Bleep! Bleep! Bleep! The alarm clock blared, shrill and demanding. "Ugh," I muttered, and turned over to bury my face in the pillow. "You get it."

I heard my cousin Hunter climb out of the bunk beneath and scrabble over to the alarm clock, mercifully silencing the room. Momentarily. "Okay. Up, up, up! Come on, guys!"

"No," I moaned, and pulled the pillow over my head, the sheets scratching my face. Hunter resorted to some form of awkward shuffling. The small clunk, clunk noise it made set my head pounding. What is she doing?

I didn't hear her climb the ladder. I doubt it was because I'd fallen asleep again. Next thing I knew, there was a large SPLASH! Ice-cold water, complete with the ice cubes, tumbled over me, piercing right through the pillow and my pajamas. "AAH!" I yelped, sitting bolt upright and slamming my head into the ceiling.

Hunter's cackle burst into the room and she dove behind Brook, who had managed to stay asleep until that point.

I leapt off my bed, not caring about the ladder, and snatched the nearest throw-worthy object – a fat social studies textbook.

My arm flew back, then forward in an effortless throw, despite its weight. Unless Hunter could magically shrink, it would hit her in the face. Probably break her nose, and the three of us would get expelled. Again.

Hunter stiffened. The book inched closer in slow-motion, pages waving our enrollment at Pacific Academy goodbye.

It wasn't until the book stopped completely that I realized this wasn't adrenaline. The book was suspended in midair, covers wide, spine breaking. Not hanging in the air – just hovering there. I'm talking about some hard-core freeze tag.

Everyone gawked at it for a moment, and then it dropped to the floor and stayed there.

Brook and I exchanged looks. Her faced mirrored the question in my mind – more of a how than a why. And a why didn't you tell us you could do this, so many tests could have been so much easier. Only I couldn't do this. I think.

Brook and I slowly looked to Hunter. She had yet to take her eyes off of the book squashed to the carpet, its thin pages crumpled beneath its weight.

"Um… dibs on the bathroom!" she said, and vanished through the door.

Brook and I considered the fallen weapon for a while before eventually deciding it was best left alone. At Pacific Academy, if you were late and the older kids didn't take the opportunity to kill you, the teachers probably would.

I opened my dresser and shuffled through seven purple shirts and seven black jeans. Consistency was comforting. Too comforting. My mind much favored the oddities of the morning. Usually, finding this much entertainment was difficult.

Let's see – I made Hunter get the alarm, check. Got doused in ice water, check. Oh, crud – it was dripping on my clean socks. Great. Woke Brook while attacking Hunter, check. Hunter somehow avoided trouble, check.

Huh. Maybe the morning wasn't so odd, then. I scowled at my sneakers and wedged in my soggy toes.

Hunter stepped out of the dorm's bathroom, dressed and groomed. She was a swish of caramel hair and fair skin. How she kept it all neat, I'm not sure, but that wasn't my concern today. Nor was the typical morning mumbling.

Brook and I turned to face her. She didn't make us wait. "I don't know. I know it was me, and I don't know how or why. I'm just as freaked as you are."

Hunter did not often sound freaked. And yet that tone right there – that was pretty close. It sent whole glaciers moving down my spine.

But I nodded to her – truth was truth, and no matter how uncomfortable or odd, we knew how to recognize it in one another. Brook had mistaken us for sisters when we met her. I must say I'm proud of that fact. The story we'd had to tell her, though – that's another thing. Hunter's thing. It was her father that dropped us off with a note, and her father that decided we were not to be separated.

Neither of us felt much strife about it.

I stepped around her and into the bathroom. As I rushed through teeth-brushing and face-sanding, I kept my eyes focused on my dark hair. Now and then, though, I caught a flash of ghostly skin in the mirror, or maybe a freckle, or shadowed eyes, or a premature red bubble. Not many eleven-year-olds were cursed with acne, and quite frankly, I thought it felt gross. But I couldn't feel it quite as bad if I didn't look.

Lastly, I ran a brush through my hair, and fled the mirror. Brook flinched back before I could crash into her. Pale blue eyes peered at me from behind her curtain of chocolate swirls. "Excuse me, Bree." Around me she stepped, like a diver in water, and I smiled at her over my shoulder. Ten years old, and…

…And my homework was sitting on her bunk, more or less done. She had left a few of the harder problems blank. I shoved the sheets into my backpack and was wondering if that was just to make the teachers believe I'd been the one to do it or her way of encouraging me to try harder – I'm sorry, but ADHD and dyslexia are a lot of effort – when I caught sight of the clock.

"Crap!"

Late for first period, check.

Brook and Hunter streaked past and out the door. I stumbled after them. They took to the rain like they were built for it, those two. Graceful Brook all but wove between Hunter's fourteen-year-old legs, and shot ahead, first one to reach the safety of the main campus building.

