Vamplayers (7 page)

Second Sister Cara is a little less blunt but no less judgmental. “That’s not like you.”

“It was an accident, you guys. I was supposed to quick pop in, pop out, but Zander’s hose went off and Grover lost it and I got all wet and—”

“Hold up, hold up,” Alice interrupts through a burst of contagious giggles, reminding me why I like her despite the fact that she can be a Grade A, First Sister snob. “Are we still in the kitchen by this point, or are you describing what happened in the geeks’ room?”

Ignoring the insinuation, I say, “They’re not geeks exactly. They’re just not your type.”

“Oh, you mean they’re not handsome, athletic, popular, or fun? Okay, well, now I know what you saw in them.”

Cara pretends to sip the apple juice from her full glass, in case anyone’s looking. The football thick necks are. “We certainly can’t pass her off as the school tramp now. She’s lost all her street cred.”

“Well, if you guys insist …” Alice’s voice trails off.

The guys she’s been flirting with all dinner long stand and shuffle out, giving her backward glances as they go.

“I guess I’ll do what I do so well.” She mock sighs, quickly standing.

“What, you mean taste-testing your way through the student body to find the Vamplayer?” I say.

“It’s a dirty job, girls, but somebody has to do it. Might as well be somebody good at it.” She walks away, leaving her tray behind.

I gasp. “Was that a dig, Cara?”

“Yeah, for sure it was, Lily.”

We share a laugh, but Cara seems distracted.

As I sort our dishes and stack our trays, I look up to see why.

”Hey, Cara.” A group of girls have miraculously appeared at our table. They’re not wearing uniforms, but I can tell they’re cheerleaders by the way they walk in formation and blink in unison. Takes one to know one, after all. “We were hoping you’d sit with us tonight.”

Cara beams. “Oh, that would have been nice. Listen, what are you guys doing now?”

A petite girl with a great body says, “Going to practice our cheers, of course.”

“Well, can I join you?”

Without an answer, they escort her away with perfectly manicured hands and delighted squeals.

She manages to wave at me behind her back.

Plan B is definitely in effect. The one where Alice does her trampy, baddy-baddy thing, Cara does her sporty, goodie-goodie thing, and I do my thing, whatever
that
is.

Either way, by hook or by crook, we are supposed to infiltrate Nightshade, sniff out the Vam-player, and bring him down before he can do any harm. At least that’s Plan B in theory.

I watch Zander scuttle around under endless loads of bus trays.

It doesn’t seem to be working out too hot so far.

Chapter 10

T
he track is a nice one, made out of the soft, bumpy material that’s great on your feet and even better on your joints. It’s five in the morning and still dark as I finish my fifth lap. My legs and shoulders are finally loosening up after a tense first day and night at Nightshade.

Alice and Cara are still asleep. Well, I know Cara’s still asleep. I heard her snoring softly when I crept out of the dorm room fifteen minutes ago, pass key in one hand, black running shoes in the other. Alice? Well, Alice never came home last night. Not that I’m worried. That’s part of Plan B, if not her charm.

I’ve never been quite sure why guys flock to Alice like hungry vampires to a slaughterhouse. Sure, she’s pretty, but Cara certainly is too and I’ve never really considered myself chopped liver.

No, it’s something more than her long legs, flat stomach, blue eyes, and blonde hair. It’s more than her provocative grin, her flirty ways, her gum popping, and the way she twists a strand of hair around her finger all day long.

Some girls are just like that. Guys seem to know they’ll enjoy their company, and Alice genuinely does. I mean, we joke that she’s never met a jock she didn’t like, but it’s really true. They can be dumb as dirt, mean as snakes, dull as dishwater, or high as a kite, and Alice will find a way to enjoy their company.

She’s been on dates to ice cream parlors, rock concerts, museums, state fairs, foreign films, drive-throughs. One guy even took her cow tipping; I kid you not. She always returns (the next morning, of course) raving about how wonderful and intoxicating and refreshing it was.

I wish it were that simple for me. I wish I could ignore the fact that I’m never going to die and the guys are and just have fun with the mortals while I’m here. It sure would make high school more fun if I could let myself go and actually date some of these hotties I’m here to protect, but I can’t seem to unplug those thoughts of the future.

Alice? There is nothing but today for Alice. This moment, this school, this guy or that guy or that one over there. That’s as far as she thinks.

I envy her attitude, and I pity her too.

Who knows where she is at five on a Tuesday morning? Lying on some guy’s bed or couch or floor. Waking in a strange room, wondering where she is, taking that long, sad walk of shame to our dorm.

No, thanks. Not for me. I’d rather roll out of my own bed, thank you very much, hit the alarm before it disturbs Cara, and be out here on my own, free of all my dread and responsibilities.

So, yeah, it’s just me out here in the dark, but frankly that’s the way I like it. Being a Sister is awesome, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world, but even a Sister gets tired of her own Sisters, you know?

Dawn’s bluish-orange stillness approaches. All is blissfully, Sister-free quiet.

Until … until I hear strong breathing behind me, the scent of a young, hungry male (aren’t they all?) heavy on the crisp morning air.

I don’t turn, because I’ve already done enough lame things in my first twenty-four hours here. I just slow my pace to near human levels and glide— make that coast—through another half lap before the steady breathing draws ever closer.

Rounding the curve onto my sixth lap, I’m looser than ever, skin glowing, if not exactly sweating, when a large presence looms to my left, on the inside edge of the track.

“Imagine meeting you here, Lily,” a deep, languid voice says.

“Likewise, Tristan.” I run a little faster just to liven things up a tad. As I suspected, he keeps perfect pace with me, not even slowing when he slicks his hair behind each ear.

