by Quinn Conlan
He picks up a wooden pointer and hovers it over one of the hastily scrawled numbers. “This one: the percentage of your body that can withstand contact with holy water without it proving fatal.” He quickly moves the pointer. “This one: the angle at which a stake may enter your heart without it being a lethal blow. Any more acute than this, and the effects will be…acute.” A few kids laugh. Mr Curzon merely smirks as if he’s been telling that joke for 700 years.
He continues. “This line here represents the optimal inflow of blood during a kill, in order to have maximal effect and to best prevent over-consumption.” He looks around witheringly. “Or, as the case may be, under-consumption.”
He points to yet another number. It appears to be an angle. “Ah yes. 111 degrees, 38 minutes and 17 seconds. Perhaps the single most important sequence of numbers a vampire needs to know. This, boys and girls, is the angle at which you must tilt a human’s head away from the shoulders before making contact with the neck. Did I emphasize the word ‘must’ enough? Hmmm? Must I emphasize it again? You must come in on this angle.” Wow. Here it is. Finally, someone is talking about a vampire’s bread and butter. They’ve kept so much obscured from us that I half expected it to never come up. I’m glad for the sudden plunge into the essentials.
“Say it with me,” instructs Mr Curzon, and we all start saying the angle out loud. “111 degrees, 38 minutes, 17 seconds.” He makes us say it about half a dozen times, before furiously rubbing it out with a chalk duster and pointing his favorite prop at a random student. It lands on a girl in the second row. “Say it,” instructs Mr Curzon.
“111 degrees, 38 minutes…17 seconds,” she says, with a nerve-wracking pause between the minutes and seconds. There is no encouragement or applause. Mr Curzon simply waves his pointer at a different face and says “you.” A couple more kids get through it just fine. The whole time I’m trying my best to memorize the digits and hoping I don’t cop a pointer to the face.
I’m spared, but Jason is not. When Mr Curzon turns to him, there is silence. I lean forward and stare across the row. I can see that Jason isn’t even looking up. He stares straight at the ground and seems a million miles away. Mr Curzon violently waves his pointer in the air, hoping the swish sound will get Jason’s attention. It doesn’t. Finally, Mr Curzon speaks. “You. Rebel without a hope. Look up.” Jason still doesn’t come to attention. Mr Curzon sighs wearily. The kid next to Jason gives him a firm shake on the shoulder. It does the trick, bringing Jason back from wherever he’d gone. He looks up in bewilderment. He’s not remotely embarrassed, I doubt that emotion is in his repertoire. But he is completely lost. It appears he wasn’t bluffing. “Say it, James Dean.”
“Say what exactly…sir?” asks Jason nervously. It’s like he’s just woken from a coma and doesn’t know up from down. I suddenly feel a little sorry for him. Mr Curzon on the other hand, feels something much closer to rage. With as much irritation and ready-to-burst rage as one voice can handle, Mr Curzon continues.
“The number, dummy.” Jason must sense the close to breaking point tone of voice. He frantically scans the blackboard for the right number to say. Clearly he didn’t witness Mr Curzon rubbing it out. When the tension has reached its limits, Jason takes a desperate, blind stab at an answer.
“448?”
No one expects what follows. Mr Curzon’s rage boils over. He opens his mouth and two long, terrifying fangs descend. His hiss puts Crystal’s to shame. In no more than a second, Mr Curzon moves from the front of the class to right beside Jason. It’s like watching a movie on ultra fast forward. The speed creates some serious turbulence, and papers go flying off the desks.
Mr Curzon places both his hands on Jason’s head and tilts him so that his neck is exposed. Jason is a picture of terror. We all are. Mr Curzon leans in close, fangs at the ready. Jason squirms in his seat, but Mr Curzon’s grip is so powerful, Jason can hardly move.
Slowly, Mr Curzon raises his mouth from Jason’s neck to his ear. His tone of voice is wildly different to the one he came in with. It’s ferocious. “You hear me now, boy?” Jason nods. He’s on the verge of crying. Mr Curzon, version 2.0, continues. “Then repeat after me. 111 degrees…” Jason repeats what he hears, in a high and frightened voice that’s just barely suppressing sobs.
