SPIDER WHISPERS: That good, huh?
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: Yes. Majorly dreamy. You know, Spider, I hate to admit this, but I think I might be in love.
SPIDER WHISPERS: What? With Jareth?
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: He seems all cold on the outside, but he’s kind of sweet on the inside. And easy to talk to and stuff.
SPIDER WHISPERS: But he’s a vampire.
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: So what? My sis is dating a vampire.
SPIDER WHISPERS: Your sis is not a vampire slayer. And besides, the guy sounds kind of emotionally unavailable.
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: Emotionally unavailable? WTF? You suddenly Freud or something?
SPIDER WHISPERS: No. Freud was the “He reminds me of my father” guy.
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: Well, Jareth definitely does not remind me of my father.
SPIDER WHISPERS: Are you sure about that? From what you’ve told me he sounds like he’s another guy who won’t share his feelings or get close to anyone for fear he’ll become trapped.
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: Jareth isn’t like that. I know he’s not. He’s just been hurt and now he’s afraid.
SPIDER WHISPERS: But what is this big hurt?
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.
SPIDER WHISPERS: Okay, sweetie. Good luck. Just don’t get hurt, okay?
RAYNIEDAY WHISPERS: I’ll try.
**Spider resurrects.
SPIDER: Okay, I’m back.
KELAHDKA: Great. We’re going to try this again. Spider, you attack and we’ll cover you.
SPIDER: Uh, Hax, you’re going to heal me this time, right?
HAXOR: Of course. What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t I?
SPIDER: Okay, never mind. Here goes.
**Spider attacks Scarlet Henchman for 300 damage.
HAXOR: Oh. My friend just got here. I’ve got to go.
**Hax0r leaves the party.
**Scarlet Henchman attacks Spider for 100 damage.
**Scarlet Demon Dog attacks Spider for 245 damage.
**Scarlet Rogue attacks Spider for 567 damage.
**Spider dies.
SPIDER: NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
POSTED BY RAYNE McDONALD @ 12 A.M.
EIGHT COMMENTS:
HaxOr says . . .
Dude! That’s bogus that I don’t heal Spider. She gets healed plenty. She’s just such a crappy noob mage she gets pwned anyway. I demand you take this libelous slander out of your blog before I sue you for everything you got.
Spider says . . .
First of all, Hax, it’s obviously apparent from that transcript that it is YOU who are the noob! Also, what the hell do you mean, sue? You can’t sue someone over a video game chat. Grow up and get a life.
HaxOr says . . .
I have a life, thank you very much. A life WITHOUT YOU.
Spider says . . .
There is no life after me. Heh. Heh.
HaxOr says . . .
U R A STUPID BITCH.
Spider says . . .
U R A PATHETIC A-HOLE.
HaxOr says . . .
That’s it! Now I’m going to sue you, too, Spider!!!!!
Rayne says . . .
HaxOr! Spider! Get your own blogs and stop fighting in mine! I mean it.
19
SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 7 A.M.
BIRTHDAY GRRL!!!!
Yay! Today is my birthday!!!! How exciting!!!! Yes, I know I’m exclamation-pointing too much, but you would be, too, if it were your birthday!!!!
First Mom’s going to cook a birthday breakfast—and she’s promised to make real pancakes without any tofu, barley, or carrots in them. Extra unhealthy with whipped cream and strawberries.
In the afternoon, Spider’s coming over, as are various friends of Sunny’s. Mom’s going to order pizza and we Netflixed a bunch of DVDs. Of course, Sunny’s selection will probably have all Matthew McConaughey stuff. But I rented some classics. The original Dracula, starring Bela Lugosi for one. Can’t wait!
But what I’m most excited about is Dad. I can’t believe he’s actually coming. I haven’t seen him in so many years. I’m so proud of Sunny for getting up the courage to write to him and invite him. I would have never been able to do that.
I wonder what he’ll look like. If he’s started to gray at his temples. Will he look old? Or maybe just distinguished? I wonder what he’ll bring us for presents. I don’t even care if he does, actually. Just having him here is present enough.
