My eyes snap open and I turn to the source of the words. A tall woman in a smart, dandelion blazer and crisp, violet slacks leans against the concrete bust of a horse that flanks the stairs to the rear doors. The flamboyance of her dress is overshadowed by the loud, but remarkably tasteful, coloring of her long, wavy hair. Its chromatic shades are as varied as Rainbow Dash’s own, but of lesser intensity. It’s almost like a gently flowing swath of pastel light, rather than a violent burst of flat color. A tiny, spiky, seemingly permanent, cowlick atop her head is all that mars the otherwise flawless hair framing her pale pink face. Her smiling mauve eyes shine with motherly kindness beneath two perfectly groomed eyebrows. Naturally dark lips curve into a warm smile as she idly stirs a cup of yogurt with a plastic spoon. For some reason, I feel like she’s missing something.

I just called Principal Celestia ‘Mom’. How did I not see her standing there? There’s no way she snuck up on me in the thick business heels she’s wearing.

“—drove me here today. Uh, my mom...drove me.” I cough.

Principal Celestia giggles and places the yogurt-coated spoon in her mouth. She withdraws it clean and twirls it between her fingers for a moment before speaking.

“Don’t be embarrassed, young man. You’re certainly not the first person to call me that, by mistake. But you...” She points the spoon at me, “You have, by far, the best excuse, Mister Strand. At least in my opinion.”

“Oh. Why’s that?” I say, confident I already know the answer. She withdraws the spoon from her mouth, twirling it again as she savors more probiotic goop. The quick, complex motions are actually a little impressive. I wonder if she practices that.

“Your mother and I confuse each other sometimes, when we’re in the same vicinity and one of us hasn’t noticed. Our voices are so similar, it’s hard to tell if we’re having an intrusive thought or thinking out loud. Once, I was in the teacher’s lounge, reading over some papers,” Principal Celestia begins with a chuckle, “and your mother was standing just outside the door. A colleague greets her as he walks in, she greets him back, and when he tries to greet me, I don’t respond, thinking I already had!” She hums a laugh to herself and I offer a token smile. She seems mildly disappointed at my reaction. “Oh, your mother probably shared all our little anecdotes by now, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah, lots of ‘em.” I admit. “I do still like the one about her first day, when you two were in the restroom and the psychology teacher in one of the stalls thought you were having a conversation with yourself.” Principal Celestia lowers the spoon back into the cup as she laughs aloud. It’s a gentle, melodic sound.

“Yes, I remember! For a whole week, Puzzela invited me to tea and lunch with the intent to psychoanalyze me! I was ready to tell her I thought she was being unprofessional when I walked in on your mother and her laughing up a storm about it.” I can’t help a small chuckle at that. Mom never told me that part.

The warm, casual moment is nice, but it eventually descends into a silence that soon becomes awkward, at least to me. Principal Celestia seems to remain perfectly at ease. I can’t help trying to anticipate when she’ll ask me why I’m here, and why I came sprinting up to the building like a man on fire. But she doesn’t. She finishes her yogurt, tosses the cup into a nearby bin, and leans back against the bust, facing away from me. I hear her take in a breath and release it in a long, contented sigh. Her heartbeat is remarkably steady and slow, almost fading into the ambient noise. Perhaps that’s how she was able to approach me, undetected.

I gaze out over the parking lot, empty, save for a modern, but economical, dandelion yellow sedan parked in the far eastern corner. A sign in front of it reads ‘Faculty Parking: Celestia’. The cement that holds it in place is as new as the patch in front of the parking spot nearest the door. The edges of the shadow the school throws across the asphalt have become sharp as the growing light banishes the fog. It wasn’t exactly a photo finish, but I feel like I’ve already come far too close to dying to this curse.

“Your mother is a wonderful woman, Gyre.” The comment, delivered in a monotonous, matter-of-fact tone, comes out of nowhere. It shocks me from my reverie and my head shoots up off my knees as I stare at the back of Principal Celestia’s head.

“Uhm...I’m glad you think so, Principal Celestia. That means a lot.”

