Corsets and Crossbows: A Drake Chronicles Novella in Letters

by Alyxandra Harvey

  “Blue light over here,” someone called out from the other side

  of the common room.

  Spencer groaned. “So it’s a speed drill?”

  “Looks like,” I agreed.

  We followed the rest of the students heading down the hall to the basement door. Good thing it wasn’t a stealth test, since it sounded like a herd of elephants thundering down the stairs.

  “I hate this hole,” Chloe said as we reached the damp basement.

  She shook her phone. “Nothing ever works down here.”

  “I think that’s the point.”

  “Well, it’s stupid. This whole school’s stupid.”

  Spencer and I just rolled our eyes at each other. Being deprived of Internet access always set Chloe into a snit. It was her forte, after all, and she hated not coming in first.

  The trapdoor leading into the secret tunnel was already open.

  There were sounds of fighting up ahead and very little light. The objective was to get through the tunnel, up a ladder, and onto the lawn. No one elbowed or tripped each other; it was too early in the year. Come midterms and exams there’d be insurrections and mutinies down here.

  I heard a squeak from behind us and whirled toward the sound, reaching for the stake at my belt. There was always a stake at my belt. Grandpa never asked me the usual questions growing up like, “Did you brush your teeth?” and “Have you eaten any vegetables today?” It was always, “Got your stake?”

  But I wasn’t dealing with a vampire or a training dummy. Just a ninth-grade student who was pressed against the wall, crying. She looked about thirteen and there was blood on her nose.

  “Hunter, are you coming or what?” Spencer asked.

  “I'll catch up,” I waved them ahead and ducked under one of the rigged dummies that swung from the ceiling, shrieking. The girl cried harder, trembling.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I said as she stared at me. “I’m Hunter. What’s your name?”

  “L-Lia,” she stuttered. Her glasses were foggy from the combination of tears and damp underground air.

  “Is this your first day?”

  She nodded mutely.

  “Well, don’t worry, Lia, it gets better. Where’s your floor monitor?” I asked her. She was way too young to be dealing with this. I couldn’t believe her floor monitor hadn’t bothered to keep an eye on her. When I found out who she was, I was so going to give her an earfuL

  “I don’t know.” Her stake was lying useless at her feet. “I want to go home.”

  “I know. Let’s just get out of here first, okay?”

  “Okay.” She pushed away from the wall and then jumped a foot in the air when a bloodcurdling shriek ululated down the hall, followed by eerie hissing.

  “Never mind that,” I told her. “They add all the sound effects to train you not to get distracted. You read about it in the handbook, right?”

  She swallowed. “Yeah. It’s worse than I thought.”

  “You get used to it. Look, we need to run down this hall toward the ladder and climb up to get outside. There’s going to be dummies swinging at you with red lights over their hearts. Just aim your stake at the light, okay? Think of it like one of those Halloween haunted houses.”

  “I hate those,” she said, but sounded annoyed now, not nearly as scared. She scooped up her stake, holding it so tightly her knuckles must have hurt.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Go!”

  I took the lead so she wouldn’t panic again. The first “vampire” came at me from the left and I aimed for the red light. The second came from the right; the third and fourth dropped from the ceiling together. I let one get away to give Lia a chance to stab at it. It was nothing if not a good way to release frustration. It caught her in the shoulder but she managed to jab the red light.

  “I got one!” She squealed. “Did you sed”

  “Behind you,” I yelled, throwing my stake to catch the one swinging from behind her. The red light blinked out and the dummy came to a sudden stop, inches away from Lia’s already sore nose.

  “Okay, that was cool,” she squeaked, apparently over her little meltdown. The adrenaline was doing its work—I could see it in the tremble of her fingers and the slightly manic gleam in her eyes. It was better than panic.

  “Nearly there,” I told her over another recording of a grating shriek. “Go, go, go!”

  We ran as fast as we could.

  'Jump that one.” I leaped over a dummy crawling out of a trapdoor. The tunnel was empty of other students but I could see a faint light up ahead. “Nearly there.”

