by Claudia Gray
But not as much as it sickened him to realize that Redgrave was following their example. From now on, any given night could see his dreams turning into a torture chamber. The dreamer never understood the true nature of the dream until it had ended; until then, all the fear, confusion, and pain was quite real.
Balthazar thought once again of seeing Charity and Jane standing side by side. He remembered the last time he had seen that, and he never wanted to return there.
If the only way to stop the dreams was abandoning Skye—
—then let Redgrave do his worst.
Balthazar knew how to look twenty-one years old if he had to.
He’d mastered that art long ago, though these days it mostly came in handy when he needed to buy a beer. (Whose idea had it been to raise the drinking age that high anyway? As someone who’d grown up in an era when fifteen-year-olds were considered adults, he found the modern prohibitions on marriage and alcohol consumption ridiculously Puritanical—and he’d been a Puritan.)
At any rate, he knew how to appear older than the age he’d died at, nineteen. Allowing a shadow of stubble to grow on his cheeks got him partway there. Wearing expensive, well-cut, conservative-looking clothes helped a lot, too.
Now, looking twenty-four years old—that was tougher.
His suit appeared right. The stubble was scratchy without making him look unkempt. Balthazar studied himself in the mirror before dispensing a considerable amount of hair gel—“Infinite Hold,” it promised, somewhat rashly—and combing it through, so that his curls vanished into a hard, slicked-back style. Then he pulled out a pair of tortoiseshell glasses with the modern rectangular frames. The lenses were merely glass; he’d heard these were fashionable these days and had bought them just to experiment. But hopefully they’d work as part of his disguise, too.
Double-checking his phone, he saw that Lucas had sent the fake documents he needed. Supposedly there was a twenty-four-hour copy center in town; he’d be able to print those off, and he knew that Lucas and his other friends would provide the phone verifications necessary.
This could work—if he played his role right. It was all up to him.
“It’s lucky you showed up today,” said Principal Zaslow, across the desk in her cozy office at Darby Glen High. “There was a car accident last night; we lost our history teacher for at least two months. I had no idea where we were going to find a qualified substitute who could work that long, starting immediately.”
Balthazar gave her his best, most confident smile. “I’m your man.”
Chapter Eight
“DO YOU REMEMBER THAT THING THAT WENT around about how gang members were going to beat up people at random, for, like, an initiation? And if anybody flashed headlights at you then you had to get out of there because they’d picked you? I bet that’s what happened to Mr. Lovejoy.”
“That’s so stupid. He was in a car accident.”
“I heard he was driving drunk.”
“He’d be fired already if that were true. Maybe the person who hit him was drunk and that’s what you heard.”
“You’re awfully quiet, Skye.” Some girl looked at her with narrow ferret eyes. “What, feeling guilty? Were you the one who ran him down? The rich think they can get away with anything.”
People laughed. Skye flushed with shame; the taunt struck too close to the truth. What had happened to Mr. Lovejoy was, however indirectly, because of her.
And it was one more reminder that school was not just unbearable now—it was also unsafe. If Redgrave or any of the other vampires came in here, who was going to stop them? The elderly school secretary who sweetly asked visitors for their ID at the front door? Not likely.
Maybe it was ridiculous to think that vampires would come barging into Darby Glen High, but she didn’t know how far they’d go, or what they would or wouldn’t risk. Surely they wouldn’t want to kidnap her in public. But who knows?
She’d gotten up early enough in the morning to walk to the bus while her parents were going to their cars. That wasn’t much protection, but it was something. Here at school, she was totally exposed.
To everything, including Britnee Fong.
“Should we be quieter?” Britnee was perched on the edge of Craig’s desk; he’d hitched two of his fingers through a belt loop at the waist of her denim skirt. “Because, like, won’t they come in here? And tell us to shut up? Then we’ll get a substitute?”
Madison glanced at Skye, like My God, that girl is stupid, before she said, “Do you seriously think that we’re not getting a sub? Is your big plan for us to just sit in here silently all semester and hope they don’t notice Mr. Lovejoy is out?”
