Bloodlines b-1

by Richelle Mead

  Jill wasn’t in our room when I returned, but a note informed me she was studying elsewhere in the dorm. The only bright part of her punishment was that it limited where she could be at any time. I decided to use this opportunity to go make Ms. Terwilliger’s crazy amulet. I’d accrued most of the necessary ingredients, and along with compliance from the biology teacher, Ms. Terwilliger had secured me access to one of the chemistry labs. No one was there this time of night, and it gave me plenty of space and quiet to mix up the concoction.

  As we’d noted, the instructions were extremely detailed and—in my opinion—superfluous. It wasn’t enough to just measure out the nettle leaves. The instructions called for them “to rest for an hour,” during which time I was supposed to say to them, “into thee, flame I imbue” every ten minutes. I also had to boil the agate stone “to infuse it with heat.” The rest of the instructions were similar, and I knew there was no way Ms. Terwilliger would actually know if I followed everything to the letter—particularly the chants. Still, the whole purpose of this stunt was to report on what it was like to be an ancient practitioner. So, I followed everything dutifully and concentrated so hard on performing every step perfectly that I soon fell into a lull where nothing existed except the spell.

  I finished over two hours later and was surprised at how exhausted I felt. The final result certainly didn’t seem to justify all the energy I’d expended. I was left with a leather cord from which hung a silk pouch filled with leaves and rocks. I carted it and my notes back to my dorm room, intending to write up my report for Ms. Terwilliger so that I could put this assignment behind me. When I reached my room, I gasped when I saw the door. Someone had taken red paint and drawn bats and fanged faces all over it. Scrawled across the front, in big blocky letters, were the words

  VAMP GIRL

  Full of panic, I burst into the room. Jill was there—along with Mrs. Weathers and another teacher I didn’t know. They were going through all of our things. I stared in disbelief.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Jill shook her head, face mortified, and couldn’t answer. I’d apparently arrived at the end of the search because Mrs. Weathers and her associate soon finished up and walked to the door. I was glad I’d taken my Alchemist supplies with me to the lab tonight. The kit contained a few measuring tools I had thought I might need. I certainly didn’t want to explain why I owned a collection of chemicals to dorm authorities.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Weathers sternly. “There doesn’t appear to be anything here, but I may do another spot check later—so don’t get any ideas. You’re already in enough trouble without adding yet another charge to it.” She sighed and shook her head at Jill. “I’m very disappointed in you, Miss Melrose.”

  Jill blanched. “I’m telling you, it’s all a mistake!”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Mrs. Weathers ominously. “Let’s hope so. I’ve half a mind to make you clean up that vandalism outside, but in light of no hard proof . . . well, we’ll have the janitors take care of it tomorrow.”

  Once our visitors were gone, I immediately demanded, “What happened?”

  Jill collapsed backward onto her bed and groaned. “Laurel happened.”

  I sat down. “Explain.”

  “Well, I called the library to see if they had those yearbooks in—the ones about Kelly Hayes? Turns out they do normally have them, but they’ve all been checked out by the newspaper staff for some Amberwood anniversary edition. And you’ll never believe who’s heading that project: Laurel.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I never would have guessed that. Isn’t she in Freshman English?” Laurel was a senior.

  “Yup.”

  “I guess everyone needs an activity,” I muttered.

  Jill nodded. “Anyway, Miss Yamani was in the building, so I went to ask her about joining the sewing club and working for Lia. She was really excited and said she’d make it happen.”

  “Well, that’s something,” I said cautiously, still unsure how this was leading up to vandalism and a search of our room.

  “As I was coming back, I passed Laurel in the hall. I decided to take a chance . . . I approached her and said look, I know we’ve had our differences but I could really use some help. Then I explained that I needed the yearbooks and asked if I could borrow them just for the night and that I’d get them back to her right away.”

