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was a brilliant swordsman. Vicken’s was covered in globes and ancient symbols. He was the strategist. My favorite was Heath’s, which was adorned with words in Latin. Song’s was notable as its only adornments were Chinese lettering. My chair was smooth, wonderful wood, with only one adornment—the words of our coven, the lyrical sentiment that I twisted into malice and pain: EVIL BE HE WHO THINKETH EVIL.
    I was wearing an eggplant-colored gown. We were laughing hysterically about something that I cannot remember now. I do remember that behind us, passed out and chained to the wall, was a peasant man I intended to have for dinner.
    “Here they come,” Tony said. I blinked, coming back to the moment. “Wow, it’s pretty close,” he said, and craned his neck to get a better look.
    The motors were at full throttle. The powerful engines propelled the boats toward the dock so fast that I had the instinctual reaction to get up and back away. But Tony wasn’t backing up, so I sat still. The blue and red boats were neck and neck. The sharp bows headed right toward the wooden dock.
    “They’re going to hit it!” I said.
    “Maybe,” Tony said casually.
    “They’ll die!” I said, half horrified and half exhilarated.
    They were now so close that even without my vampire sight, I could see that driving the blue-flamed boat was a tall, blond boy and behind the wheel of the red-flamed boat was a pudgy, blond boy. I focused in, and the red-flamed boat came closer. The pudgy boy wore a necklace with a silver charm. He had silver hoops in his ears. A scar above his left lip. Then, at the last second, the boat with the tall boy behind the wheel skidded by the dock first. He turned his boat in the direction of the harbor so quickly, a huge arc of water rose and then splashed down, just touching the people by the waterline.
    There was a collective scream of joy, and almost everyone ran toward the dock. The pudgy boy and a significantly smaller version of him secured the losing boat to the dock. Out in the harbor, idling, was the victor, the tall boy. The engines of his boat went silent, and then a splash. He was swimming toward the beach.
    Tony leaned closer to me and pointed at the smallest of the brothers. “That’s Roy Enos. He’s a freshman.” He pointed to the pudgy one. “That one is Curtis Enos. He’s a senior. Class joker,” Tony said. Curtis was much rounder than the others. His fleshy middle pushed out his swim trunks.
    Finally, the tall, six-foot-three, blond, gorgeous boy emerged from the ocean. He kicked his legs through the shallow water. He was taller than Rhode. I didn’t know anyone, up until that moment, who was taller than him.
    “And that’s Justin Enos,” Tony grumbled. “He’s in our class.”
    Justin had a long face with chiseled cheekbones and evergreen eyes. He had a broad chest and sculpted torso. It was the shoulders that kept my stare—square, broad shoulders that seemed like they could do anything: raise a building, swim the English Channel, lift me up with his bare hands. Every boy on that beach was envious of him. Every girl on the beach salivated at the sight of him.
    “So you hate him?” I said, breaking my stare to enjoy the sentiment of jealousy—just a little bit.
    Tony smiled in return. “Every guy at Wickham does.”
    Without another word, I hopped off the stone wall and started toward the steps that led back toward campus. The race was over, and I wanted to reread Rhode’s letter again.
    “You’re just gonna leave like that?” Tony called after me. I turned. He was still sitting on the stone wall.
    “I’m going home.”
    “Generally, you say bye when you’re gonna leave.”
    I walked back toward Tony, and he jumped down from the stone wall to meet me.
    “Admittedly, my social skills need work,” I said.
    Tony stifled a laugh then said, “Where are you from?” A man’s voice toward the shore interrupted before I could answer. “I wanted to push it to eighty,