“I think you’re a bit of an underachiever, though.” Is it Roast Gyre Strand Into The Dirt Week, or something? What is going on lately? “Don’t take that the wrong way,” she says, far too late, “...it’s not that I think you’re incapable of great things. On the contrary,” She turns to face me, “after hearing about you and your father from your mother, and coming to know her as more than an occasional co-worker, I feel like you haven’t lived up to even your most modest potential.” Principal Celestia strolls over to me and crouches down to my right, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. It’s far too intimate for me and I begin to fidget, unsure how to react. I’m just glad she’s a pants lady, not a skirt girl. “But there’s something different about you, today. I saw you coming down the street with that heavy-looking bag on your back and I thought: ‘Now, there goes a real man, putting in real work’. When I saw who that man was...well, I couldn’t tell you how proud of him I felt.” She gives my shoulder a firm, friendly squeeze.

It was such a lovely thing to say, I wish I could be abashed at the compliment, but my plasticized heart registers only a glimmer of emotion. A small swelling of sheepish pride makes it through, but for the most part, I can only think logically. It was all effortless, fueled by some dark power I neither earned nor want. Before I was transformed, would I have ever pushed myself hard enough, in any endeavor, to perform a feat comparable to sprinting several miles with the weight of four heavy textbooks on my back? I don’t know, I had only recently begun to pull my act together. How will I ever know, now?

“Is...everything alright, Gyre?” Principal Celestia says. She looks me over, really studying me and what I’m wearing. Her eyes dart across my features and the concern seems to grow across hers.

“No, ma’am, I’m just...tired from my run, that’s all.”

“No kidding. And you must be parched. You ran that whole way and it looks like you haven’t sweat a drop. Fit or not, that’s a sign of dehydration. Let’s get you inside and something to drink.” She half-stands and offers her hand. I place my sleeved wrist in her palm so she can’t feel the dead coolness of my skin. I take the opportunity to affirm her thoughts by swaying on my feet as she helps me stand. She takes my arm in both hands, letting go only after I meet her gaze and nod, smiling.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Too many people are noticing my lack of functional sweat glands. I should bring a spray bottle next time, to mist myself as I run.

No, that’s stupid.

Just as we begin to round the wall to the foot of the stairs, a sleek, matte black sports car pulls into the parking lot, gliding to a smooth stop between the nearest pair of lines. The faculty-reserved sign indicates it belongs to Vice Principal Luna.

The purr of the engine cuts off shortly before the door opens with a jerk. A slender woman climbs unsteadily from the driver’s seat. Her pale, cornflower blue hands clutch a neat, black leather office tote bag and an alarmingly tall cup of coffee I can smell almost immediately. Vice Principal Luna’s normally well-brushed cascade of wavy sapphire and creamy lavender hair is pinned into a semi-tidy bun on the back of her head. Heavy, gleaming sunglasses cover the dark teal eyes that seem to intimidate nearly every student unlucky or unruly enough to be sent to her office. I’ve seen even the most headstrong students shrink from the icy sternness of those orbs over a casual greeting. It makes me feel bad for her, sometimes. Unlike Principal Celestia, Vice Principal Luna is indeed a skirt girl today, sporting a sharp blazer over a severe pencil skirt dress and thigh-high boots, all a blue so dark, only direct sunlight makes it apparent they’re not black. A silver, crescent moon clasp holds a navy strip of fabric in place about her middle. I wonder if I’ve ever seen her without that lunar symbol?

Even half put-together, she’s impressive and beautiful, like a black panther. If one didn’t know better, they might suspect she’s related to Twilight.

She begins moving toward us, her sensible heels drumming a steady, unhurried beat on the asphalt. As she nears, passing into the shade, she removes her sunglasses and trades them for a jangling set of keys from the tote bag.

“Good morning, Luna.” Principal Celestia chirps.

“Hey.” Vice Principal Luna brushes past and leans on the handrails as she begins to climb the stairs, taking three steps before finally seeming to notice me. “Who’s this?” She gestures to me over the wall with the top of her cup, spilling a few drops of pitch black brew through the small hole in the lid.

“This, dearest sister, is the student we agreed to allow access to the school library and study hall before hours. On a probationary basis.” Whoa, what? Principal Celestia meets my surprised expression with a meaningful look. “Provided he spends one morning a week before class, acting as our aide. As part of the community service requirement for graduation.” She looks back to Vice Principal Luna. “Remember?” For once, the near unflappability of my starved vampire brain serves me well, as I’m able to remain cool enough to follow the lead.