  When we reached the ladder I pushed her in front of me. She scrambled up like a monkey. She had good balance if nothing else.

  I was the last one out.

  Two teachers and all of the students waited in a clump, watching for us. Lia’s face was streaked with dirt and dried tears and her lip was swollen, but at least she was smiling.

  “Well, well, Miss Wild.” Mr. York held up his stopwatch with the most condescending sneer he could muster. “Apparently you've gotten rusty over the summer. What will your grandfather say to hear a Wild came in dead last?” He was enjoying this way too much. It was no secret that Mr. York hated my family, and Grandpa in particular. He’d been on my case since my first day at the academy. Chloe pulled a hideous grimace behind his back.

  “It’s my f-fault, sir,” Lia stammered. “Hunter stopped to help

  me out.”

  “Did she now? Well, admirable as that may be, this is a speed test.” He made a mark on his clipboard.

  I really wanted to stake that clipboard.

  “I hardly think Hunter should be penalized for showing group loyalty,” Ms. Dailey interrupted. “We are teaching them loyalty and courage, aren’t we? As well as speed?”

  “Be that as it may, this test is timed. Rules are rules.”

  “Her floor monitor should have been looking out for her,” I muttered.

  “What was that, Miss Wild?” Mr. York asked.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “I distinctly heard something, Miss Wild. Students, quiet down please. Miss Wild is having trouble being heard.”

  God, he was a pain in my ass.

  “I was only wondering where her floor monitor was.” First day and I was getting reamed out for helping someone. This just sucked.

  He frowned at his clipboard. “Courtney Jones.”

  I had to stifle a groan. Of course it would be Courtney. We’d been roommates in tenth grade and frankly, I don’t think either of us was over it yet. To say we didn’t get along and had nothing in common was a gross understatement. She was so in league with the nasty swan.

  Courtney stepped forward, smiling winningly. “Yes, Mr.

  York?”

  Kiss-ass.

  “Is this student on your floor?”

  “Yes, Mr. York.”

  “And did you leave her behind?”

  “No, Mr. York.” She sounded stunned and deeply grieved. Mr.

  York, of course, totally fell for it. At least Ms. Dailey pursed her lips. It was a small victory but the only one I was probably going to get. “Lia was right behind me, sir. She told me she was fine.”

  Lia was blinking like a fish suddenly hauled out of a lake. “I—”

  “I see,” Mr. York said, tapping his lips with his pen as ifhe was deep in thought. I shifted from foot to foot. Spencer shot me a commiserating wince. I winced back.

  “Seeing as you are so concerned with the ninth graders’ welfare, you will be Courtney’s assistant. You can be in charge of all their delicate sensibilities and making sure they get through drills:’ Which, loosely translated, meant Courtney would get her big single room on the fourth floor and “floor monitor” on her transcripts but I would be doing all the actual work. And she’d get to boss me around. She smirked at me.

  “Do you have a problem with that, Miss Wild?” Mr. York snapped.

  “No, sir.” I sighed. I refused to
slump, even though I really wanted to. I was so not going to let him see how much he’d just screwed up my last year for me. I didn’t know anything about taking care of ninth graders—or Niners, as we called them. And my course load was already approximately the size of an Egyptian pyramid. The big one.

  “Good. You’re dismissed,” he barked at everyone before stalking across the lawn toward the teachers’ apartments. Ms. Dailey patted my shoulder before following him. Courtney sneered at me and flounced away.

  “I’m sorry, Hunter,” Lia said, looking like she was about to burst into tears again.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told her.

  “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” she said. “But I’m really glad you’re one of our floor monitors now.” She lowered her voice. “Courtney’s a bitch.”

  I laughed despite myself “Yes. Yes, she is.”

  Chloe and Spencer descended, all inflamed with righteous indignation on my behalf Chloe shook her head. “I guess York still has it in for you. Jerk.”

  “That was totally unfair,” Spencer agreed. “You should see the headmistress.”

