“Why?”
He braced as if about to deliver bad news. “You need to stay here until the venom runs its course. Sandro cleaned your wound, but the vampiro’s saliva mixed with your blood.”
Her insides twisted. “Will I—”
“No. You’re not going to turn into a vampire. But they know you’ve been bitten, and they’ll come for you.”
That was truly horrifying. “Aren’t we protected?” Ava gestured toward the crucifix.
“No. The wood has to touch them.”
Bossemi burst into the room, panting and brandishing another wood sword. “The Accadamia … surrounded.”
Jarett shot to his feet. “The Hawks?”
“On the way.” He inclined his head toward Ava.
“She believes.”
“Buono.” Bossemi tossed Ava his sword. She caught it in mid-air. He thumped a finger on his chest. “Aim for … il Cuore.”
Her own heart increased its tempo, signaling its desire to retreat.
“She doesn’t know how—” Jarett began.
“Vampiros will break in before Hawks arrive. Prossimo!” Bossemi raced across the hall, stopping at the equipment room. Leaving the door unlocked now made horrifying sense. Jarett armed himself with holy water and Bossemi grabbed another sword.
The loud crackle of breaking glass cut through Ava. She clutched her weapon to her stomach which threatened to expel her dinner.
Bossemi and Jarett exchanged a surprised glance. They positioned themselves by the door to the dojo. Ava stayed behind them to protect their backs.
“They’re bold. What did you do?” Bossemi asked Jarett.
“Killed Vincent.”
“Idiota! I told you to wait. You can’t kill the leader without taking out the entire nest.”
“He murdered my father. I—” His argument was cut short by the arrival of the vampires.
Ava marveled at Bossemi’s lethal speed. Between him and Jarett, the doorway filled with dusty clothes. A splitting noise sounded behind Ava, she turned in time to see the boarded up windows of the Academy open and dark figures climb inside.
She yelled, “Vampiros!”
Jarett joined her at the end of the hallway as the two vampiros flickered. Bossemi remained by the dojo’s door. Ava held her weapon with the point down, backing up as a vampire stalked her.
“En garde, Ava. Attack!”
Jarett’s order broke through her fear. She raised the tip and lunged, stabbing the point into the vampire’s heart. But there was no time to reflect on her action, as another vampire sprinted toward her.
Time blurred. Her arms ached from wielding the heavy sword and her breath puffed. But she kept the sword’s point moving. If a vampiro grabbed her weapon, she would be done.
The three of them had found a good defensive position. The studio filled with other vampires. The Hawks had arrived, but even more vampiros poured into the room. The sheer number of vampires soon overpowered and disarmed the Hawks. The ones attacking Jarett and Ava stepped out of range. Bossemi stood behind her.
“We have seven of your members, Sandro. All we want is Jarett White Hawk and Ava. Two for seven. You can’t beat that.”
Ava glanced at the captured Hawks. She recognized Signore Salvatori and Mr. Clipboard. They both shook their heads “no” when she met their gaze. They were willing to give up their lives for her.
“Leave Ava alone and I’ll come,” Jarett said. He dropped his sword.
“No.” The word burst from Ava’s mouth. She didn’t want to lose him. He was right, some things were more important than fencing. His life and the lives of all the Hawks.
“Tirez le signal d’incendie,” Bossemi whispered in a language Ava understood—French.
She tossed her weapon to the floor.
“Ava, you are
“Shut up! I’m tired of taking orders from you.” She pushed him, giving him a pointed look. “First you assume I’m one of them.”
He caught on, and backed up.
“Then you nag me about taking the bus.”
The vampiros watched them with amusement.
“And you don’t even warn me about these things!” She shoved him hard. He fell to the floor with a solid thump, and she had reached the fire alarm. She yanked the handle down.
Ear splitting bells pierced the air. Everyone hunched against the noise, but the vampires remained unharmed. Ava appealed to Bossemi. He held up a finger as if to say wait.
The sprinkler system switched on. Water sprayed and the vampires began to melt.
“I never thought they’d dare attack me in my Accadamia,” Bossemi said. “But having a priest bless the water in my fire system, just in case, seemed like a good idea.”
Jarett whooped and hugged Ava.
“You will now train with me,” Bossemi said to Ava.
“To be a Hawk?”
“Do you want to be one?”
Ava didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Maybe. Maybe Olympics first, then a Hawk. We’ll see.” He moved away, shouting orders in Italian.
Surprised by his comment, Ava pulled away from Jarett so she could see his face. “But you—”
“Would never have qualified for the Olympic team. Once I realized the truth, I decided to stay here and be a Hawk.”
“Does that mean Bossemi believes I might qualify?”
He smirked. “It’s just a matter of persistence, practice and experience, Sweetie.”
She groaned and punched him in the gut.
The Coldest Girl in Coldtown
by Holly Black
MATILDA WAS DRUNK, but then she was always drunk. Dizzy drunk. Stumbling drunk. Stupid drunk. Whatever kind of drunk she could get.
The man she stood with snaked his hand around her back, warm fingers digging into her side as he pulled her closer. He and his friend with the open-necked shirt grinned down at her like underage equaled dumb, and dumb equaled gullible enough to sleep with them.
She thought they might just be right.
“You want to have a party back at my place?” the man asked. He’d told her his name was Mark, but his friend kept slipping up and calling him by a name that started with a D. Maybe Dan or Dave. They had been smuggling her drinks from the bar whenever they went outside to smoke—drinks mixed sickly sweet, that dripped down her throat like candy.
“Sure,” she said, grinding her cigarette against the brick wall. She missed the hot ash in her hand, but concentrated on the alcoholic numbness turning her limbs to lead. Smiled. “Can we pick up more beer?”
They exchanged an obnoxious glance she pretended not to notice. The friend—he called himself Ben—looked at her glassy eyes and her cold-flushed cheeks. Her sloppy hair. He probably made guesses about a troubled home life. She hoped so.
“You’re not going to get sick on us?” he asked. Just out of the hot bar, beads of sweat had collected in the
