School for Vampires Page 2

  “In any case,” says Santa, “welcome. Welcome one and all.” He laughs a deep, jolly laugh. For ages. The more he laughs, the more certain I become that he actually is Santa Claus. Nothing would surprise me at this point. Finally, he kills the suspense. “But listen to me, laughing my merry head off whilst you’re all standing there in suspense. A thousand apologies.” He wipes a laughter-induced tear from his eye. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr Foggarty, and I’m the headmaster here at The Alurian School.”

  I look around for signs that this is a high school. There isn’t much to go on. I assume the photos are of teachers or former headmasters. There is an enormous, heavy double door breaking up the line of photos. There is also a much smaller, half-sized door, and I realize this must be for the Helpers. There is also a large wooden table in the center of the room, completely bare. And there’s us. The new recruits.

  “I don’t want to overwhelm you,” says Mr Foggarty. “There will be plenty of time for introductions and inductions and everything in between.” More jolly laughter. “What matters now is that each of you hurry along to Transition and that you begin preparations for your first exam.” He says these words with his usual mirth. Before we have time to process them, Mr Foggarty yells, “Helpers!” Without missing a beat, the half-door opens, and several Helpers scurry to the wooden table. They lay out a series of small cups, along with thick, A4-sized folders. They move with incredible speed and purpose. The table is complete in no time, and they scurry back to their hidey-hole without so much as a look in our direction.

  “Good,” says Mr Foggarty. “Very good.” He walks us over to the table. “Now gather round my dear young Juniors. These here are your Transition packs, along with some very important medication that you must take before going any further.” More of those strange, giant red tablets. “I so look forward to seeing you when you emerge, and getting to know you much better. And I can’t wait to see just how impressive your first round of results will be.” Results? I feel sick to my stomach. And suddenly embarrassed. I’ve been home-schooled by my dad my whole life. Exams have never featured prominently on his improvised syllabus. I wonder just how far behind the rest of the group I’ll end up being?

  I’m a ball of anxiety in no time. Like clockwork, my escort senses this and moves in close behind me so that I can lean on her. For someone so surly and light on pleasantries, she sure is considerate. “And now,” says Mr Foggarty, “my dear students, a word of warning.” It’s the first time his voice has struck a somber note. We all stiffen. “These are troubling times.” He glances at the thick outer door, bolted and guarded by the two silent, jar-carrying Helpers. “Most troubling. One never quite knows where danger might lurk. It is of the utmost importance, my dear ones, that you are allowed to run the length of your Transition uninterrupted. And then you must begin your studies immediately and in earnest.” With these words, he starts calling out names and handing people their starter packs and pills.

  The thick double doors heave and groan into life. When they open, I can see a dark passageway and little else. “Kitty Bloomstock,” calls Mr Foggarty. I look down at Kitty and give her a nod to encourage her to finally let go of my dress and step into the unknown. Again I feel sorry for her, being all alone. She hesitates for a moment.

  “Go on Kit, it’s alright. I’ll be right behind you,” I say. I don’t know if this is true, or if she minds being called Kit.

  “Kitty Bloomstock?” asks Mr Foggarty again. Kitty finally lets go of my dress and moves towards the table. Mr Foggarty gives her a warm smile. She swallows her pills dutifully, takes her folder, glances at me one last time, and then disappears down the passageway.

  Sure enough, I am summoned next. “Blake Randell?” As Mr Foggarty says my last name, he briefly sounds surprised. It throws me, and those around me. He quickly composes himself and stares intently at me as I approach. It feels like he’s sizing me up. Whatever he was expecting, I’m certain at this point that I don’t measure up. I feel like I’ve been through the wringer. He doesn’t say anything else to me, but watches me like a hawk as I down the pills and take my folder from his chubby red hands. As I make my way towards the double doors, Mr Foggarty’s eyes narrow and his mouth turns into something approaching a look of bewilderment. My escort wraps her huge hand around my arm once more, and leads me on into the waiting darkness. I am strangely glad to meet it.

