Suck It Up (2 page)

HOME

Dear Visitor,

Welcome to IVLeague.us, the website of the International Vampire League.

To learn more about us, please visit our
open pages
. To
log in
and access restricted areas you must be a graduate of Leaguer Academy and a member of the IVL.

In the future, we hope to open the site to everyone, including all people of mortality. Our term for those of you who are both handicapped and blessed with aging is “Lifers.” (If you wonder how aging can be a blessing, see
immortality
.)

We hope you will explore IVLeague.us with an open mind. We offer it with an open heart.

Peace and tolerance,
Luther Birnam
President of the International Vampire League

2

Winging It

Morning tried to step forward and begin visualizing the CD that he and his guidance counselor had decided on: a great horned owl. But hearing his name had hit him like a blow to the solar plexus. Before moving he had to pry open his lungs.

“Morning McCobb,” Birnam repeated.

Morning sucked in air, his legs unlocked. “Here!” he shouted as he lunged forward. An explosion of laughter scorched his ears. Breaking into a disjointed run, he laser-focused his mind on the image of a great horned owl.

He had picked the great horned owl for a couple of reasons. One, if he had to finish his graduation with a lame end-zone dance he was going to CD into something no one else had thought of. And two, one of his favorite masked heroes was Nite Owl II, from the classic graphic novel
Watchmen
.

He retreated further inward, shutting out all sound and sensation but the black screen of an empty mind. So far, so good. A second later he felt something ruffle his hair, followed by a blur of feathers—a great horned owl flew past him into the darkness. He had been tagged. Now he had to tag the owl. Changing into another form was like having a flying dream in an underground labyrinth. If you could catch the creature you set free in the wormholes of your mind, you could absorb the creature's cell-set and transform into it.

Going vampire came with its share of surprises, but nothing had surprised Morning more than how difficult CDing really was. All the superheroes in comic books and movies made physical transformation look as easy as lowering the top on a convertible—hit an internal button and presto-chango, your body turned into Wolverine or the Hulkling. But CD 101 had taught him how much more complicated cell differentiation was, not to mention how many things could go wrong. If you performed the sequence out of order, or visualized the wrong target and tagged it, the mutation malfunctions were endless.

If you really screwed up, it could be your last CD ever. It wasn't like being Beast Boy from DC Comics. When Beast Boy shape-shifted into an animal, he kept all his mental faculties and could even speak. For vampires, CDing was much scarier. After you CDed, all you retained was a shadow-conscious. And if your shadow-conscious forgot you were anything but the creature you changed into, say, a cricket, you went into CD blackout. There was no coming back from CD blackout. Once a cricket, always a cricket.

Considering the dangers of CDing, Morning was glad this was his last one. After graduation, Leaguers weren't allowed to CD. It was all part of the Leaguer mission to blend seamlessly, harmlessly, and secretly into Lifer society.

Morning sped through the blackness of his mind-labyrinth after the owl. He slalomed around corners, shot up tunnels, and dove down shafts as he drew closer to his prey. Swooping into another tunnel, he was startled by the sensation of feet springing against the ground. Wet ground. Intrusive sensations weren't good.

He struggled to ignore the feeling of pounding feet and focus on the bird's chuffing wings. It only got worse. The sound of wings turned into splashing slaps. The owl disappeared around a corner with a laughing cry. Then the blackness shattered and the graduation ceremony flooded in.

A cold sensation pulled his eyes down. He was standing knee-deep in Leaguer Lake. His white robe floated on the water like the wings of a large moth.

“Mr. McCobb,” Birnam sounded from above, “we don't have all day.”

Tittering laughter wheeled around him. Morning squeezed his eyes shut and plummeted back into the labyrinth where his prey had escaped. He was startled by a ticklish brush against his ear. Certain it was the great horned owl mocking him with another touch, he shot out a hand to tag it. He saw a puff of dust, the flutter of whitish wings, and realized, too late, what he had touched.

His white robe settled on the water like a collapsing volcano. In the plume of air erupting from the center, a creature fluttered up.

The crowd gasped.

Morning had accomplished one of his goals. He had CDed into something no vampire had ever thought of.

