger.

  But this one had bright green eyes, and his dyed-black hair hung in damp strings, and he was the same half-ugly kid who had been the only person I could depend on since a zombie smashed its way through my kitchen door.

  Less than a month, and my entire life was in the kind of mess only the Real World could make. I had no idea how to start fixing it, but he was here, and he hadn’t let me down yet.

  We stared at each other for a long moment. My throat was dry. I was pretty sure dirt was smeared all over my face and my hair was sticking up like Medusa’s. But I leaned forward just a little, and if he hadn’t turned his head a little bit, my lips wouldn’t have landed on his cheek.

  His skin was softer than I’d have thought under the stubble showing up, and I had to sniff because my nose was full. But I pressed my lips against his cheek and felt like an idiot. What had I been about to do?

  Okay, Dru. Time to play this cool. “Thanks. I mean, for getting me in here, and all.” I retreated, suddenly very aware I was just in panties and a bra that were probably now ruined, and that he had dumped himself into the tub without even taking his shirt off. And I probably had dirt all over my stupid face. “You’re always, you know, around. When I need you. Thanks.”

  Of all the things to say.

  OhmyfuckingGOD, Dru, how stupid can you be? I made it over to the other side of the tub and hoped the heat would hide the red marching up my neck to plant itself in my cheeks.

  Graves actually coughed. It was kind of decent of him. “No problem.” He headed for the stairs out of the tub, awkwardly swilling a lot of crackling wax around. He floundered up and out, almost slipped, grabbed the edge of the tub. “First one’s. Yeah. Free.”

  He was probably just as embarrassed as I was. I sank back into the tub, reached out, and
held onto the edge myself. I was feeling kind of like my arms and legs might fail me at any moment.

  I hunched in the bath for a long while, shivering and shaking, and the only thing that got me out of there was the thought that one of the teachers might think I was drowning and come in to “rescue” me.

  Or, you know, kill me. Because it seemed pretty obvious that the Schola, where Christophe had promised me I’d be safe, was a pretty damn dangerous place.

  CHAPTER 11

  When you’re up all night all the time, midnight is the middle of the day. it’s not late enough to be lunch yet, but it’s too late for breakfast, and when you’ve been chased and have rolled around in muck, are you hungry anyway?

  I was. I was starving. But instead of being in the caf, I was sitting in Dylan’s office again.

  Looking at the shelves of leather-bound books and waiting. It was just like the principal’s office, and Graves had vanished after handing me a fistful of dry clothes brought from my own room through the door of the girls’ locker room.

  I didn’t like that. It was just numbers one and two on a list of things I didn’t like. Someone, maybe even Graves himself, would have had to go through the rosewood dresser in my room, and whoever it was even brought panties, for God’s sake. It was creepy. Thank God I hadn’t hidden anything in there. I mean, the panty drawer has got to be the first place anyone’s going to look, right?

  And where was Graves? I had a funny squirrelly feeling in my chest when I thought about him not being here. I wanted to see him.

  I wanted to see any friendly face. Nobody else here qualified except maybe Christophe, and he was nowhere around. I didn’t have any clue where he was.

  Dylan was off doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t sighing at me, or preparing to come in and sigh at me. Which left me all alone, my hair washed clean and dripping and my teeth clenched together. Not to mention with my head full of questions, and arms and legs that didn’t feel too steady.

  I slumped in the usual high-backed, carved chair, staring at the books. They were a treasure trove of titles about the Real World, from demographic surveys on werwulfen to a whole section on witchcraft and black hexes, their spines lettered with crimson foil.

  I bit on my right index fingernail, chewing along until it was nonexistent. Moved to the next nail.

  What I wouldn’t have given to have a crack at some of those while Dad was alive. He might’ve liked it too. I wouldn’t have minded a peek at the hex books. Dad preferred human intel, asking questions in occult shops and bars where the Real World congregated. I’d been in and out of those places ever since Gran died and Dad came to pick me up, and I was beginning to think it had been a lot more dangerous than even he had thought. Every time he took me into another place to get the lay of the land, he got really tense.

  Now I wondered if it was because I was with him, or because a misstep could have meant both of us ending up dead. And I wondered why he never told me about Mom being svetocha. Why hadn’t he said something? Anything? Was he planning on telling me when I was old enough? How old was “old enough”? What the hell had he been waiting for?

  Or had he not known? Had it been my mother’s secret?

  How could it have been?

  I started chewing on my right ring fingernail. Then again, Dad never was a touchy-feely say-everything kind of guy. We could spend whole days not talking, just getting things done. I was always proud of knowing exactly what to do without him having to tell me every time. Gran hadn’t been a big one for talking either, preferring to teach by example, but next to Dad she was positively chatty.

  And how would Dad have told me, anyway? Dru, honey, your mother was part vampire, which means you are too. Sorry about that.

  My heart hurt. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried not to think about it.

  The door opened. I stayed slumped in the chair, even though my heart leapt nastily and I had to swallow a gasp. I grabbed at the chair’s arms, and my feet slid in a little bit in case I had to stand up in a hurry.

  Almost dying will make you a little jumpy.

  “Here she is.” Dylan sounded tired. “Entrez-vous, my space is yours.” I heard a light step and a swish of something. A spicy, pretty smell filled the air, and I craned my neck, opening my mouth to ask Dylan where the hell Graves was.

