How to Cure a Vampire Bite without Losing Your Mind
Chapter 1

My name is MalloryTourney. I have red hair, “iridescent” eyes, according to Mother (they’reactually the greener end of hazel), a small mouth, and a thin nose. I have anarrow chin, sharp cheekbones, and a high forehead, all made to look evenfiercer than it actually is by the fact that my hair is cut incredibly short; mostly because it gets really hot where I live, and longhair is not conducive to happiness in that environment. My mother isAmerican, and my father used to be British citizen. For reasons I cannotfathom, he switched allegiances to the States. When people complain that I“talk funny,” I refer them to this fact. I also, on occasion, refer them to adictionary. At my school, Blackthorn, I am one of the best students, secondonly to Orcus Locke.

Blackthorn is located, funnily enough, in Oregon and ithas got to be the loneliest place ever to exist. See, Blackthorn is located outin the middle of no-freaking-where. You could, quite literally, be ten milesaway from the school, and you, firstly, wouldn’t have left school grounds, and,secondly, the nearest town would be another twenty miles away. And peoplealways say, “Oh, that’s weird, why would your parents send you there? They mustreally hate you.” Firstly…they do…. Secondly: it’s a government run facility.It’s literally the United States government training young people to work forthem (they use the word ‘with’, but you’d have to be exceptionally stupid toreally believe that). “They wouldn’t do something like that!” people squawk inhorror. Yeah, and they totally wouldn’t drop an atomic bomb on millions ofcivilians, or invade a nation for noreason other than plundering a country’s natural resources. Would they? I thinkpeople are so baffled by it because nobody expects something like this in Oregon of all places, but there we are.What made it even worse for me was the fact Orcus Locke was there. It was likegoing to hell, but worse.

It’salmost shameful how I was so aware of him. Of course it wasn’t easily helped bythe fact that we had a basically identical schedule, or by the fact that healways, every day, without fail, sat behind me and whispered at the back of myhead, no matter what we were supposedto be doing in class. Since Orcus was the brightest kid in school, he neverfailed a test or a quiz, even if he didn’t pay attention in class. He wasincredibly bright, and it made all the teachers love him; he was unnaturallypolite, too, and every other student thought he was a hero. And that’s the thingabout being a sociopath, you can fool almost anyone.

OrcusLocke came from a very wealthy, but not very famous, family. Because his familywas wealthier than almost everyone else on the planet, he had a lot ofconnections. Those connections landed him in Blackthorn (and I have spent myschool years cursing his family name, but I don’t think curses work on Satan). Heused everybody to his advantage, it didn’t matter who they were, or whatposition they happened to hold in society. Orcus Locke could twist them roundhis little finger, and achieve things nobody else could. Somehow, for someungodly reason (probably the very same reason I frequently refer people todictionaries) everybody loved Orcus. . . .except me.

I’dknown Orcus since the third grade, and even then he was a little snake. We hadnever actually interacted, aside from a few of the snide remarks we threw backand forth; that didn’t last as long as I would have liked, which would havebeen indefinitely. No, somewhere along the way (in sixth grade) he took aninterest in me, almost to the point of obsession. I realize that sounds reallyarrogant, but I won’t apologize, because I’m about to explain why. Personally,I would be inclined to say that his obsession was attention; since I never gavehim any, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had it. Holding attention gives youa degree of power over people, and if Orcus ever loved anything (truly), it waspower. I swear, he got drunk off of his own arrogance more than he ever didreal booze.

