by Tamsin Baker
“Perfect.” Normally I hated anyone else ordering for me, but I damped down a sarcastic retort. Luckily, I wanted a cinnamon roll. Besides I couldn’t wait to find out what she thought she knew about Tilly, Ben, Nic, the Graviers, and as the old adage says—you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. I smiled back as my stomach rumbled. “I’ve just realized how hungry I am.”
We both sat and a blonde, blue-eyed waitress served our food with a lovely smile. “Good morning, Ms. Thompson.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
I smiled back, though I could not recall the girl’s name. Faith, perhaps? Yes, Faith from my grade twelve Literature and Composition class. So far, she’d sat at the front of the room and listened earnestly. Poor thing blushed pink when I’d addressed a question to her. She was in my study hall too, and seemed bright and eager. Lost in thought about how I could help Faith, I almost forgot about Imogen. I let out a sigh. Hopefully I’d get more than a handful of the pupils genuinely interested in both writing and reading.
“A thoughtful sigh, my dear.” Imogen broke off a small piece of cinnamon roll and popped it into her mouth.
I did the same, though I admit my piece was larger. Light and silky soft, I savored the buttery after-taste almost hidden by a cinnamon explosion. I even managed to take a bite without getting an icing moustache. “Just thinking about my curriculum and students.”
“Getting to know the students at a new school is always interesting.” She watched my face, as if trying to read me.
“Do you teach, Imogen?”
She dabbed a napkin to her mouth and laughed. “Indeed, no. My charity and board work keeps me busy.”
Figured. I’d pegged her for the kind of woman who poked her manicured fingers into everything happening in Dogwood Grove. The murmur of voices and laughter surrounded our silent table. A compilation of indie folk music bubbled in the background. It seemed a good choice of location for what might be a fascinating conversation. We ate and drank in silence for a few moments. Neither of us seemed prepared to make much small talk. Would she answer direct questions or clam up?
“At the ballet class, you said I need information.”
Imogen’s gaze followed Faith as she moved from table to table, refreshing glasses of water. When she snapped her gaze back to me all traces of a smile left her face. “Straight to the point. Like Tilly. Let’s get down to business. I fear your students may be involved in something they do not understand.”
I blinked rapidly. Suddenly my head filled with images of impressionable eighteen-year-old school-girls and sexy-as-hell vampires coming together in a decadent mélange from which the girls could lose more than their reputations. Reading Tilly’s journals had obviously penetrated my thoughts more than I realized. Speaking of sexy-as-hell vampires, the memory of kissing Nic lifted my pulse.
Imogen pursed her lips as if she could read my mind. More likely my face. I’d never been any good at poker and I’m sure my cheeks positively glowed. She grabbed her purse. “I’ll get us another coffee.”
I didn’t really need a third coffee before noon, but I couldn’t leave now. I had to find out what the hell was going on in this town. What was going on with me. I let my eyes drift shut and rubbed at my temples while Imogen waited at the ordering counter.
“Dogwood Grove is an unusual place.” Imogen’s clipped tone dragged my attention back to the café. She sat, leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I trust you are as open-minded and your views are as moderate as Tilly’s?”
“My views on what?”
Imogen made a small movement with her eyebrows. We both leaned back, silent again, as Faith delivered the coffees.
“I hear you met Nic Gravier Friday evening.”
My eyebrow lift creased my unbotoxed forehead. How could she possibly know? I’d told no one? “No. I met the sheriff, though.”
“I heard that too.”
“What’s going on?” The back of my neck tightened.
“Not much escapes my notice in this town. Nothing of importance.”
I folded my arms across my chest, the tightness spreading across my shoulders. At least she didn’t know about Nic Gravier in my basement this morning. Perhaps she didn’t know about the tunnel. “Why is my Friday night important to you?”
“Ben and Tilly kept the Graviers in check. With Tilly gone, the family,” Imogen stroked her throat and leaned forward again, “let’s say they have expanded their operations.”