When I see no one tailing us, I ask, “Where’s your better half this morning?”

He doesn’t answer but picks up speed, nudging past me.

I watch the back of his snug track pants and pick up the pace.

“Getting her beauty sleep, of course.”

“Of course.”

He remains steady at my side. “Not that we’re exclusive,” he says casually, as if he’s mentioning the weather.

“Really?” I say, purposely sounding surprised. “She sure seems to think so.”

”Bianca?” he says idly, finally glancing over with those deep, dark chocolate eyes. He smirks. “You must not know her very well then.”

“True, but she sure looked possessive in the hall yesterday.”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Let’s just say Bianca is all about appearances.” We run a while longer before he says, “No doubt she clung protectively to many of her suitors throughout the day.”

“Reeeeally? And how many suitors does she have?”

He grins. “Like I said, you don’t know her very well.”

Half a lap later, I ask, “Well, how well do
you
know her?” I try to say it like I’m only mildly inquisitive rather than downright curious—which I am only in a professional capacity, of course.

“My, my.” He nudges me. “It is a bit early to get so personal, don’t you think?”

I shake my head. “What I mean to say is, how long have you known Bianca?”

“Ah, that is more like it. Well, I would like to think we have known each other forever, but I transferred here only earlier this semester, so …”

He says more, but I don’t hear it. The deep, dark eyes, the pale complexion, the superhuman speed, the stilted, almost foreign accent and he
just transferred here?
I try not to get too excited. Rarely do I spot the Vamplayer on the second day. And, truth be told, one of the other Sisters usually spots him first.

Contrary to popular belief, vampires can’t see one another until we choose to reveal ourselves. Mortals seem to think we can see right through each other’s skin to the nonbeating heart, the flaccid lungs, the fangs wedged high in our gum lines, but in fact it’s quite difficult to spot a vampire even when you know what to look for.

Unfortunately, the only sure way to get a Vamplayer to show his true colors is to expose them yourself. So unless I want to blow my cover first, and way too soon, it’s really a guessing game until Alice, Cara, and I weigh all the evidence and risk outing ourselves to reveal his true identity.

Like I said, we’re not quite there yet.

I glide over to the right, not because I’m scared of him exactly but to get a better look.

He doesn’t glance over but continues loping down the track.

I subconsciously pick up the pace in gradual increments.

His black jacket with two broad white stripes on each arm is open to his waist, revealing a white V-neck T-shirt that hugs the curves of his manly chest the same way he hugs the inside corner as we round the far end of the track. His shoes are top of the line and match his track suit, as if he ordered the set online or perhaps got them for free while modeling for
GQ.

For another two laps, he matches me stride for stride, his firm body making light work of mile two.

I’m not even close to capacity (yes, vampires are incredibly fast), but I’m keeping it on the down low in case (a) any mere mortals are watching and (b) Tristan isn’t the Vamplayer, however unlikely that seems.

He says little more as we run, apparently growing more winded with each lap. I smile. If he’s acting, he’s not half bad. I mean, I genuinely believe he’s tired.

Finally he slows down, then stops a lap later, his hands on his knees, his breathing labored.

I stop too because, let’s face it: it’s just plain rude to keep running when your partner’s about to pass out on you.

He’s so good, pretending to be exhausted. He’s even sweating, a rare skill among Vamplayers, though not entirely unheard of, I suppose. Not that, as Third Sister, I know everything there is to know about Vamplayers, but here are the basics.

Vamplayers aren’t a particular breed of vampire, necessarily, just a very special type. Just as in the mortal world, we all have our roles in the vampiric world. There are the Scavengers, loner vamps who walk the earth feasting on beast and man alike. There are the Saviors and the Sisters, the hunters and the protectors. There are the Ancients, the rule makers who oversee our communities and enforce our laws.

There are Royal vampires, those vamps who were born of two vampire parents, not made like the rest of us. There is even a superior race of Original vampires; the first of our kind, nearly godlike creatures rarely seen. Very few of the Originals remain. Instead, their bloodline lives on in the cells and DNA of the Royals.

And then there are the Vamplayers: normal vampires who just happen to enjoy wreaking havoc on the mortal world by turning typical, suburban, innocent high schools into hotbeds of brand-new vampires, fresh for the feasting.

Like all guys, some Vamplayers are strong; some are weak. All are drop-dead gorgeous and have an insatiable bloodlust for young nubile flesh. A few have even been Royals, though Cara, Alice, and I have never had the displeasure of battling one so strong as a born vampire. Most are just like us, regular old vampires only nastier, greedier, and far sneakier. Like this one, maybe, with his sweaty brow and trying to act like he can’t outsprint some poor, mortal girl six laps to her one.

“You all right?” I say with a slightly superior tone, standing tall, hands on hips, barely breathing, though Tristan doesn’t need to know why.

“Sure,” he says, voice strong—at least between gasps. “Fine, great!”

I laugh, grabbing a towel from along the chain link fence bordering the track. I toss it his way.

“Thanks. I’m good.” He throws it back, a little harder.

I shrug and pretend to dry off, though my skin is already quite parched since—that’s right—vampires don’t sweat.

He stands, pressing his hands at the small of his back and leaning over at the waist, side to side, until he catches his breath. “Well,” he says, shaking his legs out, “that was the best workout I’ve had since I’ve gotten here. Do you run every morning?”

I hide my delight. The Vamplayer has asked
me
to work out with him every morning? This is too rich. Wait’ll the other Sisters hear. They always think it’s such a waste of time to exercise every morning, but this time it’s finally paid off.

“Not every morning,” I hedge.

He winks. “Well, I look forward to running with you
most
mornings then, Lily.”