Sign of the Slayer

Book 1: American Slayer Society

by Sharina Harris

Genres: YA Paranormal

Synopsis

Full Metal Alchemist meets Vampire Diaries in this fun and clever dark academia series . . .



High school is supposed to be about studying, socializing, and marching-band practice. Not fighting vampires. Then one night flipped my world inside out—now, my life sucks. But it isn't all bad. I'm at a slayer academy, learning things like the real origin of vamps and how to make serious weapons out of thin air.



Every last one of them will pay for what they did. I'm doing great.



Until I come face-to-face with the actual vampire prince . . . and I'm not sure of anything anymore. Vampires are supposed to be soul-sucking demons. But Khamari is . . . something else. He's intelligent and reasonable—and he seems to know things about me that could change everything.



He's also hiding something big, even from his own kind. And when a threat from an ancient evil is so extreme that a vampire will team up with a slayer to take it down, it isn't just my need for revenge that's at stake anymore.



It's the whole damn world.

Release date: August 29, 2023

Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC

Print pages: 464

Sample

1

The Baddest Band in All the Land

Raven

Can a human take part in photosynthesis?

I mean, I am an organism, standing still at attention, grass beneath my feet. The sun’s gone down, but the bright stadium lights burn through the darkness of the football stadium. And with all that light and my sweat dripping to the ground, then yeah… I’d say I’m an unwilling part of photosynthesis. Not to mention there’s fifty-three of us band members, so I’m pretty sure our collective buckets of sweat are quenching this dull green grass’ thirst.

The crowd is rowdy—a deafening blend of claps, chants, and taunts—but today it seems like a crowd of giants clapping with supersize hands, roaring in booming voices. It’s like the ground has opened, and I’m flailing in a sea of noise. I pull in a breath through my nose, release out my mouth, and count to ten.

Saxophone tucked in the crook of my arm, I cradle my Yamaha like it’s a newborn baby. Tonight, my instrument feels as heavy as Plymouth Rock. My forearm shakes under the strain.

Get it together, girl.

I don’t get it together. I can’t. My body doesn’t feel like it’s my own. It’s like I’ve been spread out and rolled over with a rolling pin.

My skin tingles and twitches at the slightest ruffle from the starched band suit. Even the neck strap feels like rope burn as it twists, rubs, and digs into my skin.

Still, I don’t break the line.

If I move, I might as well be dead.

Okay, so I’ve been told I’m a drama queen. To my knowledge, no one’s ever died from a band director’s baton, although Dr. Jeffries, the band director, is infamous for tossing his conducting wand like a ninja star when someone doesn’t know the music. No, any potential death would be out of embarrassment, because breaking the line would be due to a mistake.

My mistake.

And I never ever make mistakes in public. If I do, I lose my cool, and if I lose my cool, again, well… I can’t imagine what the State will do to an eighteen-year-old Black girl. They already proved what they could do to a twelve-year-old with a short fuse.

The football players sprint past the band, running much more enthusiastically than they were five minutes ago, when they fumbled the ball and allowed the other team to score.

“Get off the field with ya tired asses,” someone yells from the stands.

The fans clap, slow and frustrated. Our football team, well…sucks.

Our band, however, does not.

We won the competitions and gained national recognition despite our small-but-mighty band, which is why we have brand spanking new uniforms and a charter bus (not that we use it on the regular—but since we’re playing our rivals, we have no choice but to stunt on them). No one gives a damn about the football players or the fifty-year-old rivalry between the Alpine Rattlesnakes and the Texan Wildcats.

For the first time since the game started, I smirk, though no one can see it under the shiny black top hat. My smile drops when I hear the announcer’s voice echo over the PA system.

You know the famous guy who does the epic voice-overs for movie trailers in Hollywood? Well, the announcers for small towns in Texas, with way too much time on their hands, are a mixture of that guy plus a choir director who’s trying to outdo the lead singer. You know Kirk Franklin’s name but not one vocalist, right?

“Ladies and gentlemen! We know what you’ve been waiting for. You’re here to see the baddest band in the entire state of Texas. No, the entire world. There is no equal! Don’t believe me? Tap your neighbor. Ask ya mama and feast your eyes on the incredible…the splendid…the excellent…and the resplendent Harbor View High School Marching Rattlesnakes!”

