The Book of Blood and Roses

Chapter One

The girl in Penny’s photograph comes to life in the mirror. I run my fingers through the red extensions that fall to my waist. My mother was a hairdresser, so I wonder what she’d say if she saw me like this. She would have been excited to see me finally skirting away from black—and no bangs, too. I hate it already.

The metal door rattles as the train takes a bend, and I steady myself on the sink.

My new glasses dig into my nose. Cassie Smith. Rich girl, spoiled rotten. I’ve practised saying her name a hundred times already until I nearly believe it’s my own, because if there’s one strength a vampire has that I’m not immune to, it’s the ability to tell when someone is lying.

At least I’m not going home. The train is going nowhere near Wishaw, where my remaining family live. They believe I’m now living in the States. Occasionally, I get messages from them, asking when I’m coming over to visit. Sometimes they’ll even remember my birthday.

But there is no home when vampires tear through your world.

I walk back through the first-class cabin. The seats have plenty of legroom, and my table is set with coffee in a porcelain cup and a buttered scone. I settle in my seat and wipe my glasses with the sleeve of my cashmere jumper. The landscape takes on a once-familiar shape, dark hills with low clouds, bog fields, and sheep. My heart pounds as fast as it did during my earliest missions. I never thought I’d come back.

•

The dreary streets of Inverness are damp. Seagulls perch on every roof. When I step outside the small station, a black car waits in the drop-off car park. A golden statuette of a crow with wings outstretched ornaments the hood. The tinted windows are framed in the same gold. Penny promised someone was going to pick me up, but she warned me in advance that it wouldn’t be a fellow vampire hunter.

I catch my breath. As soon as I set foot in that car, I will be someone else: Cassie Smith, who does not mind the company of vampires.

“Miss Smith?” The driver gets out, offering me a curt wave. He’s in a simple cream suit, with a white turtleneck beneath a linen blazer. A human, with mortality colouring his features, and a body that won’t turn to dust when its heart stops beating. He’s young, probably just a few years older than I am.

“Cassie’s fine,” I reply, hoisting my suitcase into the open boot, not waiting for him to help. “Does Tynahine pick up all of its students?”

He chuckles, though the sound isn’t entirely natural. He disappears into the front of the car, and I join him, fastening my seatbelt. “Most of our students fly here. We do have a small landing strip, should you wish to bring your private jet next time.”

I study his neck for bite marks. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say.

“You will have to adjust your sleeping schedule starting tomorrow,” he says, eyes on the road. We leave the Highland capital behind, picking up speed on the motorway, heading south.

“Do you know what kind of place Tynahine is?” I ask. The murky waters of the loch appear to our right, and vanish just as tall trees envelop the road, moss-ridden trunks heavy with brown leaves.

“My master is a professor there,” he says. “So, yes, I know quite a lot about Tynahine.”

My skin crawls at the admission.

“You’re a Familiar?” I try to sound curious and not disturbed. “What made you choose that line of work?”

“I want to control my own destiny,” says the servant. My lips twitch, and I focus my attention outside. “I take it that you don’t wish to become immortal?”

I’d rather die, I think.

“Immortality is not my cup of tea,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Plus, I’m not sure if I’d be able to live without seeing the sun.” It’s the most inoffensive answer I can muster, and given the Familiar’s short sigh, he seems to have bought it.

The woods become dense, and the tar road turns into a dirt track.

“You’ll have a fairly quiet day today,” he says, breaking the silence. “Just a welcome lecture with the Deans of Day and Night. After that, your time is yours.”

“You said I’ll have to adjust my sleep schedule,” I say.

“It would be a good idea. Your Integration lessons take place during sunlight, with human professors. That’s where you’ll learn everything you need to know to live in Vampiredom. All your other classes”—he steals a glance at me—“will be at night, with vampires.”

I shudder. The road darkens as the trees form an archway, blocking out all but a few sparse rays of sun. “We’ve had the odd human student before,” he says. “So don’t worry, your presence won’t be too shocking.”

