Chapter 3: “Fashion is all about eventually becoming naked.” —Rene Konig
Ravyn entered her homeroom with one second to spare. The bell rang, a shrill protest, cutting through the chatter of voices. She tossed her head with a practiced gesture, fanning dark hair with midnight-blue highlights. Her eyes were dark mirrors, a midnight-crimson that approached black. Her long nails were true black, matching her "down-time" stiletto heels. The large bow was missing from the collar of a starched, white top that was generously unbuttoned, adding to the strain on the fabric from large breasts that had overdeveloped due to vampirism, a mutation of the American viral strain. The bottom half of her shirt had been pulled up and tied, revealing a bare midriff. Her hips rocked-out a black and purple plaid skirt with thin white and hunter-green piping. The shortened hem barely covered her butt as she sashayed to her window desk and dropped onto a hardwood chair.
The boys in the room stared with great appreciation. She could smell the lust rolling off their bodies, a scent like spicy pear sauce with burnt cinnamon overtones. She turned her face from them. The night outside the window was thickly muted with fog. Distant visibility was difficult, even for her vampire vision. Cascading moonlight stirred up cloudy ghosts that fluttered and flapped in aerial displays before dissolving in the mists. Rumor had it they'd been evicted to make room for the students. The grounds and especially the deep forest in back were a mystery. Ravyn pulled her attention back to the classroom.
Where the hell is the teacher? The least the school can do is not waste my time. I could be out there right now, buying a new bass.
Two girls whispered down the row to her right. Their words might as well have been shouted, caught easily by Ravyn's vampire hearing.
They know that. They want me to hear, to get a rise out of me.
"The slut's here," Sherry said.
"She's not a slut," Emily said. "Sluts 'put out' and she's too good for that. She's just a tease. An unsuccessful tramp, really."
Sherry laughed, thin and shrill. "No, a trampvire."
Emily laughed in agreement. "Ooo, that's good."
Ravyn considered strolling over and beating the unholy crap out of the low-life dryad birches, but security would arrive way too soon and ruin her fun before she even warmed up. And then she'd be dragged to the vice-principal's office—again—to receive what passed for justice from the school's token human administrator.
Not worth it.
She pulled out her textbook, a pen, and notebook, then settled her Goth backpack on the floor. The bag's skull-and-crossbones motif gave fair notice of her mood. Slumping back, she nursed a simmering rage, the only comfort she had.
Sitting directly in front of her, Charlene turned in her chair to glare at Ravyn.
What now?
Charlie's face was tinted red by the glow of Ravyn's vampire eyes. Ravyn could smell the seer's warm blood, and hear it pulsing through veins and arteries. Ravyn swallowed reflexively.
"Can you rein in the teen angst a little?" Charlie asked. "You're burning a hole in my aura."
"Sorry," Ravyn muttered. She closed her eyes and thought of romping kittens, black cherry ice-cream cones, and the thumping a deep-throated bass guitar. A fragile peace settled over her. She opened her eyes to find Charlie still watching her. Ravyn drew a breath so she could talk, and felt her heart beat once, twice, then stop. "Better?"
"Better," Charlie said. "You know, you might consider therapy. Sometimes, talking to a professional can—"
Ravyn's voice went cold. "I'm not crazy, just pissed."
Rage is the only way I have to hang onto my humanity.
Her eyes slid away, noting numerous boys paying covert attention to her D-cup boobs. Well, maybe not the only way. She gave them all an encouraging smile, her eyes heating with low-level bloodlust. The boob job and heightened sensuality was a byproduct of her new vampire nature. She hadn't just been violated sexually, but in the very nature of what she was. She no longer fought the extreme hormonal alterations, saving her energy—and rage—for the vampire that had done so much to her.
Half-fey, Charlie commented on the contents of Ravyn's mind, "Nursing a frenzy isn't healthy."
Ravyn pulled her gaze back to the seer. "Neither is handing out free advice."