“111 degrees.”
“38 minutes.”
“38 minutes.”
“17 seconds.”
“17 seconds.” By the end, Jason is sobbing and in distress. It’s awful to watch.
“You won’t forget that number in a hurry now, will you?” asks Mr Curzon. Jason just manages to utter “no,” before losing himself to his tears. Mr Curzon retracts his fangs and lets Jason go.
His sedate, world-weary persona returns as if nothing happened. “Consider that your first in-class demonstration, boys and girls. There will be many more over the course of the year, although hopefully not quite so…necessary.”
He returns to the front of the room and tells us to open our textbooks. The class has been shocked into submission. Fear is all around us. I steal one final glance at poor Jason. Tears run down his face as he fumbles with his textbook. I feel a sudden, strong desire to try and help him.
Chapter Eight
The moment the horn echoes through the school, Jason is up and out the door. I run after him, but he ducks into the men’s room. As I walk past the door, I can hear him throwing up. Poor guy.
There is little time between classes to mill about, so I have to press on. I’m bound for the next prong in the vampire training fork. Vampyrric. It’s a language, in case you were wondering. Which I wasn’t, since it sounds like it should have been dead and buried a long time ago.
Thankfully, I’m reunited with Kit, which should make what we are about to receive more bearable. I also see Garret and Crystal. There is no sign of Jason.
Our introduction to the language teacher makes me question whether she’s suffered a mild stroke. She walks to the front of the class, looks at us, and starts speaking in a garbled, harsh-sounding ancient sort of gibberish. She speaks with passion, so I’ll go out on a limb and assume it’s a poem, but it’s horrid gibberish nonetheless.
When she’s finally done, I worry that she wants applause. A few students start to clap but it fades pretty quickly. The teacher looks crestfallen for just a moment, before pressing on.
She is a 40-something woman who is tall, lean and rather elegant. Her hair is thick and wavy, and she wears a prominent denim skirt that practically trails the floor. She smiles at us. “Gryshir,” she says. If only Jason were here. “Gazuntite,” would be the quick-witted response.
She goes on. “Vryn ruhyl e nagn.” 30 blank, bemused faces greet her words. Again, she looks momentarily crestfallen. Finally, she returns to the land of the intelligible. “Hello. Welcome to language class. That would be the approximate translation of what I just said.” Glad she cleared that up. She sounds like a touchy-feely social worker from the 1970s. “My name is Ms Rolston, and I am excited to be taking you through the ins and outs of our beloved and sacred official vampire tongue. Vampyrric. Now don’t worry, we’ll be taking it nice and slow, although I would like each of you to try reciting a poem by the end of first semester.” Good luck with that.
In the earliest days, before schools, Backers and Helpers, vampires were apparently only found in Romania. There was no problem understanding one another, so they had no need to develop their own language. However, as the vampire race spread out across the world, it didn’t take long for communication to become impossible. And communication, as Ms Rolston points out, is the key to a race’s survival. So Vampyrric came into being: a mash up of seven different languages.
Over the centuries, the language was expanded and became richer, as vampires spread themselves to all corners of the globe. Many stories and songs were written in this vampire mother tongue. Then, when the modern age arrived, English swept the globe faster and more effectively than Vampyrric ever had. It became the dominant mode of comm
unicating, and slowly, vampires slipped away from their native tongue.
There was much resistance from the traditionalists, but change was inevitable. Nowadays, just about the only place you’ll ever hear Vampyrric is in high schools like mine. Out there, in the Square, and up there on the streets, no one walks around saying “gryshir.” What a blessing.
The language remains on the high school syllabus because it seems traditionalists still hold some sway. Miss Montgomery drummed that into me earlier. Apparently, certain official vampire documents are still printed in Vampyrric. Plus, some old-school ceremonies are still conducted in the mother tongue. But apart from that, it’s a dead, difficult language that’s sure to become my most loathed subject.
