Betrayed (House of Night, Book 2): A House of Night Novel

by P. C. Cast

  “Oh, Mother, you didn’t?”

  Aphrodite sounded horrified, and I couldn’t blame her. I could only imagine the impression these cold, pretending-to-be-perfect parents made on our High Priestess. If Aphrodite had ever had even the slightest chance of getting back in Neferet’s favor, her creepy parents had probably ruined it for her.

  “Of course we did! Did you expect us to just sit by while you destroyed your future by becoming a vampyre nobody at some nondescript foreign House of Night?” her mom said.

  “More than you already have,” her dad added.

  “But it’s not about me being on some kind of high school restriction,” Aphrodite said, obviously trying to control her frustration and reason with them. “I messed up. Big time. That’s bad enough, but there’s a girl here whose powers are stronger than mine. Even if Neferet gets over being mad at me, she’s not going to give me back the Dark Daughters.” Then Aphrodite said something that totally shocked me. “The other girl is a better leader than I am. I realized that on Samhain. She deserves to be head of the Dark Daughters. I don’t.”

  Ohmygod. Did hell just freeze over?

  Aphrodite’s mom took a step closer to her and I flinched with her, sure she was going to get smacked again. But her mother didn’t hit her. She bent so that her beautiful face was staring right into her daughter’s. From where I was standing they looked so similar that it was scary.

  “Don’t you ever say someone deserves something more than you. You’re my daughter, and you will always deserve the best.” Then she straightened again and ran her hand through her perfect hair, even though I was pretty sure it wouldn’t dare get messed up. “We couldn’t convince Neferet to give you back your position, so you’re going to have to convince her.”

  “But, Mother, I already told you—” she started, but her dad cut her off.

  “Get the new girl out of the way, and Neferet will be more likely to give you back your position.”

  Ah, crap. “The new girl” was me.

  “Discredit her. Cause her to make mistakes, and then be sure it’s someone else who tells Neferet about them and not you. It’ll look better that way.” Her mom spoke matter-of-factly, like she was talking about which outfit Aphrodite should wear tomorrow instead of plotting against me. Jeesh, talk about a hag from hell!

  “And watch yourself. Your behavior has to be beyond reproach. Maybe you should be more forthcoming about your visions, at least for a while,” her father said.

  “But you’ve told me for years to try to keep the visions to myself, that they are the source of my power.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing! A month ago Damien had told me that several of the kids thought that Aphrodite was trying to hide some of her visions from Neferet, but they thought it was because she hated humans—and Aphrodite’s visions were always about a future tragedy where humans died. When she shared her visions with Neferet, the High Priestess was almost always able to stop the tragedy from happening and save lives. So Aphrodite purposefully keeping her visions to herself was one of the things that made me decide that I had to take her position as leader of the Dark Daughters. I’m not power hungry. I didn’t really want the position. Hell, I still wasn’t sure what to do with it. I’d just known that Aphrodite was bad news, and that I had to do something to stop her. Now I was hearing that some of the crap she’d been doing was because she let her hateful parents boss her around! Her mom and dad actually thought it was okay to keep quiet about information that could save lives. And her father was the mayor of Tulsa! (No wonder he looked familiar.) It was so bizarre it was making my head hurt.

  “The visions aren’t your source of power!” her dad was saying. “Do you never listen? I said that your visions could be used to gain power for you because information is always power. The source of your visions is the Change that’s taking place inside your body. It’s genetics, that’s all.”

  “It’s supposed to be a gift from the Goddess,” Aphrodite said softly.

  Her mother’s laugh was cold. “Don’t be stupid. If there was such thing as a goddess, why would she grant you powers? You’re just a ridiculous child, and one who is prone to making mistakes, as this last little escapade of yours has once again proven. So be smart for a change, Aphrodite. Use your visions to gain favor back, but act humble about it. You have to make Neferet believe that you’re sorry.”