Ooh, this is going to be the best day, ever! I sooo cannot wait for it to begin.
Oops, Mom’s calling me to breakfast and I haven’t even selected a b-day outfit yet. Gah! Better get a move on. . . .
POSTED BY RAYNE McDONALD @ 7 A.M.
THREE COMMENTS:
ButterfliQT says . . .
Happy birthday, sweetie! Enjoy the time with your dad.
DarkGothBoy says . . .
Happy Birthday 2 u
Happy Birthday 2 u
U look like a vampire
& U smell like one, too.
Spider says . . .
See you this afternoon. Can’t wait to meet the dadster.
20
SATURDAY, JUNE 9, 10 P.M.
NO CAKE
It’s ten o’clock. He’s still not here. Sunny and my mom have gone to bed. I’m sitting downstairs on the family computer, surrounded by leftover pizza, stupid presents I don’t want or need, and NO CAKE.
I hate him.
I HATE HIM.
I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HIM!!!!!
POSTED BY RAYNE McDONALD @ 10 P.M.
FOUR COMMENTS:
Anonymous says . . .
Oh, he didn’t show up? What a surprise. Poor Raynie. Now she’s really going to have daddy issues. Boo-hoo-hoo. The Goth freak suffers some more. Maybe you should go listen to Morrissey and slit your wrists.
Anonymous says . . .
Ha-ha! I could have predicted that.
Anonymous says . . .
Oh, the teenage angst. Makes me a little sick. Welcome to the real world, little one.
Anonymous says . . .
Maybe this will teach you to stop playing your little vampire games and face reality a bit, sweetheart.
21
SUNDAY, JUNE 10, 1 P.M.
My Dad’s a Loser and I Think He Should Die
Dear Diary,
I used to write a blog and post it on the Internet. But let me tell you, it’s not fun posting about your life when bad things happen and then have anonymous people post nasty, hurtful comments about you. So screw that. I’m going to stick with a good old-fashioned lock-and-key diary from now on.
Anyway, it’s Sunday afternoon. Not that it matters. I don’t think I would have gotten out of bed even if I did have school. I’m such a moron. I actually stayed up waiting for the guy ’til one A.M. As if he’d suddenly come through the door at one A.M., arms full of presents and cake, mouth full of apologies for being late.
Obviously that didn’t happen. Not that I really expected it would. Not really, anyway.
Did I mention I hate him?
Screw this. That was his last chance. I am never speaking to him again. Not in a thousand years. A million if I end up turning into a vamp and happen to live that long. He’s already dead to me. If I came upon his grave somewhere in my vampirish travels I’d spit on it.
I hate him, I hate him, I HATE HIM!!!!
I’m such an idiot. Why did I buy Sunny’s crap about him definitely coming? About how it has to be real ’cause there’s a plane ticket and a hotel? Last night I called the airport. The hotel. He just never showed up. Stood them up, just like he did us.
Bastard. Effing bastard.
I wish I could just jump on a plane and head straight to his house and confront him in person. Tell him what a lousy father he is and how he doesn’t deserve good daughters like Sunny and me. Or something. Anything. Just so I don’t have to feel so freaking helpless and screwed up and alone.
&nb
sp; Great. Now I’m crying again and I’m so not a crying type of girl. This whole thing sucks. I don’t have time to be all depressed either. I’ve got Slayer Training scheduled at two, if you can believe it. Teifert called me this morning (Does the entire world know my cell number?), leaving a cryptic message about the time growing near. Which is fine by me, I suppose.
I’m more than ready to kick a little ass.
22
SUNDAY, JUNE 10, 5 P.M.
Stake That!
Back from Slayer Training. Definitely a mind-blowing experience, let me tell you.
