Stake That Read online

  Teifert shifts, as if his seat is suddenly uncomfortable. “That’s confidential,” he says. “But trust me, we had our reasons.”

  “Okay, fine,” I say. Obviously this was going nowhere. “Not that I agree with your methods, but let’s move on. So if, like, once a generation there’s a slayer born and Bertha is that slayer in mine, how come you’re picking on me?”

  Teifert snorts. “Please. This is the twenty-first century. You don’t think we’d have a backup?” He shakes his head. “Sure, in the old days they only chose one. But then when that one was killed by a vampire or something they had to wait a whole other generation before they could start policing the covens again. Completely impractical. So nowadays we select several girls at birth.”

  “So if I die in my duties, you just swap me out? Kind of harsh.” Suddenly I have sympathy for Bertha.

  “Our goal is, of course, to keep you alive. And we will do everything in our power to do that.”

  “You’re talking like I’ve already agreed to do this,” I point out. “I haven’t. And I won’t, actually. I’m on a waiting list to become a vampire and I’m thinking that becoming an official slayer would definitely put me at the back of the line.”

  “I’m sorry, Rayne,” Mr. Teifert says, in actuality not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But you don’t have a choice.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean ‘I don’t have a choice’? Of course I have a choice. I can just, like, choose. To slay vampires or to let them live. And I choose life. Well, not life exactly, seeing as they’re technically already dead. Undead, I guess, but—”

  “When you were born, you were injected with a dormant nanovirus by a Slayer Inc. operative working in Mercy Hospital,” Mr. Teifert interrupts in an oddly calm voice. “If you refuse to fulfill your destiny, we will be forced to activate the virus and you will, I’m afraid, suffer a very painful death.”

  I’m sure my eyes are totally bugging out of my head now as I stare at him. Nanovirus? WTF is a nanovirus? He’s gotta be kidding, right? I glance around the auditorium, looking for Ashton Kutchner telling me I’m being Punk’d. This has got to be a joke, right?

  I realize my palms are totally sweaty all of a sudden. And my fingers have become real trembly. Fear pokes at my heart. Has Teifert already activated the virus? Am I dying as we speak? OMG, I could be literally dying. Right here, right now!

  Or am I just being all Hypochondriac Girl? Like the time I swore I had come down with Ebola after reading about it in Social Studies. I mean, I had all the symptoms. Headache, muscle ache, red eyes, fatigue, stomach pain . . .

  The school nurse had not been impressed, informing me that those were also symptoms of a hangover. As was the distinct smell of vodka on my breath. Guess I should have brushed my teeth a few more times after Spider and I embarked on our “do these fake IDs work” adventure the night before.

  But I’m not taking any chances. Especially since it feels like my throat is starting to close up. My vision is getting spotty. “Please!” I beg. “I want to live. Turn it off! Please, turn it off!”

  Mr. Teifert rolls his eyes. “I haven’t turned it on, Rayne. But I must say I am quite impressed by your dramatic prowess. Ever consider the theater?”

  Oh.

  Vision returns. Throat loosens. I no longer feel the urge to go toward the light. Phew.

  “Come with me.” Mr. Teifert rises from his chair and beckons me to follow. I reluctantly stand up and trail behind him as he heads to the back of the stage, behind the cheerily painted background flats, behind the interior curtain, behind the cage that holds all the lighting controls. Just when I think we can’t go back any farther, we come to a small, nondescript door I’d never noticed before.

  Mr. Teifert pulls out a large old-fashioned golden key and slips it into the lock. Before opening the door, he glances from left to right. To see if we’re alone, I guess. Then he turns the key. The door creaks open.

  I can practically feel my heart pounding against my chest cavity as I follow him inside. At this point I’m thinking, what if the guy just made up the whole Slayer Inc. thing? What if he’s really some psycho axe-wielding teacher who likes to chop up teenagers and then eat them in the back room? Have any other students gone missing from Oakridge lately? Hm. When was the last time I saw Tubby Toby? He had a lot of meat on his bones . . .

  I’m about ready to run screaming back onto the stage, when Teifert flips a switch and the room becomes bathed in a dull orange glow. I glance around, my breath catching in my throat. Suddenly, I’m too fascinated to leave, even if I now have an even better reason to do so.