Vice Principal Luna fixes me with a hard stare, eyes raking my face and body. She seems to give up after a few moments, turning away with a grunt and tipping the oversized coffee long enough to have enjoyed several swallows of what is likely dangerous for ordinary mortals. She climbs the stairs and unlocks the doors with a curt series of gestures before pushing through and vanishing into the shadowy interior. Principal Celestia sighs.

“You’ll have to forgive my sister. Luna’s...not a morning person.” Or a people person. “Now come on, we have cold water in the staff break room. Let me know if you start to feel faint. Of course, you’re welcome to use the boy’s shower rooms, if you need.” She places a hand on my backpack and we walk to the steel double doors together. Once inside, we make our way down a wide, unlit corridor, guided by the sparse light bouncing around through the eastern windows and filtering through the huge, central stained glass dome that crowns the roof of Canterlot High. Vice Principal Luna is nowhere to be seen. Not even the faint echo of boots on linoleum marks her presence in the school. There’s a smell inside I can’t quite place. We arrive at a locked door some yards down the hall which Celestia opens with a key card. I stand at the door, feeling like a child at his mother’s strange workplace, unsure where the uncrossable lines lie. Principal Celestia strides over to a plain, semi-modern refrigerator and withdraws a clear plastic bottle whose surface quickly grows cloudy with condensation. “Please, have a seat Mister Strand. You should hydrate so I don’t have to follow you around the school to make sure you don’t fall over.” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial tone and, with a mischievous wink, says, “It would be highly inappropriate to follow you to the showers.” Placing the bottle on a small wooden table, she indicates a seat, taking the one next to it for herself.

I join her and break the seal on the water’s screw-top lid. The vampire in me is still disgusted by the stuff, but I choke some down for appearance’s sake. Water has never tasted so...chemical.

And what is that smell?

“Now, I’m not one to be intentionally manipulative, but I’d like to know if you understand the gravity of what I’ve just done.” Principal Celestia’s tone is soft and reasonable. Her gaze seems to penetrate my skull, as if my eyes are mere periscopes into my head.

“Can I be...frank, Principal Celestia?”

“Yes, of course, as long as you’re entirely honest, as well. Oh, and, at least outside school hours, you’re welcome to drop the title; there’s no reason we can’t speak as friends, I think.” She beams and I smile back before pretending to take another sip.

“Well,” I begin with some trepidation, “I understand you’re putting your professional reputation at risk, maybe even your career if an extreme case arises. While I’m flattered and appreciative and fully intend to take advantage of the opportunity you’ve given me...” Damn, I sound like a lawyer. “...I...uhm...”

“Didn’t ask me to do anything?” Celestia finishes. I meet her eyes and nod. “You’re right. I’ll hold you to no obligations and you’re welcome to tell me now if this isn’t something you want.” Want? I need this. My life literally depends on serendipity like this, right now. “But do you know what was hard about making this decision?” The fact that you’re putting your faith into a hormonal boy with a history of cutting corners and slacking off?

I break eye contact and stare at my hands, making a show of concentrating and knowing I won’t find the answer.

“I don’t know, ma’am. I—” am smart enough to know I’m too dumb to figure out what will shortly seem shamefully obvious, “—guess I’m missing a major detail, here.”

“It was deciding to lie to my only family about it.”

Called it. Now, I look like an idiot and a jerk.

And what is that smell?

“I gotta admit, that doesn’t make me feel great, ma’am.” Celestia laughs heartily and places a hand over one of mine. I squash the impulse to jerk my hand away when I realize the clamminess can be blamed on the effects of holding an ice cold object.

“I didn’t expect it to, I know you have a good heart. But maybe this will: I hear so much about you, through your mother. I understand every parent is proud of their child, no matter what they do, but the way yours talks about you is different. She doesn’t force herself to marvel at mediocre accomplishments or exaggerate, she sees things about you that truly stand out. Your kindness to a peer who needs it most, even when it seems like it may be costing you the respect and social status your peers hold in higher esteem than health and happiness. I hear of your loyalty and generosity toward him, the helpful and righteous honesty of your opinions and the way your humor has helped your mother come to terms with the death of her husband, even when that very same death still crushes you. There’s magic in you, Gyre. There’s magic in everyone, but not all of it is paired with potential like yours. Your mother sees it, your best friend sees it, and I see it, too. Your mother speaks so highly of you, but there’s something about it that pains me, you know.” She takes my forearms through the sleeves. “She’s repeating herself.” I sit, stock still and dumbfounded at the amount of irony in Celestia’s speech. Why does my high school principal, whose presence in my life could have been generously described as a series of footnotes, care so much about me? Who or what am I to her? “Please understand that she will never be disappointed in you, but don’t you think she deserves to have a son that will never stop surprising her? Someone she can believe in to make not just a few, but all lives, better? I think that’s the kind of man you can become, the kind of man I’ve seen and heard of you becoming for the last month. I hope you’ll let me be a part of that.”