At first everything seems pretty normal. Mr. Teifert and I meet up in the school gymnasium, down by the weight room. The place is deserted, which is probably a good thing. A student and a teacher, alone in a half-lit gym—probably a bit sketchy-looking to your average outsider. And it’s not like we can explain the whole slayer/instructor thing to the general public. They’re bound to make up a much seedier scenario—one that will get Teifert fired and me expelled. Not so good.
Oh, but get this! Mr. Teifert forces me to change into a pair of Juicy Couture sweatpants and Nikes before starting my training. Says something about my beautiful black silk dress and combat boots combo not being appropriate work-out attire. Puh-leeze. Oh, and if that wasn’t bad enough—this pair of Juicy Couture sweatpants just so happens to be pink! If anyone evil and cruel were to walk by with a camera phone at this very moment, my entire high school image would be irreparably shattered.
After donning the Pepto-Bismol outfit, we start our training. He has me do some weight lifting first (five pounds is about my limit) and then jump rope (three jumps maybe before I get hopelessly tangled), then run laps around the gymnasium. (And when I say laps, I mean lap—singular—before I’m completely out of breath. I’ve so got to give up smoking.)
He looks a little distraught at my physical condition, but simply motions to the punching bag and tells me to go at it. I smile. Now we’re talking.
“Hi-YAH!” I cry as I slam my fist into the punching bag and then follow it with a beautiful roundhouse kick. I lower my head and narrow my eyes and focus on the bag, making it my enemy. If I’m lucky, this Slayer Training will get some of my pent-up aggression out.
Dad. Is. A. Loser. Punch. Kick. Repeat.
“Rayne, focus. You’re not in control,” Teifert repeats for the ten-thousandth time. “A slayer must find her deep strength. Her inner power. She must become one with the universe.”
I stop punching, reaching up to wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Can we cut the Zen crap for a moment?” I ask. “I’m trying to beat this bag to a pulp.”
“No we cannot cut the ‘Zen crap’ as you say,” Teifert says wearily. “Rayne, one cannot become a good slayer through sheer force and anger. You must find the power within your center. Within yourself.”
“Maybe I don’t have a center. And if so, maybe I should use what I got.” I hold up my fists. “Here’s where my power lies, Teifert. Look out, vamps, it’s Raynie Power time.”
Teifert shakes his head. “Where do they find these girls?” he mutters under his breath. “And why do they keep sending them to me?”
Oh, that’s nice. “Hey, you chose me, dude,” I remind him, lowering my fists. “I didn’t ask for this gig.” Great, now I’m a slayer reject, too. Go figure. I punch the bag a few more times. Might as well burn some calories while he’s bemoaning my slayer suckiness. “Maybe you chose wrong. Ever think about that? Maybe I’m not really slayer material.”
“We don’t choose wrong. We have a very precise methodology for picking our slayers. You just don’t see the power you have. You’re stubborn and you refuse to learn. And therefore your power will remain dormant. Locked inside of you.” He grabs the punching bag so it no longer sways with my hits. “Let’s try you with your stake.”
He motions over to the bench, where I left the half-carved chunk of wood. I roll my eyes.
“Can’t I get a real weapon?” I whine, walking over to the stake and picking it up with some reluctance. “A sword maybe? Or a big two-handed axe like Buffy?”
“By carving this stake, you have embedded it with your slayer essence,” Teifert explains, completely ignoring my request for sharp metal objects of death. “Now, it has bonded itself to you and will only work when wielded by your hand. Each stake is unique to its slayer.”
“Sort of like the wands in Harry Potter?” I can’t help but ask.
“When you take this weapon into your hands, you will feel the essence of the tree from which it was taken. You will be filled with the power of that mighty oak. The strength will flow through you and make you one with Mother Earth. Only then will you be able to find your center. And get the job done.”
“Huh.” I roll the stake around in my palm. “And to think this looks like something you grabbed out in the schoolyard.”
“Hold up the stake, Rayne,” Teifert commands. “And concentrate on its power.”
I sigh, then do what I’m told. Otherwise I’ll probably be here all day. I raise the stake above my head and focus my eyes on it.