  Weapons. Lots of weapons. In fact, I’d bet my Dr. Marten combat boot collection that none of you have seen so many weapons in one place before. (Well, if you don’t count museums, which I don’t, as those are ancient weapons behind glass. Not the ready-to-chop-off-someone’s-head-at-a-moment’s-notice variety like these are.) There are intricate medieval swords, shiny axes (gulp!), and a large collection of jeweled daggers.

  “Tools of the slayer,” Teifert explains. I glance over at him. Under this lighting he no longer looks like a dorky drama teacher. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he had some kind of weird glow about him. A glow of . . . power.

  “I can use these?” I ask, running a hand along the helm of the sword. I start imagining myself wielding the mighty blade. Just like that cool senior Jen Taufman who belongs to the Society of Creative Anachronism and does medieval battle recreations on the weekends.

  “Uh, no,” Mr. Teifert corrects, sinking all my dreams of becoming a twenty-first-century knight in shining armor. Figures. He pulls open a drawer and rummages around. “Not right away, anyway. To begin with, you’ll use this.”

  I stare at the item in his hand. That? That’s all I get to vanquish evil and slay immortal creatures of the night?

  “Uh, that’s just a chunk of wood, dude.”

  “It’s a stake,” Mr. Teifert clarifies. “You must know about staking vampires, Rayne. Even Hollywood’s got that part right.”

  I roll my eyes. “But those stakes are at least smooth. Pointy. Elegant almost. I bet you just found that thing outside on the ground in the woods.”

  Mr. Teifert inspects the rough stick in his hand. “That’s because it’s not finished yet. Each slayer must carve her own stake. Embed it with her own essence. That’s what gives it its power.”

  “Oh, joy. So not only do I have to go out and fight evil villains, but I have to take up woodworking, too?”

  The drama teacher sighs deeply. “I never said becoming the slayer would be a field trip to a Backstreet Boys concert.”

  “Good. Because I’d rather stab myself with an unfinished stake than attend one of those,” I inform him. “Die a slow painful death. It’d still be better. I can’t believe you think I’d like a band like that. I mean, I know you adults all think we teens look the same, but hello?” I gesture to my outfit. “Black-wearing, night-worshipping Goth girl here. I so have better taste than that.”

  “Um, right. We’re getting off topic here,” Teifert interrupts. Good thing, too, cause I had a lot more to say on the subject. I mean, talk about insulting!

  The drama coach holds out the stake. I take it, reluctantly, worried that the nasty thing is going to give me splinters. “Um, thanks,” I mutter, not quite sure of the appropriate response to the giftage of a piece of wood.

  “Look, Rayne. Try to see the job as an opportunity,” Teifert tries again. Jeez. The man doesn’t give up. He’d make a great Army recruiter.

  “An opportunity to murder innocent creatures of the night that pose absolutely no threat to the human race? Rock on.” There’s more than a hint of sarcasm in my voice, as you can probably imagine.

  “Now that’s where you’re mistaken, little girl,” Mr. Teifert says, narrowing his eyes and going all authority figure on me. “Not all vampires are so-called ‘good guys,’ as you seem to believe. And those who are live a peaceful existence have no reason
to fear our organization. It’s only the evil vampires that we wish to keep in line.”

  “Okay, fine. Only the bad guys. What about my sister’s boyfriend?” I ask. “Is Magnus a goodie or a baddie?”

  “We are pleased at Magnus’s rise to power. We feel he will be a great master, actually.”

  Oh. Well that’s a relief. Don’t have to worry about pissing Sunny off. Nanovirus or not, dusting one’s sister’s BF would so be against the twin code of honor.

  “Okay. So if I were to take this gig,” I say cautiously. “Not that I’m necessarily saying yes, but if I do, who’d be my first victim?”

  Mr. Teifert reaches into his leather briefcase and pulls out a file. He flips through the pages until he comes to an eight-by-ten photo. He holds it up so I can take a look.

  My eyes widen and a chill trips down my spine as I examine the photo. The vamp in question just looks evil. Seriously evil. He has jet-black hair—parted down the middle and hanging to his shoulders—a trim goatee, pure white skin, and piercing ice-blue eyes that seem to bore into my skull. Sort of resembles Trent Reznor from Nine Inch Nails. If Trent had huge fangs protruding from his bloodred lips, that is.

  “Maverick,” Mr. Teifert whispers.