A great white moth.

He pounded at the air as he took the long flight to the top of the tower. Just as he'd feared: another humiliating day in gym. But it could have been worse. The searing embarrassment that made every hair on his body feel like a bee's stinger meant he had retained his shadow-conscious. He would live to see another form. That is, if Birnam didn't squash him.

As the fluttering moth drew closer, Birnam looked down with a curious smile. “Morning has chosen to impress us by displaying
two
Forms. He has accomplished the Sixth Form: the Flyer.”

Reaching the top of the platform, Morning saw a white-robed arm reach out. It seemed more inviting than threatening. He welcomed the perch. He would need a moment to gather his strength and focus on his return to human form.

Birnam watched the large moth settle on his robe and almost disappear against the mottled pattern of fold and shadow. “He has also taken the Second Form: the Hider.”

The explosion of applause rattled Morning's feathery antennae. It also gave him the surge of energy he needed. He lifted off Birnam's arm, taking flight. He flooded his shadow-conscious with the image of a mirror holding his human reflection. Then he forced a vision of his arm reaching forward. It touched his reflection.

In a puff of wing dust, Morning CDed back to himself. As the applause faded, he found Mr. Birnam's intense eyes pinning him to the spot. He instantly thought something else had gone wrong. Had his Epidex failed to re-externalize? He stole a glance down. No, he was sheathed in black. Returning to Birnam's eyes, which now seemed deep in thought, Morning fought the urge to grab his diploma and sprint down the stairs.

Birnam's face finally creased into a smile. “Mr. McCobb has done us a great service.” He turned to the crowd. “He reminds us that even though the Academy is here to guide vampires from the dark wood of their Loner past, each of us must find our own unique path out of the dark wood, the
selva obscura,
and into the light.” Birnam turned and handed Morning his diploma. “Congratulations. You are now a Leaguer among Leaguers.”

         

Morning didn't remember walking down the platform or retrieving his robe from the lake. But he must have done these things because he was back in his place at the end of the semicircle, with his damp robe sticking to him like plastic wrap. He was numb to the cold, and the other cadets performing their CDs seemed like a hazy stampede of creatures. What kept looping through his mind was the way Birnam had looked at him. And the creepy feeling that came with it: that even though his final CD was over and he clutched his diploma, it wasn't over.

An ovation jolted Morning out of his gnawing anxiety. All the graduates, back in their robes, now held diplomas. The last one was descending the stairs.

Mr. Birnam stepped to the edge of the platform. “Before I administer the Leaguer Oath, let me tell you how much closer we are to the day we emerge from our greatest dark wood, the
selva obscura
of our secrecy—the day we reveal our true nature to people of mortality.”

The crowd inhaled a collective breath.

As Birnam continued, his voice cracked with emotion. “In my ancient bones, I feel the day we live openly among Lifers approaching.” He turned to the end of the semicircle. “I know this because when I look at you”—he stared directly at Morning—“I see, rising in the east, the first light of Worldwide Out Day.”

Morning's skin tingled with goose bumps. It wasn't his wet robe that chilled him. It was the icy touch of Birnam's words.

THE LEAGUER WAY

Our code of conduct is summarized in the oath every cadet takes when they graduate from Leaguer Academy.

THE LEAGUER OATH

On my honor,

I will obey the
New Commandments
of Leaguer Law,

Abide by the laws of my country,

Go among Lifers in peace,

Pursue my Leaguer Goals,

Help all and harm none while
consuming,

And, when given the chance, bring
Loners
to the Leaguer Way.

3

The Call

After taking the Oath, the newest throng of Leaguers hurled their diplomas in the air, creating a fountain of twirling batons. But unlike Lifer graduates who wildly throw their caps, Leaguers considered it bad luck if they didn't catch their diploma when it came back down.

No one was more surprised than Morning when his diploma slapped back into his palm. He broke into a smile; his anxiety vanished. Birnam's strange looks and words were probably nothing, he told himself. Just another case of his wild imagination turning shadows into monsters.

Graduates eagerly slid ribbons off their diplomas and unrolled them. They were less interested in reading the parchment's ornate calligraphy than in seeing the attachment at the bottom. It revealed the details of their first Leaguer placement, and a grab bag of surprises: where they would live, whom they would work for, what job they would have.

