Page 155 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Sweat dampens my skin as I open the classroom door and duck inside. A cold draught enters through the open windows, stirring the hanging herbs and carrying off the fumes of a cauldron simmering near the front. Beyond the window frame, moonlight silvers the dew-soaked lawn, its cool green scent threading through the laboratory’s smoke.

The student cauldrons loom in the darkness like sleeping animals. I weave between the benches towards the storage cupboards. The utensils drawer is the first thing I check.

Locked.

No knife for me, then. It’s a shame I don’t know how to pick locks. Ana tried to teach me, but I lacked the patience. Why coax a lock open when I could smash through it?

That preference is less useful when I am attempting a secret escape with the Vampire Prince sleeping nearby.

If he is sleeping.

I throw a nervous glance at the door I left ajar, then the internal windows. The corridor is still.

I move to the back of the classroom. A row of glass vials stands upon the rear bench, each filled with a green liquid that glows faintly.

Third-Year Restorative Draughts.

The older Potions students have been brewing them in preparation for their midyear tests. Professor Parna explained their effects when I served my second detention: when swallowed, they accelerate the body’s natural healing, closing cuts, easing bruises and helping damaged bones knit.

The vials have been graded in his sloping hand—the darker the green, the better the grade. I select the three darkest greens, and a copy of the brewing instructions in the hope that the Resistance can reproduce it. It might even ease the swelling in Mary’s joints.

As I stow my loot between the squashed bread rolls and bacon, I wonder whether Nathaniel used a healing potion after I stabbed him. The thought brings me up short. Why do my thoughts keep returning to him? Anyway, he deserves the stab wound. Especially since he helped himself to my blood.

I hope it aches for weeks.

Next, I fill an empty flask with water and cork it. I force the water flask into the last space in my blazer, then go to the stained brown smocks hanging from pegs. I choose the cleanest one and pull it over my head. It covers me from throat to shin, hiding enough of my uniform to make me less conspicuous in the Capital.

I search Professor Parna’s desk, rifling through parchment and drawers cluttered with odds and ends.

Beside it, the cauldron reeks of soot and sulphur, reminding me of the bulfur bulb—and the small seed he gave me. Strength for the muscles, he had said.

The seed is still in my pocket. I dig it out and pop it into my mouth. My wings could certainly use the help.

It has only a faintly nutty flavour; not unpleasant. I chew slowly, swallow, and wait.

Nothing happens.

Oh well.

At the open windows, I pause. The night calls to me. Wet earth. Leaves. The sharp green freshness of dew. A yearning swells in my chest to be out there in my shifted form, damp ground beneath my paws and the dark opening before me.

My fingers grip the sill.

I’ve racked my brain for another way out. There must be something safer than flying.

The gates. I might be able to coax their enchantment open, as I did the wards around Barbara’s cottage. Perhaps there will only be one guard. Perhaps I can distract him somehow.

It is worth a look before I throw myself from an upper balcony. I climb through the window and drop onto the grass. Dew soaks through my shoes. I stay close to the castle wall, moving through the stone wall’s shadows while moonlight washes the lawns silver. The grounds are eerily different at night. Hedges become black walls. Statues loom from the darkness like watchmen. Every few steps, I stop and listen.

Nothing.

Using the hedges for cover, I make my way towards the front of the Academy until the gates appear through a gap.

A vampire stands beneath one of the red lanterns.

Only one.

My pulse quickens.