While our announcer hypes up the crowd for the half-time show, our two drum majors, with batons in hand, march toward the middle of the field.

The head drum major whistles a long-short sequence followed by four short whistles.

The whistle is just what I need to snap out of my funk and focus. Our drummers slap the snares, setting the rhythm of our marching cadence.

I alternate each knee in a high step and march until I reach the middle of the field. As the section leader, I train, drill, and lead the sax players. Our section isn’t what gets the crowd hyped—that would be the drum line or the trumpets—yet I feel someone’s stare.

Girl, no one’s staring at you.

I give a hard eye roll to my paranoia but check my peripheral anyway and roll my eyes again when I discover the culprit. All that heat is coming from Kendall, the dethroned, disgruntled former section leader.

He wants me to trip, to fail, to have a slight imperfection in my lines and placements. I had surprised him, along with many others, when I beat out the two-years-running section leader for first chair during summer camp.

The drummers speed up

the tempo, and we transform our slow, dramatic steps into a sprint until we reach our marks. I pivot on my heels, doing an about-face, and stand at attention—waiting for the rest of my section, as well as the other horns, to follow suit.

That jerk Kendall is a foot off his mark. He’s too close to me, and he knows it. Thoughts of kicking him in his polyester-clad ass tempt me, but I lift my sax to my mouth, blaring the first notes to “Crazy in Love.” When the drummers drop the beat, I crisscross my legs and dip into a hip roll.

The crowd cheers when they recognize the song. Ever since Beyoncé’s Homecoming performance at Coachella, everybody and their mamas have been doing some offshoot of the routine. Ours is the best rendition, of course.

The Dancing Dolls, in their skintight gold-and-blue leotards, slink sexily past me and my frumpy-ass black, blue, and gold suit. With their long legs encased in shiny brown-gold stockings, they kick high in the air and form a U-shape around the drum majors. As gorgeous as they are, the Dancing Dolls are not the main attraction. The drum majors are, and they do not disappoint as they eat up the dance routine with their gold staffs, bending over backward until their tall hats brush the ground. Then they pop up, throw their batons into the air, catch them, and shimmy low to the ground.

We finally end the show with an original song Dr. Jeffries composed. It’s giving old-school Earth, Wind & Fire vibes as we high-step off the field. We keep marching until we reach the edge of the rubber track that surrounds the football field.

Once the coast is clear, I slump my shoulders forward, pull off the mouthpiece from my sax, and slide it inside the horn so I won’t crack my reed again.

“Kendall!” I yell at his back. He turns and pulls off his hat.

“What now, Raven?”

“You know you were standing too close to me.” I grind my teeth, preparing for the lecture—no, the curse words Dr. Jeffries will shout once he watches the film. It doesn’t matter if Kendall screwed up; as the section leader, all mistakes by my crew fall on me.

Our saxophone squad forms a tight circle around us, moving us away from the track. We're

a team, and even now, as the top two players argue, they try to keep our business in-house. Usually, I ignore Kendall’s crap, but this is the third time he’s done this to me, so I can’t let that shit slide. Despite our tight circle, Deidra, my best friend and a piccolo player, pushes into the center.

“Who invited the white girl?” Jonathan, one of the sax players, says from behind me.

“Hush, Jonathan.” I shush him.

Deidra is one of two white band members. We’re always tied at the hip. And when Grandma Lou took us on a rare road trip to see Prairie View A&M University perform at the Battle of the Bands in Atlanta, I knew I wanted to march in the band when I go to college next year. I’ve practiced my ass off to prepare for the scholarship tryouts next February. I assumed Deidra would PWI it, aka go to a predominantly white college. She was like, nah. She’s applied to Prairie View, and if she gets accepted, I know she’ll ace band tryouts.

“What are you doing here, Mouse?” Kendall taunts. A few of the players chuckle as Deidra’s face blushes beet red. She earned the nickname because occasionally her second-hand piccolo squeaks like a mouse. That stupid name bothers her because her family can’t afford a better model.

When I inch closer to Kendall, Deidra pulls me back by my shoulder. “What happened?”