  To this, I said nothing. It was certainly a noble and brave thing for Jill to do, particularly after I’d encouraged her to be better than Laurel. Unfortunately, I didn’t think Laurel would reciprocate the adult behavior. I was right.

  “She told me in . . . well, very explicit terms that I’d never get those yearbooks.” Jill scowled. “She told me a few other things too. Then I, um, called her a raving bitch. I probably shouldn’t have, but, well, she deserved it! Anyway, she went to Mrs. Weathers with a bottle of . . . I don’t know. I think it was raspberry schnapps. She claimed I sold it to her and had more in my room. Mrs. Weathers couldn’t punish me without harder evidence, but after Ms. Chang’s hangover accusation on the first day, Mrs. Weathers decided that was enough for a room search.”

  I shook my head in disbelief, anger growing within my chest. “For such an elite, prestigious place, this school sure is quick to jump on any accusations that come up! I mean, they believe anything anyone says about you. And where did the paint outside come from?”

  Tears of frustration glinted in her eyes. “Oh, Laurel, of course. Or, well, one of her friends. It happened while Laurel was talking to Mrs. Weathers, so of course she’s got an alibi. You don’t think . . . you don’t think anyone’s on to anything, do you? You said before it’s just a mean joke . . . and humans don’t even believe in us . . . right?”

  “Right,” I said automatically.

  But I was beginning to wonder. Ever since that phone call with my father, when he’d mentioned that there were humans who suspected and wouldn’t be silenced, I’d wondered if I’d been too quick to dismiss Laurel’s teasing. Had she simply found a cruel joke to run with? Or was she one of those humans who suspected about the vampire world and might make a lot of noise about it? I doubted anyone would believe her, but we couldn’t risk attracting attention from someone who would.

  Is it possible she really thinks Jill is a vampire?

  Jill’s forlorn expression turned angry. “Maybe I should do something about Laurel. There are other ways to get back at her besides freezing water.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Don’t lower yourself to that. Revenge is petty, and you’re better than that.” Plus, I thought, any more supernatural activity, and Laurel might realize her taunts have more backing than she originally thought.

  Jill gave me a sad smile. “You keep saying that. But don’t you think something needs to be done about Laurel?”

  Oh yes. I definitely did. This had gone too far, and I’d been wrong to let it slide. Jill was right that there were other ways to get back at someone. And I was right that revenge was petty and nothing that Jill should sully herself with. That was why I was going to do it.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I told her. “I—I’ll have the Alchemists issue a complaint from our parents.”

  She looked dubious. “You think that’ll fix things?”

  “Positive,” I said. Because that complaint was going to pack an extra punch. A glance at the time told me it was too late to go back to the lab. No problem. I simply set my alarm extra early, with the intent to get up and head back there before classes started.

  I had one more experiment in my future, and Laurel was going to be my guinea pig.

  CHAPTER 21

  MIXING WHAT I NEEDED TO was easy. Getting it to where I needed took a couple of days. I first had to pay attention to what kind of shampoo Laurel used in the PE showers. The school provided shampoo and conditioner, of course, but she wouldn’t trust her precious hair with anything so commonplace. Once I knew her brand, I hunted it down at a local beauty supply store and emptied its expensive co
ntents down the drain. I filled bottles with my homemade concoction instead.

  The next step was switching it with Laurel’s own bottle. I recruited Kristin for this. Her locker was next to Laurel’s in PE, and she was more than willing to help me out. Part of it was that she shared our dislike of Laurel. But also, ever since I’d saved her from the tattoo reaction, Kristin had made it clear that she was indebted to me and had my back in whatever I needed. I didn’t like the idea of her owing me, but her assistance did come in handy. She found a moment when Laurel looked away from her unlocked locker and covertly made the switch. We then simply had to wait for the next time Laurel used the shampoo to see the results of my handiwork.

  Meanwhile, my other lab experiment wasn’t receiving quite the reaction I’d expected. Ms. Terwilliger accepted my report but not the amulet.

