Vamplayers

by Rusty Fischer

  “I’m fine, Lily,” Tristan mutters.

  She scratches his shoulder as a reward. I watch fresh blood poke out through the tear in his white linen shirt.

  I judge the distance between where I’m standing and where Bianca is holding Tristan, then watch as the water licks Zander’s pursed lips.

  The weight of the world is heavy on my shoulders, my dead heart wracked with sadness for poor Grover, who never got a second act or any last words, who died quickly and needlessly.

  “Please,” I whimper, even though I know it’s exactly what she wants me to do. Even though I know it has zero chance of working. “Please don’t make me choose. Go. Leave here. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t even chase you to your next school. Just let these boys live. They’ve done nothing to you.”

  “And I’ve done nothing to you, Lily.” She caresses Tristan’s head like Dr. Evil with his hairless cat in those Austin Powers movies. “And yet here you are, ruining my plans, upsetting my world. Look what you’ve done to my relationship. Why, Tristan here is afraid of me. Aren’t you, dear? And all because of you. Tell me, Lily, why should I show you a courtesy you’re unwilling to show me?”

  I walk toward the wading pool. I have to.

  “I’m … I’m sorry, Tristan,” I say even as I make my choice.

  “It’s okay,” he shouts. “I understand. I know I’ve been a jerk. I know I ran out on you when you needed me most. W-w-why should you ch-choose me?”

  “Ah.” Bianca bares her fangs. “Poor Tristan. Well, dear, I guess it’s you and me then. You know, being a vampire’s not so bad. Especially when a Royal turns you. Why, in no time at all you’ll be stronger than Lily here. I imagine that might come in quite handy as you seek revenge for the choice she’s made here today.”

  I can’t hear her anymore. I’m in the wading pool reaching in to drag Zander out, the sound of my skin frying and the holy water bubbling. It’s like acid, if acid were on crack and crack were on speed and speed were full of double-sided razor blades attached to an electric toothbrush.

  Every drop is a slice against my skin, shredding it like jerky. It’s searing when it touches and bubbles. It’s like sticking your finger in a fireplace, holding it until you can’t take it anymore, and then jumping in and taking a seat on the hottest log.

  I don’t scream.

  I can’t.

  I’ve given her too much of my fear, my shame, already. I won’t give her any more. Royal or not, she’s gotten all she will from me.

  With the last of my strength, I hoist Zander out of the water. I feel my own blood pour from my skin and see Tristan’s neck gouged and gory too. Drops splatter the alcove and drip down the walls of this once pristine and sacred chapel.

  His hair hangs in his blanched face. His gaze is far away, which makes me feel better somehow.

  Except that my skin is on fire and my fingers and toes are smoking. The pain wells up in me, burning from the outside in, boiling my organs, congealing my blood, fusing my cells, closing off my lungs. I’m panting. My skin is melting, dribbling down my arms, my legs.

  I dump Zander onto the chapel floor and pull at the ties binding his hands, eager to free him, to tell him to run, but my fingertips are bony and sharp, the flesh all but eaten away. I nearly faint at the sight.

  Instead I crumble next to him, lying in a heap of my own goo.

  The stained glass ceiling of the chapel shatters into a thousand tiny pieces.

  Eight figures sail to the floor, each dressed in red leather. With crossbows already pointed, they silence Bianca with simple precision. Eight razor-sharp arrows plunge into her heart like darts shoved into a bull’s-eye.

  If only they’d been sixty seconds earlier.

  Chapter 34

  I wake up in the Tank. I’ve never been in it before. The Tank is just that: a large, clear coffin filled with special healing waters, their exact properties known only to the Ancients. Heavy metal bolts fix the four sides and bottom to each other. Kind of like a fish tank (from hell), it has no lid.

  It sits atop a steel platform from which tubes and dials and hoses and cords spill out willy-nilly, continually filling the container with healing jets of antibiotics and who knows what else.

  The only light that penetrates comes from rows of soft-white lightbulbs strung overhead.

