Night School

by Alex Dire

  “Norman!” shouted Bronte. Oozing scratches covered her face. Her whites a mass of red soaked and shredded fibers. Another shot fired and blood exploded from her shoulder.

  A werewolf sat astride Norman’s waist. He drew a stake from an inside pocket and raised it above his head. Norman put his hands up to block. He knew it was useless. The wolf would drive it right through. Norman reached out with his will, desperate. He couldn't focus. Everyone slipped away. “No!”

  Norman would die. He'd failed to kill Walsh. Failed to save Felicia and the rest of the nymphs. Failed everything.

  “Now you—”

  A click and a whoosh from the back of the room. A blur of grey fur tumbled over Norman, and he was free.

  As the blood slowed from his neck, he struggled to his feet. A grey wolf growled and tore at Norman’s attacker. Juda.

  The werewolf across the isle leapt off the tackled servicemen and transformed mid-air, landing in front of Juda. The third scampered past Norman and over the ovens. Juda backed away, allowing his opponent to scurry to his friends. Juda faced three wolves barking and screaming.

  Another shot. Pain in his chest. Norman’s head rang, and he fell to the floor. The darkness closed in.

  Two hands grasp his arm pits and dragged him. He looked up to see Bronte’s blood smeared face. She pulled him to the back door.

  Fierce canine sounds roared a few feet away. She pulled the door open.

  “Wait. Juda.” Norman’s voice was weak and thin.

  “It’s too late. We have to go, or we’re dead.”

  “No,” said Norman.

  Bronte dragged Norman through the open door. Before his feet had cleared the opening, he tuned into the wills in the kitchen. It hurt. He’d lost blood. He just wanted to sleep. He reached out his mental tentacles and gripped them. His usual tight bond was weak and slippery. He couldn’t hold on to all of them. He hoped he wouldn’t need to. “Save the grey one.”

  The doors swung shut. The latch clicked. Then, an explosion of gunfire.

  27

  Election Day

  Bronte dragged Norman along the pavement. Seducing all those wills had exhausted him. His wounds drained him as well. The sharp grains of the pavement pulled at his belt and scrapped the exposed skin at his waist raw. Then it stopped.

  Norman opened his eyes.

  “Don’t move!” came a stern voice.

  Norman lifted his head an inch. Three police officers stood with their guns drawn, blocking their escape. Soon more would arrive. He focused on the police. He reached but slipped. He could not hold even one of them. He had nothing left.

  Bronte dropped his arms, and he fell back to the pavement. His head thudded and rang.

  “We don’t have to do this,” said Bronte.

  “Put your hands in the air,” shouted an officer. Two more moved in with guns drawn. “Now or we shoot.”

  Norman saw more people rapidly approaching. He so wanted to sleep. Two large men in Corps. V military uniforms moved in front of the line of officers. “Let us handle this.”

  Bronte pulled her blades from her belt. One of the Corps. V nodded to the other, and he took a step to the side. They were about to flank her. She was valiant, but they had her outnumbered and they couldn’t be killed, at least not by conventional means.

  Norman heard the rushed steps a fraction of a second before a form blurred up behind the two soldiers. Their eyes popped wider, and they grunted. Rufus stood behind them with his fists raised to the back of their necks. They twisted around to face their new enemy. It was then Norman saw the syringes sticking out of the back of their necks.

  Rufus spun, and kicked both of them. They fell back onto the ground. They reached around their heads grasping at the syringes. It wouldn’t save them. Georgios’ serum would shrivel them to oblivion.

  Rufus sprinted through the line of policemen and tossed Norman over his shoulder. The officers fired a volley of shots. Several bullets popped through the flesh near his spine as he sped away on Rufus’ back.

  They were gone down the street too fast for tracing fire to follow. Into the darkness. The sounds receded to nothing. Norman fell into sleep.

  The blurred form of Matt Barnes stood over Norman. He blinked several times to wipe away the haze.

