School for Vampires

by Quinn Conlan

“Indeed,” Aphra says. “We do rather value brawn over brains these days don’t we?” It’s not a question, and yet Aphra stands there staring at Garret, waiting for some kind of response. I instantly get the impression that with this lady, everything is about power. “Hmmm?” she says to Garret, looking at him so witheringly that my skin starts to crawl and anger wells up in my heart. Garret is thrown and clearly doesn’t know how to respond. I can’t help but step in.

  “Actually, Garret also did very well in his written exams…ma’am.” Aphra’s eyes slowly creep from Garret’s to mine. She looks me up and down with deep disapproval.

  “And you are?” she asks.

  “I’m Blake, ma’am.”

  “Blake? Is that a first or last name?”

  “First. My last name is Randell.”

  “Quite. Didn’t your parents ever tell you to speak when you are spoken to young lady?” Again, it’s not a question. She continues staring at me with a century of passive aggression coursing through her veins. “Blake Randell. I must say I’m unfamiliar with that name. And what would your ‘special talent’ be then child? Aside from speaking out of turn.” This woman is a nightmare. I almost want to ask bling and blinger to come back and chat. Garret chimes in.

  “Blake got the top mark in Transition and can already fly, ma’am.” I bristle at hearing this, remembering Lily’s words about not attracting too much attention too soon. Aphra looks back at Garret.

  “It would seem speaking out of turn is proving contagious.” Garret looks down at the floor and buttons up. When he mentioned I could fly, I noticed that the next Backer in the line looked up with interest. God, I so want this ridiculous parade to be over with. I start to think of the Backers Ball. It’s within arm’s reach.

  Aphra has one final zinger for me. She leans in a little closer. Her eyes look dead. “Nobody likes a show off young lady.” With this pearl of wisdom, she walks off to verbally annihilate the Seniors. On the way, she casts one fleeting, truly withering glance over Abner. He looks a little ashamed.

  “You got off lightly,” I say to him.

  From the looks of the next Backer, I’d say none of us will. He looks mean. He looks ancient. He looks like he’s in pain. He walks with the aid of a gnarled old wooden walking stick. The tap tap on the ground must be a constant reminder to those around him that misery approaches. He has the requisite thick, dark sunglasses. He has more wrinkles than just about anyone I’ve ever seen. Including Mrs Tippet. He pretty much resembles all the grumpy old grandpas of the world rolled into one lean, withered old frame.

  But how wrong can a girl be? When he’s finally upon us, he stops and gathers himself. He’s exhausted. And tiny. I never thought I’d be looking down at a Backer. He slowly removes his sunglasses and that’s when I realize it. He’s lovely. He’s a good man. He means no harm. I can almost feel my heart reprimanding me for judging someone too soon. He slowly folds his sunglasses up in his slender, shaking hands, and puts them in the breast pocket of his ancient, simple suit. Then he looks at us. And smiles like he means it.

  “Well now, where are we?” His voice sounds like an old leather belt that’s been left in the sun. He looks us up and down. “Ah yes, of course. The Junior stars of the future.” I’ve gone from fearing the man to wanting to ask if he needs a lie down. “You’ll have to pardon the monstrous sunglasses. It’s ever so bright in here. So then. Here we are. My name is Alexander Lovell. And I am very pleased to meet you.” He smiles that lovely, ancient smile, and slowly extends his hand, palm side on. I watch as Garret delicately goes to shake it, and then the amazing sight of Garret practically wincing in pain when their hands grip. Alexander laughs. “Looks can be deceiving, no?” He moves his hand along to me and, even with forewarning, I too feel the hidden strengths in it.

  When the introductions are over, he stares at us for quite a while. In fact, he stares so long that I start to suspect he’s lost his train of thought. And even longer, til I doubt he ever boarded the train in the first place. It goes from being awkward to ridiculous. Garret must feel it too. “Ah, sir?” he asks, accompanying his words with a gentle prod to Alexander’s arm. Alexander snaps out of whatever dream had taken hold of him.

  “Oh, yes. Frightfully sorry. I was just thinking about how much I’ve been looking forward to this day.” He looks straight at me as he says these words. “It’s been a very, very long time coming.” He smiles, and again my heart tells me that here is a man I can trust. “You’re all fine young specimens, and I’m sure you’ll do us proud,” he says. I have the feeling that bit was mere formality. He takes a step towards me. With his long, bony index finger, he beckons me to lean down close to him. It’s like coming face to face with a 200 year old turtle. “Closer young lady, I won’t bite,” he says, “even if I do resemble a turtle.” His warm, slightly cheeky smile tells me not to waste my time being embarrassed that he read my mind.

