Defiance

I pinched my nose shut before I could help it. Christophe looked amused, a corner of his mouth lifting. It was better than that slightly mocking face he gave everyone else, but not by much. It wasn’t the face I would consider drawing.

I’d been too busy to draw for ages. I missed it, too. Sometimes my fingers would itch and tingle . . . but I was afraid of whatever I would draw now, with the touch so much stronger.

I considered flinging the handful of wet towels I was carrying at him, decided it would be childish of me.

Benjamin was by the door, his dark emo-boy fringe—it was a popular style this year—plastered to his pale forehead. He looked okay, but anger radiated from him in colorless waves and he was splattered with the red stuff. It was all over his jeans and T-shirt. The aspect slipped through him, ruffling his wet hair and making his fangs come out and recede. They gleamed, and when he saw I was looking he straightened, self-consciously.

“I’d say this is something I should be worried about.” I started rolling up the towels together, both to hide how I was shaking again and to stop myself from actually throwing them. “So I’ve been bopping along all this time, not knowing? And people . . . things . . . whatever, have been trying to kill me? And you haven’t told me?”

Christophe brushed it aside, one elegant hand waving like I shouldn’t bother him with this. His watch, a chunky silver thing that looked like a Rolex, glittered. That was new—he’d never worn anything even close to jewelry before. And he hadn’t had it during sparring. “You have other things to worry about. Dealing with assassins is my job. It’s traditional.”

A little voice inside my head was trying to tell me to calm down. “What’s my job, then? Being happily oblivious to things trying to kill me? Why are they even . . .” I didn’t have to go any further. I knew.

Sergej. He wanted me dead. Christophe said he was scared of me. That was a laugh—king of the vampires, or the closest thing to a king they had anymore, scared of me.

Because of what I was, or what I’d be when I finished blooming.

But I’d been thinking about it lately. A lot. The Real World was bigger and badder than I’d ever guessed, and I was thinking maybe it wasn’t just the vampires who would want me dead. Especially after Dad and I went on a sixteen-state odyssey of getting rid of things that go bump in the night after Gran died.

Dad was bound to have made some enemies other than the king of the vampires, right? Which meant they were my enemies now. And here I was, just going along fat dumb and happy, danger lurking around every corner. If I would’ve known, I would’ve been more cautious, for Christ’s sake.

Like, hide under my bed and cower kind of cautious. The idea had a certain appeal right now.

“We don’t just hunt the nosferat.” Hiro, as usual, didn’t sound like I was being stupid. He just sounded . . . thoughtful. His face was set, and I could almost see the aspect crackling around his edges, just waiting to break loose. “Although they have apparently spread word of your existence. The attempts we’re experiencing now are proof.”

Well, wasn’t that just peachy-keen terrific. “Dad kept me a secret for sixteen years.” I couldn’t help it, I was yelling by now. I jabbed an accusing finger at Christophe. “Then you show up, and all of a sudden everyone knows about me. Great job, Chris. Thanks. Marvelous work.”

It wasn’t fair, because I knew he’d had zero to do with my father’s death or Sergej finding out about me. But neither was it fair for him to beat on me with the sticks and look all smug. None of this was fair.

I hated being left in the dark. I hated all of this.

Christophe tilted his head slightly, studying me. Hiro took a half step back, and I could’ve sworn he looked like he was enjoying himself. His face settled into its usual impassivity when he noticed I was staring at him, short spiky black hair beaded with drops of moisture and his gray silk beginning to droop ever so slightly from the humidity.

I dropped the towels. They hit with a wet plop that would have been funny if it hadn’t made me want to throw up. It wasn’t any fun yelling at Christophe; all he did was look at me that way. Like it was kind of interesting that I was losing my shit, but in the end, not very important.

That just made it worse.

Finally, after a long pause that made me feel like I was five years old and throwing a tantrum, Christophe folded his arms. His absolutely perfect face was set and white, and even though the aspect wasn’t on him I swear I saw his eyes glow.

He spoke through gritted teeth, each word a dagger. “I am sorry to have displeased you, Dru.”

There’s a certain way of apologizing that isn’t an apology. It’s more like a slap to the face. You hear a lot of that below the Mason-Dixon, especially if you hang out with the girls.

Christophe, however, could have given even the parlor princesses down there some lessons.

“That’s even worse!” I exploded. “You could at least mean it when you say you’re sorry!”

His eyes flared. “When have I not?” Sharply now, a teacher taking a student to task. At least I’d rattled him. That was something.

That’s the thing about irrational, boiling rage, especially right after you’ve been hunching naked in a shower, afraid for your life. Nothing anyone says will make it better. “You never say you’re really sorry!” I didn’t even care that I was shouting at him in front of a bunch of boys. “Ever!”

A muscle flicked in Christophe’s cheek. That was all.

I let out a short, frustrated scream and stamped past him. It was hard to do in bare feet, and I had to splash through puddles full of ick to get to the door. At least everyone else got out of my way. The twitching bits in the wheelbarrows were enough to make me glad I hadn’t eaten lunch yet.

Benjamin’s mouth had fallen open. He looked at me like I’d grown another head or something. But he didn’t say a damn word, just hurried away from the wall and fell into step behind me as I made my grand exit, barefoot and looking totally ridiculous.

CHAPTER TEN

“Sure we knew.” Benjamin set his tray down. “Christophe said to let you adjust, to not worry you. It seemed like a good idea when he said it. Plus, it’s trad, you know. The Kouroi do the protecting. It’s our job.”

The cafeteria was empty since it wasn’t quite lunchtime. But that’s one of the good things about being at a Schola—when you show up in the caf, there’s always food. Some of the teachers keep pretty irregular hours. And you try being around hungry werwulfen for very long. I guarantee you’ll see the wisdom of having munchies on tap.

“This is so not cool.” My feet were cold, but that was the least of my problems. I glared at my own tray—heavy varnished wood instead of the plastic kind they’d had at the reform Schola. “When was I going to be let in on it?”

Benjamin dropped down in the chair next to me. “I guess when you let us in on your habit of sneaking out during the day instead of having us tag along all invisible-like.” But he was looking down at his plate. “Or when something happened we couldn’t hide. Like today. How did you fight that thing off, anyway? I didn’t hear a thing— that was what clued me in. It was too silent. I couldn’t even hear the water running.”

I shivered. Great. And I thought we were so clever, getting out for a breath of fresh air. All of a sudden the cellophane-wrapped sandwich on my tray didn’t look so appetizing, so I cracked open the blueberry yogurt smoothie and took a long drink. It went down in a slimy rush, and I thanked God it wasn’t strawberry. That would have been Too Much. “I found the spot where it was anchored to the world and hexed it right out. My grandmother . . .” I couldn’t even begin to explain. Djamphir combat sorceries are different than what Gran taught me, and you don’t even start dealing with them until your