  Chapter Two

  Transition. They were on the money when they chose that word. Six days of sheer hell as your body, mind and soul undergo the most intense, excruciating journey from human to vampire. No words can actually describe it, but just for a laugh, let’s go with: torture…agony…complete annihilation of everything you’ve ever known. Actually, it’s like a super-charged version of Ewan McGregor going cold turkey in Trainspotting. Only without the adorable Scottish accent to soften the blow.

  I am led down the dark corridor and into a small, windowless room. A Helper is waiting to greet us. They do not look up when we arrive, but merely gesture towards the bed in the corner and then head for the door. My escort sits me down on the bed, sets the bulging folder on a nearby desk and turns to face me. Finally! A full-blown conversation! What a miracle.

  Well, not quite. She does say more words to me than in the previous eight hours combined, but I’d stop short at calling it a conversation. She tells me what is going to happen. That every part of me is going to transition, from the most microscopic cells right up to the most complex parts of my spirit. It’s hard to follow her words, as I’ve started to feel strange. That last batch of pills is having a different effect on me than the others.

  She presses on, talking in bare-boned but urgent words about how I’ll have all my nutritional needs met during this time. She says that whenever I feel up to it, I am to sit at the desk and study the notes in the folder. She tells me that the exam will take place as soon as Transition is over. She tells me those pills I’d just swallowed contain nutrients to satisfy my hunger, plus other elements that will help bring on the transitional process as quickly and fully as possible. She says it is far better to fall all the way than to slowly stumble downwards.

  Finally, just as I am ready to slip into some kind of distant dream world, she says two things that set my rapidly changing heart at ease. One, “I’ll be right outside that door the whole time.” And two, “my name is Cora.” With that, she lays me down on the bare bed, then leaves and locks the door. I just have time to register her name and whisper it out loud before I succumb to my own oblivion.

  *

  Six days of freefalling. Interspersed with equally as feverish bouts of study. Talk about a juxtaposition. There are times when all I can do is lie on my bed, stripped down to my underwear, and give myself over to great torrents of sweat. Sometimes I find myself curled into a tight, tiny ball in the corner of the room, my head tucked deep and hard against my knees and my whole body shaking violently. I can feel the changes happening deep inside me. It’s as if I am becoming aware of how my blood feels, rushing past the vessel walls, and how the synapses in my brain each have their own distinctive electrical cadence.

  Everything inside me is stopping. Shutting down. Turning away from growth. Turning away from air, light, ageing. And yet with each internal passing, something new takes its place. Not always an opposite reaction, like turning from the light towards the dark, but always some kind of replacement. My moods plunge to lows I never knew existed with each passing, and rise to dizzy, euphoric heights with each creation. Back and forth. For six days and six nights.

  Not that I have any concept of time. Time is one of the things to fall away from me. I feel my heart mourn its loss. My once human heart, which was governed by the seasons. The mourning feels unbearable. It seems to grow and speak to me. It whispers things as it rises to the surface in waves and then slips away. It speaks of the secret mournings of the world, the ancient griefs accumulated over the millennia and stored up inside all our hearts. It speaks of other things too. Of
private yearnings, secret wants. It shows me the underside of the human heart, the place where all the darker, stranger desires and dreams are hidden. I am taken through the currents of these things, and countless other things I could never come close to naming. I rise with the waves and fall into the troughs, more times than I can remember. I marvel, in the midst of it all, at how complex and special the human heart is. I even try, at times, to wrestle with its departure. I feel like I’ve only just learned of its staggering rhythms and possibilities, and I want the chance to test them out. I want to go back, to reverse that ridiculous train ride and run all the way back to the farm, to the waiting arms of my dear father. To mornings and middays. To milestones. Birthdays. To motherhood. To old age. But no. All these things are showing themselves to me and then departing, never to return.