  It’s kept in the basement of the Academy, three stories underground, behind locked doors. Special vampires, not quite Ancients, not quite the rest of us, carry out the sole task of regulating the Tank, but no one dares enter unless accompanied by Dr. Haskins herself.

  Mostly it’s for the Saviors when they return from battle, scarred and torn, bleeding and broken. I’ve never known of one of the Sisters using—or needing—it before.

  I’ve heard rumors about the Tank. We all have. It burns worse than the holy water. You have to stay in there for months, maybe years. Some kids never make it out. The shock alone can kill you if you’re not prepared. All of this, I’ve heard.

  But once you’re in it, well, it’s not so bad. Unless I’m in so much shock I can’t tell how horrible it really is. Unless I’m already gone and this is all some very precise and detailed dream.

  I blink twice to make sure.

  Yup, same rows of bulbs, acrylic Tank walls, plain white cinder block beyond that. Same familiar face staring down at me.

  Dr. Haskins smiles cautiously, her blonde hair up and severe, her rectangular glasses near my face.

  For a second the image is so strong, the memory so vivid, the déjà vu so powerful it’s like I’m in my old room, lying on the floor, my mother next to me, a stake in her heart, blood pouring from my throat, Rick Springfield winking down at me from my poster on the wall.

  It was Dr. Haskins who rescued me then.

  It’s Dr. Haskins who’s come to rescue me now.

  I struggle with my hands, trying to reach up and touch her; to make sure she’s real.

  They won’t budge and only serve to stir the stinging, healing waters that burble around my throat, my shoulders, the tips of my toes.

  There is just enough water to cover most of me, just enough give on my binding to let me float near the top. My nose, mouth, eyes, and most of my ears are exposed to the briny chilled air above the Tank.

  It’s a little like floating in the lake as a kid, staring up at the summer sun and listening to the sounds of Labor Day as the other kids splash all around you, your mother on her oversized beach blanket, keeping the flies from your watermelon slice.

  Dr. Haskins seems to be inspecting me or at least my progress. “How do you feel?” she whispers, almost tenderly. (Almost.)

  I want to speak, to ask, to say many things, but I can only croak, “Great.”

  I try to be a smart aleck, to raise my hand and give her a big, wet thumbs-up, but my wrists are tethered to the bottom of the tank.

  She smiles, understanding, reaching out a soft hand to touch my forehead. “You know where you are?”

  I go to answer, struggling on a large ball of phlegm.

  “Nod or shake your head, Lily. Let’s not rush this. You’re not quite there yet.”

  I blink and wish I could still weep.

  “You’re in the Tank. You mustn’t try to—”

  “How long?” My voice sounds like I’ve returned from twelve straight rock concerts in a row, where I’ve screamed my lungs out and smoked a pack of cigarettes per song.

  “Three days, and you’re coming along nicely. There was tissue damage, of course, but none permanent. Your bones were fine. Your face too. Your ankles and hands will recover. Your legs got the worst of it, unfortunately, so there might be some scarring below the knee, but other than that, you should be okay.”

  I wish Dr. Haskins sounded more confident.

  I wish I believed her.

  I nod anyway, hearing the healing waters slosh around my ears, feeling my hair swirling around, beside, above my head. I must look like a waterlogged Medusa.

  The Tank is for recuperation of the m
ost serious kind. It’s filled with a secret recipe of healing powers handed down from the Council of Ancients. Some say the ingredients come straight from Transylvania; others say they come straight from a lab.

  I don’t care as long as it works, as long as I’m up and out of it before too long.

  Vampires can heal without it in an emergency, but it’s faster this way, with less scarring.

  I concentrate and feel bubbles like seltzer fizzing around my deepest scars. It feels funny, almost like Sea-Monkeys are tickling me, and I can’t help but think of those Scrubbing Bubbles commercials, where the smiling bubbles float over dirty shower tiles and leave them sparkling clean.

  Is that what’s happening down below?

