Chapter Three
Transylvanian vampires might not suck blood any more, Ivy thought, but I’m pretty sure they’re about to suck the life right out of me. Petra was seated in the desk next to her, doodling bats in a new black notebook. The whole classroom was arranged like something out of a bad historical movie, with row after row of single desks and chairs. Ivy was dreading this class more than the beep-beep-beeping of her morning alarm clock. I don’t even understand why I have to be steeped in vampire mythology and etiquette, she thought, tapping her foot against the floor. She was a twenty-first-century girl, after all!
An uptight vampire sitting on Ivy’s other side kept playing with her pearls and it was driving Ivy batty.
‘Hey, where are all the boys?’ Ivy asked aloud, looking around at the other students.
No sooner had the question escaped her mouth than every girl around her burst out laughing, including Petra.
‘The boys?’ exclaimed the girl with the strand of pearls. ‘You thought we would have class with boys?’
Ivy shrank back. ‘Sort of?’
Petra leaned over her desk. ‘Have you forgotten? I told you when you first came to Wallachia that boys and girls don’t get to mix. We’re completely segregated! We’re not supposed to talk to them and we never get to have class together.’ She sighed. ‘The only time we come halfway close to mingling is Herbal Science and that’s because there’s only one greenhouse available to the entire student body.’
Ivy did remember now. When she’d visited the Academy to look around, a duel had broken out on the school fields and everyone had run out to watch. It had made Petra’s day because they had got to be with the boys for a while. But it had only made Ivy feel uncomfortable – and she felt the same now.
‘Wow, how third grade!’ she said. There are some things I still can’t believe about this place.
The room went quiet again as they waited for their teacher to arrive.
‘Pssssst!’ Petra poked Ivy’s arm with her pen. ‘Have you seen the Gauntlet yet?’ she asked.
‘No, who’s in it?’ Ivy was asking, when suddenly the door to the classroom was flung open. In flew a gigantic black bat, wings outstretched, with beady eyes and long, curved claws. Ivy ducked as it swooped over the heads of the class. Girls screamed and scrambled under desks, while others pinned their bodies against the classroom walls, wailing. Haven’t they seen a bat before? Ivy thought.
The small black mammal finally looped back to settle on the shoulder of a statuesque female vampire, who had slipped into the room unnoticed. She was wearing a mustard-coloured, ruffle-necked blouse tucked into a ballooning hoop skirt and her hair was slicked back into a ridiculously tight bun that pulled at the skin of her face.
The woman’s got presence, Ivy admitted to herself, admiring the confident way the vampire strutted to the front of the classroom. Even if her fashion sense does seem to be stuck in the nineteenth century. The woman clapped her hands twice.
‘Students,’ she said curtly, scanning the rows of desks as though she had lasers for eyeballs. ‘I am Miss Avisrova.’ The teacher bowed and Ivy had to stop herself from snorting with laughter. The motion was so formal, so contrived. Would a simple ‘hello’ not do?
‘As you all know, this is Vampire Etiquette. Usually we will be studying such crucial subjects as ballroom dancing, vampire cuisine and the art of telling the difference between finely aged blood and the cheap stuff one would find at a BloodMart.’ Miss Avisrova sniffed the air as if she smelled something particularly foul.
Ivy gulped. She had no idea that the BloodMart was considered so lowbrow. It was her favourite place to grocery shop!
‘But today, as punishment for all the students who reacted in such an unseemly manner to the arrival of a bat –’ Ivy shrank in her chair – ‘we will forego the original lesson plan. I was going to teach you the correct way to behave at a ball.’ Well, that’s a relief, thought Ivy, doing a mental eye roll. ‘Now, however, I will be instructing you in the subtle virtuosities of conversation.’
Ugh. Miss Avisrova was so dour, so miserable-looking. Miss Depressrova would be more fitting. Was she playing some sort of character, like in a bad audition for Transylvania’s Got Talent ? If it weren’t for the terror in the eyes of the students around her, Ivy would have believed this was all an elaborate practical joke.
‘Miss Lazar,’ said Miss Avisrova. Ivy kept her head still, even though her instinct was to look around for the student in question. How unlucky to be called in the very first lesson! she thought. ‘Miss Lazar!’ their teacher repeated. This time, Ivy couldn’t help pivoting in her seat a little. Lazar? It might be a student she was related to, since that was her grandparent’s last name. Ivy, of course, had the same last name that her father had adopted, Vega, but who was this other Lazar character? Maybe a cousin? The silence in the classroom rang in her ears.
Ivy turned her attention back to the front of the class to see that Miss Avisrova was staring straight at her. Oh. Oops. Um . . . Ivy had been about to shrug, but was shrugging allowed in etiquette class? She didn’t think so. Miss Avisrova beckoned Ivy forwards with one long, slender finger. Ivy’s heart pounded like nails into a coffin lid. She slid out of her chair and walked up the long row of desks to the blackboard where Miss Avisrova was waiting.
‘Sit down.’ The teacher snapped her fingers and pointed at a spare chair, which had been pushed up against the front wall. ‘Miss Lazar here will be my assistant,’ she told the class.
‘It’s Miss Vega, actually,’ said Ivy, fidgeting in her new seat. ‘Long story, pretty dull.’ She tried to laugh but it came out fake and tinny. She pressed her lips together. Yikes, stop talking, Ivy. She attempted to pull the corners of her mouth into a tight grin, but was afraid it was probably more of a grimace.
Ivy snuck a peek at the other students still sitting at their desks. Every one of them was staring at her like she’d just hurled an insult at the Queen of England! How utterly great.
Avisrova tilted her head and looked at Ivy. ‘In conversation,’ she said, dragging a chair to sit opposite her, ‘one must never volunteer unsolicited personal information.’ What does that even mean? Ivy wondered. ‘No, conversation is like a joust. To converse properly, you must probe at the other person. Never pry.’ Avisrova lifted her pinky as if to punctuate this point. ‘You should ask carefully selected questions, to which you will receive carefully considered answers. Allow me to demonstrate.’ She straightened her back. ‘Miss Lazar, please carefully select a question for me, so that I may show you how a conversation should proceed.’
Ivy chewed the side of her mouth, thinking. OK . . . How about, Why are you so mad? What makes your posture so straight? Are you against wearing shoes that don’t look Victorian? Why in darkness’ name does all this snooty vampire etiquette even matter? Ivy pushed back the questions floating in her mind. They were sure to get her into trouble. Choose carefully.
Ivy took a deep breath. ‘What’s your favourite show?’ Everyone had to have a favourite television programme, didn’t they?
Avisrova scoffed, shaking her head. ‘How American of you,’ she told Ivy. ‘Such a trivial, meaningless question. Why would you even bother to ask it?’
Anger flared up bright and hot in Ivy’s chest. She heard whispers coming from around the room and Ivy shot one of the girls a death squint. The girl jumped and sat up straight in her chair, making a show of smoothing the pleated skirt of her uniform.