“Kendall happened. Twice during the routine, he was off his mark.”

Cam, a junior saxophone player, lets out a groan. “Aww, c’mon, man. You know Dr. Jeffries will chew out the whole damn section.” He slaps Kendall’s chest with the back of his hand. “You gotta stop doing this, my man.”

Kendall rolls his eyes. “You buggin’. You know I hit all my spots. On and off the field.”

Gross.

“First of all, lying is a sin, and you’re doing it on both accounts.” I point my finger at him. “Besides, we’ll all see it next week when we review the performance.”

He shrugs, hugging his

saxophone to his chest. “Maybe I wasn’t off my marker. Maybe you were standing too close to me, Boonies. Did you think about that? Anyway, we’ll see what Dr. J. says.”

Cam shakes his head. “He’ll see the truth, my man.”

“You serious right now?” Kendall’s voice kicks high. “You’re so far up Raven’s ass, you’ll agree to anything she says.”

I sigh. I should’ve known my summer fling with Cam would bite me in the aforementioned body part. He’s taller than me, and at five foot eight, it’s slim pickings to find a tall, good-looking dude with a decent personality and top-notch breath. The breath is a nonnegotiable for me.

Anyway, the thing with Cam started because I was kinda…I don’t know, depressed over the summer. Like I was missing someone, which is ridiculous. Deidra thinks it’s because I’m mourning my mom and grandfather, but they died long ago. How can I miss people I don’t even remember?

Cam looks me up and down, and I know he remembers that one night. Thank God for the ugly hat and fugly uniform—otherwise, he could see the full-body blush, even with my dark brown skin.

Cam flexes his jaw, clenches his fist, and I can tell he wants to punch Kendall for bringing up the past. “Raven and I are friends, man.”

“Yeah, and you want to be more than friends, but your girl got all stuck up once she became section leader.” Kendall strokes his mustache, his stringy and patchy pride and joy. “Shit like that didn’t happen when I was section leader.”

“Sorry, my man. You ain’t got the lips or the hips,” Cam says, and the rest of the section chuckles.

“No, but I was a good leader.” Kendall looks me up and down. “Dr. J will see through you, sooner or later.”

I usually don’t get mad

so easily, but heat gathers in the pit of my stomach, slowly rising to my head. And when the heat of my anger hits my face, it’s a wrap—for me and for him—so I’ve got to shut this down before my anger explodes.

He’s not worth the stares or the trouble. I raise my hand and put it in front of Kendall’s face like it’s a stop sign. “Whatever. Do you. Being mediocre is on brand for you, anyway.” I stomp away, back toward the bus.

Deidra, I assume, follows close on my heels. I’m halfway across the field when she grabs my wrist, and I spin around, ready to blow. She knows not to touch me when I’m mad.

But it isn’t her. It’s Kendall. My skin boils, and I can feel the heat rising from my skin.

“What?” I snap.

“One of my homeboys warned me about you.”

I bite my lip. Kendall moved to our little gem of a town in Harbor Hills, Texas, freshman year, so he wasn’t around to witness my fall from grace. Still, we live in a small town where people—especially boys and old ladies—love to gossip. No, not a surprise at all that he would have heard about it—more so that he just brought it up.

Still, my legs shake.

“Told you what?” My voice is as shaky as my legs.

“That you’ve got a bad temper and you got locked up at a detention center. You out here frontin’ like you didn’t go all crazy on that dude.”

“She crazy. She crazy. Just like her grandma!”

“Check you out, gossipin’ like a biddy.” My voice freezes the atmosphere. Darkness gathers in my vision. I try to blink it back, but it rolls in like quick-moving clouds before a storm.

“Don’t get too close to her… You know she lost her mind.”

I grab his suspenders, get close, and whisper, “Figures that you tell tales like an old lady… You already march like one.”

“What the hell is up with you?” Kendall tries to peel my hands off his uniform. My hold is so tight, the stitches stretch and nearly rip apart.

A smell wafts between us, a potent combination of urine and days-old roadkill. It’s like… It’s like I can smell his fear.