  “I have no use for it,” she remarked, glancing up from the papers I’d handed her.

  “Well . . . I certainly don’t either, ma’am.”

  She set the papers down. “This is all true? You followed every step precisely? I’d certainly have no way of knowing if you’d, ah, fudged some of the details.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I followed every step.”

  “Well, then. It looks like you have yourself a fire-making charm.”

  “Ma’am,” I said, by way of protest.

  She grinned. “What do the directions say? Throw it and recite the last incantation? Do you know it?”

  ‘“Into flame, into flame,’” I said promptly. After having typed the spell initially for her notes and then re-creating it, it was hard not to have picked it all up. According to the book—which was an English translation of a Latin text—the language didn’t matter so long as the words’ meaning was clear.

  “Well, there you go. Give it a try one of these days and see what happens. Just don’t light any school property on fire. Because that’s not safe.”

  I held up the amulet by the string. “But this isn’t real. This is nonsense. It’s a bunch of junk thrown together in a bag.”

  She shrugged. “Who are we to question the ancients?”

  I stared, trying to figure out if she was joking. I’d known she was eccentric from day one, but she’d still always come across as a serious scholar. “You can’t believe that. Magic like this . . . it’s not real.” Without thinking, I added, “Even if it was, ma’am, it’s not for humans to mess around with powers like that.”

  Ms. Terwilliger was silent for several moments. “You truly believe that?”

  I fingered the cross around my neck. “It’s how I was raised.”

  “Understood. Well, then, you may do what you like with the amulet. Throw it away, donate it, experiment with it. Regardless, this report’s what I need for my book. Thank you for putting in the time—as always, you’ve done more than was required.”

  I put the amulet in my purse when I left, not really sure what to do. It was useless . . . and yet, it had also cost me a lot of time. I was disappointed it wasn’t going to have a more meaningful purpose in her research. All that effort gone to waste.

  The last of my projects showed development the next day, however. In AP Chemistry, Greg Slade and some of his friends scurried into class just as the bell rang. Our teacher gave them a warning look, but they didn’t even notice. Slade was preening over his eagle tattoo, baring it for everyone to see. The ink was gleaming silver again. Next to him, one of his friends was also proudly showing off another silver tattoo. It was a pair of stylized crossed daggers, which was only slightly less tacky than the eagle. This was the same friend who had been worrying earlier this week that he wouldn’t be able to get a tattoo. Apparently, things had worked out with the supplier. Interesting. Part of holding off on reporting to the Alchemists had been to see if Nevermore would replenish what I’d stolen.

  “It’s amazing,” Slade’s friend said. “The rush.”

  “I know.” Slade gave him a fist bump. “Just in time for tomorrow.”

  Trey was watching them, his expression dark. “What’s tomorrow?” I whispered to him.

  He eyed them contemptuously for a few more moments before turning back to me. “Do you live under a rock? It’s our first home game.”

  “Of course,” I said. My high school experience wouldn’t be complete without the quintessential football hype.

  “A lot of good it’ll do me,” he muttered.

  “Your bandages are off,” I pointed out.

  “Yeah, but Coach is still making me take it easy. Plus, I’m kind of deadweight now.” He nodded toward Slade and his friend. “How come they don’t get in trouble for those? They’re not making any effort to hide them. This school has no discipline anymore. We’re practically in anarchy.”

  I smiled. “Practically.”

  “Your brother should be on the team, you know. I’ve seen him in PE. He could be a star athlete if he bothered trying out for anything.”

  “He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself,” I explained. “But he’ll probably go watch the game.”

  “Are you going to go to the game?”

  “Probably not.”

  Trey arched an eyebrow. “Hot date?”

  “No! But I’m just . . . well, not into watching sports. And I feel like I should stay with Jill.”

  “You won’t even go to cheer me on?”

  “You don’t need my cheers.”

