Prologue
THEY SAY THAT LOVE is blind. I would say that it’s at least partially deaf. Maybe completely deaf—I’m not sure. For years, I all but shouted into the universe that I was in love with my best friend Logan, but do you think anyone was listening? Nope. The universe was far too busy paying attention to all the bigwigs on Wall Street hoping their stocks in vape sticks would take off. Somewhere along the way, Logan found true love elsewhere. Only it wasn’t anywhere I thought it would be. I’m assuming he didn’t, either…nor the lucky recipient of his good and wonderful heart. That bespectacled little punk…he’s got some nerve failing to realize that I was the one he was supposed to be with, even if I hadn’t been very forthcoming with my feelings…or even aware of them at all, for that matter, for most of our friendship. That is until it was too late.
Yet, despite my torn and shattered heart, I was strangely happy for him and his beloved. She, an unlikely and unexpected compadre of mine, with whom I bonded over a mutual loathing for a certain pretty boy Vampire named Vlad Zinderblach. Yes, that would be Selene Flamestar, the object of Logan’s boyish desire, and my former nemesis. I never let on to my disappointment regarding their budding romance, not to either of them. That’s simply not what good friends do. Instead, I acted pleased at their newfound joy, their nauseating bliss. Whenever they kissed in public, I simply grinned and shook my head playfully, wagging my finger at their affectionate display. “Oh, you two!” I would say. “Why don’t you lovebirds get a room?” I did my best to appear supportive and accepting of their relationship, even though they were both oblivious to how I truly felt. I had no right to blame them, and they didn’t deserve to be blamed. Ultimately, it was my fault for not realizing how I felt sooner…before foolishly introducing the two of them at a party. Funny, at the time I thought she was out of Logan’s league—how awful of me. Selene was beautiful and cool, tough without compromising her femininity. Logan was awkward, and without any sense of style. Perhaps this is what Selene liked about him—he had no expectations of her, nor did he hold her to any standards. Perhaps she sensed this about him right away. I assumed Selene would think she was out of his league, as well, and make a cruel joke about him to me afterward. It was simply part of her Vampire nature to feel this way about humans—she didn’t mean anything personal by it. I guess the joke was on me, huh?
But this is the kind of girl I am—the kind of FRIEND I am. For Logan, I would gladly sacrifice my own happiness to see him happy. And I suppose I would do the same for Selene, even if she and I didn’t have the same kind of history as me and Logan did. I’m still in awe of how close her and I became, and how quickly, given our tumultuous beginnings. I suppose Logan is my link to humanity, and the side of me that will always feel human. Selene, however, is a link to my monster nature, a part of me that is always present, even if it never manifests physically ever again. Essentially, I’ll always be a hybrid—yet one who’s both monster and human, and not necessarily Vampire and Werewolf.
I suppose I should be accustomed to this sort of disappointment by now. Even when I get what I want, it’s never quite what I had in mind. Three years ago, I chose to be human again, because a human existence most resembled the kind of life I imagined for myself. Being human would also allow me to have the sort of relationship with Logan that I always longed for…I just didn’t realize it at the time. I had thought being human embodied my greatest hopes and dreams. When I saw myself as an old woman, I saw myself as human, and not the monster I’d become. I assumed this meant it was what I subconsciously wanted. Once it all became a reality, however, fate apparently had something different in mind. The life I had foreseen with Logan, my oldest and dearest friend, turned into me becoming a third wheel as I watched Selene slip seamlessly into my place.
But such is life. Every day we wake up, we agree to risk unspeakable heartache.
I know I sound bitter and resentful, and I am to a certain degree. I assure you, however, that my anger is not directed at my two best friends, but at life in general—and fate’s sick sense of humor. Life has pointed quizzically at the front of my shirt so many times, only for me to look down and be flicked in the nose, that I should have a permanent bruise by now. At the very least, a mild disfigurement. Yet, after the initial sting of seeing them together subsided, I found a measure of peace and contentment in seeing them happy. Even if Logan was happy because he was holding Selene in his skinny little arms, and not because he and I finally agreed on a venue for our wedding. I knew happiness vicariously through my friends, and deep down I knew this should be enough…but it simply wasn’t. My joy for them had its limits, but ultimately, yes, I was pleased that they were both in my life—even if they were so as a couple. Eventually, I suppressed any romantic feelings I had for Logan as much as humanly possible—or monsterly possible, for that matter. It was simply not our time, even if that time should never come to be.