“What’s wrong?” I taunt. “Afraid the rumors are true? That I’ll—”

“Raven.” Deidra grabs

 my hand and tugs on my elbow. “Let’s go. He’s so not worth it.”

Her words roll the darkness away. I release him, shaking my hands and my head of the strange scent.

A few others from my section jog over. “Damn.” I look at Deidra, worried they witnessed my slip-up.

She seems to understand my silent anxiety. She shakes her head and mouths, “You’re good.”

I exhale, long and slow. I’m glad they didn’t notice when I nearly lost control. Usually, when anyone stepped to me, I’d crack a joke and embarrass the hell out of them. Not today. Kendall had exposed a nerve—something I’d hidden for six years—and he hadn’t just plucked it, he’d sawed at it with razor blades.

Kendall stares at me, just like how the other kids used to do in middle school. My heart drops. No.

No.

I worked too hard to create a new me. I pressed my emotions down so hard and tight, it’s like I stuffed all my real feelings in a vacuum-sealed bag. I’m not going to let this fool undo all of that.

I look at Deidra. “Let’s go get our snacks from the bus,” I say, then glance at Kendall. “Sorry I scared you.” I put a hard emphasis on the word scared as I stare at him, daring him to voice his fears.

“Ain’t nobody scared of you, Boonies.” Kendall waves his hands like he’s brushing away trash. Still, I notice his trembling fingers. “You better be glad you’re a female. I ain’t tryin’ to catch a case.” When he licks his lips, the tip of his tongue touches his lopsided mustache. With his supersize round brown face and short legs, he’s a dead ringer for Mr. Potato Head.

Deidra puts her hands on her hips and cocks it better than a mama yelling for her kid when the streetlights turn on. “My girl here is basically a black belt.”

“Y’all have dojos in the boonies?” Kendall snorts. Deidra and I only live ten miles outside of town, but he and his buddies loved to call us “country.”

“No, we don’t. Her grandmother taught her. And she’s like…seriously awesome.”

Heat crawls up my neck

“Geez, Deidra.” And just like that, my section-leader cred (and yes, it’s a thing—ritual and everything) is blazing in flames.

The entire section cracks up. They wouldn’t be laughing if they witnessed Grandma Lou in action—full-on splits, throat punches, and everything. Then, after the ’ritis, aka arthritis, set in, she adopted an older version of her favorite problematic action star, Steven Seagal—a twist of the wrist and a well-placed throat chop, but Granny ain’t lifting a leg.

When she first taught me how to fight, back when I was just five years old, it started as basic throws and self-defense tactics. Grandma said the world is cruel, so she refused to send her baby out ill-prepared and unable to protect herself. Her training got a lot more intense over the last twelve years, but that doesn’t mean I want the section to know about it.

By the time Deidra drags me away from the small crowd, my so-called friends are still laughing.

I roll my eyes at her.

“What’d I say?”

“Stop telling folks that Grandma Lou taught me how to fight. You know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Would you have rather I let Kendall blab about you losing your cool?” she whispers.

“That didn’t happen,” I snap, and I’ll admit my tone is kinda bitchy.

She winces.

Okay, maybe I’m full-on bitchy. I don’t mean to be mean, but I don’t need her throwing the past in my face.

“Seriously… I’m sorry, Raven.” She sighs and slumps and frowns. “I… I just want to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been off all day.”

I swallow down the harsh truth. All day, I’ve been stomping around and snapping at people. I even got into an argument with my grandma when she asked

 me about a test I was stressing over. “Yeah, I know. I… I don’t know why. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

“Then you tell me about it. Don’t stuff it down. Otherwise, you’re gonna explode.”

“That’s why I have you. You’re my little bomb diffuser.” I laugh without much enthusiasm.

“You don’t need me to calm you down. You’ve got this. Don’t let these stupid hicks make you feel unworthy.”

I laugh for real this time. She really has my back. I glance at her, knowing I’ll find her chewing her lips from pale to pink. “You know you’re stuck with me, right?”

She nudges my shoulder with her own. “I’ve accepted my fate,” she jokes, but her voice shakes. “Besides, it’s more like you’re stuck with me. You aren’t exactly a people person.”