  I lean in close. So close, our faces are almost touching. “There now. That’s better,” he says. “I’m glad to finally meet you Blake. I’ve heard so much about you.” It’s strange, but as Alexander continues talking, it’s almost like I can hear another voice, behind his speaking voice. It gradually grows louder, til I’m certain I’m not imagining it.

  The voice is still unmistakably his, but it’s fresher. Less doddery. “We don’t have much time, my dear, sweet girl,” it says. “I just wanted to tell you that you are not alone down here, or up there. I wanted to tell you that I knew your father. A good man. Just keep nodding quietly, acting like I’m a grumpy, slightly senile old Backer. That’s it. Now my dear, I have to move along. We don’t want others cottoning on. I’m ever so glad to hear that you’re already flying. Oh, and one more thing. I believe you’ve already met one of my most trusted employees. We will meet again my dear. Good luck.” He finishes both conversations and shuffles off towards the Seniors.

  I’m amazed at what’s just happened. Alexander’s inner voice has affected me deeply. I glance up at the stand, and search for his entourage. It’s not hard – I just look for the least blinged up crew. And that’s when I see it. The fedora. That unmistakable fedora. Whoever wears it has their head tilted down so I can’t make out their face. Suddenly, I’m very glad to be meeting the Backers.

  The only strange part of Alexander’s speech to me was when he said he knew my father. Surely he meant ‘knows’? Lily promised me she would tell me if anything happened to Gregor, and I trust her. I have to trust her. I dismiss my worry as nothing more than poor grammar on Alexander’s part, and make a mental note to talk to Lily about making fresh contact with my dad.

  I look around to see if anyone detected our hidden conversation. No one seems to have noticed. “Sorry you had to bear the brunt of his senility Blake,” says Garret. I know straight away that I have to keep what I’ve heard to myself. At least for now.

  “His breath smelt like moth balls,” I say. Garret laughs.

  Four down, one to go. I remind myself not to judge a book by its cover, and look across at the final Backer coming towards us. He’s a distinguished looking man in a tailored black suit. He looks to be about 45 years. He’s handsome. He has a red poppy in his breast pocket. As he approaches, I hold onto my open mind for as long as I can. Only it becomes increasingly more difficult. By the time he’s in front of us, and despite my best efforts, I happen to have the single most foreboding feeling I’ve had since being turned.

  He stares at us. One by one, he sizes us up. He doesn’t speak. He’s already trying to intimidate us. My insides are shaking. I’m shocked by just how strong my negative reaction is to this man. I wonder if the others feel it too?

  Finally, after making us feel like naughty children just with his eyes, he speaks. “I won’t keep you.” His voice is a rich, slow Southern drawl. Hearing it confirms my deep foreboding. “I’m Tobias Fricket. I live up top.” He points upwards. He sounds smug, cheeky and world-weary all at once. “Tell me. What do you think of our way of life in the big smoke? No. Don’t answe
r that. You’re still so…new.” He says this last word with disdain. “Did Grandpa’s fangs fall out?” He’s talking about Alexander. I can tell they aren’t friends. “It positively amazes me they still let him out of the nursing home.”

  As he speaks, he constantly looks each of us up and down. Over and over. He’s sizing us up. Letting us know that we’re here at his pleasure. I hate the way he looks at me. It makes the thugs in the alley seem like saints. “Well I must say, you were all very impressive today. Real stars of the future.” He laughs, knowing that he’s trotting out the standard lines. “Tell me something Miss Randell.” He looks straight into my eyes. I meet his gaze as best I can. His eyes look blood red and sinister. “Have you grown accustomed to the candles?” He smirks. He knows that it was me who caused the giant wax bomb.

  “But don’t let me keep you youngins. I hear you’ve got a Ball to attend. I do so love Balls. And banquets. Bonfires. Anything that offers the chance to have a little fun.” He laughs his sinister laugh, and I shudder. I actually feel sick to my stomach. Suddenly, I worry that my reaction to this Backer is so strong, I’m in danger of throwing up. I try my best to calm myself down, reminding myself that it’s nearly over. “Why Miss Randell,” Tobias says, “you suddenly look a little off color.”

