Betrayals

knees joggled.

Of course, it was probably uncomfortable listening for a guy who could turn furry.

“There were,” Blondie agreed. “Most of the projects ended in abject failure, or the death of those who tried to reclaim the Broken. However, when the wulfen and the founders of the Order made their compact, it became much more difficult for the nosferatu to abduct wulfen for their purposes.”

An odd smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “On this continent, we have the wampyr on the run. Most of the time, that is.”

“But there is a way to reverse the damage, to fix it?” I persisted. “How exactly would you do it?”

He gave me a long measuring look. “That’s a question for another time. Class dismissed.”

Everyone started moving and shuffling, and Blondie gave me one last long look before striding out of the room. I folded up my pad and slid it into my bag, and hauled myself up from the couch with a creak and a sigh. Graves looked up at me, his unibrow peaking once over each eye. His entire face shouted, What the hell are you thinking?

I felt like I’d just been dunked in a cold bath, every nerve standing upright and shrieking. My next class was Aspect Mastery. I wasn’t even sure who the teacher was, so I could miss it, no problem. I bet there was something in the school library, or even Dylan’s office, that covered the Broken, and I am really good at finding shit like this out. Give me some research to do, and I am all over it.

It was a relief to find a concrete action to take.

A cool touch of dread stroked my nape. The note on my bed. My “friend.” Was it the same friend who was supposed to have been getting me to my room when the vampires attacked? Was it Christophe? But what would he be doing in my room while vampires were attacking? Wouldn’t he have heard the noise and—

God, if I could just stop thinking about it, I might’ve been able to get some sleep, or stop jumping nervously at every little sound.

Yeah. Like that was gonna happen.

“Walk you to class?” Graves said, cutting right across the noise in my head.

“Um.” I blinked. What exactly are you thinking, Dru? But there had to be an explanation.

Something wasn’t jelling, and… well, it was crazy.

It was nuts.

But I was beginning to have an idea. It might even have been a good one, but I was so tired I couldn’t tell.

Graves apparently took my um for a yes, I guess, because he stood up and tucked his hands in the pockets of the long black coat. He wore the goddamn thing everywhere. “All right. Come on, you don’t wanna be late.”

“They roast late students over fires.” Shanks bounced up to his feet, collecting his notebook and a couple of textbooks covered with brown kraft paper. He gave me an odd look, and grinned, exposing very sharp white teeth. “But not special ones.”

“Lay off,” Graves said over his shoulder. “Jesus.”

“I’m interested, actually. Wanna hear about how to brainwash a wulfen, Dru?” A crackling growl ran under the surface of the words. “Gonna start a breeding stable? They used to do that too. You can get pictures on the Internet.”

Kids say horrible things to each other every day, in every high school in America. But this was something else. “I asked because I want to know how to fix it.” I glared at him. “What’s your problem?”

He made a mock-astonished face. “Oooh. You’re going to fix it, like a good little djamphir?”

“Bobby.” Graves half-turned, his coat flaring out and brushing my knees. “Lay. Off.”

“Can she actually talk when she’s not sucking up to the teachers?” He leaned forward on his toes, and the growl dropped a notch. “Or playing kissy-face with you? Got her own little loup-garou bodyguard. Why is she even here?”

Jesus. I’d never talked to this kid. I was kind of beginning to see why. “Come on.” I pulled at Graves’ sleeve. “Let’s go.”

He shook me off, took two steps forward. He was tall, but Shanks topped him by a good half-head. Still, Graves didn’t look impressed or afraid in the least. “Go fuck yourself. Or get spayed. Either would be an improvement.”

Oh Christ. Did this have to happen the instant I had an idea of something to actually do, instead of rattling around inside here chewing on myself? “Look—”

Fur was crawling up Bobby’s thin cheeks. “Hold him back, bitch,” he snarled, his shoulders hunching and hulking at once. It’s always disconcerting to see muscle plumping up on a wulf when the hair pops up all over them and the jaw starts mutating. He was only halfway changed, but that’s enough.

“Holy shi—” I didn’t get to finish, because Graves hauled off and cold-cocked him. They went over the back of the couch in a tangle of fur and snapping black coat-cloth, and the other wulfen gathered around, making the weird yipping noise they sometimes did to spur each other on.

Oh, for God’s sake. I dropped my bag and hopped over the back of the couch, then started shoving. The wulfen squeezed together, shoulder to shoulder, shouting, and I actually kicked someone behind the knee, squeezed forward, and pushed another one aside with strength I didn’t know I had.

They were rolling around, Shanks half-changed and making a lot of noise, Graves growling as his eyes glowed, and then Bobby got in a knee to the nuts.

And punched him right in the face.

I heard the fist hit, the crunch of bone, and almost felt it in my own face.

Graves! Something inside me snapped. The red-tinted rage swelled up, coated my skin, and pushed me aside.

The world slowed down again, clear syrup hardening over every surface, and I bolted forward.

This time, the weight didn’t close over my arms and legs, and I had a vague idea that I was going much too fast before I kicked. There was a crunch, weirdly distorted and amplified, as my sneakered foot smashed into the other boy’s face. He went careening back, still in that slow motion, and the fresh swell of rage that flooded me was clean and clear in its intensity.

It was a tidal wave of pure incandescent anger, turning me into a glass girl full of sparkling red fluid. I hit him twice more before he landed, both good solid shots. He crashed into a tangled knot of wulfen, their mouths open as they yelled. The entire scene was strangely soundless, and the wulfen began to scatter in slow motion.

I was on Shanks again, my hand closing around his throat and pushing him down through the syrup.

His arm came up, like a sleep-walker’s. I avoided the claws that would have sheared through my face and deflected the blow with one wrist, slapping it lightly away. The movement continued, my arm drawing back, and I heard Dad’s voice again.

Put your thumb outside, Dru. Tuck your thumb in and you’ll break it when you punch that sad, sorry bastard. That’s good. Now hit “im hard, and hit “im good! Good girl!

The weird elongated noises around me drew away. Time slowed down even further, and I knew it was going to snap and speed up soon. I had enough time to hit him but good with my cocked-back fist. I could probably break his nose, or if I punched a little lower I could crush his larynx and he’d suffocate.

Dru, what are you doing?

The rage still burned inside me. He’d hit Graves, and hurt him.

But I was seriously considering a punch that could truly disable someone, even kill them. And this was just a schoolroom brawl. Like every other schoolroom brawl I’d stayed out of, both out in the regular world and here.

Well, maybe not so much here.

What is really going on here? Why don’t the teachers intervene more? The answer occurred to me a split second later, they’re teaching them to fight. Teaching them to hate each other, too.

The fury was still boiling inside me. My temper frayed down to the thinnest of threads spinning over an abyss.