Annoyance changed to anger. I grabbed my purse from the floor. “Imogen, I don’t have the patience for this. Speak clearly, or I’m done.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her expression and body language showed as much irritation as chafed in my chest. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
I bristled at her tone. “Then tell me what my students are getting involved in, and what you meant by moderate views like Tilly’s.”
“Ben told you about Tilly’s journals?”
“Yes.”
“Read them yet?”
“Some.” I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but probably gave off more of a spooked squirrel vibe. “The makings of a great fantasy series so far.”
Imogen shook her head. “The truth is sometimes more fantastical, and I’ll hedge a bet you know it. The man in your garden on Friday night, Nic Gravier, is the eldest son and heir apparent to the family fortune.”
It sounded like Imogen knew about the first incident I reported to the police, but maybe not my two separate conversations with him. Perhaps the sheriff told her, but I couldn’t figure out why and I wasn’t about to tip her off. “Why on earth was Nic in the bottom of my garden on Friday night?”
“Checking out the new teacher and Tilly’s successor, I suspect.”
I grabbed my purse again. “I agree it’s creepy, but—”
“He’s a vampire.” Imogen bent closer to the table and muttered quietly. “The Gravier family were amongst the first settlers here. They moved from Canada when the trails first opened.”
My guess was right. He didn’t look anything like my mental image of a vampire. He wasn’t pale and wan, with yellow eyes, skeletal fingers and sharp nails. He laughed and smiled with sincerity, or at least it looked like sincerity to me. And man, he could kiss. Imogen watched my face expectantly. If she’d expected a shocked reaction to her statement, then she was disappointed. And how did she know?
“So were your family.” I glanced on either side to make sure no one listened in to our conversation. “Are you a vampire too?”
“Of course not. I’m out in the middle of a sunny day, am I not? And I’m not a dhampir like you.”
I almost blurted out “how do you know,” but I stopped myself from yelling the question at her. My non-existent poker face must have given my emotions away.
Imogen waved her hand, as if to dismiss my concerns. “Tilly and I talked. I know she left her lovely home to you because she expected you to follow her path.” She tapped the side of her nose. “I keep a watch over my town.”
“And over my students?”
She shrugged, as if that was obvious. “My nephew, Jake, is in your class. Our young are our future, Louisa, and I know you share that view. The Graviers are usually careful. Good citizens, in fact.”
I suddenly remembered reading about the latest Gravier commercial enterprise. “They own the new hematology research lab and pay students for donating blood.” I felt the color drain from my cheeks as the implications hit me.
Imogen nodded emphatically. “Now you get it. It is a real research lab—I always give credit where it is due—and the family is trying to create a synthetic blood that tastes like the real thing and will sustain their kind. Naturally, they take much more blood than they need for the research.”
I leaned forward, my voice low. “You mean they drink it?”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t bathe in it.” Imogen quirked an eyebrow and smirked.
“That’s good, isn’t it? It means they and their kind.” I lo
wered my voice again. “They aren’t biting random humans, at least.”
“I don’t care about a snack taken here and there.” Imogen pulled a face at me. “And neither should you. Nic also holds frequent parties at the Gravier mansion. Special parties, if you get my drift.”
Not for the first time I wished Imogen would talk straight. “Special, how?”
She grimaced and pressed two fingers on her jugular.
“Oh.” I couldn’t help laughing. “Snacking parties. That you approve of?”
“Indeed. Not our concern. Nic and his staff make sure it’s consensual. However, a number of your students attend those parties.” Imogen pursed her lips. “The Graviers are careful to include only the girls over eighteen. Still, girls can be so impulsive at that age.”
Impulsive at my age too, if my sudden move to Dogwood Grove meant anything. Images of my female students, naive eighteen-year old schoolgirls who thought they knew everything, and sexy-as-hell vampires partying together returned to my mind. This time I imagined one of my students locking lips with Nic. My stomach hardened, and if my skin could have turned green, it would have. I almost coughed up my coffee. After one steamy kiss, I didn’t have any right to jealous thoughts.