  The name has power. Like the bad guy in Harry Potter. Hearing it sends chills down my spine. I stare at the picture. The eyes seem to taunt me. Begging me to come closer . . . closer . . .

  “Okay, okay!” I cry, turning my head away. “I’ve seen enough.”

  Mr. Teifert slips the picture back into the file. “Maverick owns the Blood Bar downtown. It’s an underground nightclub where humans can go and pay to have their blood sucked by a vampire.”

  “Um?” I raise an eyebrow. “Ew?” I mean, I’m a big fan of all things vamp, but that just sounds creepy and wrong.

  “Yes. ‘Ew’ would be an appropriate reaction, I think. It’s not exactly a high-class establishment. Strictly for the extreme fetish crowd.”

  “So people get off on that? Getting sucked dry by a vamp turns them on?”

  “Evidently. It’s become quite the hot spot.”

  “And you want to shut them down.”

  “Not exactly. While we don’t approve, as a rule, of these unlicensed bite shops, we understand that humans are doing this of their own free will, making it a victimless crime. And normally the vamps that work there are all tested for diseases before becoming employed. So while it’s a bit . . . distasteful . . . we tend to turn a blind eye.”

  “Then what . . . ?”

  “Maverick has been very vocal about his displeasure at Magnus taking over the Blood Coven after Lucifent’s death. We believe he may be up to something. We need you to infiltrate the Blood Bar. Pose as a human who’d like to get sucked. Figure out what Maverick has planned and then, if you get the opportunity, stake him.”

  Huh. That doesn’t sound so bad actually. In a way, I’d be helping the vamps. The good guys anyway. And saving the life of my twin’s BF. I’d be a hero. Maybe my good deeds would actually push me to the front of the vampire line. Then Slayer Inc. could just get the next chick in line to be the once-a-generation slayer.

  Also, there’s that whole nanovirus in my bloodstream thing that’s awfully convincing. Well, if that’s even true. Which it might not be. Come to think of it, it does seem a tad far-fetched, don’t you think? Like some story an adult would make up to get a teen to do whatever he says. Still, I’m not taking any chances ’til I find out for sure. Maybe Magnus will know the deal.

  I square my shoulders, firming my resolve. “Okay,” I say, hoping I sound more brave than I feel. “I’ll do it.”

  POSTED BY RAYNE McDONALD @ 7 P.M.

  FOUR COMMENTS:

  CandyGrrl says . . .

  OMG, Rayne! That’s so crazy! I can’t believe u of all people r now the slayer! Ur like some superhero or something! Do u get powers like Buffy? And more important, do u get to hook up with Spike? Yum!

  Rayne says . . .

  Hm . . . dunno about the powers. Forgot to ask. As for Spike, I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed if he were to crawl in one night. ☺

  TheyROut2GetMe says . . .

  Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous to post your “secret” mission on your blog for everyone in the known universe to read? I mean, what if Maverick Googles himself and learns about your plans?

  Rayne says . . .

  Uh, hello?! You think I’m stupid? You don’t think I changed names to protect the innocent—or the guilty in this case? [Though Maverick is a way-cool name for an evil vampire, don’t you think? I named him after this author I dig.] And the Blood Bar’s real name is much more creative and Gothy sounding. But yeah, “Maverick” can Google himself until the bats come home—he ain’t stumbling across my blog.

  4

  FRIDAY, JUNE 1, 2:20 A.M.

  Gamer Grrls

  It’s wicked late—just popped on for a minute. Was playing World of Warcraft—this online video game—with Spider, my best friend. Spider plays a gnome mage (like a pint-size magician) and I play this fierce human warrior chick. It’s the best game EVER and we play all the time. Mom claims I’m totally addicted, but, hey, I could say the same to her about her repeated watchings of BBC’s Pride and Prejudice. She <3’s Colin Firth with a vengeance.

  Anyway I told Spider about the whole slayer thing over chat. Rather then recapping, I’ll just paste in the transcript:RAYNIEDAY: OMG, Spider, the weirdest thing happened today!

  SPIDER: The cheerleaders invited you to join their ranks?

  RAYNIEDAY: Um, no.

  SPIDER: Football captain Mike Stevens asked you out?

  RAYNIEDAY: Heh. No. And uh, ew, BTW.

  SPIDER: Then I’m sorry, it’s not the weirdest thing. Maybe it’s up there in weirdness, sure, I’ll buy that. But THE weirdest thing? I think not.