“Why the sudden interest in admitting humans?” I ask. Other than having walking blood bags at hand, of course. “I mean, I’m glad that you are. But I’m curious.”

“At Tynahine we believe knowledge should not be kept behind locked doors,” he says. The words sound rehearsed. With yearly tuition being higher than what my parents ever had in their bank accounts, vampires certainly have a narrow concept of which humans are worthy of their knowledge.

The dirt road becomes smooth again, and I rest my head on the glass. A redbrick road climbs up to a towering gate of wrought iron, a tall fence at either side covered with ivy.

It’ll be a quick mission, I tell myself. Steal a book and get back out. Tynahine officially has eight libraries, but according to Penny there is a ninth, hidden one. Somewhere deep in the passageways beneath campus, a secret collection of books, banned for centuries, collecting dust. And amongst them, The Book of Blood and Roses.

I catch a glimpse of four words that decorate the gate. We Invite You In. They open with a groan, shovelling fallen leaves out of the way.

They have no idea who they’re inviting in.

•

Stone houses start to appear through the trees. I spot a grey bridge in the distance, running over what I’m assuming is Tynahine’s river. “That’s the Raven River,” the Familiar says. “But Tynahine was founded long before the river had a name. They used to call this place an taigh ri taobh na h-aibhne. ‘The house by the river.’ They then shortened that to Taigh na h-Aibhne, before it was anglicized to the name we have today.”

“Why would they call it ‘the house’?” I ask as the buildings start to double in size. By the size of their bricks and the darkness of the groves between them, I can tell they’re all centuries old. Some have great twisted columns, others are blanketed entirely in ivy, leaves crisping in a gradient from salmon to dark purple.

“The original scholars were probably referring to the old hunting lodge across the river.” He slows the car as the cobbled streets between each building begin to narrow. I spot a wide square with a fountain in the middle, fringed by a willow grove, its branches almost bare. He doesn’t point me to the hunting lodge. Instead, he hands me a paper map and a rusty old key. “You’re in room 904, Tynarrich Hall.”

I get out of the car, crisp air biting at my cheeks. Fallen leaves crunch beneath my new boots, and I hoist my case out of the back.

“Straight up that hill, through the pine grove,” he adds.

The Familiar is gone before I can thank him.

•

The damp air is so fresh it stings my nostrils. After four years in London, I know I should welcome the sweet scent, but I’m not here to clear my lungs of smog.

My acceptance letter, inside the black envelope that Penny gave me after my last mission, was filled with pictures of the campus, but none of them do it justice. Most of the buildings are clustered in the deepest point of the valley, except for Tynarrich. I spot the towering shape of my hall of residence in the far left, separated by a sloping pine grove, just as the Familiar promised. It’s one of the oldest buildings, an austere fortress of sandstone and small windows.

I trek through the grove and stop just outside the wooden doors. A sign on the stone archway spells out Taigh nan Nathraichean, and below, in English, Tynarrich Hall. Inside, I find Tynarrich’s reception hall still and quiet. Not a single vampire in sight. A fireplace burns next to a cluster of bookcases. I stare at the vaulted ceiling, chandeliers falling from each archway. The small windows all have shutters and heavy curtains, which do not let in a single ray of daylight.

The wheels of my case are caked with mud, dirtying an otherwise immaculate carpet. I stop in front of a spiralling staircase with a golden banister and look up at the walls, lined with portraits of old aristocrats. My room, 904, is on the ninth floor. I stare at the staircase, measuring it. Definitely not.

I turn back towards the cosy library and find a lift between two bookcases. I play with my suitcase handle as the lift climbs up the old building. How many leeches will I be sharing this hall with? I swallow hard and try to calm my breathing. The lift’s floor is black, dark enough for vampire-corpse dust to blend in, if I were to accidentally kill someone in here. Oh, I wish.