“I fear things may spiral out of control,” Imogen continued, oblivious to the green monster battling my common sense. “They respected Tilly. She and Ben worked together to make sure the Gravier family kept their friends on short leashes.”
She’d gestured quote marks with her fingers when she said the word friends.
I was lost again and shook my head. “Their friends?”
“I trust the Graviers.” Imogen wrinkled her nose. “Mostly. But even before Tilly passed, the problem was worsening and after her death the number of nests in the area doubled. One simply cannot trust all the...” She coughed delicately as a large family settled at the table next to us. “Special people who start and settle in those establishments. When you speak with Nic Gravier, ask him how he deals with leeches. That’s what he calls the rogues who refuse to behave.”
Clarity, finally. She was worried about uncontrolled vampire nests setting up in the area. Now I knew what Tilly meant when she referred to controlling the leech problem—it was nothing to do with the slimy black things that inhabited shallow ponds and attached themselves to your wading boots.
“What brings them here?
“The sun, or lack of it, in our case. Old vamps like Nic aren’t susceptible to daylight, but the youths in his community can’t handle it at all.
“Aren’t the Graviers successful in controlling the rogue vamps? Especially the newbies.”
She pursed her lips. “I daresay they try. But they aim to balance their own politics alongside our safety, and sometimes accidents happen.”
The word “accidents” was in air quotes and we were back to me guessing again.
“I can’t stay, but this has been a pleasure. Must do it again soon.” She draped her exquisite jacket over her shoulders and stood as I murmured my agreement. She handed me a gilt-edged business card. “Contact me if you need to, my dear.”
We air kissed, she left, and I slumped back into my seat. I rubbed at the spot between my eyes. All I wanted was a new start, a great job, and a quiet life in the country. Instead, I’d landed in the middle of a fantasy novel and it looked like both Imogen and Ben expected me to step into Tilly’s kick-ass vampire-hunting boots.
Thank the heavens it sounded like no one expected me to hunt and harm Nic Gravier. Hunt him maybe, but not to cause him harm. My lips quirked as I imagined what I might do if I captured him. I quickly sobered. I had no idea what he wanted with me. With his looks and money, he could have anyone, including his pick of the women who attended his parties. In his own words, if I accepted him, we would make a formidable team.
There were quite a few things I’d like to do with the gorgeous Nic Gravier. I blew out a breath as I shrugged into my coat. Knowing my luck, Ben was yet to tell me about a firm rule against vampire and vampire-hunter relationships. And wouldn’t that suck big time!
#
Monday morning came too quickly. The sheriff, Tilly’s journals, Nic and Imogen, paled in comparison to my first test as a teacher in my new role. I woke at four am with my stomach churning and my brain imagining everything that could go wrong in my first real lesson this school year. I must have fallen back to a fitful sleep because Snuggles woke me—as he always did with a soft paw to my nose and a meow in my ear—when I hit the snooze button on my alarm at seven am.
Three hours later, I sat at the front of the classroom waiting for my year twelve students to drift in and take their seats at the long white tables arranged in a curved u-shape. Faith arrived first, sat at the front of the room and gave me a shy smile. Veronica, a conventionally pretty girl who wore far too much make up for the classroom, strode to the back of the room with two clone-like acolytes hurrying in her wake. She reminded me of the queen bee from my own school days and I gave a silent thank you to whoever implemented the uniform requirement. With everyone wearing mix and match combinations of coordinated prep-wear at this school, clothing distractions should be avoided. I’d seen more than enough clothing bullying and cruel judgments about what others wore at my last school.