At least Ms Rolston eases us in nice and gently. This first lesson, we’re only expected to learn the first five letters of the Vampyrric alphabet and practice saying “gryshir” to one another. Kit and I have a very funny time rolling the letters around in our mouths.
When class finishes and we all file out, I happen to pass through the door at the same time as Garret. We get momentarily stuck, as each tries to pass through first. We have a small, semi-serious tussle, before Garret proves victorious. He enters the corridor and turns back to face me. “I’d hate for you to think of me as chivalrous Blake.” He smiles as he walks off. I struggle to conceal mine, as Kit gives me the old nudge and wink routine.
The final class in this longest first day is called Skill Sets. It’s similar to Combat, only it isn’t just about fighting. All vampires share a basic set of abilities, which have to be developed. The list includes things like superior strength, heightened emotional awareness, rapid movement and flying. What little kid hasn’t dreamt of flying at some stage? Well apparently now it’s only a stone’s throw away for yours truly. Bring it.
The Skills Centre is adjacent to the Combat Centre. Maybe somewhere down the line the two will compliment each other. This is the only class that the entire year takes together. As such, the room is particularly large. It has soft-bottomed pits, a high plank similar to a diving platform, a 50 meter running track and a variety of dumbbells and other gym equipment. It’s impressive.
The reason we all take it together is because of the teacher. Apparently, she is the most in-demand teacher in all eight Divisions. They say she knows vampire skills better than anyone.
What they don’t say is that she’s 12 years old. That shock I get to discover all by myself as she makes her way across the room to meet us. Her name is Lily. We’re allowed to call her by her first name on account of how ridiculous it is to address someone younger than you as Miss. She has a sweet, somewhat expressionless face and long red hair tied back in a ponytail. She’s about the same height and dimensions as Kit now that I think of it. Unlike Kit, however, she’s been around for 600 years.
Lily smiles as we take her in. I can tell that the testosterone-mad boys feel threatened. I’m sure that Crystal and her ilk aren’t too far behind. As for me, by the end of this day I’ve learned to expect the unexpected, and not make any assumptions. At least I hope I have. I’m keeping an open mind about this little pocket rocket.
Lily allows plenty of time for everyone to take in the shock of how young she is. But I suspect what she’s really doing in these first few moments is sizing us up. She makes her way through the throng with her sweet little eyes, giving away nothing.
She finally settles her gaze on one student in particular, a football friend of Garret’s named Travis. He meets her gaze and decides to dig his heels in. A stare-off ensues. Lily is so tiny compared to this hulking linebacker. However, it doesn’t take long for Travis to break out in a sweat. From sweating, he progresses to shaking. Kids start to step away from him. The shaking builds. And builds. Finally, his whole body rises into the air and goes flying backwards. He is utterly helpless in the face of this invisible force. He lands about ten feet across the floor. Lily smiles as if she’s just picked a flower.
“Someone help him up.” Her voice is utterly calm. Garret and another boy rush to help Travis to his feet. We are in awe of Lily’s power. We gather round, dying to find out how we too can knock a jock flat on his fanny.
“If you’d like to learn how to do that, you can,” says Lily, “however, it will be entirely up to you.” I hope she’s not going to talk in obscure riddles like the ninja next door.
She tells us to sit down on the floor. “Everything that happens in this room will be entirely up to you. If you are willing, if you can open yourselves enough, I can’t see any reason why you won’t be flying by the end of the year.”
A murmur of excitement runs through the class. “However. I have known vampires who still cannot find a way to leave the ground ten years after their turning. Like I said, it will be entirely up to you.”
I wonder what these words mean? I suspect they’ve got something to do with willpower. “My words have got absolutely nothing to do with willpower,” says Lily. The timing is so perfect, it’s as if she read my thoughts. I blush. “Willpower will almost always get you into trouble. Willpower will land you flat on your back, a sweaty, shaky shadow of a vampire.” I look over and see that poor Travis is still wiping sweat from his brow.