Hunter held the door for me on the way in. We trudged our soaked shoes all over the halls and stairs before parting ways at my locker. The lock hung loose. Papers tumbled out of it. Books slumped over. Uncapped markers had left streaks across its innards. No time to wonder if my laziness or Gracie's cruelty was to blame for this – I just tossed my bag atop the horror story and grabbed the math folder, pausing only to feel for the pencil in its crease.

I ducked into class just as the bell rang. My shoes squelched on both necessary steps to my desk before finally hissing as I flopped down.

The sub at the desk was a relief – I was in no mood to put up with Mr. Kazit's strict responsibility crap today. His replacement, thankfully, did not look near as smart or mannered. His arms, sleeveless red shirt (decorated with a very athletic M), and surly expression all screamed of some distant coach missing out on his conference period.

The sub huffed and plunked his feet on the desk. "Alright. The notebook warm-up says to solve for y when twenty-five times y plus seventeen equals 242. Hey, kid in black, take the hood off." His red shades aimed themselves at me. Oops. I flicked it off. He could wear a sleeveless shirt and shades to class, but I couldn't forget to take off my rain hood? Geez, excuse me.

I watched him write his name – Marz, "With a z, people, with a z!" – on the board and squirmed as, around me, pencils began to scratch. In notebooks.

Notebooks.

Crap. I knew I'd forgotten something.

When Mr. Marz saw I was doing my best to complete the problem on a piece of loose leaf, he strode down the aisle. Or, more like marched. While frowning. The closer he got, the harder it was to keep the pencil in my hand. The guy was huge. It was like I was standing underneath a tower of every last one of Seattle's gymnasiums. The smell was about as pleasant as you'd think.

I set the pencil down.

"…Were you told to stop?" Mr. Marz asked.

"I assumed I could when I was done."

"Mm. You transposed the two's and the four in 242," he nodded. "Are you dyslexic?"

I ignored the kids who turned to watch – it's not like this was news to them. "Yes, sir. Sorry."

He got to his knees beside the desk – now his head was only one foot above mine – and lowered his shades. "Is that all you're sorry for?"

I all but launched myself off the other end of the desk. The man did not have eyes. Someone had burned them out. Was still burning them out. The smell wasn't sweat. It was crisping flesh.

"Um, excuse me?" my socially incompetent brain sputtered out.

"I know what you are, kid, and I can make you sorry," his strobe-white teeth grinned. He jabbed a meaty finger at his red shirt, to the yellow M plastered on front. "Do you know what this stands for?"

"Mental?"

He growled and – oh, thank every god from here to Egypt – put the shades back on. "No. Massacre."

As he marched back to the front of the room, I racked my brain for some sort of sense – burning eyes, Marz, gyms, massacres, probably with bare hands, maybe-

No. The only thing I could connect to Marz was Ares, the Greek god of war. And even then, his Roman name wasn't Marz – it was Mars. The psycho went nameless.

I trembled so hard for the rest of class that I couldn't read any of my own work. I could not bring myself to look Mr. Marz in the shades.

oOo

At lunch, I stared at my taco salad. Now and then, I'd look at my roommates. The school's meal schedule was such that a fifth, sixth, and ninth grader might share meals. The note from Hunter's father apparently assured we were part of the lucky few.

As my own thoughts sank into their deep, semiconscious, please-don't-return-ever state, I began to notice Brook's flinches. At every noise, or glance. Save mine. She held my black eyes with her strange blue ones. Her little hand might have trembled, but her glaze did not.

"I saw something," she announced suddenly, "and I think Bree saw it, too. Please?"

Hunter stuffed her mouthful into one cheek and looked between us. "…Well, she won't know unless you tell us what it was."

"O-our teacher stepped out after an hour today. The sub that took over was scary. He, um…" She licked her lips and pointed to her jacket. "There was, um, an… an M right…"

"What?!" I roared.

Hunter frowned at me. "You've seen him, then? Brook's right. Again. Big deal."

"The M. The M is what you noticed?!" I demanded. "Not the glowing shades or fire eyes?!"

Brook glared at Hunter. "I told you I wasn't imagining those parts. If she saw them, too, then they're real."

We pretended not to hear her voice tremble.

"He was all-around creepy," I mused, stabbing at the rubber meat on my tray. "Said something about making people sorry. And massacres."

"People? Or you?" Hunter tensed.

I did not answer that.

She slammed her fist onto the table. "If he threatened you and showed up to both of your classes, then it's not a coincidence. He's some emo arsonist psychopath and he shouldn't be anywhere near you two. The school. Kids in general. I'll steal his file from the office and see where he keeps his things. We can look around for fake IDs and leave behind a-"

"Let's not provoke the emo arsonist psychopath," Brook squeaked.

"Bree and I don't ever get caught, don't worry. If we can just get a hold of… Bree?"

