by K. M. Raya
“Back off!” she snapped. “Give me a freakin second, I haven't even read my letter yet!” Snapping out of her stupor, she ripped it open and pulled out the fancy piece of parchment inside. It was written on thick cream colored paper, speckled with grey and folded carefully like a royal summons. ‘Pretentious fuckers…’
“Stop muttering and read the damn thing!” Harlow urged, tapping her bare foot impatiently. Unfolding the paper, she had to read it three times over before she was able to fully digest the gravity of the situation she’d been presented with.
Blue Jane Graves,
It is the honor and duty of the Conclave to invite you to attend the Fall Semester at Arcane Academy — Est. 1623. Please report to campus no later than August 5th to accept your dormitory assignment and class schedule. Please come prepared with all of the necessary items provided on your supply list attached to this letter.
Sincerely,
Headmistress Merriweather Silverton
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Blue continued to stare at it blankly, long enough for Harlow to become even more impatient. She snatched it from her sister’s hands. Blue watched as Harlow’s confused eyes roved over the letter, growing increasingly wider as she read on. “Holy shit! Do you have any idea what this could mean for us? This could be our way back in!” She leapt from her seat and threw her arms around Blue in a tight hug.
Frowning at Harlow, Blue sighed heavily, shaking her head. “You don’t think it seems a bit too good to be true? I thought they told us never to show our faces there again?”
Harlow rolled her eyes dramatically. “That was ten whole years ago. Who knows what’s changed since we’ve been gone! You have to go. You have to make this right for us.” Harlow's eyes held a certain wild desperation in them that Blue just couldn’t ignore.
Her shoulders dropped. “Obviously I’ll go, I’m not stupid. I just think it’s weird is all.” She grabbed the letter and read it again just to be sure she wasn’t imagining things.
Standing up, she raced to her bedroom, not caring that she ditched Harlow. Filled with a sudden burst of equal parts excitement and wariness, Blue hurried to pack her things. She didn’t know how long that letter had been sitting in her kitchen, but August 5th was in two days.
Starting with clothing, she threw whatever was in front of her into a gigantic black duffel bag that she’d only ever used for tactical gear. The huge bag had enough pockets for a number of weapons with room to spare. Being a Slayer school, Arcane welcomed weaponry with open arms and weirdly enough—encouraged it. For a race that dedicated their entire existence to the welfare and protection of humanity, weapons were sort of a give in.
Being born a slayer was a one in a million chance. With small factions stationed all around the globe, Slayers hunted, traveled and lived in tight knit communities, usually surrounding an Academy as their central hub. Slayers worked in tandem with human CIA officials to keep the existence of vampires and other supernaturals under wraps. Humans tended to have a little issue with panic that other races found particularly annoying. It seemed every time one of them came across a bigfoot in the forest it became national news. For that reason, they're kept in the dark, like children with the boogeyman.
Growing up, Blue had been subjected to blending in with humanity even from the start. Young Slayers are forced to attend human schools until high school in order to learn their customs and intricacies. After that, teen Slayers are placed into their local Academies, following in the footsteps of their ancestors.
Slayers were still somewhat human, though. In a way, they’re simply more evolved, and therefore require a special sort of training that just isn’t offered outside of perhaps the human Navy Seal’s boot camp. Though Slayer bodies are still made of skin and bone just like the rest of humanity, their bones are about five times more dense than that of a regular human. Slayer skin looks normal, but in reality it’s as tough as kevlar. They could be hurt by other Slayers—even killed, but it was extremely difficult. The only thing that seemed to be able to pierce the skin of a Slayer was pure silver and... you guessed it, vamp teeth.
Most of Blue’s clothing consisted of one color, black. It was useful and over all a badass color when it came to sneaking around rooftops or back alleyways. The feeling of blending in with the shadows of the night naturally appealed to her and her hunter instincts. The anonymity of it was refreshing too.
When everything went wrong all those years ago, the spotlight seemed to shine harshly on the remainder of the Graves family, to the point that they’d eventually moved to a new city just on the outskirts of Slayer territory—still no further than fifty miles away from Arcane Academy. Though they were no longer subjected to accusing stares, judgement and finger pointing, a new sort of pain had taken its place. Being separated from their kind was physically painful to the point of severe separation anxiety. Slayers were meant to be together, and living the solitary life got harder and harder every year.
She supposed she was finally getting the second chance she’d always dreamed of. Throwing at least five pairs of the same black leather pants into her duffel along with seemingly endless amounts of black shirts and a few jackets, she added three of her custom made hoods and a few black face masks just to be sure she was prepared for anything. Just as she was putting her second favorite pair of boots into the bag, a thought struck. She would need to visit Greg sooner rather than later.
Groaning, she zipped it all up and shoved it onto her mattress before making her way through the house and out the front door—avoiding Harlow as she left.
*
Greg lived and worked in the back of an abandoned dive bar downtown called ‘One For The Birds.’ From the front it looked like it was long ago closed down but from the back, Greg’s customer base was booming.