I re-read the notes I’d prepared last week. The first semester theme, the development of European horror literature, was set before I’d arrived. I’d looked forward to it until the last few days threw me into a whirlwind of real-life trepidation. I’d read my fill of vampire stories, from pure horror to paranormal fluff, but I never imagined I’d hear that vampires lived in plain sight amongst us. I practiced calming breaths and shook out my tingling arms. Everything would be fine. Teaching was my passion.
A dignified cough at the door startled me.
“Louisa.” Penelope Merryweather, the always poised headmistress, stood with her hands clasped at her waist and a small smile gracing her face. “I will join your class this morning and observe from the corner. Please just ignore me.”
I held in the groan that fought to escape my mouth as she settled into the wing back chair in the corner. Now I knew who the chair was for, I didn’t like it one little bit. Three boys swaggered into the classroom behind her. The trio spent our first meet and greet lesson last week leering and behaving like caricatures of a high school jock. I’d met a few at my last school, seniors bent on getting an athletic scholarship, convinced their athletic skill would help them score big in life. I added another prayer for payback in the form of all three ending up serving fries or selling funeral insurance over the phone. At this moment though, they were kings.
“Boys.” I found my teacher tone from somewhere deep inside. “You’re late. Sit quickly and quietly, or I will assign you additional compulsory homework.”
The leader, Jake Williams, groaned and looked like he would argue until he noticed the headmistress in the corner. The boys did as I asked and my twenty-four students gazed at me.
“Let us begin by welcoming our school headmistress, Ms. Merryweather.”
The class mumbled a good morning.
I walked to the front of my desk, gripped the solid, carved edge and leaned back against it. “I’m sure everyone received the reading list for this semester.” I glanced around the room, everyone nodding or murmuring yes.
“Excellent. I hope you’ve made a start on the recommended books.”
Faith raised her hand. “Did you choose the required reading? I need to save for the books.”
“The theme was set before I arrived but I get to choose the set texts. If you don’t want to download or buy the books, there are sufficient copies in the excellent library.”
I turned to the electronic whiteboard and connected to my notes. “In this semester, we will study the development of the horror genre in European literature, discuss what this genre teaches us about society, and we will watch two movies and discuss differences in the alternative interpretations.”
Faith raised her hand again. “W
ill you send us these notes by email after class?”
“Of course. No need to rewrite what’s written on the board.” I gave her a quick smile and flipped to the next page. A snicker of giggles greeted me. I raised my brow and directed a firm glance at the grinning students. Not that I minded some humor in class, but not with Ms. Merryweather taking everything in.
“I’ve chosen three popular novels spanning two hundred years. Mary Shelly’s 1818 work, Frankenstein, generally accepted as the book that launched the genre. Bram Stoker’s 1897 classic, Dracula. And John Lindquist’s 2008, Let the Right One In. Your homework will include watching and analyzing two movies. The 1935 James Whale horror classic, Bride of Frankenstein, and the 1974 box office comedy-horror smash, Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein.”
“Why do we have to watch such old movies?” Hands in his blazer pockets, Jake stretched his long legs out and leaned back in his chair.
He’d mastered a look of bored indifference, the same entitled tone as Imogen, and even managed a sly yawn.
I was ready for the question and the indifference. “It’s important to read books in the light of their historical setting, and it’s informative to identify differences and compare the alternative interpretations across generations.”
“What’s the matter, Jake? Worried there might be more dialogue than explosions in the old movies?” The kid next to Faith glared at him before giggling.
“Piss off.” Jake whispered the words, but his tone held a hint of menace.
“And that deserves a double dose of homework. See me after class.” I held his stare, paced to him and slapped the handouts I’d pre-prepared in front of him. “Hand those around, please, Jake.”
He shuffled to his feet and took his sweet time about organizing the papers. I waited until everyone had a copy, Veronica handed a sheet to Ms. Merryweather with a simper.
“Your comprehension homework is already online. This is a practice comprehension test. You can answer on paper or online and should have enough time to complete answers to all of the questions before our lesson ends. Regardless of how much you have finished, submit your class work before you leave.”