She’s more than right. In fact, we’re friends because Deidra never stopped trying. Back in middle school, after the incident, no one wanted to befriend the weird girl with the murdered mom and grandfather.

Until Deidra.

Back then, she sat with me at lunch when I made it more than clear that I did not want to be bothered, communicated by my impressive fort of books, lunch trays, and milk cartons. But she sat with me, mindlessly chattering on and on about books and TV, and the next thing I know, she’s coming over to my house and Grandma Lou wants to meet “her people.”

Still, I’m not as bad as I was back then. I’ve even made friends with a few of my fellow band peeps.

Our charter bus is parked near the back of a paved parking lot near a swath of tall, pea-green trees. It’s quiet. Dark. The lighting poles surrounding the parking lot are off—the opposing team probably killed the lights on purpose so they can jump us.

A sharp snap from the woods slices into the silence.

“What was that?” Deidra whispers.

“Sounds like someone stepped on a stick.” I stop in my tracks, staring into the forest. A flurry of leaves shakes from the top of a tree. I take one step, two.

A pair of glowing

 yellow-gold eyes stare back at me.

“What the…” Sweat beads across my forehead, my lips, and my pits. It’s not stone-cold fear that rattles me. My blood sprints, pumping through my veins and heart, heating my feet and hands. And something inside of me unfolds like a flower—a feeling of certainty, something telling me to go, go go.

Not away.

Toward it.

I take a step closer.

“Ummm…Raven, where are you going? Get back here.” Deidra’s words snap me out of my haze.

It’s peak irony that my white bestie is warning me to stay put. But…she’s right. I pick up my feet and drag myself away from the edge of the parking lot. I had no idea I’d even walked that far—I’m not normally a check-the-noise-in-the-woods type of girl.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“Huh?”

“Staring off into space, in a trance, tracing the air and muttering scientific nonsense.”

I close my fist tight, forming a barricade around my index finger. I hadn’t even known I was doing it. It’s been happening infrequently for a while now, so I don’t think anyone but Deidra has seen it, but someday this tendency is going to get me in trouble. Deidra thinks I should go to a doctor or counselor—but honestly, I’m not sure what to tell them. Sometimes I black out a bit and look like I’m trying to do some mad science when I’m stressed or overstimulated.

It’s like my brain needs to reboot and my body powers down. It’s been happening a lot this past year.

No, I absolutely cannot ask for help. Besides that, counselors are just waiting on me to have another “violent episode,” as they called it. I can’t trust anyone but Deidra at this point, and I don’t want to worry Grandma Lou.

“What were you drawing this time?” Deidra asks quietly. “Looked like a lopsided boat.”

Moon. A crescent moon. Something about mercury. Whenever I do the embarrassing muttering thing, I never recall what I say or trace with my fingers, but this time…this time, I remember.

My vision blurs like there’s water in my eyes, and everything stops.

Deidra’s quiet and still—it’s like I’ve pressed a pause button. All is quiet—nature, even the yells from the crowd back at the football stadium.

I shut my eyes.

This moment, this newly unlocked freaky talent, forces me to stop and think and feel.

It feels like a humid-hot Texas summer—invasive, oppressive, omnipresent with the taste of castor oil. Something is changing inside of me. And listen, I’m way past puberty, so I know it’s not something as simple as bigger boobs.

The fuzz obscuring my sight rolls away. When I open my eyes, I find Deidra’s attention on me, waiting for her question to be answered.

I shrug. “Who knows what I was doing?”

A bulky shadow slips past my periphery. I snap my head, focusing on the darkness in the woods as I search for those creepy eyes.

“Did you see that?” I whisper.

“See what?” Deidra asks at full volume.

I stand still, waiting for the thing to show up, but nothing happens.

“Nothing. Let’s hurry.” We don’t have time to gab. Rule number one in the horror films—don’t stand around and get killed.

I grab Deidra’s hand and pull her close. We rush inside, dash to the back of the bus, and raid our snack stash. After we grab our few bags of chips, we run away from the bus until the stadium lights soak our faces. We look at each other and sigh—part relief, part breathlessness, part embarrassment for freaking out.

Deidra points at the timer on the scoreboard. “We’ve only got five minutes until the third quarter starts.”

