Hex Hall (11 page)

"Okay," Chaston said as we approached the green-house.

"So as your friends, we thought we should give you a heads up about Defense."

"The Vandy teaches it, and she's awful," Elodie said.

"Right, the scrunchie lady."

Simultaneous eye rol. Were these girls synchronized swimmers in their spare time?

"Yes," Anna sighed. "That stupid scrunchie."

"Jen . . . um, I heard someone cal it her portable portal to hel."

Al three of them laughed at that. "She wishes," Anna snorted.

"The Vandy was a pretty decent dark witch," Elodie explained, "but she got a little big for her britches, as they say down here. She worked for the Council. Tried to make a play for running Hecate, and . . . wel, it's a long story. But it ended with her getting sent to the Council for the Removal."

"And," Anna added in a conspiratorial whisper, "part of her punishment was that she had to come to Hecate but not as a headmistress. Just a regular teacher. She's supposed to be an example to others. That's why she's such a bitch."

"She'l definitely pick on you because you're new," Chaston said.

"But," Elodie cut in, "she's super vain. So if you get in trouble, compliment her on her tattoos."

"Tattoos?" I asked. Up close, the greenhouse was even bigger than I'd thought. What the hel had they grown in it?

Redwoods?

"She has these realy pretty purple tattoos al over her arms.

They're magical symbols of some kind, like runes or something,"

Elodie continued. "She's realy proud of them. Say you like them, and you're in for life with the Vandy."

We walked through the front door of the greenhouse, Chaston's arm stil in mine. The room was huge, and felt especialy big because only about fifty people were in there. Defense wasn't split up by age for some reason, so I noticed a couple of
very
freaked-out-looking twelve-year-olds. It was bright, obviously, but not hot. There was cool air flowing al around me, so I figured this building had the same spel going on as the main house.

In a lot of ways it was like a normal high school gym: wooden floors, blue exercise mats, weights. But I couldn't help noticing that some things were most definitely not normal.

Like several iron manacles bolted to the wal. And a ful-size galows erected at the back of the room.

Elodie immediately ran off to find Archer, who, it turns out, was not as skinny as I'd thought. The boys' uniforms were basicaly the same as the girls', and his blue T-shirt clung to a chest that was a lot more defined than I would have guessed. I tried not to look, and I definitely tried to stamp down the little icy spark of jealousy that shot through me when he lowered his lips to Elodie's for a quick kiss.

A tal redhead waved at me. "Hi, Sophie!"

I waved back, wondering who the heck . . . Oh, right. Red hair. Beth the werewolf. I liked her lots better when she wasn't drooling on me. She gestured for me to come stand by her, but before I could, a loud nasal voice broke through the chatter.

"Al right, people!"

The Vandy moved through the crowd, wearing the same uniform we were. I immediately noticed the tattoos. They were a deep vibrant purple that looked even brighter against her pale flabby skin.

The ever-present scrunchie held back her brown hair. She had smal piggish dark eyes that scanned the crowd, and even from a distance, I could see this weird eager look on her face. Like she was hoping someone would defy her so that she could squash them like a bug.

Put simply, she freaked me the hel out.

"Listen up!" she barked in a thin voice. Like Mrs. Casnoff, she had a Southern accent, but hers sounded harsh instead of smooth and melodic. "I'm sure your other teachers wil tel you that your classes in
Magical History
or
Classifications of Vampires
, or, what,
Personal Grooming of Werewolves
"--I noticed a few boys, including Justin, bristle, but the Vandy continued--"are more important than this one. But tel me this: how much are those classes going to help you when you're under attack from a human? Or a Brannick? Or, worst of al, an Eye? You think books are going to save you when L'Occhio di Dio comes caling?"

I guess we didn't look sufficiently impressed, because she seemed to puff up with anger. Her finger practicaly pierced the clipboard in front of her as she pointed to something.

"Mercer! Sophia!" she shouted.

I hissed a very bad word under my breath, but I raised my hand. "Um . . . here. Me."

"Come forward!"

I did. She yanked me by my arm until I was standing next to her. "Now, Miss Mercer, it says here on the chart that this is your first year at Hecate, correct?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Uh . . . yes, ma'am."

"So apparently you did a love spel that got you sent to Hecate. Was it for you, or were you just trying to make some human your friend, Miss Mercer?"

I heard snickers from the crowd, and I knew my face was flaming red. Stupid pale skin.

Apparently, it was a rhetorical question, because the Vandy didn't wait for an answer. She turned and knelt down beside a large canvas bag. When she straightened up, she was holding a wooden stake.

"How would you defend yourself against this, Miss Mercer?"

"I'm a witch," I said automaticaly, and again I heard the crowd murmur and giggle. I wondered if Archer was laughing, but then decided I realy didn't want to know.

"You're a witch?" the Vandy repeated. "So, what? A large pointy piece of wood slamming into your heart won't kil you?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I, uh, I guess it would, yeah."

The Vandy smiled, and it was one of the most disturbing smiles I've ever seen. Clearly I was the bug for today.

Turning away from me, she looked though the crowd until she saw someone who made her eyes narrow. "Mr. Cross!"

Oh God, I thought weakly. Oh please, please, no . . .

Archer made his way to the front and stood on the other side of the Vandy, crossing his arms over his chest. The sunlight coming in through the windows glinted off his hair, which wasn't black after al, but the same deep dark brown as his eyes.