  I almost didn’t hear Aphrodite’s whispered, “I am sorry . . .”

  “We’ll expect much better news next month.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Good, now walk us back to the reception hall so that we can mingle with the others.”

  “Can I please stay here for a little while? I’m really not feeling very well.”

  “Absolutely not. What would people say?” her mother said. “Pull yourself together. You’ll escort us back to the hall and you’ll be gracious about it. Now.”

  Aphrodite was slowly standing up from the bench, and heart beating so hard I was afraid it would give me away, I hurried back down the path till I came to the fork that would take me out of the courtyard. Then I practically ran from the garden.

  I thought about what I’d overheard all the way back to the dorm. I believed that I had nightmare parents, but they were like The Brady Bunch mom and dad (hello—I watch Nickelodeon reruns like everyone else) compared to Aphrodite’s hateful, power-freak parents. Much as I hated to admit it, what I saw tonight made me understand why Aphrodite acted like she did. I mean, what would I be like if I hadn’t had Grandma Redbird to love me and support me and help me grow a backbone these past three years? And that was something else, too. My mom had been normal. Sure, she’d been stressed out and overworked, but she’d been normal for the first thirteen of my almost seventeen years of life. It was only after she married John that she changed. So I’d had a good mom and a fantastic grandma. What if I hadn’t? What if all I’d ever known was how it had been for the past three years—me being an unwanted outsider in my own family?

  I might have turned out like Aphrodite, and I might still be letting my parents control me because I was hoping desperately that I would be good enough, make them proud enough, so that someday they would really love me.

  It made me see Aphrodite with totally new eyes, which I wasn’t particularly thrilled about.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Yeah, Zoey, I understand what you’re sayin’ and all, but hello! Part of what you overheard was that Aphrodite is gonna try to set you up so that she can get you kicked out of the Dark Daughter leadership, so don’t go feeling too darn sorry for her,” Stevie Rae said.

  “I know—I know. I’m not getting all warm and fuzzy about her. I’m just saying that after overhearing her with her psycho parents I understand why she is like she is.”

  We were walking to first hour. Well, actually, Stevie Rae and I were practically running to first hour. As usual, we were almost late. I knew I shouldn’t have had that second bowl of Count Chocula.

  Stevie Rae rolled her eyes. “And you say I’m too nice.”

  “I’m not being nice. I’m being understanding. But understanding doesn’t change the fact that Aphrodite acts like a hag bitch from hell.”

  Stevie Rae made a snorting noise and shook her head, causing her blond curls to bounce like she was a little girl. Her short cut was odd at the House of Night where everyone, even most of the guys, had ridiculously long, thick hair. Okay, my hair has always been long, but still—it was really weird when I first got here and was bombarded with hair hair hair. Now it made perfect sense. Part of the physical Change that happens as we become vampyres is that our hair and nails grow abnormally fast. After a little practice, you can tell what year a fledgling is without checking the crest on her jacket. Vampyres looked different than humans (not bad different—just different), so it’s only logical that as a fledgling passes through more and more of the Change her body looks different, too.

  “Zoey, you’re so not paying attention.”

  “
Huh?”

  “I said, don’t let your guard down about Aphrodite. Yes, she has nightmare parents. Yes, they’re controlling and manipulating her. Whatever. She’s still hateful and mean and vindictive. Watch out for her.”

  “Hey, don’t worry. I will.”

  “Okay, good. I’ll see you third hour.”

  “See ya,” I called to her back. Jeesh, she was such a worrier.

  I hurried into class and had just taken my seat in the desk next to Damien, who raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Another two-bowl morning?” when the bell rang and Neferet swept into the room.

  Okay, I know it’s bordering on weird (or maybe queer is the better word choice) to continually notice how gorgeous a woman is when you’re a woman, too, but Neferet is so damn beautiful that it’s like she has the ability to focus all the light in the room on herself. She was wearing a simple black dress and totally to die for black boots. She had on her silver Goddess path earrings and, as always, the silver embroidered Goddess rested over her heart. She didn’t exactly look like the Goddess Nyx—who I swear I’d seen in a vision the day I was Marked—but she had the Goddess’s aura of strength and confidence. I’ll just admit it. I wanted to be her.