Before we make it back to the stands, Dr. Jeffries and his two assistants speed-walk past us like a group of fanny-packed grandmas at the mall,

the rest of the band trailing behind them. Dr. Jeffries never speed-walks. If he needs something done, he usually yells through his megaphone for someone else to do it.

“What happened?” Deidra asks one of her piccolo friends.

“The other band tried to fight us,” she whispers to Deidra. “Dr. J wants us to leave ASAP.”

After everyone hustles back to the parking lot, I count off my section members as they climb into the bus to make sure they’re all accounted for—even Kendall. I scan the bus again, visually checking for a second time. Between the glowing eyes and the noise from the woods, and now our sudden departure, I’m on edge. “All right. My section is here.” I hand the clipboard to the assistant director and move to the back to sit with Deidra.

“God, I’m still hungry.” She pats her stomach as if she didn’t just wolf down a bag of chips. “Do you think Dr. Jeffries will stop somewhere on the way back?”

I shake my head. “I mean, they just tried to fight us, so I’m guessing no.” Doesn’t matter we’re three hours away from home—Dr. Jeffries wouldn’t risk our buses getting rocked by a mob of angry townies. Again.

“You can have my peanut butter and crackers.” I point under her seat, and she dives for my stash.

“Bless you.”

The doors to the bus squeak as they close, and the rumbling vehicle takes off with a lurch.

A drummer hits his sticks on the back of the seat in front of him while one of the cymbal players drums a beat over his instrument. After a few seconds, I recognize the beat to an old Migos song, “Stir Fry,” that was popular when we were in middle school, I think. The rest of the bus yells “aye”s and “hey”s, and some of them dance and rap along to the song. That is until Dr. Jeffries yells shut up.

Everyone groans, but I’m honestly glad he did. I need peace and calm to soothe me out of my crappy mood. I grab my AirPods and slip them in my ears, then tap Deidra’s shoulder. “Wake me up when we get there.”

She nods. But before I press play on my phone, I hear a growl from outside the bus that turns my blood cold.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Deidre

asks at full volume.

“That…that screech or whatever.”

“No.” Deidra shrugs. “Must be a jackal or a bear or something.”

“I don’t think so.” Sure, there are jackals and bears in Texas, but a jackal sounds like a big dog, and a bear’s roar is much throatier. The growl from outside was pitched higher, a combination between a hiss and a shriek.

Heat flares in my hands. I look down and find them red, as if I’d pressed them against the burner of a stove.

My heart pumps a one-two punch against my chest. I flex my hands. Something’s not right.

“What’s up?” Deidra nudges my shoulder.

I shake my hands, my head, and swallow the urge to voice my chaotic thoughts.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

 

2

That Ain’t No Jackal

Raven

I’m jarred awake as my head slams against the back of the seat in front of me. The felt material that scrapes my forehead feels like steel, and I know I’ll have a carpet burn.

Instrument cases fall like raindrops and crash like thunder from the racks above our heads. I duck and dodge the raining horns and flutes and clarinets.

Deidra screams beside me, and my head snaps toward the sound of a crack. She grabs her bleeding forehead and looks down at her hands. Her fingers shake with blood.

Deidra whimpers. Her mouth moves soundlessly. Strings of saliva drip from between her lips.

“Shit.” I grab her head, holding her together. “We had an accident. I’ll get help.”

She grabs my wrist, holding me in place.

“Okay. I’ll just…” I look around. The bus has stopped, and people are standing and scrambling—struggling to get out of any open window.

A high-pitched scream fills the air. No, not a scream. Screams near the front of the bus.

“R-raven?” Tears roll down Deidra’s cheek.

Someone must’ve died.

A low growl from outside curls around my bones as something rams against the side of the bus and knocks it clean off its axis. It teeters and totters and finally rights itself, but not before my mouth fills with blood. My tongue throbs.

The growling grows louder, nastier. Closer.

The screams bouncing around inside the battered steel grow scarier.

I peer out the window. Stare at the hulking shadow moving along the side of the bus.

A bear? No, that’s impossible.