  The words died in my throat as the advisor stepped to one side, closing the door and standing at attention right in front of it. A shadow slid past him and glided toward me.

  She was tall for a girl, and her hair was a glory of reddish curls. Narrow shoulders, wide blue eyes, a pointed chin, and a long, old timey dress of red silk. That hair was perfect, held back from her heart-shaped face with two black-velvet bows. She half-turned, leaned back, and hopped up to perch on Dylan’s desk, shoving paper back with her skirt.

  I stared. Her boots were pointed and heeled, and rows of tiny buttons marched up her shins. She crossed her ankles and looked at me. Her eyes turned a little lighter as dark streaks slid through her hair, the curls becoming looser and longer as her aspect flooded her. The twin points of delicate little fangs touched her pink-glossed lower lip.

  Holy shit. I stared some more.

  “Dru,” Dylan said, calmly enough. “This is Lady Anna. Milady, this is Dru Anderson.”

  “Hello, Dru.” She had a sweet, chiming voice. I stayed where I was, nailed in place, my mouth half-open. “Is that a nickname? What is it short for?”

  I was so not going to answer that. But my mouth opened anyway. “You’re svetocha.” The words just fell out. “Jesus Christ. I thought I was—” I sounded accusing, and Dylan straightened self-consciously, his jacket creaking. “Holy shit.”

  Her smile faltered for a moment. “I’m a well-kept secret. If the nosferatu suspected, they would attack every place we own, even this small satellite of the Order, with far more frequency. Already, with you here for such a short period of time, we’ve had several students injured and a marked increase in the number of… incidents.”

  So that’s my fault? Jesus. A hot ugly feeling welled up inside me. I closed my mouth with a snap.

  We looked at each other for a few minutes, her fangs retreating and the curls in her hair tightening up, until she looked just like a storybook impression of a princess.

  “We are hoping that the attack on this Schola was merely routine, a matter of them probing our defenses. Though it seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” She tilted her perfect head. “Hopefully none of them escaped to carry tales.”

  I finally dug up something to say that wasn’t a cussword. “Where’s Graves?” This was all very well, but he was the one person I wanted to talk to. I needed him here for this.

  Dylan shifted uneasily. “He’s in the dorms.” His fangs were out, and he looked unhappy. It was just a subtle downward tilt to the corners of his mouth, but it was such a change from his generally irritated expression, it was pretty shocking. “Milady wanted to meet you, Dru. It’s a high honor for a first-year student.”

  Color me all impressed and shit. “Why? I mean, why did she want to come here? If I’m such a problem.”

  “You’re not a problem—” Dylan began, but the girl glanced at him mildly, and he shut up so fast I was surprised he didn’t lose a chunk of his tongue.

  “May I?” She cocked her head, and Dylan spread his hands helplessly. She smiled a little bit.

  Those teensy little fangs were creepy as hell, especially when she tilted her head and looked cat-content. “You are unruly, Miss Anderson. You have been here barely two weeks and have already pressured a Kouroi into sparring with you, with unpleasant results. You seem to have no pride in your heritage, which isn’t your fault, given your upbringing, but it is distressing. You have so much potential, but you seem content to waste it on pointless intransigence.” She was solemn now, her mouth turning down like she tasted something a little unpleasant but was too polite to spit it out. “That’s our fault. We have not expressed to you the reasons why we do things as we do, and I confess I
have been very busy making arrangements for your continued safety, as well as other… arrangements for the safety of others in the Order. The work has taken up so much of my time that I have been unable to meet with you before now. And… well, I suppose the best way to say it is just to say it.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. My “wrong” chimes were ringing like mad. I shifted uncomfortably. The chair had gotten really hard all of a sudden. Dylan made a soft coughing noise, clearing his throat. His dark eyes flashed, but whether it was a warning or an allergy attack, I couldn’t tell.

  Anna lifted one narrow hand, and her nails were lacquered pink too. My God. All she needs is a muff and a cute little pink cell phone all covered in rhinestones. Ugh. The smell of her, spice and goodness and warm perfume, reminded me of something, but I didn’t know just what. I was too busy staring at her flawless face, the blush rising in her matte cheeks, the arc of her eyelashes.

  My next thought was sudden and chilling. I could never in a million years look like that. I’m not sure I’d want to, either.

  “We don’t know why Reynard saved you from Sergej.” Her tone dropped to confidential instead of just worried and hoity-toity. “Did he tell you anything at all?”

  Reynard? Oh yeah. She meant Christophe. “He said he was part of the Order, and—”

  “He said that?” Her gaze sharpened over my shoulder, and I knew she and Dylan were exchanging a Look that could have been Parental. Or at least Teacherlike. How old was this girl? She looked about eighteen, which could have meant anything here. “Would it surprise you to know Christophe Reynard hasn’t been an official part of the Order for a good seventeen years or so? The negotiations to bring him back to us have been… difficult.”

  “Nobody trusts him.” Next to her careful, polite, well-modulated tone, my voice was harsh. I’d scraped my throat raw with coughing. “Dylan said when he came back he’d train me, because—”

  “Dylan is of Christophe’s camp. He’s been his supporter for a long time, and indeed was Reynard’s sponsor. He argued and pressed and cajoled to have Reynard accorded the honor of membership in our ranks, despite his… unfortunate ancestry.”