  Trey gave me a disappointed look as a response. “Maybe it’s just as well,” he said. “Since you really wouldn’t get to see me performing to my full level of awesomeness.”

  “That is a shame,” I agreed.

  “Oh, stop with the sarcasm already.” He sighed. “My dad’s going to be the most upset. There are family expectations.”

  Well, that was something I could relate to. “Is he a football player too?”

  “Nah, it’s less about football itself than keeping yourself in peak physical shape. Excelling. Ready to be called upon in a moment’s notice. Being the best on the team’s been a way to keep him proud—until these tattoos started.”

  “You’re good without any tattoo help. He should still be proud,” I said.

  “You don’t know my father.”

  “No, but I think I know someone just like him.” I smiled. “You know, maybe I do need to go to a football game after all.”

  Trey simply smiled back, and class started.

  The day passed calmly, but Jill ran up to me as soon as I entered the locker room for PE.

  “I heard from Lia! She asked if I could come by tonight. She’s had regular practices with the other models but thought I could use a special session of my own since I don’t have any experience. Of course, the thing is, I . . . you know, need a ride. Do you think . . . I mean, could you . . .”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s what I’m here for.”

  “Thank you, Sydney!” She threw her arms around me, much to my astonishment. “I know you don’t have any reason to help me after everything I’ve done, but—”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine,” I said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. I took a steadying breath. Think of it as Jill hugging me. Not as a vampire hugging me. “I’m glad to help.”

  “Would you two like to be alone?” sneered Laurel, striding in with her entourage. “I always knew there was something weird about your family.”

  Jill and I split apart, and she blushed, which only made them laugh more. “God, I hate them,” she said when they were out of earshot. “I really want to get them back.”

  “Patience,” I murmured. “They’ll get what’s coming to them someday.” Eyeing Laurel’s locker, I thought that “someday” might come sooner rather than later.

  Jill shook her head in amazement. “I don’t know how you can be so forgiving, Sydney. Everything just rolls right off of you.”

  I smiled, wondering what Jill would think if she knew the truth—that I wasn’t quite as “forgiving” as I appeared. And not just when it came to Laurel. If Jill wanted to think of me that
way, so be it. Of course, my facade as a kindly, turn-the-other-cheek person was shattered when Laurel’s shriek’s filled the locker room at the end of class an hour later.

  It was almost a repeat of the ice incident. Laurel came tearing out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. She ran to the mirror in horror, holding her hair up to it.

  “What’s wrong?” asked one of her friends.

  “Can’t you see it?” cried Laurel. “There’s something wrong . . . it doesn’t feel right. It’s oil . . . or I don’t know!” She took out a blow dryer and dried a section while the rest of us watched with interest. After a few minutes, the long strands were dry, but it was hard to tell. It really was like her hair was coated in oil or grease, like she hadn’t washed it in weeks. That normally gleaming, bouncy hair now hung in lank, ugly coils. The color was also off a little. The bright, flaming red now had a sickly yellow hue.

  “It smells weird too,” she exclaimed.

  “Wash it again,” suggested another friend.

  Laurel did that, but it wasn’t going to help. Even when she figured out that her shampoo was causing the problem, the stuff I’d made wasn’t going to come out of her hair easily. Water would continue fueling the reaction, and it was going to take many, many scrubbings before she fixed the problem.

  Jill gave me astonished look. “Sydney?” she whispered, a million questions in my name.

  “Patience,” I assured her. “This is just the first act.”

  That evening, I drove Jill down to Lia DiStefano’s boutique. Eddie went with us, of course. Lia was only a few years older than me and nearly a foot shorter. Despite her tiny size, there was something big and forceful about her personality as she confronted us. The shop was filled with elegant gowns and dresses, though she herself was dressed ultra-casual, in ripped jeans and an oversized peasant blouse. She flipped on the closed sign on her door and then confronted us with hands on her hips.