Orcus,as I remember him, was between five-eleven and six foot, and extremelyhandsome. He had short, neat black hair that combed handsomely. His eyes werean herbal-green, and his nose was sharp and pointed. His face was long andthin, but the bones were proportioned properly, and the result was God’s masterpiece.His lips were pale and his mouth was thin, and his teeth the most brilliantwhite I’ve ever seen. He had long, spidery fingers, and very pale skin, theresult of spending so much time in the library. I mean, Jesus, this asshole wasa thing of beauty. I would probably have been just as captivated by the charmas anyone else, except I really, reallyhate being second best.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not spoiled; not by any stretchof the imagination. I like to think I’m not, at least. Nor am I the “people’schampion”, or some other equally ridiculous piece of horseshit that will makeyou identify with my struggle. But when you have a family like mine you beginto hate everyone who is better than you, simply because they are the reasonthat your own relations regard you as the weak link in the chain. In my very self-aggrandizingopinion, I’m better than the whole of them combined. Even second best isconsidered failure; it matters not how prestigious the competition, or how manycontestants, just that you are the winner.

Blackthorn, as I should probably tell you, has no morethan four-hundred students at any given time, each of them working tirelesslyto achieve a level of greatness that should be unattainable by any except thepurest of saints – if those saints were morally corrupt teenagers. We were nottaught the same subjects as every other student in the Continental UnitedStates; rather, we were taught different types of Martial Arts in P.E.,computer hacking in computer apps (I mean, it was part of the program, butChrist, I hated it); code-writing and breaking in English; lots of mathy thingsin math (I just really hate numbers); and then, of course, we learnt sixlanguages over the course of our school career (required); actual Anatomy,complete with dead bodies and everything; and so many other things that it wasreally surprising that we weren’t blowing up towns (or Senators) as a stressreliever during the summer holidays.

When I arrived at Blackthorn in the sixth grade, selectedout of thirty-thousand applicants, I was hoping against hope that Orcus Lockewould not be present (you had to be contacted by special men in very powerfulplaces to even be allowed an application). My hopes were dashed when he openedthe car door for me, leering like some demon from the blackest pits of Hell. Imaintain to this day that he was expelled from the Seventh Circle forinsubordination to his father, Satan; I have yet to be proven wrong. Sixthgrade was a struggle right then and there, and seventh and eighth grade didn’tshape up to be any better. Ninth was when all hell began to break loose in ourcompetition (on one occasion we were in the infirmary for a whole fortnight).This, around which my sob story of misfortune centers, was Senior Year, and I had hoped for at least something resembling quiet.Unfortunately, this is where my sob story becomes interesting, so this is wherewe truly actually start. Everything before was just me whinging. My mostinsincere apologies.

I had arrived at the school in the same way as usual: listeningto my parents fight about which coffee chain was better (Starbucks or DutchBros) and trying to ignore the fact that my brother was barraging me with hisutter confidence in my incapacities.

“Okay, so, just a quick question,” I said, “since, youknow, you’re the smart one.”

Ben smiled. “Go for it.”

“If I killed you, and you became a ghost, but then I resuscitatedyou, would you still be a ghost, or would you be sucked back into your body?”It was like listening to a really bad Pearl Jam album, and then suddenlyturning off the stereo with Gallic war-cries and, also, a hammer.

He stared at me for a very long moment, like he couldn’tquite comprehend what I was saying (I was threatening to kill him, just sowe’re all clear). He looked up to the front seat at my parents, and I followedsuit. My mother was looking at me with that tight-lipped disdain that shereserved for special occasions, like when I said something funny, when I showedup Ben, when I picked up a book, when I breathed…. My father, on the otherhand, had that look that people get when they want to laugh, but they can’t, sothey cry instead.

“I’ll have Dr. Wellston call you this weekend,” saidMother.

Dr. Wellston is the psychiatrist I’ve been seeing since Iwas thirteen and set a pond on fire (before you become too baffled, my parentshad been throwing a party with a lot of people I hate, so I stole all sixtycrates of booze, emptied them into the back pond, and set it on fire. It’s athing, it’s called chemistry). I hated her, mostly because she was patronizing,nosy, invasive, insisted she was there to help, and also constantly told methat I could, in fact, trust her (she’s a doctor; don’t trust doctors) with mysecrets; she was bound by law to keep them. I often replied that citizens arebound by law not to be in possession of drugs, yet cartels make a shit-ton ofmoney trafficking the stuff.

