“What’s the difference?” Max asked.
“Great question.” Dudley tilted his head to the side and rubbed his chin. “Stock whips have a longer handle and a removable leather thong, but the bullwhips are all one piece.” He tugged on the leather to demonstrate. “This is a bullwhip, which is what Australian cattlemen like me prefer.”
Cassandra raised her hand. “What if we already know how to use both?”
Dudley gave Cassandra a critical look, and then shifted his gaze over to Van. “Your sister, I take it?”
Van grinned. “She’s been kicking my ass for years.”
Dudley tossed his whip to Cassandra. “Prove it.”
Cassandra caught the handle in midair and slapped the whip against the ground. “One whip? That’s for amateurs.” She took a few steps forward and flicked the whip against the wall, catching the handle of another bullwhip hanging on a peg, and pulling it toward her. “Now for the Queensland Crossover,” she said, cracking both whips out at once. The two leather tails jumped and snapped, flashing through the air like lightning. “Move out of the way,” Cassandra ordered, “so I can add in a pirouette.”
We pressed ourselves against the closed garage door, so Cassandra had more room to maneuver.
“You should be training with the second-years,” said Dudley, nodding with approval. “You could teach them a thing or two.”
“Every slayer has their area of specialty, and this is Cassandra’s,” said Van.
“One of my areas of specialty, you mean,” Cassandra corrected.
“Right.” Van frowned.
Dudley clapped his hands. “You’re welcome to join my advanced seminar on the nine-section chain whip later this afternoon.”
“Awesome!” Cassandra dropped her arms and the whips died down beside her.
“No,” said Van. “Sorry. You have class.”
“But—” she started to protest.
“There’s a reason Mom wanted you to be a first-year, and you know it.” There was a steely edge to Van’s voice. Cassandra glared back at him with flared nostrils.
“Right then.” Dudley waved his arms at the rest of us. “Grab a whip and spread out. Make sure to give yourself plenty of room so you don’t hit your neighbor.”
I still wasn’t sure if I should choose a bullwhip or a stock whip. The truth was, I was horrible with—for lack of a better word—leashes. Mom hadn’t succeeded in teaching me how to tie my shoes until I’d been in the second grade. I was horrible at tetherball, had never learned to jump rope, and became tied up whenever I used a hairdryer. Grandpa had told me this was a common problem with canine shifters. That was why he’d hated fishing.
But if I wanted to become a slayer, I needed to overcome my problem with leashes. Taking a deep breath, I picked up a whip. I decided to go with the bullwhip because the handle was shorter, and Cassandra had made it look so cool. It was heavier than I’d anticipated and smelled like dead cow. At least it had that going for it. I resisted the urge to lick it.
“Don’t hit yourself in the head,” Dudley warned. “Let’s start with a horizontal crack. But remember, the transferred energy in that whip will come back at you with explosive power.”
I gave it a go but didn’t use enough force, and the whip dragged along the concrete floor.
“Bring the whip down as you bring it back so you don’t whack yourself.” Dudley paced in front of the group, offering tips. “Don’t bring the whip back up until you’re on the upswing.”
I tried to do what he’d said, but it was confusing. Before I knew what was happening, my bullwhip wrapped around my ankles and tripped me. I stumbled forward and would have fallen face-first onto the ground if Van hadn’t have caught me at the last moment. “Whoopsy daisy,” he said, uncoiling me from my own snare. “Cass, can you give Kate a private lesson?”
“Sure.” Cassandra walked over to the corner of the garage. “But don’t expect miracles.” I withered on the inside, and watched Cassandra rummage through a box. She brought out a rope with a tennis ball tied to the end a minute later. “Let’s start with this.” Cassandra offered me the handle. “This will hurt less if you hit yourself.”
“Thanks.” I gave the bullwhip back to her. A rope and tennis ball wouldn’t make any difference to my lack of coordination, but at least it would lessen my chance of injury.
