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The teacher begins with, “Grab your books and turn to page fifty-five.”
I don’t know why I check my bag, because I already know I don’t have a book, but I do anyway. The teacher launches straight into reading an excerpt that we’re supposed to follow, not giving me a moment to ask discreetly if I could have abook. Then, like an idiot, I just cover my desk with my arms and bow my head as if to pretend I’m reading. A boy on the other side of the room clocks it, smirking, but doesn’t say anything.
While I would appreciate the ground swallowing me whole, that doesn’t actually happen, and I somehow manage to get through the full hour without looking like too much of a fool.
When the class is over, I breathe a sigh of relief. It all went by in such a blur that I didn’t even get the teacher’s name, but I did listen to her reading, and it turns out Lailawastelling the truth about the magical version ofGatsby.
After literature, I have maths for an hour. It’s slightly less painful in that I don’t have to pretend to read a book I don’t have, but it’s also severely more painful just because it’s maths. The teacher, Mr Derek, loves mental arithmetic and isn’t afraid to call upon any poor unsuspecting soul with a multiplication sum.
Then it’s lunchtime, but I have no intentions whatsoever of getting food. Instead, I hurry back to the library to collect the books Damien set aside for me. I need to know exactly what my ancestor did to Cyrus and his family. I need to know whose blood flows in my veins and how I managed to open the seal.
Most of all, I need to know what it means to be a Belvedere at Aura Academy, because I get the sense there’s more to it than I could possibly imagine.
On the way I hear some of the students talking about an on-campus coffee shop calledSpill the Beans, and make a mental note to try it out. I also overhear some gossip about people I don’t know hooking up. It feels like I still have somuch to learn about this place. I’m not sure when I’ll stop feeling like an outsider.
As soon as I step into the library, Damien smiles and gives me a little wave, making me feel better.
“Kira,” he says. “You got here quickly.”
“Oh, I was just passing,” I lie.
He gestures for me to come over to his desk, where he hands me a stack of leather-bound books. “Now, this is as much as I could find about the Belvederes. I’ve added a few sticky labels to some passages I think might be of interest.”
“Thank you. Do you mind if I work here?”
He smiles. “Of course not. The desk by the fire is always the cosiest and warmest.”
“Oh, and do you have a copy ofThe Great Gatsbyfor my literature class?”
“Third stack on the left.” He nods in that direction. “Give me a shout if you need anything.”
I hesitate. “Is there any news on Jenny?”
His expression saddens. “Not yet. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I carry the heavy pile of books over to Damien’s cosy desk and place them down. With titles likeA Vampiric History, Six Circles at War,andThe Dracul Family, I know I’m in for some heavy reading.
Although a sense of dread hangs over me, I crack the spine of the first book. This is real history. My history. Cyrus’s history.
A little dust comes off the pages and drifts away into the air. The paper crackles as it moves. I’m afraid of tearing it. Then I try my best to concentrate on the words.
“Vladimir Dracul’s cruel regime included the enslavementof werewolves by means of silver shackles on their wrists and ankles. Dracul made the werewolves serve the family—”
Hold on.Cyrus is back.That’s not quite true.Father’s second-in-command was a werewolf, and he wasn’t enslaved.
What about the camps on the other islands?I ask.
Mother told us about them,he says, his voice pained.Just before she…
Poisoned you?
Yes.I remember it now. She held us down and gave us the vial. That is my last memory before drinking your blood.
I’m sorry.
Keep reading, Kira,he urges.Not all of this is lies. I want to remember it all.
