The Anti-Vampire

My God, I hope she’s still alive at the end of the day.

When I walked into the 4^th floor classroom, no one was hanging from the ceiling, no desks were overturned, and no hell had been literally raised, at least none that left any evidence. In fact, they actually came to order with just an exhausted growl from me.

Bizarre.

They never listen to me the first time I say anything. I’m 19, a student teacher working with a group of seniors, and 2 of the girls who are in their 2^nd round of 12^th Grade were in a P.E. class with me 3 years ago. Why should they listen to me? If I hadn’t skipped a grade and taken summer classes, I’d never be here this young—probably the youngest student teacher they’ve ever seen.

Discipline’s not my big strength either. Teaching literature is what I love. Good characters, beautiful writing— people risking it all for love, dying to save someone else—these things don’t seem to happen anymore, but they happen in books. That’s why I could talk about literature all day long. Telling Johnny he can’t touch his classmate with the same finger he just shoved up his left nostril or telling Suzie I can see her cheat sheet in the strap of her bra are things I could go my whole life never having done and feel perfectly fine. I really could. But, I have to do them. It’s my job. The students know I hate correcting them, and they push me because of it.

So, why are they listening to me now? Why are they behaving on a Friday when no teacher was here at the start of class?

Could it be that they know that if I’m late something has to be wrong? I just wanted to make it impossible for Lyle to corner me before class and talk about last night, so I was late on purpose for school for the first time in my life. Don’t know what the hell was happening last night—hard to believe things I saw, but I definitely don’t want to talk about it. Don’t really want to talk about anything with Lyle. Not today.

Maybe they can see it all on my face. Can they see I’ve been awake all night? Can they see the fear? Can they see I’ve lost my best friend to this craziness? Can they see I’m confused, angry, and crushed that I was so teased by a gorgeous stranger who risked his life to save me—a kiss that still makes my lips tremble?

Am I so changed by meeting him that they can see it on my face? Do I look so broken that they pity me?

His face is still in my head. His eyes. Those arms. That body…still in school—still in school. Focus.

Wouldn’t trade those dances with him for anything. Hope I always remember how it felt to move with him. The taunt of it stings, but even a glimpse of the real thing is better than nothing—better than never having a taste of it at all. The hard part is knowing I’ve never felt anything like it and may never know it again. But he—they did things that don’t seem human. Not possible.

Don’t even know if he made it out alive.

A scent floats in the weak, early autumn breeze. Familiar and revolting. Know it well. Prayed they wouldn’t find her, but they’re near now. I know I should run. Impossible to beat them all. I can smell at least three of them.

Sound of two feet dropping down behind me.

“Hi there, Bright Eyes.”

My heart leaps. Raspy, the right words, but the tone’s not what I remember. Fear and joy mix. Please let it be him. Turn around.

Awful.

“Disappointed, are we? No, I’m not your lover boy. He only stays around for the party. He has no use for you now.”

Turn and run. Expecting Gray—hoping for Gray. Smacked with blonde-ponytail Roderick. No Gray. No joy. Doom.

Two men stand in the parking lot, arms folded, staring at me—the same two goons from the stage last night. How are they standing after all that happened? No marks on them.

In almost a laughter, Roderick calls from behind me, “Running is pointless, love. No need to run—we don’t want much. Just where Ambrosia is.”

I turn away from the two goons to face him again.

“It’s that simple—tell us where she is, and no one needs to get hurt.”

Mind races. Only half an idea. Hope it works.

“She’s here,” trying to hide the trembling in my voice.

“What? Here—why?”

“In security office,” nodding my head toward the school building I just walked out of a few moments ago, “Figured she’d be safe here with them. I set it up for her.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“My dear, my dear, my dear,” he sighs walking beside me, then sniffing over my shoulder as he begins pacing a circle around me, “Now, you wouldn’t be trying to send us to the security office because it’s the one place around here with trained professionals, would you?” Looking into my eyes, he pushes deeper, “Would you, Miss Ruby?”

My chest runs cold hearing him say my name—I never said my name last night—not even to Gray.

Standing so close to me, his smell fills my nostrils. His odor is like Gray’s wonderful scent if it were left to rot in the sun for weeks and mixed with body odor and urine.

He continues, “Because if we go up there and Ambrosia’s not there, I might get angry. If I get angry, I may feel the need to tear apart some trained professionals. Now, you wouldn’t be sending those innocent, trained guards to their deaths by lying to protect a spoiled, blue-haired party girl who surely wouldn’t risk herself to save them? Or,” he laughs, “for that matter, you don’t believe for a second that she’d be risking herself to save you, do you?”

He chuckles, and it stings through my ears.

“She might.”

“She would never. I know her kind—know her in ways you’ll never know. She only cares for herself—an attention whore. She’d lead us right to you just to be the queen of the hunt. Just because she’d be the center of attention. Just because it’d make us all need her.”

His words are twisted—one side with a sad truth, the other a lie. Wrapped and twirled around—it’s hard to pick the thorny lies out of the mess that spews from his mouth.

Finally I answer, “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Is that why you hesitated?”

“Only hesitated to keep myself from vomiting from your stench.”

His nose is to mine before the last syllable completely escapes. He raises his upper lip in a snarl, exposing those cobra-like fangs.

“Pretty may be something a girl is born with,” pausing to tap his pointed fingernails that reek of rotten meat on my neck, “but it’s oh…so…easy to take away.”

A gasp escapes without my permission.

“That’s right, Ruby—be afraid. I won’t warn you twice. Now, where is your slut of a friend?”

Anger burns in me. Slut. How dare he?

“Come closer, and I’ll tell you.”

Grinning wickedly as he puts his ear before my mouth.

I say, “She’s in a little place I like to call Go Fu—”

Before I can finish the vulgar statement, a blur of gray and black lunges from the rooftop, crashing a boot into the backside of Roderick’s head, sending him rocketing to the ground. Gray’s arm lands gently on my back, spinning me around toward the goons charging at us.

Gray steps forward—Goon on his left throws a punch. Gray blocks it with a backhanded punch smashing into the Goon’s elbow fiercely, causing a loud crack. The elbow flops backward, and Gray lands a fist square in the nose, sending the attacker to a knee and the vulgar word that I didn’t get to say earlier spewing from his mouth.

The other Goon throws a punch at the back of Gray’s head. Gray sees it coming and dodges enough to make it a glancing blow across his ear and temple. Quickly, Gray kicks at the side of Goon #2’s knee, creating an even louder snap.

As the second Goon falls to the ground, Gray turns to me.