I was shaking my head. "No, Hunter. Not this time."

She dropped her fork. "I hope you're not joking. This is your worst attempt at humor yet."

"It's not a joke. That guy is crazy. If he catches us, Hunter…"

"Pssh. He won't massacre us. I'll just freeze him." Her mile-wide grin sprang into place. "Just like that textbook."

"Ach, yeah, that's what was weird this morning – let's not mix physical and mental phenomena, okay?" I hushed. "Tell the police or something. They have – y'know – guns."

"So does Beth. I saw them in her room last week while studying for finals. There may or may not now be one also under my bed."

"Yeah, yeah, you told me about that, but-"

"You guys have a gun?!" Brook yelped.

"We won't if you don't keep your voice down," Hunter muttered.

I sighed. "It's a flare gun, Brook. Hunter… I'm all for leaving the drug dog's crap in the guy's bag. But I'm not for getting strangled or massacred or whatever else that sicko has planned. Trust me – you don't know how scary he is until you see him. And you haven't yet. So trust me."

She closed her mouth and stared at me for a long time.

"He told me I wasn't human," Brook butted in.

"You have two eyes, right?" Hunter asked. Then scowled. She lifted up all of our bangs to be sure we only had two. "Oh, my God, Bree," she gasped. "You've got, like, five." I swatted her hand away. "Yeah. Two eyes. Two ears. Two functional thumbs. Human."

"He looked human," I muttered.

This brought to light the implication that'd made Brook so shy in the first place. We lapsed into silence.

oOo

For the rest of the day, I did not pass Mr. Marz in the hallway, spot him in a classroom, watch him walk past, see him slipping into some shady closet, or anything. If not for Brook's shuddering during our afterschool reading exercises with Dr. Ness, I could have probably convinced myself that I'd imagined him.

Hunter and I rotated a constant embrace with her throughout the session. Whoever wasn't calming her had her eyes on the door. This was usually Hunter, as she didn't actually need to be here – Dr. Ness just let her come because it kept her out of trouble and Brook and I happy.

Afterwards, Hunter led us out of the classroom. She stopped in the hallway, and we waited.

She breathed deep and turned to face us. "He was my sub in sixth period. We can't go back to the dorm without knowing he's gone."

I swallowed and processed this. The thought clicked neatly into place – no stumble, no paralytic shock. It was just suddenly fact.

"The campus police are across the school," Brook fretted.

"Dr. Ness probably has a phone," I said. "She'll let us call if-"

"No," Hunter said, and we silenced. She stood taller and pinned us beneath her golden gaze. The hallway seemed to bend and bow around her gravity. "Do you want the cops involved in this? He snuck into a boarding school and found all of us – alone. Cops haven't done anything to stop him."

Brook gave me a pleading look. "They haven't known," I shrugged.

"And even if he's caught," she cut her hand through the air, "they'll move us again. Out of Seattle. Maybe back to Oregon. Through all that paperwork. All the interviews, all the office-sitting. Listening to people say the word 'orphan' every two minutes. Possibly being split up. At the absolute least, we won't get to room with this genius anymore."

Brook swallowed and slowly nodded. "Oh…. Okay."

Hunter's lips twitched, and I stifled my own grin. "Is there a plan of action?"

"Always," she beamed. "C'mon – I have my crowbar with me, but I think the flare gun would be a nice touch. It's in my locker. Do you want to carry it, Brook?"

"Oh, gee," she blushed. "That sounds terrifying. No thanks. I have no idea how to fire it."

At that, we were moving down the halls. Hunter led the way and peered around corners as we advanced. I hung close behind her – the talk about being split up was a bit terrifying, even though I knew it would never happen. Not while she was alive.

Brook slipped after us quietly.

We were stretching across the courtyard that lie between the middle and high school buildings when we heard the motorcycle.

"On campus?" Brook snickered.

"Only one person I know that comes to mind," Hunter muttered, and raced back to grab both our hands and haul us through the yard. We didn't need much more encouragement. The snarl of the bike was slipping closer and closer, rising decibels with each racing footstep.

We made it to the oak before the windows across the way lit up. Headlight.

"Down," Hunter hissed, and we threw ourselves atop the sandpaper roots.

The bike's screams dwindled into purrs.

"I'm not an idiot!" Mr. Marz called. "Come around the tree one by one!"

"Together," Hunter snarled back so suddenly I jumped, "or we'll scream!"

"We should scream now!" Brook hissed.

Hunter lifted her hand, and we quieted.

Mr. Marz chuckled, and that laugh was warmer than Hunter's voice had been. "Alright. Together. Hunter first."

Hunter's fist squeezed my right. My left hand held Brook's. Her nails dug into my wrist. It was three against one – and until Hunter faltered, I'd believe in those odds.