The fun part of practicing with the tennis ball was the satisfying noise it made when it hit the ground. It couldn’t break the sound barrier like real whips could, but it didn’t injure anyone, either. Leah accidentally lashed Max across the arm, causing him to bleed, and Kellogg inadvertently whipped out a chunk of his own hair when his arm was too high on a reverse.
“You’re getting better, Kate, but you still have a long way to go,” said Cassandra when we paused for a break. “You’ll get the hang of it after a couple of weeks.”
“If I’m here in two weeks,” I muttered. “I suck at this, even after two hours of practice.”
“Whips aren’t for everyone,” said Cassandra in a soothing tone. “Your weapon of choice is out there, and you’ll find it.”
“Maybe.” I was too discouraged to argue. “What do we have after this?”
“Lunch.” Cassandra looked longingly at the nine-section chain whips hanging on the wall. “And then kickboxing.”
I hoped lunch was good because I was starving. It turns outs out that it was more than good, it was exceptional. Al had made four types of lasagna, plus a giant Caesar salad. That, combined with orange slices, was just the fuel I needed to replenish all the calories I’d burned so far.
I blotted my mouth with a napkin. “Do you do all the cooking?” I asked Al. We sat next to each other at the long wooden table in the kitchen.
“Oh no.” He chuckled. “Only on the weekends. Everyone else takes turns cooking two nights a month.”
“We work in teams,” said Bao.
“For KP, too,” James added.
“At least that’s how it’s supposed to work,” said Cassandra. She glared at Gretchen with unbridled menace.
“I told you,” Gretchen said with a sneer, “I can’t wash the dishes without wearing rubber gloves.” She held up her arms. “Dish soap gives me eczema.”
“So why don’t you buy rubber gloves?” Cassandra asked. “It’s not like this is a new problem and—”
“Okay, Cassandra. We get your point,” said Al.
Taking turns cooking and cleaning didn’t seem as convenient as the dining hall, but I had to admit that I enjoyed eating family style, instead of schlepping my cafeteria tray into an enormous dining room and scrambling for a place to sit. Mom and I had always shared meals together—Grandpa, too, when he’d been alive. But meals with my various foster families had been a mixed bag. I took another bite of lasagna and focused on the conversation.
“Natalie, did you find out more information about the attack last night on Gillman Road?” Leah asked.
I gulped. Did they know who was responsible for slaying the vampire?
“When we got to the scene there was so much police presence that we couldn’t get close to the body,” said Natalie.
“Vampires in La Jolla?” Dudley asked in his thick Australian accent. “This trip just became more interesting. What makes you think vampires were involved?”
Natalie stared across the table at me. “Kate texted us. She said she’d been listening to the police scanner, and there was a bloodless victim on North Torrey Pines Road.”
I choked on a piece of lettuce as everyone looked at me. “Excuse me,” I said after I finished hacking. “Romaine got caught in my throat. I’m a reporter for The Triton, the college newspaper. This is the second attack on campus in the past month and the scenarios are nearly identical. College co-ed walks home late at night and is assaulted.”
Dudley leaned back in his chair. “The ‘bloodless’ part is definitely a red flag, and not to be dismissive of such a serious crime, but college campuses deal with similar situations frequently.�
�� Dudley rubbed his chin. “I live in Virginia at the moment, and there was a protest at UVA a few weeks ago demanding more police protection on campus, especially at night, to deal with this exact danger. What else makes you think this is vampire-related?”
“I don’t know.” I chose my words carefully. I couldn’t tell people that I’d smelled the vampire that night—before I’d ripped its throat to shreds. “I interviewed the first victim and what she described sounded unusual. She said that the man popped up out of nowhere and lunged for her neck. If two other students hadn’t shown up at that exact moment, she might not have survived.”
“It’s possible that Kate’s hunch was right.” Van set down his water glass. “Thursday night’s attack might have been vampire-related. Data from the morgue says the cadaver arrived nearly bloodless, with two bite marks at the wrist. The medical examiner attributed the injuries to a dog bite, but that seems unlikely. I’ve never heard of a dog that drinks human blood.”
“Maybe it was a werewolf,” said Al, adding a creeping laugh to his joke. “Bah-ha-ha-ha.”