Charlie turned back around. "Just sayin'…"
The door opened and the general chatter muted. Mr. Edwards' dominant beak of a nose led the way as he paced to his desk and dropped a canvas bag that bulged with assorted items. He turned to face the class, displaying crisp elegance: a pale blue shirt, a black suit, and an azure pocket hanky. Bronze-wire, square-framed glasses perched on his nose. His bulgy eyes blinked twice as he scanned the room for empty seats. His black tie had a platinum clasp adorned with a ruby chip like a crystallized drop of blood.
"Ah, everyone has seen fit to attend class today. Excellent." He smiled like a hangman who loved his job. "Let's begin by introducing a new transfer student." He beckoned toward the door that hadn't quite closed. The door opened wider. A student entered wearing jeans, sneakers, a royal blue tee shirt, and a black denim jacket. Mr. Edwards said, "We shall have to excuse the lack of a school uniform in that Zane has just arrived and has yet to receive his such clothing, or an official student handbook."
Ravyn watched Zane nod to himself while staring at the other guys in their white shirts, black slacks, jackets, and ties. The Darkhaven school crest adorned their breast pockets—an open book cleaved by a sword, the whole thing wreathed with hemlock.
"I haven't even seen my assigned room yet." Zane's voice was mellow and well-modulated for the size of the room. Ravyn wondered if he knew that.
"Quite so," Edwards nodded. "Speaking of assigning, let's have you sit beside our dear little Ravyn—who I see is also in need of a student handbook. Really, is that any way for a young lady to purport herself?"
"I'll purport you," Ravyn muttered.
Edwards glared. "You know I can hear you. Is that the point? You've dressed like this just for me?"
Ravyn huffed. "In your pervy dreams."
Rage flushed Edward's face. His cheeks darkened with instant five o'clock shadow. His eyes went from nowhere gray to neon gold. Before his ears could migrate to the top of his head, and the rest of him turn all leopard, he closed his eyes and deepened his breathing. This was the closest Ravyn had ever managed to push him. Had he been werewolf instead of were-leopard—tied to the lunar cycle—the full moon would have made control impossible. It was why the wolf shifters taught day classes instead of night.
Ravyn's heart ached for the sun others enjoyed, that she'd never again see.
Ravyn continued to study the new student.
He watched her, his eyes alive with an electric-blue haze of light. The scent of his desire was off—the smell of night-blooming orchids—and was contradicted by the slow, steady pace of his heart, as if he were beyond hormonal excess in some way. Framed by dark, blond hair, his long face ended in a narrow, pointed chin. And he stood with the same perfect stillness usually only vampires could hold for hours.
But I don't think he's one of us.
Without waiting for further instruction, he came to her aisle and made his way to the open seat at her right.
A growl hung in Mr. Edwards' throat. The sound morphed into a throat clearing. His inner beast suppressed—mostly—he pointed a finger at her, turned it upward, and curled the digit into a come-here gesture.
Ravyn stood and waited for the new guy to take his seat. Though she didn't look directly at him, she was very much aware of his presence.
And here I thought my heart was as dead as the rest of me. Looks like getting kicked out of class. Getting snarly wasn't a good idea after all. Well, too late now to unspill the blood.
She walked to the teacher's desk.
"What would you know about my dreams?" he asked.
"Nothing," she admitted.
He sighed wearily. "You know where you need to go. Don't come back without a written apology. Five hundred words should do."
"You have got to be kidding!"
"Make it a thousand." He smirked with half his mouth.
It was the same expression she'd seen on the vampire that had taken her against her will, in every way, using mind-control to force her to enjoy every horrific moment of abuse. She lost the present moment, seeing the monster's face burned into her memory.
On its own, her right hand curled into a fist, lashing out with vampire seed and power. The desktop in front of her shattered, becoming a broken mess of flying kindling. The sound of exploded wood hung in the air as Ravyn stood there, her hell-lit eyes searing the air, hazing it red between her and Mr. Edwards.
With surprise, she looked at her hand. Her knuckles weren't even skinned. A deep hush ruled the room. No one dared move. Outside the windows, she thought she heard the fading laughter of phantoms.
Oh, crap, I've done it now.