Brook scooted sideways back across the tree, this time before it. Mr. Marz had parked twenty feet away. It was a nice bike, I will say – I noticed it first. The red flames were made to shine in this late summer sun. Next, I noticed the bat over his shoulder.

A bat? To Hunter's crowbar?

"They're out!" Mr. Marz called, and from behind bushes, lampposts, and the windows came… things.

I saw the skeleton first. It lumbered past a lamppost, cracking its shin against the concrete base, golden sword trailing on the sidewalk behind it. Behind it came a girl more or less my age. One leg was in a brace, and beneath must've been some sort of fuzzy pants, because the other was furry. Next came a woman in yoga pants. Or, no – um…

Snakes? Snake legs. Okay. Done there.

Hunter's hand clamped down, grinding the bones in my wrist. Brook's nails pierced my palm.

"I'm a nice guy. Honorable and all that. Any prayers?" Mr. Marz called. He removed the shades. The fire in his eyes was visible even from here.

Brook's mouth wrenched open, but not a single noise escaped.

"I'm not going to get killed by a teacher. Not even a fake one. I'd never hear the end of it," Hunter cursed.

"Kill you?" Mr. Marz called across the green. "Nah. I'd be tried and convicted of murder. That said – kill them."

The pale girl in the brace glanced at us, and then back to him. "Lord Ares?"

"What?" he snarled. "Are you deaf, bloodsucker?! Kill them!" The motorcycle roared in excitement. Brook cringed.

"Lord Ares," the girl said as the bottom of her hair began to catch the sun's flames, "we have orders not to turn on the older girl and her allies." The snake-woman hissed in agreement, forked tongue flicking past her scaly lips. The skeleton turned its hollow sockets toward the oak.

Hunter's hand loosened.

"Whose orders?!" Mr. Marz roared, and cracked his bat in half against the concrete pathway. The concrete also cracked in half. "I said ATTACK!"

The flaming girl smiled. "Yes, lord Ares." She lunged, a blur of orange fire, for his throat.

Brook screamed.

Two reptilian women leapt into the fray, hissing and spitting. Mr. Marz cursed and the bike screamed in protest. The skeletons-

They charged us.

I felt like I'd swallowed broken glass. We scrambled backwards.

"Wait-!" Brook cried. "T-the tree-!"

My heel caught a root, and we crashed backwards into the trunk. It was an awfully long fall. The flat bark scraped the skin off my back and elbows.

Flat?

I gaped in shock at the ground beneath us. It was rock and slate and pebbles, not grass and roots. I had to squint to see it in the dark – the clouds hovered ominously close now. But it was definitely rock.

"Do you see it?" I breathed.

"Yes," Brook squeaked.

"I see that," Hunter offered.

I looked up, expecting to find Mr. Marz's remains. There were none. He, his bike, and his monsters were gone. I couldn't hear them if I strained to. The courtyard and school had been replaced – the three of us sat hunched in the rock before a black palace. Entirely alone.

oOo

AN:

Nyx: FOR THOSE who don't know us, I'm a lazy butthole that finally rewrote this chapter! Yay!

Original AN:

Nyx: Yes! This chapter was written two years ago but yay! Not my worst work! Alright, for those of you who'll follow this story I will post every Saturday. Posting one chapter a week, as per tradition, will take a year. I kid you not. So I will post two or three (more likely three) chapters every Saturday, usually early in the morning. I'm late today – when I say early I mean six. I cannot stand to wake up late because it shortens my day.

Nic: So just stay up later!

Nyx: Before we move on I'd like to thank our first fan/reviewer on Daughter of Darkness, Karode. You comment was so inspiring Nic decided to email me at eleven thirty-five last night to share it. But I can assure you that at eleven thirty-five my day went from awesome to seriously amazing. Thank you so much! I will take time to read all reviews and I appreciate feedback – if you send me a ten-page report on the pros and cons and strategies and criticism, I will LOVE you. Not as much as I love Nico, or my cat, but I will love you. Seriously, don't be afraid to tell me anything.

Nic: In my defense I was high on soda.

Nyx: I don't mind - I was high on chocolate milk at the time. Oh! That's another thing. The title of this currently shows up as "Daughter of Darkness Rebels," but that's wrong. For some reason the site cut out my semicolon. However apparently I can't edit titles and put in a dash. So it should be, "Daughter of Darkness – Rebels." Daughter of Darkness is the series and Rebels is the name of the book. Thought I'd say that just to clear some confusion.

Nic: As we wrap this up, once again, please review! We love you guys and your feedback. The first poll should be up soon, too, for anyone who's interested.

Nyx: Oooh! Favorite characters!

Nic: That's fine.

Nyx: Finally, I will find out! Who has more fans; Percy or Nico?

Nic: Of course you'd say that….

(Next time we promise these arguments/discussions will relate more to the chapter.)