I sighed. “Never mind,” and reached for the handle to thedoor. Once again, as I had been for the past six years (now seven), I was tooslow, and car-door popped open, revealing an all too familiar grinning face. Ifelt my soul slowly dissolving with the shrieking agony of a raped monkey.

“Miss Tourney,” he said.

“Son-of-Satan!” I screamed in mock joy. “You’ve had your hornscut off! And look, your tail’s gone! Son-of-Satan, how could you?!” Sadly, this didn't irritate him at all.

“Locke?” said Mom’s voice. “Orcus Locke?”

Orcus smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He wasn’t toothrown by my greeting; when you’re ripping out someone’s throat every year(unfortunately, that is a metaphorical statement), you get used to the barbsthey shoot at you (also metaphorical, which is also unfortunate).

“The super-smart one?” said Dad, peering over Mother’sshoulder trying to get a good image of Orcus. Any second now and my parentswould be joining the fan club. I threw my dad a “please don’t” look; he justwinked. I had no idea what to do with that, so I settled for getting out of thecar.

You’dthink they’d have noticed by now that he’d opened the car door every year, but,as much as it pains me to say it, they must be excused. Since they’re usuallyfighting about something ridiculous, be it the size and weight of raindrops inratio to snowflakes (actually a thing), whether ants go forward or backward, orwhether it is physically possible for a person to have eyes in the back of hishead (also an actual argument), they couldn’t possibly have noticed Orcus overthe past seven years. And this was the first year that Ben had ever accompaniedus.

Thedevil-child just smiled. “Well, sir, I havehad some very stiff competition.”

Mother’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “From whom?”

Orcus gestured to me. “Miss Mallory Tourney.” He managedto look politely perplexed.

My mother’s mouth dropped open unashamedly, and sheturned to stare at me. My dad just looked a slightly more self-satisfied than Iusually do. I felt my cheeks flush, and I heard myself mutter something aboutgetting my trunk and suitcases out of the back of the car. To my great andutter surprise, Orcus allowed me to pass. I couldn’t stand being in the caranymore, so Orcus’ sudden decision to be a gentleman was actually greatlyappreciated. I wanted to kill him.

“You seem surprised,” I heard him say.

Ididn’t answer for my parents like I knew Mother would have wanted me to, but Iwas the tiniest bit busy planning all of their murders at the moment, so Iwasn’t exactly thinking about what was going to happen and how many letters andphone-calls I would get, chastising me for “disrespectful behavior.”

“Well, we sort of are,” my brother replied snappishly. “Shehasn’t got quite all the necessary wiring, if you follow my meaning.”

I could hear the grin in Orcus’ voice: “Apparently shedoes if she can manage to keep up with me. Forgive me, but if she’s managed tomake my pace, she must be a mad genius.”

I froze half-way through dragging my trunk out of thecar. Was he defending me? The logical answer was obviously ‘yes,’ but myparanoia began to read more into it than was probably there. He wantedsomething, I thought. He was always collecting debts on some kind of something.He probably thought that defending me against my family was something for whichhe would receive great thanks. He was incredibly wrong, even as grateful as Iwas.

Dad looked over the seats to the back of the car, hisgaze alighting on me. “Is that so?” he asked. “She’s never once said so.” Hefurrowed his brow in confusion. I simply ducked my head.

“Yes,” said Orcus with another smile. “In my experienceshe is very modest.”

“Modest?” my brother snorted. “Mal isn’t modest.”

“Halt den mund, Benjamin,” I snapped, dropping my dufflebag on top of my trunk. Not the greatest comeback ever, Tourney, but it wouldhave to do for now. But, he didn’t speak German, anyway, so it didn’t matter.

Ben looked at Orcus pointedly. “What she lacks in modestyshe makes up for in temper.”

Orcus inclined his head. “And there we agree,” hecomplied.