“Special things lie inside each of you. Unique things. Waiting to be glimpsed and coaxed into the open.” It’s jarring hearing such words come from a 12 year old’s mouth. “I can help you discover how to glimpse them, and teach you some of the tools you will need to bring them forth. I would very much like to.” She smiles her sweet smile, and I’m excited, thinking about what lies waiting inside me.
Getting to that inner gold clearly won’t be a straightforward affair. Lily tells us to pair up and sit cross-legged, facing our partner. She instructs us to close our eyes and hover our hands over those of our partner, without ever making contact. Truth be told, it feels pretty silly to me. I’m playing a game of imaginary handsies with Kit. At one point I feel quite relaxed. Often I just feel frustrated.
Lily gives no further instruction. She merely walks through the room, watching. When the exercise is over, Lily asks if anyone found the experience ridiculous. I decide to be bold and raise my hand. A couple of others do too. Lily looks straight at me and smiles. “I’m glad,” she says.
I don’t know what she’s glad about, but her smile has a strong effect on me. There is much I am yet to understand, but I do know that by the end of this lesson, I feel incredibly drawn to this ancient girl.
When the home time horn finally sounds, the entire class sighs with relief. Lily smiles and tells us to go home and get some rest. As we file out of the room, I realize that I didn’t even notice Jason the entire lesson. He must have tucked himself away in the back. When I see him out in the corridor, he still looks badly shaken. I decide to try and talk to him when we’re back in the Juniors quarters at Luthers House.
We join up with the Seniors in the reception room. The five Prefects do a mandatory head count, and when the numbers add up, we roll out into the Square as one tight, well-guarded unit. The train ride home is uneventful and relatively free of filth. Except of course for the wretched stench that can’t help but find its way into your hair and clothes.
My plan to talk to Jason gets nixed by the fact that as soon as we’re back at Dorms, he heads straight for bed. No bath, no socializing, not even the nightly magic pill from the Dispensary. He just hauls himself onto the coffin floor and gets two other Juniors to stand on the stepladder and push him up. It’s the strangest tucking in I’ve ever seen. The springs groan and bend against their will, but they do bend, and Jason manages to escape whatever this day has thrown at him.
When I receive my Glint, I stare at it and think of Carter on the oval earlier. It’s funny that something so tiny could be such hot property. I think for a moment about anything I might want. I’ve never been mad on make up. I’m not in the mood for books. What I do want is to satisfy my intense hunger, so I down the pill without another thought. For a moment, I’m dismayed that Jason has gone to be
d so hungry. But there’s nothing I can do about that.
In the time before coffins up, I decide to hang out in the Mess, hoping to have a chat with Kate. I’ve always seen myself as kinda shy, but maybe that’s just because I’ve grown up an only child on an isolated farm. I like Kate and want to befriend her. So I steady my ship and head down to the Mess.
It’s packed. Seniors hang out like they own the place. Which I guess they pretty much do. There is much chatter and laughter. My ship begins to wobble, as my nerves get the better of me. I’m the home-schooled newbie. All the faces are unfamiliar, except for Kate, who is deep in conversation with a group of other Seniors.
When she looks up and sees me, she smiles warmly. She even gets up and comes over. I’m thrilled. “Hey Blake! Well look at you! Most Juniors tend to keep to their own little burrow. Good on you for braving the Mess!” Her words make me feel at ease. “How was your first day?”
“Strange,” I say, “and full on.”
“Well that about sums it up nicely,” she says. She is beautiful. Her hair falls in lovely dark waves down her body and frames a gorgeous, kind-looking face. She is poised and dignified, and despite the fact that we are currently below it, she is down to earth. I’m in quiet awe of her. “Come join me and my friends?” she asks. It’s impossible to say no.
Suddenly, I find myself sitting on a red rug surrounded by Seniors. They seem so much more grown up than me. Even the ones who are my age. Even the one who can’t be more than 14. They talk about their Senior classes, which sound like more intense versions of mine. They make jokes. They talk about boys and girls they like. Their laid back rapport is a huge comfort to me, and I’m thrilled that I’ve ended up in such company.