  RAYNIEDAY: Hehe. This is even weirder. I’m telling you.

  SPIDER: Watch out behind you! An orc!

  **Spider casts fireball on Orc. 450 damage.

  **Rayne slashes at Orc. Orc dodges her blow.

  **Orc hits Spider for 1,324 damage.

  **Spider dies.

  SPIDER: D’oh! I hate being the mage. I’m always the first to die. How come you never die? I’m the one doing ALL the damage and you just rack up the experience points.

  RAYNIEDAY: ’Cause I’m wearing armor. Duh. You’re going into battle wearing, like, some silk robe. Hello?

  SPIDER: Yeah, I’m, like, freaking tissue paper here. Come get the mage, everyone. Pick on the poor squishy mage!

  RAYNIEDAY: ANYWAY—while you run back from the graveyard, I’ve got to tell you what happened!!!

  SPIDER: Hmph. No sympathy. Fine. Fine.

  So I tell Spider about Mr. Teifert. Slayer Inc. My destiny. Etc., etc.

  SPIDER: Wow. That’s so crazy. What are you going to do? RAYNIEDAY: IDK. Slay Maverick, I guess? I mean, if he’s out to get Sunny’s BF, then that seems like the right thing to do. SPIDER: But isn’t that totally dangerous? I mean, what if you get made into a bloody snack?

  RAYNIEDAY: Gulp. Thanks. You’re making me feel so much better.

  SPIDER: Just trying to be realistic.

  RAYNIEDAY: I know, but I, like, don’t have a choice here. They’ve got the nanos in me. If I don’t help them, they’ll kill me. And I’d so rather be a living snack than dead meat.

  SPIDER: Guess you’ve got a point there. Still, be careful, okay? I mean infiltrating a vamp nest and trying to stake their evil leader? That sounds harder than passing Trig without sleeping with the teacher.

  RAYNIEDAY: Heh. So THAT’S your secret. :P

  SPIDER: Hehe. I don’t “sine” and tell.

  RAYNIEDAY: Very “cosine.”

  SPIDER: At least I don’t go off on “tangents.”

  RAYNIEDAY: Uh-huh. ANYWAY—I’m going to head to the Blood Bar 2morrow nite. I’ll IM you when I get back, k? If I don’t IM, tell Sunny what happened and maybe Magnus can send in the big guns.

  SPIDER: Y
ou haven’t told Sunny to begin with?

  RAYNIEDAY: . . .

  SPIDER: Um, don’t you think you should?

  RAYNIEDAY: No effing way. Cause, like, what if she tells Magnus and Slayer Inc.’s wrong and Mag and Maverick are best buddies? Then Magnus could go warn Maverick and I’ll totally get nanoed. Then I’d definitely fail Trig—teacher sleepage or no.

  SPIDER: I guess you’ve got a point.

  RAYNIEDAY: No, I’ve got a stake, LOL.

  SPIDER: Hehe. Okay, fine. Go slay some vamp butt. Good luck. I’m back from the graveyard, BTW. Rezzing now.

  RAYNIEDAY: Uh, you might want to wait—

  **Spider resurrects.

  **Shaman hits Spider for 975 damage.

  **Spider dies.

  SPIDER: NOOOOOO!!!!!

  RAYNIEDAY: Sigh. And on that note, I’m logging. Got a busy day tomorrow. Evil vampires don’t just slay themselves, you know.

  POSTED BY RAYNE McDONALD @ 2:20 A.M.

  THREE COMMENTS:

  DarkGothBoy says . . .

  You play World of Warcraft? Wow, you’re such a cool chick. I’m on the Stonemaul server. Have a level 60 paladin. w00t! Are you into role-playing? We should totally cyber sometime.

  Rayne says . . .

  Um, remember that ten-foot pole thing? That counts for your virtual “lance” as well. Just. Not. Touching. Virtually or in real life. Get a life and stop reading my blog.

  Spider says . . .

  Jeez, Rayne, you had to put in the part about me dying? Couldn’t you have cut and pasted that part out? Obviously it’s so not relevant to this story and you make me look like a total nooblet in front of the WHOLE WORLD. And for the record, whole world people, I’m a really good player. It’s just that Rayne sucks as a bodyguard. SUCKS, I tell you! It’s so her fault that I’m always dead.