“It’s weird they haven’t gotten anyone in here already,” Craig said quickly, obviously trying to stand up for his dimwit girlfriend. “The other teachers are probably pissed off by now.”
Probably this was true, Skye thought—in the absence of Mr. Lovejoy, her homeroom had gone from hushed voices to the verge of anarchy. So far, the drawings on the dry-erase board weren’t obscene, but they’d probably get there in five more minutes. Wasn’t it bad enough that she was going to have to go through every school day in fear for her life without everybody being completely obnoxious in the bargain? She slumped down over her desk.
Madison said, “Be careful, Britnee. You don’t want Craig’s desk to collapse under the weight.”
Skye looked up, startled by how seriously bitchy that was; it was nice that Madison stuck up for her, but that had been mean. Britnee chewed on her lower lip as she slid off Craig’s desk. Craig gave Madison his most searching stare—and he could really do that, look at you like he was looking into your soul. Madison didn’t seem to notice or care. Then he glanced at Skye, and she knew exactly what he was thinking: This is the kind of person you want to be friends with?
Which was judgmental of him. Madison’s jokes were only meant to make Skye feel better, even if they were a little out of line. Plus, what right did Craig have to judge anybody? He was the one who had dumped her while she was still grieving for Dakota, and only a short while after they’d slept together for the first time.
Skye deliberately turned to Madison and said, “So has anybody come up with anything interesting to do in Darby Glen since I left? Or is Café Keats still the only game in town?”
“Pretty much.” Madison tossed her coppery ringlets as she frowned at a chip on one manicured nail. “But, hey, basketball’s started back up. We can go to the game tonight. That’s something, anyway.”
Craig was the basketball team’s star forward, so Skye figured the game was the last place she wanted to be … even if it weren’t exposed to vampire attack, which was definitely reason enough on its own to say no. As she started to make an excuse, though, the door to their classroom opened and Principal Zaslow walked in. Everybody fell silent at once as people dove for their desks.
Skye gaped as Balthazar walked in after the principal.
He’d brushed his hair back and put on glasses, which made him look older, but no less hot. Instead of the dark jeans and long coat he’d worn yesterday, Balthazar now had on pressed slacks and a tweed coat over a sweater vest—and somehow he made even that look hot.
The hush in the room took on a different quality the minute Balthazar walked into it, signaling the rapt attention of nearly all the girls and at least a couple of the guys. Madison leaned closer to Skye and murmured, “Oh, my God. This semester just started looking a whole lot better.”
Taking her glasses from the beaded chain around her neck and putting them on her nose, Principal Zaslow said, “As all of you know, Mr. Lovejoy is looking at a long hospital stay and recovery. Luckily, we’ve already arranged for a full-time substitute. Mr. More will be taking over both homeroom and history teaching duties from now until Mr. Lovejoy can return to us. I trust you’ll show him a warm Minuteman welcome, and your full attention and respect.”
“That’s not all I’d show him,” Madison whispered, and a couple of girls nearby sighed
as if to say, Me too.
Skye could hardly do more than stare as the principal walked out and Balthazar wrote his name on the board. “Hello, everyone. As you can see, it’s More with one o, not two—pet peeve of mine.”
“More as in give me more.” Madison’s crush was clearly already in full swing.
Balthazar had to have heard that—he had powers and abilities nobody else in this room could guess—and it hit Skye all at once: Nobody knows the substitute teacher is a vampire.
She put her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. Although Balthazar looked reasonably confident to anybody who didn’t know him well, Skye knew him well enough to realize that, six weeks ago, he’d been on the other side of the classroom and now had no idea what to do. “I know we’re all thinking of Mr. Lovejoy and hoping he’ll recover soon. I was called in at the last minute, and I admit, I’m going to need some time to get up to speed. For today, you should treat this class as an extra study hall. We’ll dive in again tomorrow.”