  “No way,” I said. The only teacher worse than Mr. York was Headmistress Bellwood. “She’d only tell me I was whining anyway.”

  “I guess. She’s not exactly big with the warm and fuzzy.”

  Chloe slung her arm through mine. “Come on, we'll go drink hot chocolate and watch some old Supernatural episodes on DVD. Dean Winchester always cheers you up.”

  “I thought our last year was supposed to be fun,” I said, kicking at dandelions as we skirted the gardens toward the now-unlocked front door.

  From the direction of the pond, the swan honked mockingly .

  No one felt like staying up very late after that. We watched a couple of episodes and then went to our rooms. The halls were quiet. Chloe marched to her desk and turned on her computer with a determined click and set her laptop next to it. The screens flickered to life, pooling pale light over the carpet.

  “I thought you were tired,” I told her.

  “I’m already behind,” she said. “They got us by surprise. And York smirked at me like he knew. I’m so going to get him for that. And for ragging on you all the time.” She cracked her knuckles. “And it starts now.”

  “You were the one complaining that it was too early to study.” “I changed my mind. I’m going to ace this year and then shove it up his nose:’ Mr. York, along with being the proverbial thorn in my side, was also one of the combat teachers. Chloe was quick and fierce on a computer but she wasn’t quite as good in hand-to-hand fights. He’d only barely passed her last year.

  I left her to stew. I didn’t want to talk about York. It would make me grind my teeth. I didn’t know anything about being a floor monitor. My jaw clenched. If I was going to relax at all, I was going to need what was in the trunk under my bed. Watching TV had helped settled my mood some, and so had Chloe’s stash of chocolate macaroons, but this required the big guns. No matter how much Chloe was going to make fun of me. I pulled it out, hoping she was too buried in her work.

  No such luck.

  “Are those romance novels?”

  I shot her a look through my hair, which was falling over my

  face. “Yes. And shut up.”

  “I didn’t know you read romance novels.” “Shut up.”

  She turned on her wheeled desk chair. “You told me last year that you kept your stakes and stuff in there.”

  I pulled a book out, wondering if I should even bother trying to hide the cheesy cover. Chloe was a pitbulL “I also told my grandfather I kept my tampons in here.”

  “I am totally digging this new side of you.”

  Since she wasn’t making as much fun of me as I’d thought, I stopped scowling. “I know it’s silly, but I like them. They don’t make me think too hard and there’s always a happy ending.”

  “Lend me one.”

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  “Totally. That one with the cleavage and the guy with the

  mullet.”

  I snorted. “That’s all of them. The hair is rather unfortunate.” “How about that one?”

  “Can’t go wrong with a duke.” I tossed it to her.

  “Are there naughty parts?”

  “Not in that one.”

  She tossed it back. I laughed and handed her a new one. It was five hundred pages of Victorian historical intrigue. She stared at it. “This is bigger than half the stuff on our lit class syllabus.”

  “Probably better researched too.”

  She put it next to her laptop and went back to the mysterious things she did on the Internet. I could check my e-mail and navigate some basic blog sites but that was about it. She could probably hack into government sites if we gave her enough time.

  I read until she finally went to asleep and my cell phone vibrated. It was two in the morning. I flipped it open and read the text waiting for me from Kieran.

  Get dressed and meet me outside.

  Chapter 3 • Quinn

  Connor didn’t bother knocking, just opened the door and stuck his head into my room. He was pale, and not because he spent most of his time at his computer. Vampires didn’t tan well and the Drakes were no exception. “Quinn, it’s time.”

  I wiped blood off my lower lip and tossed the glass bottle in the blue recycling box sitting under a poster of Megan Fox. Connor and I were both turned three years ago on our sixteenth birthday. As twins, we shared the same blue eyes and dark brown hair and the same uncanny ability to know what the other was thinking. We’d also shared the sickness, the struggle to survive, and the searing bloodlust when we woke that first day as vampires.