  Today was unusual. Instead of lecturing for most of the hour (and, no, amazingly enough Neferet was never a boring lecturer) she gave us an essay assignment on the Gorgon, who we had been studying all week. We learned that actually she had not been a monster who turned men to stone with a glance. She had been a famous vampyre High Priestess whose Goddess-given gift was an affinity, or a special connection, for the earth, which is probably where the “turn to stone” myth came from. I’m pretty sure if a vamp High Priestess got pissed enough and had a magical connection with the earth (stones do come from the earth), she could easily zap someone into granite. So today’s assignment was to write an essay on human myth and symbolism, and the meaning behind the fictionalization of the Gorgon’s story.

  But I was too restless to write. Plus, I had all weekend to finish the essay. I was way more worried about the Dark Daughters. The full moon was Sunday. I would be expected to lead the ritual for the Dark Daughters. I realized everyone was also expecting me to make an announcement about changes I planned to make. Uh, I needed to have a clue about those changes. Surprisingly, I did have an idea, but it definitely needed help.

  I ignored Damien’s curious look as I quickly gathered up my notebook and went up to Neferet’s desk.

  “Problem, Zoey?” she asked.

  “No. Uh, yes. Well, actually, if you would let me go to the media center for the rest of the hour, my problem would probably go away.” I realized I was nervous. I’d only been at the House of Night for a month, and I still wasn’t sure about the protocol for being excused from class. I mean, there were only two kids in the entire month who’d gotten sick. And they’d died. Both of them. Their bodies had rejected the Change, one had happened right in front of me during Lit class. It had been totally gross. But other than the occasional dying kid students rarely missed class. Neferet was watching me, and I remembered that she was an intuitive and she could probably sense the ridiculous babble going on in my head. I sighed. “It’s Dark Daughters stuff. I want to come up with some new leadership ideas.”

  She looked pleased. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “Probably, but I need to do some research and get my ideas straight first.”

  “Very well, come to me when you’re ready. And feel free to spend as much time in the media center as you need,” Neferet said.

  I hesitated. “Do I need a pass?”

  She smiled. “I am your mentor and I have given you permission, what more could you need?”

  “Thanks,” I said, and hurried out of the classroom feeling stupid. I would be so glad when I’d been at the school long enough to know all the little inside rules. And, anyway, I don’t know what I’d been so worried about. The halls were deserted. Unlike my old high school (South Intermediate High School in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma—which is a totally boring suburb of Tulsa) there were no Napoleon Complex, overly tanned vice principals with nothing better to do than to prowl the halls harassing kids. I slowed down and told myself to relax—jeesh, I’d been stressed out lately.

  The library was in the front center area of the school in a cool multilevel room that had been built to mimic the turret of a castle, which fit in well with the theme of the rest of the school. The whole thing looked like something out of the past. That was probably one of the reasons it had attracted the attention of the vamps five years ago. Then it had been a stuck-up rich kids’ prep school, but it had originally been built as a monastery for the Saint Augustine People of Faith monks. I remember that when I asked how the prep school had been talked into selling to the vamps Neferet had told me that they’d made them a deal they couldn’t refuse. The memory of the dangerous tone her voice had taken still made my skin crawl.

  “Me-eeh-uf-ow!”

  I jumped and almost peed on myself. “Nala! You scared the crap outta me!”

  Unconcerned, my cat launched herself into my arms, and I had to juggle notebook, purse, and small (but chubby) orange cat. All the while Nala complained at me in her grumpy old lady cat voice. She adored me, and she’d definitely chosen me as her own, but that didn’t mean that she was always pleasant. I shifted her, and pushed open the door to the media center.

