I could never seem to draw the middle. So all my notes were decorated with this odd churchlike ruin, hovering like a bad dream.

As usual, once he didn’t have to look directly at me, Beaufort seemed okay. “Very good, very good.

Now, we left off with the first real attempt the nosferat made at domination of the civilized world, in

1200 BC. There are garbled legends of this time, mostly concerning the Sea People, though most of

the archaeological evidence is spotty at best. So how do we separate fact from fiction?”

“Oral tradition,” a blond djamphir in the front row said. “Then cross-checking against the archaeological record and extrapolation from what we know of nosferat behavior.”

The teacher nodded. “Our oral tradition is very precise, specific, and unapologetic on one point.

Once, the wampyr could move by day. Once, the sun was not a bar to them. They were weakened,

certainly, by its presence—but it was not the deterrent it is today. So what happened?”

Silence. I glanced back over my notes. Nothing that might answer the question. Of course, I didn’t

ever raise my hand—but I liked knowing before he called on someone else. Beaufort liked to give

everyone time to digest and come up with something, too. He wasn’t one of those teachers who delights in catching kids out.

That was one thing I was getting used to here at the Schola. The grading was fierce and the teachers

were smart, but they weren’t trying to play petty power games. At least not in the classrooms.

The answer surprised all of us. It came from over my right shoulder, and it was a sibilant hiss

threading through the quiet of a thinking classroom.

“Scarabus.” Leon shifted his weight slightly; I almost felt the movement through the couch. “He

rose from the sands and walked among them, killing where he chose.”

“I see someone here has done his required reading. However, Leontus, you are not a first-year student.”

Silence again. Leon exhaled, a slight but definite snicker.

I liked him more and more.

“I’ve heard of that,” the blond in the front row finally said. “Scarabus. Thought he was a myth.”

The teacher cocked his head. “Oh, he was definitely not a myth. If we Kouroi are said to survive as

a species today, it is due to him. His name is lost, but the wampyr called him Scarabus. He was

ephialtes .” Beaufort’s face puckered up like he’d gotten a mouthful of sour candy against rotting

teeth.

I wrote that down, spelling it as best I could. The teacher paused. “Anyone?”

“Greek name,” a redheaded djamphir off to my left supplied. “Right?”

“It means traitor. The term did not originate until hundreds of years after Scarabus, but it is accepted

usage now. He was a djamphir who specialized in one thing: killing his own kind for his wampyr