It was with that gross mental picture that I slid into a desk for my first class, which was now Literature 205. Oh, when Shekinah had moved all my classes around so that I could be in an advanced level of Vampyre Sociology, she’d failed to mention that the rearrangement had caused me to be bumped up to the next level of my lit and Spanish classes. So my stomach churned as I waited for Professor Penthasilea, better known as Prof P, to assign a piece of literature with a correspondingly awful essay that was so far over my head that it could roost.
I shouldn’t have worried. Prof P was there. She looked like her gorgeous, artsy self. But she acted like an utterly different vampyre. Prof P, by far the coolest lit teacher I’d ever hoped to encounter, began the hour by passing out grammar worksheets. Yep. I stared down at the half dozen pages, Xeroxed front and back, she wanted us to complete. The worksheets ran the range from comma splices and run-ons to diagramming complex sentences (seriously).
Okay, some kids—well, I guess the majority of kids if they had an on-level public school education—would not have been shocked at all by the assignment. But this was Prof P at the House of Night! One thing I could say for Hell High (as human kids called it) was that the classes were not boring. And even among the totally not boring professors, Penthasilea stood out. She’d captivated me in the first sixty seconds of the first day I’d sat in her class by saying that we were going to read Walter Lord’s A Night to Remember, a book about the sinking of the Titanic. That was cool enough, but add to that the fact that Prof P had actually been living in Chicago when the ship sank, and she remembered tons of amazing details about not just the people on the ship but what life had been like in the early 1900s, and you have an excellent class.
I looked up from my totally boring worksheets to where she was sitting at her desk, bloblike, staring stone-faced at her computer screen. Her c ke an n the shipharisma in class today would definitely fall on the South Intermediate High School crap teacher scale at about the level of Mrs. Fosster, who consistently got the prize for the Worst English Teacher Ever, and had been called Queen of Worksheets or Umpa Lumpa, depending on whether she was wearing her M&M blue muumuu or not.
Professor Penthasilea had definitely been changed into a pod person.
Spanish class was next. Not only was Spanish II insanely too hard for me (hell, Spanish I had been too hard for me!), but Prof Garmy had turned into a nonteacher. Where before the class had been immersion, which means basically all the talking was in Spanish and not English, now she flitted around the room nervously, helping kids write the description of the picture she’d put up on the Smart Board of a bunch of cats, er, gatos getting all tangled in string, um, hilo—or whatever. (I seriously don’t have many Spanish skills.) Her vamp tattoos looked like feathers, and she’d reminded me of a little Spanish bird before. Now she looked and acted like a neurotic sparrow, flitting from kid to kid and getting ready to have a nervous breakdown.
Pod professor number two.
But I would have chosen to stay in Prof Garmy’s confusing Spanish class all day if it could have kept me from going to my third-hour class, Advanced Vampyre Sociology, taught by—you guessed it—Neferet.
Since day one at the House of Night, I’d resisted being put in an advanced level of Vampyre Sociology. At first it was because I’d wanted to fit in. I hadn’t wanted to be known as the weird third former (or freshman) kid who’d been stuck in a sixth former (or senior) class because she was so “special.” I mean, barf.
Well, it hadn’t taken me very long to figure out that there was just no way for me to stay incognito. Since then I’d been learning to deal with my specialness and the responsibilities (and embarrassments) that go with it. But it didn’t matter how hard I’d talked to myself about the Vamp Soc being just another class, I was still majorly nervous going into it.
Of course, knowing Neferet would be the teacher didn’t help at all.
I came in, found a desk near the back of the class, and proceeded to hunker down in my seat, trying to impersonate one of those sloth-like kids who slept their lives away, waking up only to move from class to class, leaving a slug trail of yawns and bright pink spots on their foreheads.
My sloth impersonation might have worked had Neferet turned into a pod professor. Sadly, she hadn’t. Neferet was glowing with power and what would appear to those less well informed as happiness. I recognized it as gloating. Neferet was a bloated spider, radiating her victory over everyone’s head she had bitten off, delighted to be contemplating more carnage.
As a side note: Darius would be really pleased at my retention of the vocab words he’d been using around me.
Besides the fact that she seemed spiderlike to me, I noticed Neferet, again, wasn’t wearing the insignia of Nyx, a goddess embroidered in silver with her hands raised and cupping a crescent moon. Instead, she was wearing a gold chain from which hung wings carved from a pure black stone. I wondered, not for the first time, why no one seemed to notice she was totally twisted. I also wondered why no one noticed the way she radiated a dark energy that filled the space around her like the air right before a lightning strike.
“Today’s lesson is going to focus on an aspect of abilities that only a vampyre, or sometimes an advanced fledgling, can use. So you won’t need your Fledgling Handbooks at the moment, unless you’d like to make additional notes in the physiology section. Please open your texts to page 426, which is the chapter on concealment.” Neferet held the small class’s attention easily. She strode back and forth across the front of her room, looking regal and typically gorgeous in a long black dress trimmed in golden thread that looked like liquid metal. Her auburn hair was pulled back, and lovely curling tendrils of it escaped to frame her beautiful face. Her voice was refined and easy to listen to.
She absolutely scared the bejeezus out of me.
“So, I’ll want you to read this chapter on your own. Your assignment will be to document in a journal all of your dreams for the next five days. Often secret desires as well as abilities surface in our dreams. Before you go to sleep, I want you to focus on your reading and think about what concealment means to you. What dark secrets do you keep hidden from the world? Where would you go if no one could find you? What would you do if no one could see you?” She paused, looking at each student as she spoke. Some smiled at her shyly. Others looked away almost guiltily. All in all, the class showed more animation than any of the others I’d been in.
“Brittney, darling, would you read aloud the section on page 432 on cloaking?”
Brittney, a petite brunette, nodded, turned the pages, and began reading:
CLOAKING
Most fledglings are familiar with the inherent ability they have to cloak their presence to outsiders, i.e., humans. It is practiced by the fledgling tradition of sneaking off campus to perform rituals under the very eyes of the human community. But this is only a small taste of the ability a mature vampyre can command. Even those without affinities can call night to them and conceal their movements from the inadequate senses of the typical human.
Here Neferet interrupted. “Part of what you will learn from this chapter is that any vampyre can move stealthily among humans, a skill which comes in handy because humans tend to be overly judgmental of our activities.”
I was frowning down at the text, thinking that I couldn’t be the only fledgling to notice Neferet’s prejudice against humans, when her voice whiplashed at me from next to my desk.
“Zoey. So nice of you to join a class that is more fitting for your abilities.”
I looked slowly up into her frigid green eyes and tried to sound like any other fledgling. “Thank you. I’ve always liked Vamp Soc class.”