  And yet with each wave that passes through me and departs, there is another current that enters me. It’s on a different plain. Harder still to describe. It’s sort of like electrical currents, touching my fingertips and toes and then rippling through my body. Currents of death and decay. Strangely beautiful currents. Showing me, for the first time, the tremendous power it takes to die. The power that resides in all the ferocious cycles of death in this world. A power that is so alive, it gathers such incredible pace in my silenced veins that it finally gives my blood a new incentive to flow. A new direction. And all that new blood, suddenly finding its darkened calling, all of it flows finally into the place my human heart had once been, and where there now lies something so wild and strange. Something fashioned from the energy of surviving those terrifying waves and coming into the knowledge of all the wild and secret things of the world. A heart made in the image of night itself, so black and furious and powerful. My new home.

  And as if all that isn’t strange enough, imagine the whole experience dovetailing with intense bouts of study. Truth be told, it’s a welcome reprieve. I guess the teachers knew this when they mapped out Transition. When I am able to gauge the dimensions of the room and focus on something, I haul myself to the small desk and open the folder. It contains a thick, neat bundle of notes titled “The Basics.” It’s an overview of the vampire society that I am in the midst of joining. There’s a huge amount of information. So, in the periods when my mind is unusually sharp, I dive into the ins and outs of being a modern day vampire.

  It turns out there’s a lot to it. We all know the clichés. Garlic, holy water, stakes through the heart. Two unsightly fangs plunging into unsuspecting necks. Bats, coffins, immortality…all the standards. Well, like most clichés, they’re all true. Except for the bats. I don’t know where that one came from. But there’s a hell of a lot more to being a vampire than crucifixes and staying out of the sun. There are all sorts of rules, rituals and obligations to be learned. There is a long, rich history to be learned. Plus, when we’re first turned, we don’t just know how to kill or what to fear. We must be taught these things.

  Most people who get turned are adults. It makes sense because you have to be pretty mature and strong to be able to cope with all the changes. Sometimes, however, there is a need to turn someone younger. Teenage vampires can fill a range of roles in society. They can be adopted by a vampire couple looking to start a family. They can be acquired by a wealthy private Backer, to do manual work or satisfy private whims. Sometimes they’re turned because a vampire has sensed some kind of rare ability in the teenager. Sometimes they’re simply turned by accident, because a vampire didn’t quite finish the job. Whatever the reason, a newly turned teenage vampire must be sent to a special vampire high school for two years, before being allowed into wider society. These schools exist in all the major cities, and traditionally, they’re built underground. They’re just like regular high schools, except they run at night. And instead of algebra, we learn close range combat.

  The cut off age for vampires is 12 years old. It is forbidden for children to be turned, because they’re too unpredictable and will never be physically strong enough to fight. And let’s face it, vampires fight. A lot. The vampire schools run a standard two-year curriculum. If you’re turned as an adult, as most vampires are, let’s just say things aren’t quite so regulated. You’re supposed to enroll in a one-year intensive training course, to learn all the vampire laws, histories and etiquettes. But try telling an adult what to do. Many do go, and benefit from it. But plenty find ways to dodge it, and just unleash themselves onto vampire society and learn as they go along.

  In vampire society, countries are divided up into Divisions. America has eight, and they are named after the biggest city they incorporate. There’s New York, Chicago, LA, Houston, Seattle, Phoenix, Philadelphia and Miami. Each Division has a Division Chief and a Council of Rulers. The Rulers are elected by the wider population, and the Division Chief is elected by the Rulers. I gather the politics are just as grubby as the human kind.

  Each Division typically has around half a dozen high schools in their jurisdiction. They’re responsible for the staffing and running of the schools, and must ensure that students are taught the worldwide standard curriculum.