  “I’m fine,” I manage to say. Tobias takes a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and hands it to me. I resist.

  “Oh go on now, I insist.” He certainly does. I reluctantly take it. “You hang onto that one. Never know when you might need it.” I see the initials, TF, on the red handkerchief, along with the words ‘Charon Tower.’ Maybe that’s his headquarters.

  Tobias then takes the red poppy from the same breast pocket and offers it to me. Since resistance is futile, I take it. “A pretty flower for such a pretty little lady. You can wear it to the Ball.” He smiles that world-weary smile. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a somewhat more pressing matter to attend to. I’ll surely be seeing you again soon.” He says these last words whilst looking at me. And then he’s off, further down the stage, to intimidate the poor Seniors.

  My body almost slumps in relief. I feel the other two having similar reactions. Mr Foggarty promptly ushers us off the stage. He has no more use for us, and we’re only too happy to oblige. As we make our way back inside the school, I cast one final glance across the stand. The man in the fedora is deep in conversation with the rest of Alexander’s crew. I still can’t see his face. I look at the Council. This is a day for the Backers, but I wonder if they’re unhappy about sitting on the sidelines. I suspect I’ll be meeting them before too long. Finally, I glance at Tobias’ entourage. They all seem as sinister as their feared leader. They’re watching the Seniors very closely, pointing and chatting animatedly.

  My eyes catch one crewmember in particular. He’s wearing a black hood, and as he leans forward to point at a Senior, the hood falls back to reveal a face scarred across one side. It’s almost as if his skin has melted. I stare for a moment, caught off guard. Suddenly, he turns and looks directly at me. His face is expressionless. I feel embarrassed for staring and don’t want him thinking I’m gawking at his scorched face. I turn away and rush on into the school.

  Abner, Garret and I make our way to the reception room to join the other waiting Juniors. When we arrive, we are set upon. Everyone is curious to know what the Backers are like. After so many intense emotional reactions on the stage, and after a long day of presentations, I feel utterly exhausted. I don’t want to be rude, so I do my best to give them the information they quite rightly desire. I give sparse sketches of the Backers, saying that some seemed more decent than others. I make plenty of jokes about the blinged up men and the society matriarch. When I can’t bare to say any more, Garret notices how wilted I am and does his best to absorb most of the probing. When the students’ curiosity seems sated, I sit down on the ground by the fire with Garret. I feel like we’ve lived through something. I’m so glad he was there too. We don’t say anything to one another. I think it’s enough just to know that we went through it together. The jokes will surely come soon enough anyway. I’m certain it’s the last Backer that weighs as heavily on Garret’s mind as mine. The first three were horrendous but also clueless. Tobias was horrendous but savvy. Cunning. Powerful.

  We sit there for quite a while, collecting ourselves and waiting for the Seniors to finish up so we can all head home and prepare for the Ball. I worry that I won’t have enough energy to enjoy it. Then I realize I haven’t had any pills for quite a while. I hope Kate’s first port of call back at Dorms will be the Dispensary.

  I wonder how Kate’s getting on, back there on that stage, running the gauntlet of the Backer’s neuroses? I look forward to hearing all about it. She’s pretty much the talk of the reception room, after her dazzling displays on the oval. I knew she was good, but not that good. I’m suddenly worried for her. Having met the Backers, and discovered that four out of the five of them are nightmares in the flesh, I worry about where Kate will end up after school. What sort of work would her apprenticeship entail over at Bling Central? Or in the Upper East Side salon Aphra no doubt maintains? I don’t even want to speculate about what sort of work Tobias gets his new recruits to do.

  Finally, the Seniors make it back to the reception room. They seem beat and I don’t blame them. Everyone is itching to get back to Dorms, so there is no milling about, asking questions. Helpers appear right on cue, the front door opens and we stream into the Square in the familiar formation.

  As we wait to board the trains, I look around for Kate. I can’t spot her, but I guess I’ll see her back at the House. I look too for Jason. If he bombed on the exams, which the paper plane he made would indicate, I don’t want him to feel he’s alone with the news. We’re packed in so tight, as usual, it’s hard to see beyond the people immediately around me. I guess I’ll see him back at Dorms too.