He was a Slayer himself back in the day, but he’d become much too old and unfit to continue his work as an active hunter, so he turned his skillset into a career instead. His shop was decked in the latest weaponry of his own invention—which was genius in Blue’s opinion. Greg was a master inventor, but his one fatal flaw was his alcoholism. He loved a good drink or ten, and that’s why he relegated himself to a run down shop in the back of an old building these days.
She knocked at the back door five times swiftly and then another sixth knock precisely three seconds after, waiting until the stomping of footsteps approached from the other side. The door swung open and Greg poked his head out—fiery red hair hanging around his pale face in curly waves that hadn’t seen a comb in years. He was a plump man in his late sixties who looked more like a viking than a vampire Slayer and he was always kind to her.
“Blue Jay!” he bellowed as he swept her into a big ole bear hug. Greg was a touchy guy—not in a creepy way, but in an I don't have any grandkids sort of way. But she didn’t mind it. Actually, a part of her knew she liked to visit him more often because his protective nature brought her comfort. Growing up without parents can do that to a girl.
Shrugging out of his embrace, she waved a hand in front of her face and scrunched up her nose playfully. “Starting early, I smell?”
He grunted, rolling his kind eyes. “Ah, fooey—you know what they say, It's five o’clock eventually, right?”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the saying.” He waved her off and stumbled back into his dimly lit shop. Red heat lamps covered the ceilings and caused the room to feel stifling and humid. She could feel the sweat already starting to bead on the back of her neck. Greg had several work stations situated around the dark room, each one holding a different sort of weapon or item. Today though, she wasn’t there for a new pair of pants or the latest utility jacket. She was there for her stakes.
“I had to drop by a little early this time, I hope that's okay.” He just grunted noncomittally as he lead her to the back of the shop, shuffling things out of the way. He was unsteady—as per usual and it made her roll her eyes every time. How that man was able to function long enough to craft those fine wor
ks of art was a freakin mystery.
“Got some crazy news . . .” She trailed her fingers over a few clothing racks as she walked behind him, dreading what came next. “I’ve been invited to Arcane this year.”
Greg stopped short and whirled around, fast enough to make her pull up short, surprised. “Impossible—” he spat. “There's no way the Conclave would change their minds like that, exile is exile for a reason.”
She held her hands up in a ‘what do I know?’ manner. “You're preaching to the choir, Greggy, but I got the letter—two years late, but it’s addressed to me and stamped with their seal.”
He frowned as he studied her face for a few, long silent moments. For some reason it made her feel uneasy, as if he was trying to memorize her features for the last time. “Something's fishy here, Blue Jay. I don’t trust it,” he grumbled as he turned back around and lead her over to a table along the back wall.
“I said the same thing, but Harlow’s got tunnel vision. She thinks this might be our ticket back into society; but it just seems so random. We’ve been out of their hair for ten years, why now?”
He glanced back at her with a raised bushy red eyebrow. “That's the million dollar question now isn’t it?”
All thoughts of Arcane and the weird ass letter were momentarily pushed aside as she stared at the glorious weapons on the table. Her custom ordered silver stakes. Those precious babies cost her two months worth of pay at her job at the coffee shop but were incredibly worth it and then some. “Oh, Greggy, they’re beautiful! Look at that shine...” She reached out and grabbed one, caressing it between her fingers reverently.
Greg shook his head with an amused smirk. “I swear, you stare at weapons the same way other girls look at a pair of high heel shoes.”
Wrinkling her nose, she cut him a look. “If you ever catch me drooling over high heels, then you know I’ve finally lost it and have permission to put me out of my misery.”
Studying the long, sleek weapon in her hands and marveling at its craftsmanship, she couldn’t help the tremor in her fingers. The tip was sharper than a stake would normally be, and thinner too. There was a leather grip on the end—perfectly fitted to mold to Blue’s specific fingers. No longer would her stakes be slipping through her grip as she wrestled a bloodsucker to the ground. Also, they were made of one hundred percent silver instead of just tipped at the ends and they gleamed under the red heat lamps.
“I take it you like em?” Greg asked, nudging her arm.
She snorted. “I freakin love them—worth every penny.” Grabbing them both, she shoved them into the holsters at her hips before covering them up with the bottom of her long leather duster jacket. They fit perfectly—their thinner girth allowed for much easier concealment. Since she paid in advance the month before, there was no need to settle up. A part of her felt sad as he walked her back to the door. She’d grown used to the big man's presence in her life, almost as a sort of weird uncle type figure. She had no idea when she’d see him again.
He must have sensed the shift in her mood because he turned to her with a frown. “Don’t go gettin all sentimental on me now, Blue Jay—my mascara might just run.” He pulled her in for a quick hug.
She tried to wave away the wash of emotion building in her chest. She hated goodbyes. “Oh, shut it you old geezer, I’ll be back before you know it.”
Greg pulled back and placed his hands on her shoulders, gripping firmly. His face became serious as he ducked down to look right in her eyes. His were suddenly the most sober she’d ever seen them. “You be careful at Arcane, you hear me? I don’t know what they’re playin at, but watch your back. Those Slayers are not your friends. I don’t care how tough you think you are, that place is not your home.”