“Raven?” The pain in Deidra’s voice grabs my attention. Even in the dim light, her eyes look unfocused, as if she is about to pass out. I press harder on the wound. “You’ll be okay,” I say, desperate to help her, to take her pain away, to focus only on her…when the thing from outside suddenly fills the front of the bus.

My hands fall from Dee’s head. How did It get inside?

Air clogs my throat. I blink once, twice, not believing my eyes.

This is no animal—not a bear, not a jackal. It looks like a man. Skin as pale as the moon highlights ruby lips. The irises of his brown eyes are tainted crimson, while the surrounding whites transform to obsidian. Like a snake making room for larger prey, his jaw unhinges as his fangs, dripping with thick, yellow saliva, lengthen.

Holy crap. That’s not… It’s not what I think it is. It can’t be.

I lean closer to Deidra and press my palm against her forehead. I pull her close when I feel her shivering.

Dr. Jeffries pushes himself

from the seat.

“Kids, go out the back exit. Now.” His voice is calm in the storm, and he snaps his command as if we’re running drills at practice.

Everyone scrambles, but I’m rooted to my seat, one arm around Deidra’s shoulder, one hand against her forehead. Her sticky blood seeps between my fingers.

Dr. Jeffries shoots the thing a hard glare, and for a split second, I think maybe, just maybe, he can reason with it. “You need to—”

His words are cut off.

The thing, the monster, grips its gnarled fingers around Dr. Jeffries’ throat. His extended fangs sink into his neck. He sucks down Dr. Jeffries’ blood, grunting like a wild hog.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper while everyone screams. “A v-vampire?”

God, how can this be real?

Deidra grabs my fingers and whimpers, and I squeeze back as cold realization hits me. We’re sitting ducks packed in a tin can.

For a few heartbeats, silence fills the air. And then pandemonium breaks.

Cam, who sits behind me, bangs against the window, but it’s jammed.

“Do something, gal.” I hear Grandma Lou’s voice urging me to fight.

I can’t. The screams from my bandmates lock my muscles. The vampire is a mere forty feet away.

“You gonna let me take you down? You ain’t ready for the world.” In my mind, I see Grandma Lou standing over me, cane pointed at my neck.

I struggle to stand. I feel another tug from Deidra, but I shake off her hand. Shake off my fear.

“D-don’t go.” She shakes her head. “Don’t leave me.”

I hear another howl from outside the bus.

“There’s another monster out there. Get under the seat!” I yell.

The whites of her eyes stretch, but she slumps down.

I take a step forward as the monster tosses Mr. Jeffries’ body through the shattered front window.

A few people stand between

me and Deidra and the monster. The others have managed to climb out through the windows, and from the skin-rippling screams, I guess they didn’t make it far.

They’re picking us off.

“Do like I taught you!” a voice inside me orders.

The monster’s attention swings to me. I hold my breath, back away, but he advances. I try to yell. “S-stop!”

He doesn’t stop. He rushes me, swings his fist, and lands a punch on my face. The sheer force of his blow sends my body soaring through the air until my back slams against the exit door.

Somehow, I stand, groaning. Everything hurts.

Tiny explosions detonate inside my skull. The headache from hell doubles my vision, tripling my pain so much that it seizes my muscles.

Lava incinerates my veins. I claw at my wrists. They burn and itch as if something foreign is invading my body.

The pain drops me to my knees. “W-what…what’s happening to me?”

Liters of sweat soak through my T-shirt. All I can do is breathe—breathe through their screams, my pain, and our fear.

After what feels like hours but must be only a few seconds, the pain finally cedes.

The monster stares at me, licking his bloodied mouth. An eerie, Pennywise-the-killer-clown smile stretches his lips. He takes one step and then another, slowly stalking me, eyes glued to me like I’m the snake and he’s the mongoose. I swallow what feels like a cotton ball clogging my throat. He’s deliberately taking his time to amp up my fear.

And sweet baby Jesus, it’s working.

But Deidra needs my help. Gotta save me, save my friends.

My mind clears, and my heart pumps with purpose.

“He’s here!” someone with a deep, guttural voice yells. The vampire, now only ten

feet away, snaps his overlarge teeth at me in a silent threat that freezes my heart. With a growl, he whirls, then, in a blur of motion, is off the bus.