Sherry whispered to Emily, "Oh, crap, she's done it now."
The new kid said, "And I thought night school was going to be boring."
Security burst into the classroom. There were four of them with shock batons, wearing glossy black Kevlar armor. They surrounded her, tense but not afraid. One of them, the biggest, was the Clops, a ten-foot giant with muscles on top of muscles. His large, single brown eye peered sadly down at Ravyn. His boomy voice was a soft explosion all its own. "Come along, Ravyn. You know the drill. No one's gotten hurt yet. Let's keep it that way."
No one's hurt? What do you know? Nothing!
They thought her vampire-born, a living vampire. She'd told no one that she'd been fully human, turned against her will. Their ridicule, she could take—not their pity.
She let him take her upper arm and guide her across the room, out into the hall. The black and green marble tiles amplified the clicking of her heels. The security men were quiet with the boss along. Normally, they joked with her on the march to the office. They passed numerous classrooms and took the main staircase down and around to the ground floor. The main entrance was behind the stairs' landing. Ravyn made a right turn toward the Admin section of another hall.
Her escort guided her inside, up to the night duty secretary's desk. Madam Zelda rolled her gypsy eyes at Ravyn. "What now?"
Ravyn grinned. "I was treated with rudeness and disrespect by my teacher. I'm here to file an official complaint."
"She got violent," the Clops said.
"I was provoked past reason," Ravyn said.
"You were crazy, all right," one of the security men added.
"I'll tell Mr. Vickers you're here for, uh, guidance." Madam Zelda picked up her turn-of-last-century landline phone off the cradle and dialed a number. She made a few terse comments. Moments later, the vice-principal's office door slammed open. A small, frail man in a beige suit with a red-and-gold striped tie stormed over to the group. His gaze traveled Ravyn, lingering on her pierced bellybutton, sliding to her face. "This is how you come to class? No wonder you were sent here."
The Clops cleared his boomy voice. "There's also the matter of a very broken desk."
The vice-principal's eyes narrowed, shining with predatory excitement. "She broke her desk?" His accent betrayed his posh English birth. He spoke with the conceit of knowing he did it ever so much better than those around him.
"The teacher's desk, with one blow," the Clops said. "Couldn't have done it better myself."
"He had it coming," Ravyn said. "He smirked at me."
One of the security men snickered.
The Clops quelled him with a stone-cold stare.
"I think you and your men can go now," Vickers said.
The Clops nodded and headed out, his men trailing like faithful puppies.
Vickers crossed his arms. His face deepened to an overwrought red, his eyes small and piggish.
To Ravyn, he looked like he was going to blow a vein in his brain.
He grimaced at her. "We've given you all kinds of chances. Obviously, this time the penalty must be far more severe. Maybe after a month's suspension—served somewhere else than this school—"
"You can't do that! I don't have anywhere to go."
"Maybe you should have thought of that before running amok."
"You're not God, you know. I've got the right to appeal. You ever hear of due process?"
Vickers shot a glance at the headmaster's door. It was black oak, no window. The silver knob glinted, recently polished. A sign jutted out from the wall near the door's top left corner: HERE DWELLS THE UNNAMED.
Vickers' voice went dangerously soft. "So, go ahead, knock."
Madam Zelda gasped at the suggestion.
Vickers' starched face paled, a wicked glint in his eyes. "I've been here three years and never known that door to open. But you might get lucky, or something. Go on. I dare you."
A shiver of fear slithered down her spine. No one knew exactly what their headmaster was, but wild rumors abounded: everything from an elder god to a disenfranchised tooth fairy that would rip out your teeth as soon as look at you.
"Not afraid, are you?" Vickers jeered.
Fresh fury boiled up from the depths of her soul. She marched over to the door and pounded. It shuddered, managing not to crack. A moment of graveyard silence crept by, then the door eased opened—by itself—and a glowing red mist swirled out. The invitation was obvious. And creepy.
Ravyn took a huge breath and stomped inside.
Like the gates of hell saying "Gotcha," the door slammed shut behind her.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone