Of all the things to say.
OhmyfuckingGOD, Dru, how stupid can you be? I made it over to the other side of the tub and hoped the heat would hide the red marching up my neck to plant itself in my cheeks.
Graves actually coughed. It was kind of decent of him. “No problem.” He headed for the stairs out of the tub, awkwardly swilling a lot of crackling wax around. He floundered up and out, almost slipped, grabbed the edge of the tub. “First one’s. Yeah. Free.”
He was probably just as embarrassed as I was. I sank back into the tub, reached out, and held onto the edge myself. I was feeling kind of like my arms and legs might fail me at any moment.
I hunched in the bath for a long while, shivering and shaking, and the only thing that got me out of there was the thought that one of the teachers might think I was drowning and come in to “rescue” me.
Or, you know, kill me. Because it seemed pretty obvious that the Schola, where Christophe had promised me I’d be safe, was a pretty damn dangerous place.
CHAPTER 11
When you’re up all night all the time, midnight is the middle of the day. It’s not late enough to be lunch yet, but it’s too late for breakfast, and when you’ve been chased and have rolled around in muck, are you hungry anyway?
I was. I was starving. But instead of being in the caf, I was sitting in Dylan’s office again.
Looking at the shelves of leather-bound books and waiting. It was just like the principal’s office, and Graves had vanished after handing me a fistful of dry clothes brought from my own room through the door of the girls’ locker room.
I didn’t like that. It was just numbers one and two on a list of things I didn’t like. Someone, maybe even Graves himself, would have had to go through the rosewood dresser in my room, and whoever it was even brought panties, for God’s sake. It was creepy. Thank God I hadn’t hidden anything in there. I mean, the panty drawer has got to be the first place anyone’s going to look, right?
And where was Graves? I had a funny squirrelly feeling in my chest when I thought about him not being here. I wanted to see him.
I wanted to see any friendly face. Nobody else here qualified except maybe Christophe, and he was nowhere around. I didn’t have any clue where he was.
Dylan was off doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t sighing at me, or preparing to come in and sigh at me. Which left me all alone, my hair washed clean and dripping and my teeth clenched together. Not to mention with my head full of questions, and arms and legs that didn’t feel too steady.
I slumped in the usual high-backed, carved chair, staring at the books. They were a treasure trove of titles about the Real World, from demographic surveys on werwulfen to a whole section on witchcraft and black hexes, their spines lettered with crimson foil.
I bit on my right index fingernail, chewing along until it was nonexistent. Moved to the next nail.
What I wouldn’t have given to have a crack at some of those while Dad was alive. He might’ve liked it too. I wouldn’t have minded a peek at the hex books. Dad preferred human intel, asking questions in occult shops and bars where the Real World congregated. I’d been in and out of those places ever since Gran died and Dad came to pick me up, and I was beginning to think it had been a lot more dangerous than even he had thought. Every time he took me into another place to get the lay of the land, he got really tense.
Now I wondered if it was because I was with him, or because a misstep could have meant both of us ending up dead. And I wondered why he never told me about Mom being svetocha. Why hadn’t he said something? Anything? Was he planning on telling me when I was old enough? How old was “old enough”? What the hell had he been waiting for?
Or had he not known? Had it been my mother’s secret?
How could it have been?
I started chewing on my right ring fingernail. Then again, Dad never was a touchy-feely say-everything kind of guy. We could spend whole days not talking, just getting things done. I was always proud of knowing exactly what to do without him having to tell me every time. Gran hadn’t been a big one for talking either, preferring to teach by example, but next to Dad she was positively chatty.
And how would Dad have told me, anyway? Dru, honey, your mother was part vampire, which means you are too. Sorry about that.
My heart hurt. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried not to think about it.
The door opened. I stayed slumped in the chair, even though my heart leapt nastily and I had to swallow a gasp. I grabbed at the chair’s arms, and my feet slid in a little bit in case I had to stand up in a hurry.
Almost dying will make you a little jumpy.
“Here she is.” Dylan sounded tired. “Entrez-vous, my space is yours.” I heard a light step and a swish of something. A spicy, pretty smell filled the air, and I craned my neck, opening my mouth to ask Dylan where the hell Graves was.
The words died in my throat as the advisor stepped to one side, closing the door and standing at attention right in front of it. A shadow slid past him and glided toward me.
She was tall for a girl, and her hair was a glory of reddish curls. Narrow shoulders, wide blue eyes, a pointed chin, and a long, old timey dress of red silk. That hair was perfect, held back from her heart-shaped face with two black-velvet bows. She half-turned, leaned back, and hopped up to perch on Dylan’s desk, shoving paper back with her skirt.
I stared. Her boots were pointed and heeled, and rows of tiny buttons marched up her shins. She crossed her ankles and looked at me. Her eyes turned a little lighter as dark streaks slid through her hair, the curls becoming looser and longer as her aspect flooded her. The twin points of delicate little fangs touched her pink-glossed lower lip.
Holy shit. I stared some more.
“Dru,” Dylan said, calmly enough. “This is Lady Anna. Milady, this is Dru Anderson.”
“Hello, Dru.” She had a sweet, chiming voice. I stayed where I was, nailed in place, my mouth half-open. “Is that a nickname? What is it short for?”
I was so not going to answer that. But my mouth opened anyway. “You’re svetocha.” The words just fell out. “Jesus Christ. I thought I was—” I sounded accusing, and Dylan straightened self-consciously, his jacket creaking. “Holy shit.”
Her smile faltered for a moment. “I’m a well-kept secret. If the nosferatu suspected, they would attack every place we own, even this small satellite of the Order, with far more frequency. Already, with you here for such a short period of time, we’ve had several students injured and a marked increase in the number of… incidents.”
So that’s my fault? Jesus. A hot ugly feeling welled up inside me. I closed my mouth with a snap.
We looked at each other for a few minutes, her fangs retreating and the curls in her hair tightening up, until she looked just like a storybook impression of a princess.
“We are hoping that the attack on this Schola was merely routine, a matter of them probing our defenses. Though it seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” She tilted her perfect head. “Hopefully none of them escaped to carry tales.”
I finally dug up something to say that wasn’t a cussword. “Where’s Graves?” This was all very well, but he was the one person I wanted to talk to. I needed him here for this.
Dylan shifted uneasily. “He’s in the dorms.” His fangs were out, and he looked unhappy. It was just a subtle downward tilt to the corners of his mouth, but it was such a change from his generally irritated expression, it was pretty shocking. “Milady wanted to meet you, Dru. It’s a high honor for a first-year student.”