Then the Vandy turned to me and put the stake in my hand.

I don't know what kind of stakes vampire kilers normaly use, but this one was pretty crappy. It was made of some cheap yelow wood that felt prickly against my palm. It also felt totaly wrong in my grip, and I let it just sort of dangle at my side. But the Vandy grabbed my elbow and positioned my arm so that I was holding it up as if I were ready to jam it through Archer's chest.

I looked up at him, and saw that he was struggling not to laugh. His eyes were nearly watering, and his lips were twitching.

My hand tightened on the stake. Maybe shoving it into his heart wasn't such a bad idea.

"Mr. Cross," the Vandy said, stil smiling sweetly, "kindly disarm Miss Mercer using Skil Nine."

Instantly, al levity vanished from his face. "You've got to be kidding."

"Either you demonstrate it or I wil."

F
or a second I thought he was stil going to refuse, but then he looked back at me and muttered, "Fine."

"Excelent!" the Vandy triled. "Now, Miss Mercer, attack Mr. Cross."

I stared at her. I had never so much as wielded a flyswatter in my life, and this woman expected me to just lunge at a guy with a pointy wooden stick?

The Vandy's smile hardened. "Any day now."

I wish I could say that I suddenly discovered my inner warrior princess and expertly leaped at Archer, weapon hoisted high, teeth bared. That would have been cool.

Instead I raised the stake to about shoulder height and took two, maybe three shuffling steps forward.

Then viselike fingers clenched my throat, the stake was wrenched from my hand, and a sharp stabbing pain shot up my right thigh as I landed on the ground with a thump that knocked the breath out of me.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, once I landed, something hard and heavy--his knee, I thought--hit me right in the sternum. You know, just in case there was one last breath left in my lungs. The point of the stake scraped the sensitive skin just under my chin. I looked up, wheezing, into Archer's face.

He was off of me in a heartbeat, but al I could do was rol onto my side, draw my knees up to my chest, and wait for oxygen to reenter my body.

"Very good!" I heard the Vandy say from somewhere far off. I was literaly seeing stars, and every ragged breath I took felt like I was trying to breathe through broken glass.

On the upside, my crush on Archer was totaly gone. Over.

Once a boy has slammed his kneecap into your rib cage, I think any romantic feelings should naturaly go the way of the ghost.

Then I felt hands under my arms, lifting me to my feet. "I'm sorry," Archer murmured, but I just glared at him. My throat stil felt thick and swolen, and I didn't want to try to push any words through it.

Much less al the words I wanted to say to him.

"Now," the Vandy was saying brightly, "Mr. Cross showed excelent technique there, although I would have definitely stayed on the opponent's chest longer."

Archer nodded very slightly at me when she said that, and I wondered if he was trying to say that's why he'd done it; I would have been worse off if it had been the Vandy. I realy didn't care. I was stil pissed.

"And now, Mr. Cross, Skil Four," the Vandy chirped.

But this time Archer shook his head. "No."

"Mr. Cross," the Vandy said sharply, but Archer just tossed the stake at her feet. I waited for the disemboweling or the caning or, at the very least, the writing up, but once again, the Vandy just smiled her tight smile. She picked up the stake and handed it to me.

I was certain I was going to throw up. Wasn't there some other newbie she could torture? I glanced around and caught a few sympathetic looks, but everyone else just seemed relieved it wasn't them about to get squashed.

"Very wel. Watch and learn, people. Skil Four. Come at me, Miss Mercer."

I just stood there staring at her.

She pursed her lips in irritation, and then, without warning, her hand shot out to grab me. But I was ready this time, and angry and hurt. Without thinking, I puled my leg up and thrust it out.

Hard.

I saw my sneaker-clad foot slam into her chest as if that foot belonged to someone else. It couldn't possibly have been mine.

I'd never kicked anyone in my life; I certainly wouldn't kick a teacher.

But I had. I had kicked the Vandy in the chest, and she went sprawling onto the blue mat, not far from the very spot where I had sprawled earlier.

I heard the other students draw in a colective breath. I mean, realy. Al fifty of them seemed to gasp at the same time.

It was right about then that the enormity of what I'd done hit me.

I knelt down and offered her my hand. "Oh my God! I . . . I didn't mean . . ."

She threw off my hand and got to her feet, nostrils flaring. I was so very, very screwed.

"Miss Mercer," she said, breathing heavily, making me think of a bul, "is there any reason you can think of that I shouldn't give you detention for the next month?"

My mouth moved, but nothing came out.

Then, like a godsend, I remembered Elodie's advice. "I like your tattoos!" I blurted out.

I only thought the class had gasped before. Now the sound they made was like the air escaping from a baloon.

The Vandy tilted her head at me and narrowed her tiny eyes. "You what?"

"I . . . I like your tattoos. Your ink. Your, um, tats. They're realy cool."

I'd never seen anyone have an aneurysm before, but I was afraid that was exactly what the Vandy was about to do. Frantic, I looked out at the crowd of students until I met Elodie's eyes. She was grinning, and I realized that I had just made a truly horrible mistake.

"I hope you weren't planning on having any free time here at Hecate, Miss Mercer," the Vandy sneered. "Detention. Celar duty.

Rest of the semester."

The semester? I shook my head. Who had ever heard of detention that lasted eighteen weeks? That was insane! And celar duty? What was that?