  “Mr. Bernard. You’re awake.” Matt lifted a glass of blood from a small table, holding it at arms-length. He winced in disgust.

  Norman grasped the glass and grimaced. “It’s cold.”

  Norman took the cup and drank anyway. The room temperature blood spilled into his mouth and down the back of his throat. Despite the temperature, he felt its power fill him back with life. He gulped with fury until it was gone.

  “I was wondering if you were going to wake up at all,” said Matt.

  “You gave Rufus the syringes.”

  Matt nodded.

  Norman handed him back the glass and sat up. He was on a couch in an office reception area. He recognized this. Chip's headquarters. “Rufus? Bronte?”

  A door with a frosted window opened and Chip came through. “Norman! Your alive. We were beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep forever.”

  Norman stretched his arms. They cracked and popped with stiffness. “How long have I been out?”

  “A whole day,” replied Chip.

  Norman looked to Matt for confirmation.

  “It’s election day,” said Matt.

  “Returns are coming in now. We’ll know very soon.” Chip spoke with enthusiasm. But then his face went cold and he stared off. Norman wondered if he saw this whole election as a loss of power for him.

  Bronte entered through the same door. “About time,” she said. “Thought you might be out for good.”

  “What happened?” said Norman.

  “You passed out. Rufus broke us out of the crowd, and we brought you here.”

  “Why didn’t you just glamor them?”

  Rufus came in. “It’s not our way. We fight. We’re not negotiators.”

  “You’d rather die, than glamor?”

  “We’re not dead, are we?” said Rufus.

  “Good point,” replied Norman. “Thanks.”

  Rufus nodded and crossed his arms.

  “Any chance Walsh is going to lose?”

  “With another failed vampire assassination?” Chip asked. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  The events came back to Norman as the blood nourished his body. He’d used his unique powers to seduce quite a few throughout the incident. Just thinking about it made him feel weak. “Any more of this?” He tapped the glass.

  Rufus looked to Matt.

  “Uhh. Okay.” He took the empty glass and left with a squeamish look to him.

  Norman returned to the images from the night before playing back in his head. He’d failed. Walsh had been whisked away. Werewolves attacked. Grey fur. The kitchen door closed. Shots. “Juda?”

  Rufus growled at the name. After all this time, he still couldn’t make himself right with the idea of werewolves.

  “He’s resting. Pretty beat up,” said Bronte. “So, what’s your Plan B?”

  Norman thought of Jackson. He’d enslaved the vice-presidential candidate. Walsh was superfluous at this point. In fact, Walsh needed to go. But how? In moments he’d either be president elect or a loser. Voting must be wrapping up. How did you assassinate a president elect? A president? Norman sighed. “That was Plan B.”

  Chip began to pace the room.

  Norman would be the first vampire registered.

  He would be forced to go first, appearing to do it willingly to ease the minds of the rest of vampire kind. He couldn’t let it get that far. He’d need to make a move as soon as Walsh was sworn in. Influence him or take him out. Walsh would be protected. Norman would need help. Could he rally the remaining vampires to his cause? How many were there? Would the old party fissures stand in his way? Would Skeete?

  “How do you do it, Chip?” said Norman.

  “Do what?”
/>   “Keep everybody satisfied? How do you make any decisions and not alienate half the people against you?”

  Chip smiled. “Good. You’re starting to think like a politician. Better now than never.” He sat next to Norman on the couch. “The trick is this.” His face grew serious and he lowered his head. “You have to not care. Caring, any sentiment, gets in the way.”

  Norman knew there was always some element of falseness to a politician, even to Chip, who’d been a true friend over the time he’d known him. But this seemed a bit extreme.

  “If you care, they’ve got you. You need to be able to let go of everything. Even the things you love the most. After a while, you learn not to love at all. Every position you cared so much about when you started is expendable.” His eyes drifted away. “Every person…”

  “But—”

  Chip's phone rang. He withdrew it from his pocket. “Harding.” He listened to the voice on the other end and his eyes darted to Norman’s. He hung up. “It’s official.”

