“What’s the Politia?”
“You probably don’t know much about our government, The House of Keys, but when it was formed, a branch was created called the Politia, which focused on policing the improper use of supernatural power. This agency is still around, but it is extremely secretive. The Politia hires only the most talented supernaturals. I know that Caleb’s father works for them, and I think that this agency is recruiting Caleb as well. Shapeshifters are incredibly useful to this police force since they can basically become anything or anyone.”
“Why is this something I should be worried about?” I asked.
I could see she was trying to word her answer carefully. “The agency has been known to hunt things they believe are evil. And while there’s been a truce for centuries, vampires are decidedly considered evil.”
I looked at her skeptically. “So you think Caleb is going to off me tonight?” Then it dawned on me. “You think I’ve already been attacked by a shapeshifter—by Caleb.”
“Of course not,” she said. “The House of Keys has a truce with vampires. They do not kill rogue vampires so long as Andre deals with them.” I swallowed. “And anyway, Caleb’s not experienced enough to officially work for them. I was just thinking that his family probably wouldn’t approve of the date.”
“Well, thanks for the heads up.”
So Caleb was a shapeshifter? I could already tell tonight was going to be fun.
***
I didn’t see Caleb in my history class, which wasn’t surprising considering all of his previous absences.
When I arrived in my anthropology class, Oliver was waiting for me, holding The Beat, the supernatural community’s leading tabloid. He dropped the magazine on my desk. “You’re getting cozy with your mentor and you didn’t bother to tell me first?”
My eyebrows shot up. Splashed across the cover were pictures of Andre and me. One was from Mystique, clearly taken before I was attacked. Andre’s expression was soft in the photo as he gazed down at me, and I was looking up at him, a secret smile on my face. Another was a grainy shot of the two of us embracing outside the French restaurant, and another the awful shot of Andre carrying me over his shoulder. The caption read:
Love at Last?
Andre’s heating it up with Gabrielle Fiori,
the daughter of the deceased Count of Santo.
But is she the one, or will she get burned?
“Oh my—”
“You can say that again. At least your butt looks good.”
“Oliver!” I swatted him with the magazine. He dodged me and slid into the desk behind me.
“But seriously G,” he said, leaning over, “get used to this. The media loves him.”
From where she sat three rows ahead of us, Doris turned around and scowled at us.
“Oh, go hump a tree Doris.” Oliver rolled his eyes and began flipping through the magazine. Doris breathed in sharply at the insult before turning back around.
“Gabrielle, you haven’t even seen the best photos of you two.”
I groaned. “Can’t wait.”
Professor Blackmore cleared his throat, and the class quieted down. “Many of you and your parents have been concerned about the safety of school recently. Others of you have been the victims of violent circumstances,” he said, looking directly at me. “So today and next week I want to center our discussion on classicism. What is it, when it was created, why it’s been propagated throughout the centuries, and why academia has largely done nothing about it.”
Andre had used the same word to describe one of my textbooks.
“Classicism is bigotry based on how genetically predisposed to evil someone is.”
Outside the clouds had parted and the sun shone brightly into the room, bathing me and a few others in light.
“The flaw with this classification system is that it predetermines who and what is evil before the individual ever gets the chance to affirm or contradict the label.”
I blinked as my eyes began to burn. I rubbed them and was surprised to find that my face felt hot.
“This is the model through which the supernatural community has viewed the world for the last two thousand years …”
I could no longer concentrate. My skin felt like it was on fire, and my eyes were watering. I stood up, dizzy, and began walking down the aisle. Around me I heard gasps and whispers. Professor Blackmore paused in his lecture, looking concerned.
I pushed through the classroom door and ran to the bathroom. I went straight for the stalls and vomited. Weakly I walked over to the sink and held my hands under the water. Only then did I notice why my classmates gasped.
My arms were bright red. I looked up at my reflection. The sight was so startling that I staggered back. I was severely burned, my face red and swollen and my eyes bloodshot.
The sun had done this to me in under an hour. Which meant the stories were true—vampires couldn’t be exposed to sunlight.
I shivered at the realization. I was a little less human than I was a week ago, and it was showing.