She blinked, trying to figure out why he was being so serious all the sudden. He looked genuinely worried, and that made her worry. She just nodded sharply, cracking a small smile. “You got it. I'll be careful. Just don’t keel over from alcohol poisoning while I’m gone, okay?” She was trying to lighten the mood. It seemed to work because he just shoved her back out the door with a single salute goodbye.
Chapter Three
Leaving Harlow behind was possibly the hardest thing she ever forced herself to do.
It was always just the two of them against the world. Blue had her big sister’s back since the second she learned how to wield a stake, so being permanently out of reach tore at her chest like a piece of her was physically missing. Harlow might be annoying most of the time, but her sister was her entire world. Despite being upset that they wouldn't allow Harlow to join her, she had to do this for the both of them.
Tall, thick woods surrounded the massive academy, hiding it away from the rest of the world as if it were its own private city—and it might as well be. Arcane Academy was pretty much a society all its own with strange rules and a separate government that the humans had no control over. The Conclave and their Slayers weren't known for their welcoming nature, so it didn’t surprise her that nobody was there to greet newcomers at the gates.
She’d driven passed the familiar neighborhoods of her childhood without stopping to look. Too many memories were held in the shadowy corners of those streets. Arcane was surrounded by woodland, but just on the outskirts were old mansions belonging to Slayers, passed down from generation to generation. Her own family estate was still nestled somewhere in those trees, standing three stories high, with its familiar black gate and stone ravens perched over the archway that spelled out her family name.
She could picture her home as clearly as if she’d left only yesterday. But she couldn’t bring herself to venture there just yet. Instead, she drove all the way to campus, parking her car outside the gates for a valet to take to the student lot near the back side of the school.
The gates were wide open and she could clearly see people in the distance, milling around in the courtyards filled with overgrown tree roots, rose gardens and moss covered marble bench tables where you could sit and work on homework or take a break between classes. There were ancient looking stone fountains flowing calmly, while various students sat around them with open books or just soaking up the last remnants of the sun before the fall came in full force. The path she took was long, narrow and bumpy with cobblestone rocks instead of paved asphalt, because Arcane just had to look as outdated as it possibly could, because what better way to assure humans that nothing fishy was going on here?
She went through the motions of standing in line for her dorm assignment in the main foyer, already knowing the drill—remembering every single detail from when she used to tag along with Harlow and her parents. Back then, the Graves family did everything together, including escorting their eldest daughter to orientation every year. She could remember vividly, running around the massive campus with her best friend Jewel, one of their father’s team member’s daughters. JJ, as she often called her, had been her best friend in the world back then. They’d done everything together.
Most Slayers graduated and formed tactical teams. Not everyone, but the strongest usually did. Jewel’s father, Henry Hobbs had been second in command of Blue’s mom and dad’s Slayer team. Blue and JJ had always fantasized about being a part of their own badass team one day. They would play pretend all the time, going on fake missions and hunting through the forest inside the perimeter of Slayer territory where vampires were unlikely to wander. Of course, it was only a dream. One that slipped from her grasp the moment her parents turned on their own people.
Abandoning that morbid train of thought, she walked through the school with her head held high, refusing to cower beneath the intense stares her new classmates were sending her way. The school hadn’t changed a bit since she last visited. On the walls were aging tapestries adorned with various recognizable family crests, creating ornate murals over grey stone. The floor was cobblestone, much like the pathways outside. Everything about the place was medieval and centuries out of fashion. Torches flickered along the walls, giving off little to no heat.
The lady at the reception table stared at Blue like a rude ass for a solid two minutes before forcibly gathering her necessary documents and pretending she hadn’t been incredibly out of line. Blue just stared the woman down the entire time with a blank expression, at that point actively trying to unnerve her. The woman rushed to send her off. In all honesty, she’d sort of expected that kind of welcome. She knew she’d be walking into a snake pit. These people grew up on stories of the infamous Graves family. They knew her face because it had been plastered all over the community newspapers after the incident. For years she and Harlow were the talk of the Slayer society—the disgraced leftover daughters that the world didn’t want anymore.
“Vamp lover…” someone hissed. Whipping her head around, she searched for the source of the insult, but nearby students averted their eyes. She pulled the bill of her black ball cap a little lower, attempting to hide her recognizable eyes from the others, but she knew it was no use. She even had her hood pulled up over the hat, keeping her waist length black hair tucked neatly away as inconspicuous as possible.
“Bloodsucker—” another voice whispered as she passed a group of girls.
“Murderer…” came another from over her other shoulder.
People gave her a wide berth—not wanting their skin to come in contact with a Graves. They treated her like some sort of leper, like someone who might infect them with a single touch. They acted like she was the one who personally killed all those Slayers, never mind the fact that she was a nine-year-old when it happened. None of them gave a shit that it wasn’t fair. They believed what their parents taught them. They believed she was monster.