  Now we shared the same bloodlust every time the sun set, but it was starting to get a little better, just as Dad had promised it would. He didn’t lock my bedroom door from the outside anymore.

  “Better hurry, Dad’s got that look on his face,” Connor warned me as we ran down the stairs from the top floor of the house that we shared with our five brothers. Our sister, Solange, had a room on the second floor, which was most definitely locked—from the inside and outside—when she went to bed every single morning. She’d only turned a couple of weeks ago and our delicate, serene baby sister turned feral at the last ray of sunlight. Her best friend, Lucy, was staying in one of the guest rooms, as far away from Solange’s bedroom as physically possible. We made her promise to engage the dead bolt, and Mom set two of the farm dogs to guard her every night at dusk. Just in case.

  She shouldn’t have been living in our house at all while Solange was so volatile. It was dangerous and, frankly, stupid. All of us could smell the sweet hot rush of the blood in her veins. It was like living inside a bakery, constantly surrounded by tempting pastries and cakes with chocolate frosting. Nicholas had a will of iron. I don’t know how he did it, resisting the tender flesh on her neck every time she hugged him or he smelled her hair. My fangs poked out of my gums just a little whenever she was nearby.

  I was not good at resisting girls.

  Still, Lucy had practically grown up here, and since she was dating my brother she was thoroughly off-limits. And she was stuck with us for at least another week since her parents were out of town, even though vampire politics, which were messy at best, had just exploded all over us.

  “Mom deserves a little pomp and circumstance, don’t you think?” I asked, keeping my voice low as we passed Aunt Hyacinth’s room. I wondered if she’d finally venture out of the house for the coronation. “I mean, it’s not every day a vampire queen gets crowned.”

  “You know Mom prefers it low-key. And anyway, I like to think we’re too smart to attempt a third elaborate ceremony.”

  Connor was right. Mom was pronounced queen after killing the last self-proclaimed queen Lady Natasha—to stop her from killing Solange over an ancient prophecy that foretold Solange’s birth and her own rise to the throne. Now everyone was trying to kill both Mom and Solange. Not exactly an improvement. No one holds a grud
ge like a centuries-old vampire. You’d think they’d learn to lighten up eventually.

  “Hell of a lot of fuss over a thankless job,” I said. “Controlling vampire tribes is like herding cats. Into a bathtub. Blindfolded.” I tossed my hair off my shoulder and winked at Solange, who was sitting on the bottom step, looking miserable. “Maybe we just need a king. Someone charming and handsome like me.”

  She flashed me a grin. “Your head’s too fat for a crown.”

  Connor snorted and continued down the hall into the living room. I sat next to Solange. “What’s up? Sitting alone in the dark is too gothic for you. Leave that sort of thing to Logan.”

  “I just hate this whole stupid thing,” she muttered. “If one more person tries to kill someone I love over that damn prophecy, I swear I’ll go postal,”

  I put an arm over her tense shoulders. “It'll be fine. Montmartre’s dead. And you know we'll protect you.”

  She speared me with a glare that could have fried the hair off my head. “That right there, Quinn Drake, is exactly what I mean. Protect yourself not me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Hello? Big brother. Occupational hazard.”

  “Well, get over it,” she grumbled. “I seriously can’t take much more. I won’t have your blood on my hands. It’s bad enough Aunt Hyacinth nearly died.”

  “But she didn’t die. Drakes are harder to kill than that.” She’d been seriously burned by Helios-Ra holy water, though. It ate away at her face like acid and now she refused to lift the heavy black veils she wore hanging from her little Victorian hats. “Why aren’t you in there with everyone else?”

  She shrugged. “No reason.”

  “Liar.”

  She shrugged again.

  I frowned. “Spill it, Solange.”

  “I’m fine, Quinn.” She sent me an ironic grin. “I can protect you too, you know. Annoying, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  She hugged me briefly. “I don’t mean to sound ungratefuL I’m just worried.”

  I noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. Her fangs were out and her gums looked a little raw, as if she’d been clenching her jaw. “And you’re hungry,” I said quietly.