  Norman tilted his head. He knew what Chip meant but he wanted to hear it.

  “You’ve won.”

  Norman closed his eyes. A chill ran through him.

  Matt returned with a glass filled with blood. “Here you go, Mr. Bernard.”

  “Better make it a double,” said Norman.

  Norman had feared this outcome although he knew it was inevitable. His head buzzed with dread and swirled with lines of possibilities. He followed each to its end in his brain. None of them seemed to lead him back home, to his school, with his nymphs. He drank. The blood washed away some of his confusion. He needed to plan. Who were his allies? What pieces could he put in place? He needed to be ready when Inauguration Day came.

  “Congratulations, Secretary,” said Chip. He didn’t offer a hand.

  “Not yet. There's a few months and then confirmation hearings,” said Norman.

  “He’ll assemble his proposed cabinet before they’re confirmed,” said Chip. “At least I would. Show leadership. Create confidence. Continuity. Make it seem like a fait accompli.” He returned to pacing. “You don’t seem so comfortable with this outcome. Didn’t you expect it?”

  “Yes. But now that it’s happened…”

  Chip sat next to Norman on the sofa. “This is new territory, Norman. We’ve roamed the earth a long time. Some of us for millennia. None have ever been through this. We know how to deal with humans in the old ways. All of the methods have been tried, tested and perfected. It’s like there is a playbook now. But this is different. Co-existence?”

  “I’m sure you can lead us through it,” said Norman. He meant it. Chip had a talent for making people believe. He and Ian had kept their cell going three years in the tunnels and sewers of the city. One might even credit him for busting Skeete’s original gang. He’d made Norman believe.

  “This is different,” said Chip. “In a vampire-only power structure, leading would not be so difficult. But now, our power is dissipated. Spread out.”

  “Where?”

  Chip's eyes bored into Norman. “To you, for one.”

  Norman saw it now. Vampires would look to Norman as a leader figure. He had been bestowed with legitimacy by a human who was ratified by an election. Some of Chip's influence would wane. Vampires didn’t need a leader to bring them together. They needed someone to bridge two worlds, vampire and human. Chip's vision of a new Vampire Union might be impossible.

  “The VU?” said Norman.

  Chip pursed his lips. “Things just got more complicated.” Then his face relaxed. All emotion left and what remained was a stone. “I’m going to take Rufus back. I’d hoped he would help you succeed, but obviously…”

  Rufus nodded and strode behind Chip. The symbolic gesture provoked worry in Norman.

  “We’ll need to deploy our people very strategically now,” said Norman. His voice shook. Chip was plotting his course and Norman didn't appear to be part of it. What allies did he have left? If he took Rufus and Bronte, and his whole party apparatus, what did Norman have left?

  “There’s no we, Norman. I am the leader of the Vampire Republic. Rufus is sworn to me.” He looked over to the tall muscular woman in the room. “Bronte too. Trained soldiers are hard to come by these days.”

  “But…” said Norman.

  “That’s an order!”

  Bronte looked between Chip and Norman. “Sir, if it’s all the same, I’d like to help Bernard,”

  “It’s not all the same,” said Chip. “There’s only room for one leader of our kind.”

  Bronte paused. Her glance cruised along the floor, refusing to commit to a single location. “I think those days are over, Acting Chancellor.” She emphasized the word ‘acting’ as if it somehow let her off the hook for her pledge.

  Chip huffed. “Remember your allegiances.”

  “The old allegiances are over. You just said so yourself. This is a new night. We need to change.” She stepped next to Norman.

  Chip's face grew red as if magma had bubbled to the surface ready to explode forth. Then the color faded. He coughed into a hand, his face pale and serious. “Very well. Norman, I wish you the best of luck.” He extended a hand.

  Norman took it. “Thank you.”