I wasn’t ready for this. I don’t know what I’d be doing if I wasn’t so numb, but echoes make it into my forebrain, cries from an anemic yearning for expression somewhere far away, but still a part of me. There aren’t words to accurately describe what’s it like to be dead and dammed up when it seems like you should be crying, laughing, or dancing with joy. All I can feel is a puzzled frustration. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be a psychopath.

“I don’t know what to say.” I murmur.

“Just say you’ll do your best and I’ll believe you.” Celestia says, letting go and settling back into her chair. As a vampire, I thought I’d never survive seeing something, in person, as warm and bright as the smile she beams at me now.

I open my mouth to respond when a short, visceral cry of terror shreds the stillness of the school. Something that sounds like a body falls to the floor in the distance. Celestia’s eyes widen in shock before narrowing as she looks to the door of the break room.

“Luna.” She whispers as she stands, towering at over six feet. She looks more like a valkyrie than Rainbow ever could. “Stay here, Gyre. Call the police if this office phone doesn’t ring in three minutes.” She points to a black landline on the counter, next to the fridge. The smell from earlier suddenly explodes in intensity. Celestia doesn’t seem to notice, already rummaging through a drawer. She withdraws a behemoth metal flashlight and a small ring of keys, tossing the latter to me. I catch them with my off hand, and cover my nose to no avail. “The black, square key is the one for the light switches throughout the school, in case you need it.” She hefts the flashlight like a club before turning it on. I find the key amongst the myriad shards of metal on the same loop. All the others are marked with a three- or four-character label, indicating what room they unlock. This ring seems to contain keys only for the rear wing and what I’d guess are some of the side exits.

“You sure you don’t want to me to call them now?” I say, withdrawing my phone from the strap pocket at my shoulder.

“No, you shouldn’t even be in the school at this hour. It’d be best if I was the first to speak with the police, should there be an emergency. Besides, we don’t even know what’s the matter. Luna may have just slipped or fallen in the dark.” In a mumble audible to me only because of my enhanced senses, she adds: “Not that she ever has.”

I hear Celestia’s heart hammering in her chest. She sweeps past me to retrieve one of several first aid kits stored in a red metal box mounted on the wall before hustling to the doorway. She turns back, one last time.

“Please, stay here, Gyre. The door will lock behind me, but it’ll still open from this side. Remember, three minutes. No longer.” I look to the coffee maker, no doubt accurate to the nanosecond because gods forbid someone’s delayed brew isn’t ready for them when they get here. The digital display reads 6:14 A.M..

“Yes, ma’am.” I reply, moving my seat to the counter by the phone and close the blinds.

“Good idea.” Celestia says, flicking the light switches off before stepping through the door and letting it close silently behind her.

As her footsteps grow distant, I can’t help wondering if there’s something I can do. I sit in the dark, surrounded by tiny dots of glowing LEDs like a lone mind in a sparsely populated cosmos. What would I do if something happened to them? Probably nothing. The lives of two ordinary women hardly matter, any—

Wait, I know this hopeless feeling.

It begins with a vague sense of vertigo. By degrees, it grows into a nauseating mental spin. The world is suddenly unfolding, warping, collapsing and blooming all at once as I feel a presence draw near. The thunder-voice booms inside me, seeming to vibrate my insides like I‘m merely a skinsack of jelly. It hurts, this time, and I try to clutch at my stomach where pain radiates in jagged spikes. Again, the voice quakes me, causing my skull to shudder. I fall to my knees. I think I’m beginning to comprehend something in its reverberations, but I can’t quite put words to it.

A third boom. More pain. I understand.

SLAY THE REVENANT

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