  When we’re spat out the other end of the train tunnel, I kiss Garret goodbye and tell him I’ll meet him here when it’s time to head to the Ball. I’m dying for the Dispensary. I’m not alone. All the Luthers rush through the tunnel to the Mess, and look around feverishly for Kate.

  She doesn’t appear. Two Seniors go into their own wing, in case she was first off the train and is already soaking in the wine barrel. They come back empty handed. We all glance at the tunnel entrance, expecting Kate to step out of the darkness at any moment. We stare. And stare. The darkness offers nothing. Our faces slowly drop as worry comes knocking.

  It occurs to me that there was no head count in the reception room. Others realize it too and it becomes the topic of conversation. I gather it’s a very rare occurrence that it’s forgotten. I guess everyone was so tired and so keen to get back and dress up for the Ball. I think about my own missed train trip and the near deadly results. I can’t imagine Kate getting into such deep water.

  Suddenly, Tamara remembers that Kate had been asked to stay back for a moment on the oval. Kurt confirms this. My worry dies down. She must have been singled out for a more intimate chat with the Backers. And then missed the trains home. Relief is in the air. It’s a plausible explanation, albeit still a little unlikely, given Kate’s usual punctuality and role as the resident law enforcer.

  But it will do for now. There are matters to attend to. Like bathing. And frocking up. And breaking into the Dispensary. Kate is the only one with a key, and it hangs on a bracelet round her wrist. We go to the Dispensary door on the off chance it’s open. No chance. I stare through the grill at the jars of pills. They’re so close I can almost taste them. There’s no way we can make the Ball without a booster. People look around for something that might pick the lock. Lizzy runs into our bedroom and returns with a wire hanger, which she’s already uncurled by the time she’s back. We wiggle it around in the keyhole for a good five minutes, but nothing happens. This isn’t the movies. Although suddenly I can’t help but think we resemble the inpatients in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

  Seems I’m not t
he only one. Kurt suddenly emerges with a chest of drawers in his arms. He has hopes of storming the grill. We dash his hopes, since an act of vandalism might make a dent in our Ball intentions. Kurt seems crestfallen. We tell him not to put the drawers back just yet. He plonks them down on the rug and sits atop them with his arms proudly folded, waiting for his call up.

  I think of the two Glints stashed in my warped version of a Christmas stocking. A back up. In the meantime, Jason suggests we break a plank of wood off the spare coffin in the Seniors wing, tie a couch cushion cover to the end of it, slide it through the gap under the grill, and catch the pill bottles like they’re cats stuck in a tree. We all stare at him in stunned silence. It’s by far the best stupid idea we’ve had. And if it works, Jason will be a legend round these parts for years to come.

  Things take a little longer than anticipated. First, there’s a debate about desecrating a coffin. Then we can’t agree on which is the best cushion cover. Then people squabble over how best to tie it to the plank of wood. There’s a brief, shining consensus that Jason should be the one to wield our new toy. Then it turns out he’s rubbish at it. Then there’s debate about who else should have a go. This last debate is especially fierce, and eventually it’s decided that several people should have their hands on the stick at once. You can already work out how that goes. Then the blaming begins.

  Finally, as we all stand around calling each other weak-wristed and unco, there’s an almighty crash. We turn and see the grill smashed in, a chest of drawers lying shattered on the Dispensary floor, and Kurt standing there with folded arms and the proudest smile you’ve ever seen.

  Vandalism triumphs. There’s no time for shock or anger, since we’re practically junkies by now. Kurt leaps through the newly created entrance and hurls pills through the air like confetti.

  We’re all behind the 8 ball. Everyone rushes to their bedrooms to wash and frock up. Time is so tight, the bath becomes a hot tub. We manage to squeeze five girls in at once. I dash to the powder room to retrieve my silver dress. That’s when I see it. A necklace. Shimmering and silver like the dress it shares a hanger with. I scream, partly from shock and partly from excitement. I’m instantly embarrassed, but when others pour into the powder room, they follow suit. I feel better. People crowd around and paw at it. It’s decided that they’re real diamonds. I can’t believe it. Some kids assume it’s a gift from Garret. Others swear it must have come from an admiring Backer. I can’t help but feel they’re all wrong. There is a small card on the dressing table, with my name on the front. I turn it over. I knew it. It’s from Vincent. “You’re the belle of any ball Miss Randell,” it reads. It’s signed with the initials VT.