I angrily swung my bags over my shoulder, and picked upmy trunk. “Good-bye, children! Make good choices!” And with that I stormedaway, not bothering to acknowledge the stony glares I knew were being sentthrough the back of my head (being related to this family is partly why I setthe pond on fire).

Blackthorn is vast and sprawling. If it weren’t, there’dbe a lot of student casualties, what with the noxious fumes from the boys’dorms, and the really horrible target practice, and the occasional, random wildanimal that kind of just…appeared…and so on, and so on. As I marched off inhigh dudgeon, I meandered down several walk-ways, crossed the center-square,down more walk-ways, and there I was, finally in front of Silent Hall. It wasbig, black, and looming, kind of like the square body of an overgrown Catholicpriest. If I could say mine was the only building this depressing, I would. Asit was, all of Blackthorn had this same, overgrown Catholic priest feel to it,like we were going to be chided and punished for something as petty as eatingmeat on a Friday. Then again, Blackthorn was never meant to be a home away fromhome; it was a training facility, not a place of comfort. I used to call it ‘prison’,but then stopped when I grew up and visited an actual prison, and realized thatI’d been quite lucky. I had gotten to the door of Silent when a hand grabbed myarm. I turned to see a very disturbed-looking Orcus Locke.

“What?” I snapped.

“They’re awful,” he rejoined. “How do you live withthem?”

I shrugged. “When you’re born with a certain family, youlearn to hide in closets and cabinets.”

“I’ve never hidden in a cabinet.”

“You didn’t grow up with my family though, did you?” Irejoined. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Locke – ”

“The boys and I are meeting down by the river later. Careto join us?” he asked his eyes glinting.

I stared at him a moment, and then gave him the answerwhich I knew would irritate him the most: “No, you daft pancake.” His hopefuleyes clouded over, and I continued, hoping to drive the point home. “If youhonestly think, for even a second, Locke, that I would ever consider joining you, and of all places down by the river—”

“I apologize for asking,” he interrupted, his cloudy eyesglowing in his fury. “I had hoped wecould draw a truce this year.”

My stomach twisted into knots. “Why?” I managed.

“Sometimes,” he stated cryptically, “one’s worst enemy isone’s best ally.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to walk away, but Orcusgrabbed my hand. “Let go of me, Orcus,” I demanded.

“I didn’t realize your hands were so soft,” he commented.“I’m surprised.”

“Orcus Locke, release me now.”

“No.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, counting ten. . . .twice.“Please.” My voice sounded strained,even to me.

“Meet us down by the river,” he whispered.

I opened my eyes and gave him a cold look. Dare I makemyself uncomfortable in the short run to benefit my long run health and possibly also achieve a sense of satisfaction I'd never in my life known? Yes, I diddare.

“Never mind then,” I quipped. “I’ll just introduce you tomy roommates then, shall I?” I tightened my grip and began to drag him towardthe double doors. Even an arrogant prick like Orcus wouldn’t cross into thatterritory. It was a major no-no in school policy.

He released me immediately. “I’ll be patient, then.”

“You have fun with that,” I said.

Orcus smiled. “You’ll give in to me some day,Mallory.”

I racked my brain for a decent quip. Nothing came (perusual), so I backed away a little bit. “Don’t make this weird,” I finally bit out.It was the best I could do.

Orcus laughed, and I didn’t quite know what to make ofit. I had never heard him laugh before, and it wasn’t, surprisingly,unpleasant. The way he laughed,though, told me that he was not to be trusted, not one with whom it was safe tobe alone.

“I disturb a great many people,” he replied. He took mywrist and pulled me forward. “I do hope that it does not affect your sensible judgment.” Then he leanedforward and gave me a small peck on the cheek. “I will see you later, Mallory,” he called over his shoulder as hewalked away. Several people stopped to stare at me, and I felt my face gobright red from embarrassment and confusion, and then white with fury as Istormed up to my dorm room, the anger rolling off me, not so much in waves asin rip tides.