It doesn’t matter how often we say that, no one believes it. This guy is no exception, from the look on his face.
There’s a faint rumbling in the crowd. Mr. Time walks briskly toward us, standing head and shoulders above most of the students. His suit is as crisp and impeccable as ever, and the students melt out of his way.
“Welcome!” he says to the newcomers. “I’m glad you made your way here successfully.”
“They called to us,” Lucas says, jerking his jaw toward me and Izzy.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I say.
“Our magic,” Izzy says softly. “They were...activated…in response to the gods taking their places within us. They’re…”
“Here to kill you,” Lucas supplies helpfully.
Mr. Time raises a hand. “No one is killing anyone. This is a university.”
For paranormal psychopaths. He leaves that part off.
No one is here quite willingly.
Mr. Time glances between us sternly. “Let’s go to the dorm. Gods and godslayers. We’ll talk more there.”
Godslayers? Oh, I love the sound of that.
Izzy and I exchange a look. The dorm? Does the dean really intend to trap us all together?
Mr. Time doesn’t brook any more discussion. “Do you have bags?” he asks the new students, glancing over them quickly.
“We’ll help them,” some of the students in the crowd say. I’m not sure whether they genuinely want to be helpful to these students, even though they never gave us anything but grief and bruises, or just want to eavesdrop, but a handful of vampires grab the suitcases and duffel bags our new friends have brought.
Izzy and I exchange another look. Her lips tug to one side in a rueful smile, and I feel the same rush of protectiveness as we fall in behind Mr. Time. She didn’t ask for any of this. I hate that people treat her the way they do when she’s the sweetest, strongest girl I’ve ever met.
She deserves better than this place. She deserves better than these gods.
Mr. Time, with his long legs, strides across campus. The godslayers are behind us, and a prickle races up my spine. I catch Izzy’s hand in mine, tugging her to one side, letting the godslayers pass us by. The vamps go with them, flashing us nasty smiles as they carry the bags past us like a bunch of malevolent valets.
“What is it?” she says softly.
“I just want to get a look at them. And be able to...talk.” If they move in with us, how will we ever be able to talk openly? It’s a big building. Surely they’ll be on a different floor from us...
Surely there’ll be locked doors between us, because otherwise…no matter what Mr. Time makes them promise, the violent energy coming off Lucas makes me think he’d slit all our throats in our sleep.
I thought life here was getting better. Joke’s on me.
The two of us continue walking behind the crowd. Now I can get a better look at them all. The girl is tall for a girl, with an athletic build. Lucas leans in close to say something to her, and she shakes her head, like she finds him annoying. Maybe I like her already...as long as she doesn’t try to murder me. The other guys all look leanly muscular, as if they’re athletes or trained fighters. But are they? Where the hell did these guys come from?
Mr. Time leads us right to our dorm, and even though I expected it, my heart still sinks.
“You can go,” Mr .Time tells the vampires, who put the bags down and flash him disappointed faces. He shoos the bloodsuckers away, and they reluctantly head off.
Then he glances around at us. “Each house at God Fire is a separate type of supernatural being. You are more similar than you realize, so you will share a house. The gods and the godslayers.”
“Convenient,” one of the guys mutters.
“Listen,” Mr. Time says, clasping his hands in front of him. “I want all of you to get to know each other. The godslayers are here as a failsafe should the gods take you over.” He nods to Izzy and me. “But there’s no joy in that for us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Lucas mutters.
The girl rolls her eyes.
Mr. Time fixes him with a sharp look. “There should be no joy in killing. If you get to know each other, it will be a weight you carry, a sacrifice you make--if necessary--and that’s what’s right for a warrior.”
Well, maybe they shouldn’t get to know Van.
“There will be no fighting between you except in your training, under an instructor’s supervision.” Mr. Time says.
He hesitates, then adds, “Let me be very clear. Not everyone graduates from this school. There’s a graveyard through that forest for those who don’t reform.” He points toward it. He’s clearly speaking to our new friends now, even though our would-be executioners have just been invited onto campus. “If you fight, if you kill without it being sanctioned by myself personally, your body will join the others.”
“Hell of a pep talk,” one of the guys mutters, but they all shift uncomfortably, as if the message has gotten through.
“Like he said earlier,” the girl says confidently, looking back to me, “We don’t want any trouble.”
She looks around at the guys, as if she’s trying to get them to agree.
But they all look like they want trouble. The eight of them look like they were made for trouble.
“Good,” Mr. Time says, but even he looks skeptical. “Go get unpacked. I’ll stay for dinner.”
We’re all having dinner together?
“We’d better go tell the others about our new roomies,” I tell Izzy.
I’d say the news isn’t going to kill them, but it just might.
Chapter Three
Izzy
Sitting in the reading nook at the end of our hall, tension sings through my body. In a few minutes, we’re going to be having lunch with the godslayers, and I don’t know what to do with myself. How do you sit and eat with people who are waiting for you to screw up so they can kill you? My stomach turns, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat a single bite.
The guys are all gathered in Wilder’s room, coming up with a plan. But after a half an hour of talking in circles and listening to macho crap about them “kicking the asses” of the godslayers, I had to get out of there.
Luckily for us, the godslayers’ rooms are on the other side of the building. Their setup sounds similar to ours, with a hallway of rooms, but we all share our kitchen and dining room. Which means we won’t exactly be able to escape them.
A movement catches my eye, and I look up, eyes widening, as the godslayer woman looks down on me. My heartbeat races. She has long blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and long legs that I’d kill for. I’ve always wanted to hate women who look like her, but I’ve never been able to blame them for good genetics.
“Mind if I join you?” she asks, and her voice comes out soft.
Is she here to kill me? “Sure.”
She sits down opposite from me, on an equally huge bean bag chair, and I’m kind of grateful that she looks uncomfortable too. “So,” she clears her throat, “we’re supposed to be mortal enemies?”
“I guess so,” I say, closing the book I wasn’t reading anyway.