  Schools are funded through vampire taxes, and are meant to be of more or less similar quality. However, in most Divisions, there is at least one school that has rich private benefactors in its corner. Vampires are allowed to donate to high schools. It’s supposed to be regulated, but I don’t think it is. Schools pitch for private support, and the better the school, the more likely it will be privately backed. It makes it hard for the poorer schools to get a look in, and they typically have to make do with public funding.

  The reason that rich vampires are so interested in supporting vampire schools is because of one thing and one thing only. Selection. All graduating students are put up for Selection by wealthy vampires known as Backers. You see, a fresh graduate might possess all the technical knowledge, but they still have to learn the ways of the world. Street smarts. So they get selected by a Backer and are apprenticed to them for two years. They learn the ropes, prove themselves and find their feet in wider society.

  Once the apprenticeship is finished, the vampire is classed as fully-fledged, and is allowed to go where they please. At least in theory. In reality, many vampires end up staying with their Backers. They are given jobs, but I think their main task is to provide much-needed numbers in the ongoing tribal wars that plague most Divisions. Backers are a potent force in vampire society. They are often engaged in a covert war with Councils, as well as other Backers. They run their own, unofficial turfs, which are always in a state of flux. Like I said, being a vampire isn’t all wanton blood sucking and going wherever you please.

  Councils themselves can recruit fresh graduates. Since they’re always strapped for cash, and can’t compete with Backers, they try to play to a young vampire’s sense of civic duty. Councils keep things ticking over. They run the vampire banks, the tax office, and the law courts. They administer official punishments and run the jails. They have their own law enforcers, known as Division Guards. They hire and train teachers and are in charge of infrastructure.

  As I sift through the information before me, I realize it raises as many questions as it answers. Like why does the vampire underworld have to be so primitive? Why was I turned? Have I been backed by someone? Do I have a special talent I don’t yet know about? And why have I been sent all the way to New York?

  Maybe the most potent question for me is: will I survive vampire high school? As wise as my father is, by home schooling me all these years he hasn’t exactly prepared me for wider society. If school’s anything like Gossip Girl, then I’m in serious trouble.

  When I finally reach the end of Vampires 101, I close the folder and stand up. I realize I have turned a corner. No more violent waves or electrical impulses coursing through me. No more stomach cramps or sweating fits. I feel incredible. I feel downright invincible. I feel…hungry.

  I put my long-suffering white dress back on and run my hands through my unkempt, filthy hair. Or at least I try to. At this moment, I
would gladly kill someone just for a bath. Then again, I guess now I’d gladly kill someone, period. I spin around on the spot and embrace how different I feel. Free. Light. Strong. I’m bored with this tiny room. It can’t hold me anymore. I stride towards the door. I’ll either bang on it til I’m released, or just break the damn thing down.

  Neither option proves necessary. As I clench my fist and approach the door, it opens. Standing there to greet me is Cora. Her expression is its usual, hard-nailed self, but her eyes are on fire. They’re scanning me for signs that Transition went well. I wait patiently for the verdict. It comes in the form of a tiny, barely noticeable turning up of the ends of her mouth. I’ll take it. I embrace her. She is taken aback, but allows it. I can actually feel her pride and gladness for me.

  Cora glances at the folder on the desk and sees that it has been well thumbed. “I’m hungry,” I tell her. It’s the understatement of the century.

  “Exam first,” she says. “Then you eat.” Clearly, there will never be any arguing with this formidable woman. The sooner I realize that, the better.

  “Lead the way,” I say. I follow Cora out into the dark hallway. This time, and from now on, she does not guide me by hand.

  Chapter Three

  We make our way into a large room further inside the school. Thankfully, this room is well lit, with candles placed all around. I see a bunch of familiar faces. Except they’re all brand new. These are the faces of the newly-transitioned. They’re no longer human. They feel alive to me with a thousand new expressions that I’ll need to map. Their eyes have a glint in them. Their bodies, even in the worn down clothes they came in, seem stronger. Firmer and more elegant. I’m drawn to them. They are my kin.