“It wasn’t a werewolf.” I lifted my chin. “It was definitely a vampire. I heard the police sergeant say she’d seen five separate cases of bloodless bodies in the past year, all of them with bite marks on different parts of the bodies.”
“Vampires usually go for the neck,” said Dudley. “This is universally known. On every continent, vampires go for the neck first because the blood flow is easier to absorb quickly without the victim having the opportunity to fight back.”
“I only know what I overheard the sergeant say.” I stared down at my plate and pushed the last bite of lasagna around with my fork.
“The dog thing is so weird.” Van scratched his head. “The only other time I’ve seen a dog involved in a vampire slaying was—”
“Van,” Natalie said in a sharp tone. “There’s no need to bring up bad memories at the table.” Her eyes drifted over to mine and then discreetly looked away.
“Let’s talk about lunch instead,” said Gretchen. “Al, I appreciate you making me vegetarian lasagna, but next time don’t use so much spinach.”
“‘Next time don’t use so much spinach’?” Cassandra slapped her palms down on the table. “My dad’s not your personal chef.”
“It’s okay, Cassandra.” Al stroked his beard. “I appreciate any and all culinary feedback.”
“I thought this was delicious.” Dudley belched. “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
“Me, neither,” I added. I blushed when everyone looked at me. “It was really good,” I said, reaching for my water glass. “Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome, Kate.” Al smiled at me and then he raised his eyebrows and looked at his wife.
How much pull did Al have here? Could he talk Natalie into letting me stay at Slayer Academy if I complimented his cooking enough? It couldn’t hurt to try. I reached for a second helping and smiled back.
Chapter 14
Leah had been right about me signing up for the absolute worst spot on the shower schedule. By the time it was my turn in the bathroom, it was 10 p.m. and all of the hot water was gone. Luckily, I learned a fail-safe method for surviving cold water when I’d been in foster care. As soon as my hair was wet, I turned off the faucet and sudsed up with shampoo and soap. Then I held my breath and turned the water back on so I could rinse off without yelping.
My shower might have been icy cold, but it felt good to be clean. Cozy sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt were my pajamas, and it was comforting to be back in my familiar clothes. I brushed my teeth, slathered on some drugstore face lotion, and then tiptoed through the darkened hallway to my room. If this were Tioga Hall, the night would have just gotten started. People in my dorm usually stayed up until 2 a.m., even on the weekdays. But at Slayer Academy, we’d all been up since the crack of dawn completing—by my count—over six hours of cardiovascular exercise, not counting the hour we’d spent this evening playing darts with silver daggers. I was exhausted, and by the sounds of the snores I heard, I wasn’t the only one who was beat.
Gretchen had turned the lights off in our room, and the darkness disoriented me at first. I left my clothing and toiletry bag on top of my dresser and double-checked to make sure my phone was charging. I kept the alarm set for 6 a.m. the next morning because we were scheduled for an early practice with Dudley to work on our whip techniques. Then I crept up the ladder to my bunkbed and slipped underneath the covers.
My eyelids fluttered closed and I was just about to drift off when I heard Gretchen blow her nose, followed by what sounded like gasps for air. Was she crying?
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“Everything’s fine,” she snapped in a hoarse voice. “Leave me alone.”
“Okay. Geesh, sorry I asked.” My phone buzzed on the dresser. “Whoops! I must have forgotten to put it on mute.”
“Are you kidding me? You didn’t turn off your phone?”
“It was an accident!” I scrambled down the ladder and retrieved my phone. There was a text message from Joshua.
I know you’re busy this weekend, but can I take you out to lunch on Monday after class?
Sure, I answered.
Are you going to a party tonight? he texted. Maybe I’ll see you there?
I’m staying with friends, I said. Gotta go.
I turned my phone all the way off, annoyed with myself for agreeing to lunch on Monday. Since Joshua already knew I had plans tonight, why’d he press me for details? I could have been out on a date or something. Unless that was what he was trying to find out. Dammit, I was horrible with guys.
“Was that from your boyfriend?” Gretchen whispered.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I climbed back up the ladder.