But I jump ahead of myself. A lot has happened since the days following Mad Mulligan’s magical imprisonment within a Witch’s Sphere, a small crystal orb kept safe in the possession of the Witch who captured the wayward Warlock. This would be Miss Glinda, in case memory escapes you, the kind old woman who awakened the monster inside me, and then forced said monster into a state of eternal slumber, never to be roused or summoned again. Nothing has been the same since. I’m a sixteen-year-old non-monster monster now, a student at Rydell High, a human institution where Logan is also a student. I had begged the universe for a normal life, petitioned the gods of freaks and outcasts to grant me a mundane existence, one that rendered me incapable of possessing any sort of preternatural qualities. And for a while, my prayers were answered. But only for a short while. For such is what it means to be me, Sally Salamander Squibly, punchline to the universe’s most existential joke it ever told.
For one, a buzz began to generate among the Witches and Warlocks in hiding. As told to me by Miss Glinda, Mad Mulligan was being hailed a genius, a god among magic-users, and a pioneer of modern sorcery. Despite its unethical nature, he had accomplished the unthinkable, the unimaginable; the most unnatural act that could ever occur between two monsters. He had successfully created a hybrid. Such a feat had been pondered before, hypothetically of course, throughout history, but it was the equivalent of breeding a human and a god, thus creating an entirely new race of super-creature, one superior to anything that has ever walked the earth before. The means was always there; the formula was not rocket science. Force or persuade two different species of monsters to mate and await the results. However, not only was everyone uncertain whether it would even work, the potential ramifications of such a blatant defiance of nature were unfathomable, and something no one wanted to consider. In other words, there has always existed those capable of performing such an experiment, but there has never been anyone reckless enough, or bold enough (depending on who you ask), to attempt such a thing. The risks, even to the most evil and despicable of magic-users, were thought to be too great. For many Witches and Warlocks another fear was that this new race of monster would reign supreme over all other monsters, and exhibit strength and abilities beyond that of their sorcerous overlords. Quite simply put, those of the magical sort were afraid of their unspeakable feat backfiring on them, and they would become the slaves, and the hybrids the masters.
Regardless of why so many magic-users were so reluctant for so many years to create a hybrid…it finally happened, and Mad Mulligan was the Warlock credited with the deed. The underground society of Witches and Warlocks both sang his praises and cursed his name for doing so. They were divided on the matter; however, more of them were in awe of his having created a real, living, breathing hybrid, and their admiration of Mad Mulligan eventually turned into worship…of the most zealous and dangerous kind.
Factions began to form throughout the city, and it wasn’t long before a magical war erupted. Of course, these were Witches and Warlocks, beings whose discretion was vital to their very existence, lest they be hauled off to prison, banished, or executed. Therefore, human and monster society rarely felt the effects of this war. It was fought covertly, with no casualties other than other Witches and Warlocks. This was not because Mad Mulligan’s supporters cared whether other people were killed in the process of them defending their cause and beliefs. Rather, they had their own well-being in mind and did not want to attract the attention of the outside world.
Miss Glinda kept us informed, though she was careful to only convey such knowledge to me and my parents. Being a Witch herself, she was not very trusting of other monsters—even though the monster government secretly acknowledged her as a Witch and permitted her to live freely among us. Yet, as revealed to me by my parents after Mad Mulligan’s capture, this was only because her spell alone shrouded our world from the human world. Unless direct contact is made, humans were less likely to notice us, even in our obfuscated forms, or be drawn to our residences and establishments. We weren’t invisible to them, merely hidden beneath a thin veil of obscurity. For her role in our survival, the government was careful to protect Miss Glinda and keep her happy, but, in the end, she was still a Witch and their loyalties were to the law—spell or no spell. As a result, Miss Glinda only confided in my family. The war was escalating quickly, and she was doing her best not to become involved. She feared that Mad Mulligan’s supporters would learn of his whereabouts, that he was being kept on a mantle in Miss Glinda’s house. The wards surrounding her home were virtually impenetrable, but she knew better than to assume that another magic-user of equal power couldn’t figure out a way to infiltrate her defenses. She would be the first one to tell you that she was far from the most powerful Witch alive. Even Mad Mulligan had all but defeated her during their last battle. He would have won, too, had my parents not intervened at the last moment.