Morning casually slid the ribbon off his diploma. His placement would hold only one surprise: where he would live. The rest was set in stone. Because he would always look sixteen, he'd live with a Leaguer family and do what all sixteen-year-olds were supposed to do: go to school. Then, after two years he would do what nonaging Leaguers did to avoid raising suspicions. He would relocate to another town, another Leaguer family, and another school where he would repeat tenth and eleventh grade. Every two years he would do the same, repeating the same grades over and over, forever.

Back in his Lifer days, Morning always wondered about the new kids in school who were supersmart, never studied, and moved away after a couple of years. Now he knew. They were probably vampires. They were only smart because they kept taking the same classes. After a few years of memorizing his classes, he wouldn't have to study either. It would give him more time to pursue one of the Leaguer Goals that every cadet had to settle on before slipping back into the world of Lifers. Leaguer Goals could be anything that kept a vampire feeding on human culture and not on human corpuscles. Morning thought his number one Leaguer Goal was excellent. He planned to read every superhero comic book ever written. He was a slow reader, but time was not a problem.

As he scanned down to the note on his diploma, he knew there was one place he wouldn't be going: New York City. Leaguers weren't allowed to go back to the hometown of their Lifer days. If they were recognized, there would be too many questions, too many complications.

Seeing his destination brought a smile. He knew the city well. As well as you can know a city from comic books.

After returning to his dorm room, Morning changed into sneakers, blue jeans, and a sweatshirt featuring the superhero Animal Man. Then he headed to the graduation party. The only dress code at the Academy was to dress like a Lifer. It was all part of the Leaguer strategy:
Blend in
.

The party was in the dining hall. Its formal name was the Blood Court, but everyone called it the quaffeteria. It wasn't much different than a food court that offered the fast-food gamut from Arby's to Zaro's. Except the quaffeteria offered a blood-drink gamut from the Blood Shed to Vegan Veins. And blood was exactly what the graduates craved after the excitement of the ceremony, and their energy-depleting CDs.

Morning found the party in full swing. The other graduates, with drinks in hand, had also exchanged their gowns for street clothes. Their form-fitting outfits only magnified his nerdiness. He looked like Gumby crashing an Olympics afterparty. But he was used to being a misfit. In his Lifer days he'd been an outsider too. And the motto he'd lived by then worked just as well now, if not better:
Suck it up
.

He weaved through the crowd toward Vegan Veins. Luckily, everyone was too busy chattering about their placements to tease him about his moth CD. He caught snippets of conversation. Most of the Americans were going to entertainment capitals in the United States: Las Vegas, Orlando, New York City, Branson. Foreigners were going to international capitals of fun: Rio, Paris, Monaco, Cape Town, Bangkok. The emphasis on entertainment hubs was part of Leaguer Goal Number One: replacing a vampire's bloodlust—the need to feed—with fun-lust. The megadifference between Loner vampires, who were totally old school, and Leaguer vampires, who no longer did the chomp 'n' chug on humans, was all in the Leaguer motto:
Drink Culture, Not Life.

But Leaguers still needed blood to survive. And that's what the quaffeteria was all about.

Reaching the counter at Vegan Veins, Morning was glad to see his favorite quaffeteria lady. Dolly looked about sixty and had big ears, crooked teeth, and the lithe body of a former dancer. Morning liked her because they shared something in common. Neither of them looked like super-models.

When Dolly spotted Morning, her elfin smile stretched wide. “Hey, Morning, how'd it go?”

“I hit a couple of speed bumps, but I made it.”

“I knew you would.” She raised a fist across the counter. “Congratulations.”

Morning lifted a fist and tapped her knuckles. “Thanks.”

“How do you want to celebrate?” she asked. “With something different or the usual?”

“The usual.”

She shouted an order to the drink-making station. “Tall Blood Lite, no foam, room temp.”

The man at the station shouted back. “T-B Lite, bury the head, roadkill-cold.”