“So it wasn’t from a guy?” Her voice was louder now and sounded clearer, like she was no longer crying.
“Yeah, it was from a guy, but he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Nobody texts on a Saturday night unless they’re interested.”
“I didn’t text him; he texted me.”
“So?” Gretchen asked. “That proves my point.”
I sighed. “Can we please not talk about this? I’m confused enough already.”
“Confused about what? You either like him or you don’t.”
“I do like him,” I said. “As a friend.”
Gretchen snickered. “You better give him the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech pretty soon so he stops calling you on a Saturday night hoping for a hookup.” She punched her pillow and it banged against the mattress. “Not that anyone could have a Saturday night hookup in this prison.”
“Slayer Academy isn’t a prison. It’s an honor to be here.”
“‘Honor to be here’?” Gretchen snorted. “It’s only been one day, and you’ve already drank the Kool-Aid.”
“But this place is great. So far, everyone’s been super nice, and the food is good, and this is a really safe neighborhood.”
“Says the girl who grew up in foster care.”
“I didn’t grow up in foster care!” My voice rose louder than I’d intended. “I lived with my mom until I was fifteen. I only spent three years in the system.”
“Okay,” Gretchen mumbled. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Her mattress squeaked as she rolled over.
“If you don’t like it here, why don’t you go home? I don’t know much about slaying yet, but I can tell it’s not the right lifestyle for everyone.”
“I’m not going to be a slayer. Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows I’m not cut out for that.”
“But—” I hesitated, not knowing what to say. “You were a lot better at whip practice than I was.”
“Everyone was better than you were with the bullwhip. You almost knocked yourself out with a tennis ball.”
“You can shut up now. Sorry I asked.” I pulled the covers up to my chin.
“No, I’m sorry,” said Gretchen. “I’m not usua
lly a bitch. At least not back home when I’m with my friends, I’m not. They’re all off at university having a grand old time. You should have seen the pictures they sent me from Oktoberfest. It’s so unfair! Meanwhile, I’m stuck here at vampire-camp, running up hills and kicking punching bags, and everyone hates me. The only good thing about any of this is that I’ve lost twenty pounds.”
“I still don’t understand what you mean by being stuck here. Why not go home?”
Gretchen growled. “Because of my mother. Jared has her convinced that everyone close to him is a potential target for vampires. His last fiancée was murdered or something. My mom pretty much freaked out and told him that the only way she would marry him was if he could guarantee my safety. That was why they sent me here to Slayer Academy, so I could learn how to defend myself. I don’t think anyone actually expects me to go on a vampire-slaying mission someday, but if one comes at me, at least I’ll be smart enough to wear a nano-mesh silver undershirt thingie.”
Suddenly, lots of things made sense. Like why Cassandra hated Gretchen so much, for example. Slaying was in Cassandra’s blood. It must have pissed her off to have a roommate who didn’t take it seriously.
“So, if you don’t want to be a vampire slayer, what do you want to do instead?” I asked. “I mean, after this?”
“Tour America. My plan is to buy a used car and do a road trip from coast-to-coast.”
“That sounds like fun, except for the actual driving part. I’ve never gotten my license.”
“You don’t have your license?” Gretchen gasped. “How can you be twenty years old and not know how to drive a car?”
I hugged my pillow. “Nobody taught me.”
Coach Jackson had offered, but I’d needed my official guardian to come down to the DMV with me to help me get my learner’s permit, and that hadn’t been something any of my foster parents had been willing to do because insurance was too expensive.
“You need to learn how to drive a car as soon as possible,” said Gretchen. “Do the Xanders know about this?”
“That I can’t drive? I assume so. They did a background check on me, which would mean they must have seen that I have a state-issued ID card instead of a driver's license.” A twinge of a headache pressed against my temples. The old familiar feeling of being a mutant took hold, rocking my self-worth. What if Natalie didn’t know about me not having my license? Maybe I should have worked harder to get one. I could have paid for private driving lessons or something. But with what money? I barely had enough to get by as it was.
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