More so than the recovery of the Witch’s Sphere and Mad Mulligan being freed, Miss Glinda feared one of his supporting factions would attempt to create a hybrid of their own. Monster society had been on guard ever since I first appeared on the scene. And even though Miss Glinda helped me to regain my human nature, and I was no longer considered a threat, the government was still wary. They weren’t fools and knew another of Mad Mulligan’s capability might attempt the same feat. Who knows? Perhaps there was even a Vampire or Werewolf who was willing to participate in such an experiment. I can’t imagine why, but monsters are anything if not unpredictable.
This became a large part of the reason why the war was being fought. What started out as a small group of misguided and overenthusiastic admirers soon became an army of renegade magic-users vowing to wage war against their monster oppressors. And they demanded the right and opportunity to create hybrids to assist them in their revolt. The opposing magical factions believed doing so was wrong, immoral, not to mention illegal, and the potential results catastrophic. They spoke out against anyone following in Mad Mulligan’s footsteps and claimed they would lay down their lives to prevent any Witch or Warlock from doing so.
The only thing these renegades lacked was proper leadership, someone to organize them, and guide them in their crusade. Miss Glinda feared this would happen eventually, and, once it did, the problem would escalate exponentially. Magic-users were generally solitary beings and not accustomed to acting as a group. Discretion was easier when one led a hermetic existence. The pursuit of magic was more easily concealed as a solitary practitioner than as a member of a coven. There was less of a chance that someone would make a mistake, resulting in their exposure. For this reason, over the years, magic-users became adept at being individuals with little to no contact with the outside world. There was no secret magic-user network, though some Witches and Warlocks remained in touch, and either communicated or traded every so often—resources, materials, or information. These instances were rare, and they were more for practical purposes than a need or desire to be sociable or friendly.
Lately, however, the appearance of these renegades was becoming more and more common throughout the city. Evidence of their war was becoming more noticeable among the casualties left in the streets, and the wanton destruction of property. Not everyone—monsters and humans alike—knew who was behind the carnage, but those of us in the know were smart enough to be afraid. There was less concern among the magic-users for discretion, and they were constantly testing the boundaries of the law, as well as the government’s reluctance to become involved. As prepared as monster society thought they were for a magical uprising, they had never seriously considered the possibility, and now they were paying for their negligence.
Chapter One
NO MATTER HOW MANY times I’ve been in Logan’s bedroom, my first thought is always the same: Why can’t boys hang posters and pictures straight on their walls? Why must everything be hung at an angle? And why can’t they hang anything symmetrically? Then I remember my hyper need for order and organization and make a feeble attempt to excuse this lazy, chaotic behavior. Sometimes I almost succeed. At the very least, in Logan’s case, I forgive.
My second thought is always the smell: dirty laundry, piled knee-high in corners, empty plates of food that once held something fried and slathered in ketchup, half-filled bags of potato chips or Doritos. Every time I enter, the first thing I do is step over the landmines of clothes, books, and CDs strewn about, and open a window. Logan never stops me or tries to defend his unsightly living quarters. I almost wonder whether all of this bothers him as well and he’s simply too lazy to do anything about it. I try not to judge or reprimand. That’s what mothers are for, and his is clearly apathetic toward how her son chooses to decorate and maintain his bedroom. After all, he’s sixteen now. For one, he’ll only be here another year or two before leaving for college, and another, does anyone really believe—parent or otherwise—that you can change the habits of a teenage boy at this point?
After opening the window, I look around and take note of the many differences that have manifested since he became involved with Selene. First, there was the color. Logan had painted all four walls black, from ceiling to floor. By the look of the slapdash job, I’m certain he performed the task himself. Another noticeable difference was his choice of posters. Where once his walls were layered in a collage of superheroes, Star Wars, and Lord of the Rings pictures, now horror film movie posters hung about—all vampire related. Dracula, Nosferatu, Let the Right One In, Interview with the Vampire, to name a few. There was also an abundance of gargoyle statues and figurines tucked in various corners, peeking out from a pair of discarded underwear, beneath his desk, on his nightstand. He even had two acting as bookends on a shelf. On top of his stereo speakers were various candles, and an incense holder. Much to my dismay, I did not see any incense sticks in said holder, which I would’ve been happy to light.
I made my way over to his CD rack, which stood off the hardwood floor. Where once there were jewel cases filled with the musical stylings of such country bands as Rascal Flatts, and singers like Travis Tritt, had been replaced with bands like The Grave Robbers, Vamp Tramps, and Blood Brothers. The music was darker, edgier, and typically about things like Vampires, graveyards, and blood. I ran my finger over the front of the jewel cases, as if I could somehow sample the music through my skin. I pictured Logan buying these CDs on Amazon.com, each purchase bringing him closer to transcending the boy he once was, the sweet, innocent, human boy I first met when we were children.