  Are the bubbles healing me, bringing my ravaged skin back to life?

  I can’t investigate because I’m fixed in place via cords tied to my wrists and ankles, elbows and knees, but I can feel the tingling sensation of healing happening.

  I smile up at her. She’s been waiting patiently.

  How long has my mind been wandering, images of Scrubbing Bubbles dancing on shower tiles?

  “I have updates on your friends if you’re ready.”

  I nod, the water roiling in my half-submerged ears.

  “Although it’s highly extraordinary, I have been given permission to harbor Tristan and Zander, who are both safe, by the way, here on campus.”

  “Here?” I can hear the excitement in my voice, the thought of Zander in the same building filling my chest with warm, fizzing bubbles of its own.

  She seems almost impatient but smiles. “Where would you have me send them, dear?” she asks in a strained voice.

  “Zander?”

  At last she smiles knowingly. “Zander is fine, Lily. The other students are treating him very well, considering he tells everyone he meets how you saved his life. I would heal quickly, if I were you. The other girls have taken quite a shine to him. I must admit it’s a tad … refreshing to have a human around.”

  I blush. “Not hurt?” I manage hoarsely.

  “Not in the least,” she explains. “If anything, he seems healthier than a mortal should be under the circumstances. I daresay he’s auditing some of your old classes, Stake Sharpening 101, Fencing for Dummies, that kind of thing. From the looks of things, he’s adapting quite well.”

  I grin, the tightness in my face keeping me from smiling outright, picturing Zander strutting through the halls, curls bouncing, surrounded by vampires, not even wincing at the sight. Not after what he’s been through.

  “Tristan?” I say, trying to sound emotionless but failing.

  “Yes, well, he’s become quite the know-it-all, as you might imagine, but he’s blending in just the same. I suppose that’s how it is when the Royals turn them. They think they’re better than the rest of us. Anyway, I’m keeping him on a short leash.”

  I nod and say hopelessly, “Cara? Alice?”

  She pauses, her face a blank mask.

  I prepare for the worst. Images of Grover fill my mind, the sound of his head hitting the marble wall of the chapel, the blood smear, that big, proud, jovial chest releasing its final breath. At least Cara and Alice died quickly and won’t have to suffer their many permanent wounds.

  Finally she says, “The damage to their cellular structure was severe, as you know, but there was enough of their nervous systems left to build on. The Saviors always bring along a medical staff, of course, in case of these types of emergencies. They were able to retrieve enough raw material for … regeneration.

  “Of course, the damage was too severe to bring them here, to the Tank. The Council of Ancients have a program, though. They call it the Restoration. It will help them recover fully. Eventually. It will take some time—weeks, maybe even months— but you’ll have your Sisters back safe and sound.”

  I exhale loudly.

  To hear they’ll be here is a relief.

  Well, somewhat.

  “And will they be like before?”

  “Yes, well, Zander told me how they were behaving, and I sensed from the intact fangs we recovered at the scene that they had been turned by a Royal. The Ancients assure me they will be as they were before they were turned, not after, so you have that to look forward to.”

  I close my eyes for quite some time, feeling the impact of her words, what they mean, flooding my body.

  When I look up, her face is grim, and I wonder if I imagined what I’ve heard.

  “That’s the good news,” she says. “Unfortunately, as soon as you’re out of there in another couple of days, you’ll have to pay a visit to the Council of Ancients.”

  I nod slowly. “Why?”

  She pauses, then explains, “A Royal was killed and, although you didn’t pull the trigger, we weren’t informed that it was a Royal before we came in blasting. No one’s blaming you, and we all appreciate the service you did for the good people of Ravens Roost and, of course, the students at Nightshade, but there will be … repercussions. Do you understand?”

  I blink and offer a weak smile.

  She does the same.

  She looks behind her at someone or something, but since I can’t move my head that far without the healing waters blurring my vision, I can’t see what or whom. “If you promise to behave and not talk too much and not get too terribly excited, I have a visitor I think you’ll very much enjoy seeing.”