People glanced at one another—the girls in open delight—as they took out their books and started pretending to do homework. Skye palmed her phone, angling it behind her notebook even though she doubted Balthazar would chastise her for using it. Quickly she texted him, OMG WTF are you doing?
The pile of books on top of Lovejoy’s desk … now Balthazar’s desk … apparently let him hide his phone, too. You were exposed at school. Too dangerous. I needed a way to watch over you here.
Since when do you teach history?
Since today. But I’ve lived through a lot of it. That’s got to count for something, right?
It won’t count when Zas checks your credentials and finds out you don’t have any.
Thanks to some hacking—by our mutual friend Lucas, by the way—she’ll find that I’m fully accredited. Apparently I got a master’s in education from the University of Mississippi. Who knew?
Skye turned her phone over, lest she start laughing out loud. Or screaming. Her life was more and more like a supernatural roller coaster all the time.
Within two hours, she definitely felt more like screaming.
“Miss Tierney?” Ms. Loos gave her a look across the anatomy classroom. Skye could barely hear her over the drumming of her heart as the poor man collapsed in front of the room—again—his death drowning out everything else. “You look terrified. Are you well? Do you have some kind of condition I should know about?”
Snickers came from around the room. Skye braced her hands against the desk, her stomach churning. “No, ma’am. I’m fine.”
“This classroom isn’t the place for your personal drama, people.” Ms. Loos pretended to be talking to the whole class, but her sharp eyes remained focused on Skye. This woman got off on picking on the weak—like she was in high school instead of teaching it. “If you’re not capable of handling the subject of sex with maturity, then you should reconsider being in here to begin with. Transfers are still available.”
Skye just hung on. The death began to fade, though the cold sweat trickling down her back and the cramps in her muscles told her the aftermath would be with her for a long time to come.
So, that was zero percent better. She definitely needed to check on transferring out of this class.
As Ms. Loos resumed her talk about how sex differentiation evolved millions of years ago, with mollusks or something, Skye put her head in one hand. This morning, for a brief hour, everything happening to her had seemed like a kind of adventure. A roller coaster. Balthazar’s sudden appearance in her classroom had suggested that everything could be solved quickly and easily.
That had been a brief illusion, though. Now her problems loomed large and dark around her.
Skye took a deep breath. Before jumping competitions, she had gone through a checklist in her mind, making sure every single thing about Eb’s tack was perfect, or if not, how she could handle the difficulty. It couldn’t hurt to try that now.
Problem: Vampires are trying to kill me. Solution: My house is safe. My school is now safe thanks to Balthazar. I have to watch myself carefully anyplace else and minimize going out. Skye groaned inwardly as she realized she was, in effect, grounded. That was a small price to pay for staying alive, though. Maybe she could take up martial arts or something similar. Balthazar would always be the best at kicking ass when necessary, but she needed to be able to defend herself.
Problem: I can see the … psychic remnants of old deaths, all over the place. Solution: None. I can avoid most of the places I find, but whenever a new one shows up, I’ll just have to get through it somehow. That felt a lot harder to accomplish. When no answer presented itself, she pushed herself on to the next issue.
Problem: My ex-boyfriend and his skank girlfriend are all over this school being judgy about me. Solution: None. It wasn’t that big on her list of concerns at the moment, Skye admitted, but that didn’t mean it didn’t suck.
Problem: I never see my mom and dad. I know they need to work hard—to have some space from our house and the family—so that they can get over Dakota’s death. But how am I supposed to get over it? I need to talk to someone about him. I need to remember him sometimes. Solution: Find someone new to talk with. Skye wondered whether Madison might become the kind of friend she could discuss these things with, but she doubted it. Clementine had been a rock to lean on last year at Evernight, but she’d sensed when Skye was sad, or needed support; doing that became much more difficult via text.