His appearance was among the many things about Logan that had undergone a serious alteration, as well. He wore black clothing, only black, every day, down to his socks. Even his hair was dyed black and getting longer by the month (I just wish he would wash it every now and then). There were times I even thought I saw a trace of eyeliner beneath his eyes. He wore contact lenses now, and the only jacket he wore was either a leather biker jacket—like Selene’s—or a long, black duster. His fingernails were painted black, and silver-colored rings—skulls, bats, and crescent moons—were looped around his fingers. Where once he favored the convenience of the velcro-laced, white, generic brand, sneaker, he now preferred boots—black Timberland boots, Doc Martens, engineer boots…He seemed to be racking up quite a collection.
At first glance, one might think Logan was simply going through a phase, one that many teenagers—boys and girls alike—become seduced by when they’re not feeling very optimistic about life and their future, when they feel trapped in their own maelstrom of conflicting and ever-changing emotions. This is usually accompanied by notebooks filled with dark poetry, morbid artwork, and a quiet withdrawing from the world. Logan was different, however, in that I had never seen him happier. He did not seem as if he was changing so much as he was adapting.
I wondered, at first, whether the events of three years ago had triggered these differences, that his exposure to my world had influenced him somehow, created a need to connect with me on a more personal level. Yet, it wasn’t me with whom he was trying to connect, but rather Selene. Once I came to this conclusion, everything else made sense. It also made it easier for me to accept these differences and move on.
“Did you want to throw something in the stereo?” asked Logan, still standing in the doorway. By now, I had pushed open the window on the far side of the room and was turning around to face him.
“Whatever,” I replied, with a bored shrug.
Logan shook off his leather jacket and squatted down in front of his CD rack, scanning the row of titles. While he perused his collection, I made my way over to his bed, the queen-size fixture pushed up against the wall in one corner. This is where we generally congregate when we’re in his room, and either talk or read comic books. It never occurred to me whether it was appropriate for him to lie on his bed with another girl, especially given that he had a significant other now, and it never occurred to me whether Selene would mind. I don’t think she saw me as a threat, not because she trusted me so much as her Vampire nature wouldn’t allow her to believe that anyone she was romantically involved with would ever favor someone else over her. Of course, this did happen one time, with Vlad Zinderblach, three years ago, which triggered a savage brawl between Selene and me. But Vlad was a Vampire, and, at the time, I was a monster.
Vlad’s attraction to me hadn’t wounded her ego as much as it would have if I had been human. And as much as I knew Selene cared about Logan, I also knew she still believed, on some level, that he was beneath her. Even though I was another girl with whom he was close, I was human now—in a manner of speaking—and therefore, also beneath her. As I said before, this mindset was simply part of her nature. She didn’t truly believe that she was better than humans in an elitist, superficial sort of way (like my mother), just more important in the grand scheme of things. Much in the same way humans felt about dogs.
I looked around for the pile of comics that usually lingered within arm’s reach of his bed. Beneath his caseless pillow, I saw a few mangled comic books sticking out. I rescued them from their cruel imprisonment and began flipping through the various titles: The Crow, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, American Vampire, Hellblazer…No capes or tights, as once before. I added his taste in comic books to Logan’s ever-growing list of changes.
As my eyes scanned the black and white pages of a book called Lenore, the sound of music instantly filled the room. Preluded by the clang of church bells, the curtain of silence fell and gave way to the dark and somber tones of a band called The Bat Biters.
Logan stood up and made his way over to the bed, flopping down on the mattress like he always did. I sat firm in my cross-legged pose, accustomed to having to roll with his constant shifting and fidgeting.
“What are you looking at?” he asked, stretching out alongside me, and propping himself up on his elbow.
I held up the book in my hands. “Whoever wrote this seriously needs to visit a shrink. Some of these jokes are pretty twisted.”
“It’s all in good fun, Sally.”
“I’m sure that’s what people said at first when John Wayne Gacy told them he enjoyed dressing up like a clown.”
“It’s like telling a racist joke when you’re not really racist. It’s just funny. Doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to go out and commit a hate crime.”
I furrowed my eyebrows and looked down at him. Logan had picked up a copy of Sandman and was leafing through the pages. “That’s certainly a strange analogy, Logan, and a weird way of looking at it.”