  She nods, almost bows, and then clacks away on her heels.

  I listen to her move, then feel a different presence replace her at my side.

  I feel heat move through my body as Zander leans down and he pecks me on the forehead.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, his eyes clear, his skin supple, his dark eyebrows raised. “We’ve all been worried about you.”

  ”Missed you.” I sound hoarser than ever.

  “Whoa there.” He chuckles. “They didn’t give you a sex change or anything while I was away, did they?”

  “Away?”

  He smiles, reddens, like maybe he wasn’t supposed to say anything. “I had a word with the Council of Ancients.”

  Hmm, Dr. Haskins didn’t say anything about that little field trip.

  “Well, since I’m the only human to ever see this place, I guess they wanted to check me out before they agreed to let me hang awhile.”

  “You passed?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “For how long?”

  That’s up to you.

  I nod, then swallow a lump and say, very slowly, the words like daggers in my throat, “I’m … sorry … about … Grover. I … tried. I … really—”

  “I know you did. I was there, remember? You were as helpless as I was. She was too strong.”

  His eyes water until he shakes his head, clearing the tears, like maybe he’s cried too many already.

  I can imagine him in his new dorm suite here at the Academy for the last three days, alone probably since who would want to room with a vampire when you’re a human, and vice versa?

  Those first few nights tossing, turning, thinking Grover might be there when he woke up, imagining the walls covered with Star Wars posters, models flying from the ceiling, then finding only whitewashed walls, bars on the window, an empty second room, no Grover, no me, no anybody.

  How lonely he must have been. How lonely he must be still.

  Smiling, he sputters, “If I know Grover, he’s up there telling Obi-Wan Kenobi a thing or two about lightsabers.”

  The thought obviously makes him happy, so I stop myself from reminding him fictional characters don’t go to heaven.

  Come to think of it, the thought makes me smile too.

  I close my eyes.

  When I look up, he looks worried.

  “You okay, Lily?”

  I nod. “Why?”

  He smirks, “No reason. You just took a little trip on me. That’s all.”

  I shake my head and frown. “How do I look?”

  He grins. “Well, I wish I could say you were naked
in there, but they had to go and cover you up on account of my visit. But what I can see looks good, Lily. Real good.”

  “Perv.” I laugh, and it takes a lot of energy. I smile, close my eyes again, and when I come to he’s looking away.

  “You’re tired,” he says gently, leaning in. “I’ll let you rest.”

  “Don’t want to,” I say, struggling to stay awake.

  “Yeah, but you need to,” he insists, almost paternally. “I’ll see you soon, and we can catch up.”

  I close my eyes, and when I wake Zander is gone.

  I close them again, giving in to the warm, healing waters, the messages my body is sending, the fizzy, fuzzy healing bubbles that scrub me clean.

  If only they could get inside my body, dig around my heart, scour my brain, and erase the ugly images of Cara and Alice threatening me and the boys, of Grover’s blood staining the chapel walls.

  I blink and try to think of happier things.

  Like, had I dreamed Zander’s kiss on my forehead?

  Or was he really here at the Academy?

  And when would I be out of the Tank so I could kiss him for real?

  Chapter 35

  The vehicle cruises along a pedestrian highway. I am in the passenger seat, dressed comfortably in loose clothes to promote my healing: yoga pants a size too big, a soft peasant blouse even bigger, leather sandals. (Yecch.)

  We’ve been on the road for hours, never stopping, never slowing, driving endlessly onward until at last Dr. Haskins pulls off the main highway and onto several rural roads, the twists and turns so frequent I wouldn’t know where I was even if I weren’t blindfolded.

  “How do you feel?” she says, speaking for the first time in over an hour.

  “Physically or emotionally?”

  ”Let’s start with physically and go from there.”

  “I’m good. Strong.”

  “No more headaches, pains, strains?”

  I shake my head, though I can’t tell if she’s looking at me. “I feel better than ever, actually.”