It was another thing that separated Morning from his peers. He was the only vegan in the class. The others drank animal blood from Leaguer farms where the animals were never injured but “milked.” Leaguer farms weren't any different than dairy farms, but the milk was red. Unlike his classmates, who had a history with human or animal blood before coming to the Academy, Morning had never tasted either. His time as a Loner vampire had been so short he'd never fed on anything. His first taste of “blood” was after a Leaguer Rescue Squad found him unconscious from lack of feeding. While being transported on an LRS medevac flight from New York to Leaguer Mountain, he was hooked up to an IV and pumped full of a soy blood substitute called Blood Lite. Ever since then it was the only thing that tasted good and satisfied his thirst.

“Where did they place you?” Dolly asked.

“San Diego.” Morning grinned.

“That's a fun city.”

“Yeah.” He tapped the superhero on his sweatshirt. “It's where Animal Man started.”

His drink arrived in a tall cup with a lid and a straw. He grabbed a quick slurp. The clear straw turned magenta. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until the smooth, bright taste of Blood Lite filled his mouth.

“Hey, McCobb,” a voice called behind him.

He turned and saw Dieter Auerbach and Rachel Capilarus approaching. Rachel had her arm wrapped around Dieter's bulging bicep. “Hey,” Morning echoed as he checked out the bare band of Rachel's perfect stomach. He pried his eyes away and looked at her only imperfection: the jock on her arm.

Dieter smirked down at him. “Congrats on becoming a loser, I mean a Leaguer.”

As Rachel tossed her head back in laughter, Morning glimpsed the roof of her mouth. It had arched ridges like the ceiling of a cathedral. The vision of Dieter violating that temple with his tongue made Morning wish he had a girl on his arm too: Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “Thanks,” he deadpanned. “I hear I wasn't the only one they lowered the graduation standards for.”

Dieter's hand tensed into a fist, but Rachel stopped the piston from firing. “Dieter, if you want to draw blood, go over to Crimson Keg and get a refill.”

As Dieter grunted, Morning silently thanked Rachel for saving him from unauthorized cosmetic surgery.

Dieter's smirk returned. “Okay, McCobb, everybody wants to know. You ended up as a moth, but no way you were going for that.”

“Yeah,” Rachel added. “What was your CD going to be?”

The curiosity in her voice made him want to tell her the truth. But alone, not with Dieter there. He shrugged. “I did exactly what I wanted, a moth.”

“Yeah, right,” Dieter scoffed.

“What's so bad about a moth?” Morning said, sticking to his lie. “You heard Birnam. I did two for one, a Flyer and a Hider.”

Dieter wasn't buying it. “Who would wanna do a creature that's drawn to one of our enemies, fire?”

“I would,” Morning insisted.

“Why?” Rachel asked.

“So I could singe my wings in the flames and mutate into a half-vampire, half-moth superhero named Moth-Fire, who gets his power from drinking fire and then flies around the world saving Leaguers like you.”

Rachel's head rocked back again in laughter. Morning grabbed another glimpse inside the vault of her mouth. Before he could fantasize about what he might do in that temple, a tone sounded from the PA, signaling an announcement. The room quieted.

“Would Morning McCobb please come to the head-master's office. Morning McCobb to the headmaster's office.”

The crowd responded with a teasing “Ooooh.”

Morning was stupefied. What had he done wrong? Okay, he'd screwed up a few things during his CD, but he'd gotten his diploma, had taken the Leaguer Oath, and was ready to go to San Diego and
drink culture, not life.
What more did they want from him?

He tossed his Blood Lite in a trash can and started through the gauntlet of snickering cadets.

Dieter hit him with a parting shot. “Go get 'em, moth-boy.”

Laughter jolted the room back to party mode. Morning hurried toward the exit. Just before he escaped through the doorway, a hand brushed his elbow. He spun around to see who else wanted a shot at him. He was stunned to find Rachel.

She gave him a warm smile. “Good luck, Moth-Fire.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

As he hustled down the empty hallway, Morning felt like he'd been struck by lightning. Whatever awaited him in the headmaster's office didn't matter. For all he cared, this could be his last day on earth. He had entered the party as the class freak; he was leaving a superhero. At least in the eyes of the one person whose notice he desired: Rachel Capilarus.