My head droops like a wilted flower as I close my eyes, grateful for the reprieve but dreading what comes next. I inhale and instantly regret it when the smell of copper—the smell of blood—fills my nose.

I open my eyes slowly and find the glassy eyes of Cam staring back at me. I look away. An hour ago, those eyes were like a puppy dog seeking my attention, wanting…more from me. The regret that pooled in my stomach for months now turns into lead.

Another explosion rocks my entire body, and a blindingly bright light fills my vision. I kneel as my muscles twist around my bones—compressing and stretching, like they’re trying to fit into another mold.

A thousand sharp, burning needles jab into the flesh of my palms. It feels like a hot poker emblazons my skin. Circles appear on my palms in real time, as if someone is etching them in my hands, and I scream, high and loud.

“Raven!” Deidra shouts, but it sounds like I’m underwater.

“I…” I pant. “S-something’s happening to me.”

She crawls to my side. “You’re glowing.” She grabs my hand and waves it in front of my face.

The light dims, but it’s the shit on my hand that doubles the knots in my stomach. I stroke the intricate design—two inverted triangles, surrounded by a hexagon, two large circles, and three smaller nodes.

“What the hell is this?” I ask, though right after my question, the answer rushes me with clarity.

Deidra points to the nodes. “That’s mercury, sulfur, and salt.”

I nod and swallow—science nerd to the rescue. “It looks like some witch shit.”

She shakes her head. I wince when I notice the blood caked at her temples. “It’s a circle, not a pentagram. But I think it has something to do with that demon. That’s what it was, right?”

Something in my head, my heart, whispers vampire.

I flex my hand and stand. “I think I need to go. Stay here and don’t move.”

“I don’t think I can.” Her

eyes are misty. “Don’t leave. Don’t get yourself—”

I point to the dent in the back door. “I did that. I can handle it, but I can’t handle you getting hurt. So please stay here and let me go.”

We have a stare-off. A long howl from outside jolts my resolve, but I’m not as afraid as I was five minutes ago.

“Fine.” Deidra slumps to the ground, like her worry for me was giving her strength to sit upright. I wait until she’s wedged herself between the two seats in front and behind her.

I dash outside and find three figures fighting in the middle of the road. A highway light flickers overhead, casting a chilling spotlight. Two vampires attack another guy who’s built like a football player. But he’s not dressed like one—he’s wearing a navy-blue suit with a blazer, pocket square and everything. And the wildest thing is, the guy doesn’t seem to break a sweat. With the swipe of his fingers, he launches one monster across the pavement. The other one flies, like Superman or something, rushing him midair. The guy in the suit narrows his eyes, and it looks as if an invisible force is lifting the vampire into the sky. Then, the vampire’s body flies up and slams down like a mallet to a whack-a-mole against the pavement.

He’s literally beating their asses with his mind.

While the suit repeatedly slams the vampire, the other one creeps behind him.

The one who attacked the bus and killed my friends.

A rash of red fills my vision, and suddenly all my tension shifts outward. I sprint before he can make his sneak attack and slam my body into his, keeping my balance so I don’t fall with him.

The vampire topples over with a loud thud onto the ground and rolls hard over the asphalt. He lifts his arms in the air, taking inventory of the road rash along his limbs, with pebbles and bloody gash marks.

But just as quickly as it was cut open, his skin knits back together.

Like, it’s legit healing.

He shakes out his arms, jumps to his feet, and crouches low. “Slayer.” 

Slayer? I scrunch my forehead.

Oh. Him.

I look at the guy in the suit, clocking how his eyes widen when he sees me. “Why are you out here?” He says in a Caribbean accent that my bumpkin ass can’t place.

“Because I can help.” I tell him the truth.

“It’s too dangerous. Return to the bus immediately.”

Um, excuse you. I just tackled a whole-ass vampire. “I seem to be doing okay.”

He shakes his head as if he’s trying to add sense to the situation. I mean, he’s the one who’s kicking vampire ass with his mind. In a suit.

“Get behind me. Vampires from the Saqqara clans are tricky.”

“Who?”

“The flying one.”

“Oh. Superman with fangs. ...