Logan simply shrugged his shoulder.
I suddenly didn’t want to be on the bed at that moment, next to Logan, so I slid off and pretended as if I was retrieving something from my purse on the floor. I glanced behind me and saw that Logan hadn’t moved, nor was he looking in my direction. I sighed and stood up, mindlessly exploring with my eyes the room that I had once considered a sanctuary when my parents and school became too much. This wasn’t my room anymore, not that it had ever truly been, but I at least once shared the same feeling of safety that Logan felt when he needed to cut himself off from the world. This was his lair now, his cave, his crypt. His dark fortress.
Beside his TV was a small picture frame; something about it caught my eye. For as long as I could remember, this frame contained a photo of him and me as small children, both of us on our bikes. We had our arms around each other, like buddies, smiling for the photographer, who I think was his father. We were so young at the time that our bikes still had training wheels. Now, however, there was a new photo in the frame, one of Logan and Selene, at a party by the looks of things. The photo didn’t sit straight in the frame, so you could still see the one of him and me behind it. How metaphorical, I thought.
“Who took this?” I asked, more to break the tension than because I genuinely cared.
“I don’t even remember. I had had a little too much to drink that night.”
I spun around. “Too much to drink?”
“It happens,” he replied, without looking up.
“Since when?”
Logan just shrugged again.
I was starting to feel like a Ghost revisiting her former home, a place where she had once been blissfully happy yet was now occupied with new residents who were blotting out her old memories with their new ones.
As I stared at Logan, or should I say the stranger currently occupying Logan’s body, I noticed something around his neck. It wasn’t that small, so I wasn’t sure why I didn’t notice it before. I took a step closer, curious about the glass shape hanging from a silver chain. Logan still hadn’t torn his eyes away from his comic book. Upon closer inspection, I could see that it was a small glass vial, filled with some kind of dark liquid.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing accusingly at the fragile trinket. “Is that what I think it is?”
Logan finally looked up and unconsciously reached for the vial, twisting it between his fingers guiltily. “Selene gave it to me. And yes, it is what you think it is.”
“Whose blood is that, Logan?”
“It’s hers,” he answered, somewhat defensively.
“And why would Selene give you a vial of her blood to wear around your neck?”
Logan glanced down, as if embarrassed. “She said…She said it would keep me safe, from other monsters. That if any of them tried to hurt me, they would see the blood, know it was hers, and back off. She also said that if I was ever seriously hurt, I could drink it and I’d be all right.”
“And you’re okay with this? You don’t think it strange at all? Forgive me, but I’m a bit hazy when it comes to the romantic customs of teenage Vampires. You’ll have to fill me in.”
Logan scrunched up his face. “I thought you would understand, being who you are. I thought…I thought you would think it was cool, that it would show you how much she cares about me.”
He seemed so wounded, so taken aback by my reaction, I actually felt sorry for him. “I’m sorry, Logan. So much has changed, so fast, sometimes I feel as if my head is still spinning.”
“It’s been three years.”
“And we’re not kids anymore, I know. You keep reminding me. I guess I just thought that…that it would…”
“That it would what?”
“That it would always be just you and me, even if one of us, or both of us, ever had a girlfriend or boyfriend, that nothing would change that much between us. But look around.” I gestured to our gothic surroundings. “I hardly know this person. And I really want to—I really do. I’m just having a hard time keeping up.”
“I get it,” said Logan, closing the comic book and sitting up. “And I don’t blame you. Even after everything you went through three years ago, you haven’t changed as much as I have. Though I like to say I’m evolving, and not necessarily changing. Changing makes it sound as if there’s nothing left of the person I once was, which isn’t true. Evolving means I’m gradually becoming the person I was always meant to be.”
“Now you sound like me three years ago,” I commented with a chuckle.
“Which is why I thought you would get it.”
“I do…sort of…sometimes…I will. I promise. Just be patient, okay?”
“Okay,” replied Logan, returning my chuckle.
“Hey,” I began, “do you want to—”
Whatever I was about to say was cut off by the sound of a voice in my mind, a familiar voice laced in fear and urgency.
They’re coming.
“Sally, are you all right?”
Logan was standing beside me, his hands resting gently on my shoulders. I had no idea how long he was standing there as I never saw him leave the bed.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
“Hear what?”
“I need to go.”
“Go where?”
“Miss Glinda,” I said, reaching for my purse.
Logan grabbed his jacket and turned off the stereo. “Then I’m coming with you.”
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