  Chip held his grip a little too long. He pulled Norman close. “We won’t be registered. I’ll kill you first.” Then he released. His calming smile returned.

  Bronte tugged at Norman’s shoulder. Time to go.

  28

  Hangover

  Norman sat at his kitchen table and took a sip of warm blood. “I can feel her. She's scared. And angry. Always so angry.”

  “Shall we go find her?” said Bronte.

  “I told her not to go. I should have known she couldn’t resist, especially since it was Declan.”

  “What do you think has happened?”

  Norman swished the fluid around his mouth. “There are bands of vigilantes roving about. Inspired by Walsh. Scumbag.”

  “That scumbag is your boss.”

  “Not yet.” Norman imagined a future PR ceremony with himself registering in front of flashing cameras and applauding humans in suits.

  Three knocks came from the condo door.

  “Come in,” said Norman.

  Darius walked in with timid steps. Tyreese followed with none of Darius’s apprehension. Darius looked to his friend, then back at Norman. “We…” His voice evaporated.

  “We couldn’t find her,” said Tyreese.

  “I told you not to look.” Norman tightened his face. His nymphs were his most loyal allies and not even they heeded his words. How could he keep them from getting themselves killed?

  Tyreese remained stoic as always. “We found something else.”

  “We looked everywhere, Mr. Bernard,” said Darius. “Every alley, every park, everywhere.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Vampires,” said Tyreese.

  “Skeete?” said Bronte.

  Tyreese shook his head.

  “Then who?” asked Norman

  Tyreese replied with a steely glance.

  Darius did the talking. “We couldn’t catch them. They hid. They didn’t want to be discovered.”

  “I’m not understanding this,” said Norman.

  Darius' words quickened with nervous energy. “I think they were following us.”

  “They were watching us,” said Tyreese.

  Bronte stood from the table. “What did they look like?”

  Tyreese shook his head again.

  “They wore hoods,” replied Darius.

  Bronte took a step toward the boys. “How many?”

  “At least three. Maybe six. They hid. And ran,” said Tyreese.

  Norman remembered the press conference. He’d seen hooded vampires there.

  Was this new threat responsible for Felicia and Declan’s disappearance? Was this another version of vigilante justice going on? Picking off the nymphs one by one? Norman reached out for Felicia. He still felt her fea
r and anger. Still alive, but nothing more. No clues.

  “Thank you,” said Norman.

  The room fell silent. Bronte began pacing and chewing on a nail. Darius shifted in his place.

  Tyreese stood, still as ice, arms folded. “What’s the next move?”

  Norman shook his head, lips pursed.

  “We need to strike now,” said Bronte. “We need to get to Walsh before he’s sworn in. Before more mobs form. This could get very ugly, very fast.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Norman. “He’s been elected. The symbolism of that alone will make our task harder. Especially now that he’s survived a second vampire assassination attempt.”

  “But the first one was really on you!” said Bronte.

  “Tell that to the press.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I…” Norman wasn’t sure what he was suggesting.

  “You’re going to wait,” said Tyreese. “Wait until you’re inside.”

  Norman’s mouth remained open as he pondered Tyreese’s statement. This young man had a mind for strategy. Perhaps Norman was mistaken sidelining all of his nymphs. Tyreese's keen mind could prove very useful in this struggle. No. He’s just a boy. Too dangerous.

  “I agree,” said Darius. “We should wait.”

  “No, we’ shouldn’t,” said Norman. “Tyreese is right. But you’re going back to school.”

  Darius frowned. “But—”

  “I know you feel strong. And you are. But you need time. Decades or more.” Norman tapped a finger on his forehead. “What’s left of you that’s human will get you killed.”

  Tyreese breathed out a chuckle. “Told you.”

  Just a boy, indeed.

  “After inauguration and cabinet appointments, we’ll have clearance. We can come and go at the White House. Once we’re in, we can get past security with our official authority, plus a little will-bending.”

  “But what’s the end game? What do you plan to do once you’re inside?” said Bronte.