Nothing would really take the place of talking with her parents. They were the only ones who had loved Dakota the way she had, who remembered the happy family they’d once had. During the summer, Skye had been so numb that their distance hadn’t troubled her as much; plus, back then, she’d been able to confide in Craig. She had believed that, in time, Mom and Dad would come alive again. Remember her again. So far, they hadn’t.
Balthazar seemed like someone who would listen—
Problem: The guy I had a major crush on is now undercover as my substitute teacher, plus hanging around my house all the time, and I’m already liking him a thousand percent more than before. Also, he’s a vampire, which makes this—complicated. How do I handle that?
A slow smile spread across Skye’s face as she realized the one bright spot in this entire screaming mess that was her life.
Solution: Make Balthazar MINE.
Chapter Nine
BALTHAZAR HAD WALKED INTO VAMPIRE-HUNTER ambushes that filled him with less dread than walking into the Darby Glen High teachers’ lounge.
“Well, hello there.” A blond woman in a red skirt that was surely too short for teaching gave him an enormous smile. “Are you subbing for Sterling? Well, that’s lucky. I mean, for you. Certainly not for him.” She laughed a little too hard at her own joke. “I’m Tonia Loos. Anatomy and sex education.”
Did she actually stress the word sex? Balthazar edged back toward the coffee and tea station. “Hello there—everybody,” he said, making sure to include the entire roomful of people in his greeting. “Balthazar More. And yes, I’m filling in for Mr. Lovejoy. How’s he doing, by the way?”
“That poor man,” sighed a stocky guy in a colorful shirt and tie. “I’m taking him over some flowers after school today. Rick Bollinger, music, drama, and debate. Welcome aboard. This place isn’t too bad.”
“If you like suffering,” said somebody who looked like a track coach.
“Don’t scare the poor man off,” said Tonia, as she ignored her own advice and stepped closer to Balthazar again. One of her fingers twirled a strand of her hair as she added, “Let’s see—what do you need to know? Zaslow’s not so bad if you stay on her good side. We’ve got an electric kettle, microwave, and hot plate in here, and we do a cake for the month’s birthdays every first Friday. And if you’re a smoker, the best spot to get a cigarette without the kids seeing you is right out this back way here.”
With some wistfulness, Balthazar said, “I’m trying to quit, actually.”
“Good for you,” the
track coach replied. “Stuff rots your lungs.”
Not Balthazar’s lungs, but he’d discovered that smoking had become incredibly annoying in the past decade. No smoking in theaters, on public transport, in most public buildings, even in bars: What was the point of that? The addiction, unfortunately, applied even to the undead, but he thought he could kick it. In the meantime, he kept chewing gum, patches, and an “electronic cigarette” at the ready.
Obviously worried that his attention was drifting, Tonia hurriedly added, “Well, we want you to feel really welcome here. If there’s anything you need, Balthazar—you know, if you want someone to, um, show you the ropes—”
Was that a bondage joke? Please, let that not have been a bondage joke. Balthazar quickly turned his attention to Rick and said, “Actually, I need a place to live while I’m here. I’m not … local. I was hoping for someplace out by the river, near the state land, maybe.”
“You like your privacy?” Tonia gave him a low-lidded look perhaps meant to be sultry. Balthazar noticed only how thickly mascara had clumped on her lashes.
“I like hiking. Riding. That kind of thing.” What he needed was to be close to Skye, the better to protect her, but that wouldn’t go over well as a reason. As far as any of these people knew, he was an adult human male who should never, ever show any personal interest in one of his young female students, much less insist on living next door to one.
A gray-haired woman whose lunch was spread over an Algebra II textbook said, “The Macrossan house is for rent, if you want some space. Right in the center of town, but trust me, after the next big snowfall, you won’t mind being closer to things.”
“That’s okay,” Balthazar said. “I don’t need much room; I don’t have a lot.” Also, he expected to spend very little time at whatever home he found—he’d be with Skye as much as possible. The new residence was mostly a place for Darby Glen High to send him his paychecks, because there was no way he was grading papers and taking attendance every day for free.