And then things start to get weird.
As I stare at the stake, the world around me starts to lose focus and the wood starts to take on an almost unearthly glow. I watch in awe as it morphs right before my eyes from a chunk of unpolished wood into a sleek, sharp instrument, smooth as glass. I wave it around, hesitantly at first, then with growing assurance. So cool. So, so cool. I wish you could have seen it.
“Am I making it do that?” I whisper. From the corner of my eye I can see Teifert’s nod.
“You are the chosen one. The slayer. As I said, we don’t make mistakes.”
“Wow, that’s pretty amazing.” I step forward, toward the punching bag, and then stab the wood into it, with all my might. The stake slides through the tough leather like a knife through butter. Whoa! Now we’re talking.
I pull the stake out. It’s no longer glowing. I turn to Teifert. “Okay, I believe you now,” I say. “Who knew I had all this power in me?”
“Who knew you were going to stab the punching bag?” Teifert grumbles, not looking at all impressed by my feat. He walks over to the bag and examines the hole. “Do you know how expensive these things are to replace?”
“Dude! I’ve just been given magical superpowers to slay vamps and all you care about is your Visa bill?”
Teifert turns back to me. “So you believe now? That with your stake you have the power to slay vampires?”
“Hell yeah, I believe. Just call me Raynie: Vampire Slayer. Able to kill vampires in a single bound.” I wave my stake around again, but it fails to light up this time. I’m probably not concentrating hard enough. Gotta remember that when the zero hour comes around.
“Good. I’d like to have additional training sessions with you, but I’m not sure there’s time,” Teifert says. “How have your investigations into Maverick been going? Have you learned anything?”
“Well, sort of, though we definitely need more info before some conviction,” I say hesitantly. “There seems to be some kind of disease going around. We saw some donors of a high-ranking vampire in the Blood Coven at the bar one night—”
Teifert raises an eyebrow. “We? Are you working with someone? It’s highly irregular for a slayer to have a partner.”
I roll my eyes. “Uh, what about Buffy? She had that whole Scooby gang on her side and that didn’t seem to hurt her odds.”
“Repeat after me, Rayne. Buffy. Is. A. TV. Character. She. Is. Not. Real.”
Sigh. “Look. If you must know, I’m working with one of Magnus’s guys. General Jareth. Don’t worry, he’s on our side. After all, the vamps want to know what’s going down at the Blood Bar as much as we do.”
“Jareth, huh?” Teifert says thoughtfully. “I think I remember reading about him. He caused some trouble for Slayer Inc. back in the day.”
“Trouble?” Oh, great. Me and my big mouth. What if they suddenly want me to dust Jareth? I could never do that. I wonder
if this has something to do with whatever secret Jareth is hiding. . . .
“Never mind. It’s all in the past, anyhow,” Teifert says with a dismissive wave. “So fine, you’re working with Jareth. And what have you two found?”
“Okay, like I was saying, one night we saw those two donors of a high-ranking coven guy and the next day those same donors turned up dead. And their vampire, Kristoff, is weak and sick and has lost most of his powers. I mean, it could be unrelated, but . . .”
Teifert scratches his chin. “Interesting,” he muses. “Perhaps Maverick is trying a less direct approach to infiltrate the coven.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if he were somehow infecting the donors purposefully? So they could bring the disease back to their masters. By weakening the inner core of Magnus’s coven, a takeover could more easily be accomplished.”
“Wow. That’s pretty elaborate.”
“These vampires have thousands of years to plot this kind of thing. They can afford to come up with detailed plans because there’s no need to rush.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“So what do you plan to do next?”
“Well, Jareth and I took a sample of the donor’s blood and he’s having it analyzed in the lab now.”
“That’s something, I suppose. But what we really need is a sample of the virus itself,” Teifert says. “You should go down to the Blood Bar and find out where they store these viruses and bring one back to me. Hopefully this way we can develop an antidote before too many vampires are infected and Maverick is able to stage his coup.”