  Oh—what Neferet had told my stupid step-loser John had been the truth. Cats do roam free all over the school. They often followed “their” kid to class. Nala, in particular, liked to find me several times a day. She’d insist I scratch her head, complain a little at me, and then take off and go do whatever cats did with their free time. (Plot world domination?)

  “Do you need help with her?” the media specialist asked. I had only met her briefly during my orientation week, but I remembered her name was Sappho. (Uh, she wasn’t the real Sappho—that vampyre poet had died like a thousand years ago—right now we were studying her work in Lit class.)

  “No, Sappho, but thank you. Nala doesn’t really like anyone except me.”

  Sappho, a tiny dark-haired vamp whose tattoos were elaborate symbols Damien had told me were Greek alphabet glyphs, smiled fondly at Nala. “Cats are such wonderfully interesting creatures, don’t you think?”

  I moved Nala to my other shoulder and she grumbled in my ear. “They’re definitely not dogs,” I said.

  “Thank the Goddess for that!”

  “Do you mind if I use one of the computers?” The media center was lined with row after row of books—thousands of them—but it also had a very cool, up-to-date computer lab.

  “Of course, make yourself at home and feel free to call on me if you can’t find what you need.”

  “Thanks.”

  I picked a computer that sat on a nice big desk and clicked into the Internet. This was something else that was way different than my old school. Here there were no passwords and no Internet filtering program that restricted sites. Here students were expected to show some sense and act right—and if they didn’t it’s not like the vamps, who were almost impossible to lie to, wouldn’t find out. Just thinking about trying to lie to Neferet made my stomach hurt.

  Focus and stop messing around. This is important.

  Okay, so an idea had been milling around in my head. It was time to see if there was anything to it. I pulled up Google and typed in “private preparatory schools.” Zillions came up. I started narrowing. I wanted exclusive and upper class (none of those stupid “alternative academies” that were really just holding pens for future criminals—ugh). I also wanted old schools, ones that had been around for generations. I was looking for something that had passed the test of time.

  I easily found Chatham Hall, which was the school Aphrodite’s parents had thrown in her face. It was an exclusive East Coast prep school and, man, did it look stuck-up. I clicked out. Any place Aphrodite’s freak parents approved of would not be something I wanted to use as a role model. I kept searching . . .
Exeter . . . Andover . . . Taft . . . Miss Porter’s (really—hee hee—that’s the school’s name) . . . Kent . . .

  “Kent. I’ve heard that name before,” I told Nala, who had curled up on top of the desk so that she could watch me sleepily. I clicked into it. “It’s in Connecticut—that’s why it’s familiar. This is where Shaunee had been going when she was Marked.” I browsed through the site, curious to see where Shaunee had spent the first part of her freshman (or third former) year. It was a pretty school—there was no denying that. Stuck-up, sure, but there was something about it that seemed more welcoming than the other prep schools. Maybe it was just because I knew Shaunee. I kept going through the site—and suddenly sat up straighter. “This is it,” I muttered to myself. “This is the kind of stuff I need.”

  I pulled out my pen and notebook paper and got busy taking notes. Lots of notes.

  If Nala hadn’t hissed a warning, I would have jumped out of my skin when a deep voice spoke behind me.

  “You look completely engrossed in that.”

  I glanced over my shoulder—and froze. Ohmygod.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It was just so unusual to see a student writing feverishly in longhand, rather than pecking away at the computer keys, that I thought you might be writing poetry. You see, I prefer to write poetry longhand. The computer is just too impersonal.”

  Stop being such a moron! Speak to him! My mind screamed at me. “I—uh—I’m not writing poetry.” God, that was brilliant.

  “Oh, well. Doesn’t hurt to check. Nice talking with you.”

  He smiled and started to turn away and my mouth finally managed to work a little more correctly. “Uh, I think computers are impersonal, too. I’ve never really written poetry, but when I write something that’s important to me I like to do it like this.” Totally dorklike, I held up my pen.