A collab with [@Bloodrose]
[img]https://static01.nyt.com/images/2020/08/13/us/13schoolcatoday/merlin_175595457_7d441ebc-3d70-4c02-8abc-f626ce2d06b9-mobileMasterAt3x.jpg[/img]

A chandelier of glittering light fluttered through the Morris Library’s largest window, filling the room with the warmth of the early morning sun. 

Classes didn’t start for another half an hour, and the Wollstonecraft High School Parapsychology Society had the vast, bookcase-filled room to themselves. 

“Did Mrs Aschefeld say that she’d be running late?” Dexter LaTierri asked his peers, nervously picking at the flaky cuticles which spread out of his finger nails, like a 
thin sheet of ice. 

“You’re the one who's always droolin’ afta’ her, LaTierri,” Trix Schechter called over to him, with a smug sneer on her round face, “you’re more likely to know than any of us.” 

Trix let out a harsh laugh, whilst Dex felt his cheeks flushing a bright, scorching shade of crimson. She tossed a scrunched up wad of paper across the room, that thudded against Dexter’s head, with an irritating thump. 

“Leave off, Trix!” Umar, a trim figure who stood a few inches taller than Dexter, but still a bit shorter than Trix, interjected, glaring daggers at the chunky fullback, from behind his round glasses, “save your spite for the leeches.”

Just then, the Morris Library’s double doors swung open, and Gertrude Aschefeld came striding firmly into the room, on a pair of high heels that clinked and clanked with each determined step. 

“Mrs Aschefeld!” Dexter shot up out of his seat, letting out a gasp, “what happened to you?!” 

The middle-aged English teacher looked incredibly worse for wear. 

An angry purple bruise, rimmed with inky black, bulged out around her left eye, and her lips had been split by a sharp, grisly cut. 

“[i]Blank bodies[/i],” Gertrude said, in a low growl, “it was a fierce battle, but the Lord helped me to triumph over Satan’s minions.” 
 
Mrs Aschefeled took a swig from her canteen of coffee, and stepped into the middle of the room, letting out an arduous groan. 

“We’ve had some minor success with some of the weaker blanks out there, but the situation in LA is growing worse and worse, with each passing day,” the English teacher announced to her tiny squadron of aspiring hunters, “things are only going to get more dangerous, and the servants of darkness will not hold back.” 

Dexter felt a cold shiver going creeping down his spine. 

“Bring it on!” Trix whooped, cracking her knuckles, whilst a sharp grin spread across her plump face, “I’m gonna turn ‘em into fuckin’ ash.” 

Gertrude Aschefeld frowned, her eyes glistening with bitter anger. 

“You can’t beat our adversaries with bravado alone, Miss Schechter,” Mrs Aschefeled snapped, “and I’ll ask you to watch your mouth, whilst on school premises.” 

Some of the cavalier hubris on Trix’s likeness faded away, and Dexter heard Umar laugh under his breath. 

“The blank bodies have immeasurable resources and unholy power at their command,” Gertrude pressed on, “we aren’t going to beat them if you’re too busy fighting amongst yourselves to focus on our opponent.” 

A murmur of unease rippled through the beginner hunters. 

“What's our next move, Mrs Aschefeled?” Umar asked, in a somewhat tense manner. 

Gertrude adjusted her glasses, and took another swig of coffee before she replied. 

“We need numbers, and we need unity,” she explained, “that's why I’ve made contact with an old acquaintance of mine. Her son needs training, and we need soldiers.” 

Trix scoffed callously. 

“We’re supposed to babysit some kid?” she glowered. 

Gertrude shook her head. 

“I know that football is your speciality, Miss Schechtner,” Mrs Aschefeled responded, “but what do you know of basketball?”

_________________________________________

Mihail pressed through the doors to the high school, clutching his gym bag under his right arm as he glanced furtively around the lobby. He didn’t exactly feel comfortable coming to a school to learn about the art of killing, but according to his mother, this institution employed one of the most gifted and powerful monster-hunters in Los Angeles. He was wearing a Dodgers cap, dark tracksuit and sunglasses, which he realized in hindsight probably made him look more threatening rather than disguising his identity.

“Aschefeld...” he muttered to himself, “You’re looking for Aschefeld.” He approached the front desk where a disinterested and tired-seeming receptionist sipped some caffeinated beverage while typing away at her keyboard. Mihail waited for twenty-or-so seconds, then cleared his threat to get her attention.

“... Can I help you, stretch?” the receptionist asked groggily, clearly not happy about working the morning shift.

“Yes, hello, I am seeking for--” Mihail paused, trying to correct his grammar, “I am looking for a Mrs... Aschefeld?”

The receptionist raised an eyebrow. “Gonna need to see some identification.”

Mihail fumbled around in his bag for his green card and passed it to the receptionist. She examined it for a few seconds, then looked back up at Mihail’s face. “... This is a fake.”

“What?”

The receptionist shook her head. “You’re not Mihail Dobrescu. He’s a basketball player, number 45 for the Los Angeles Lakers. I’m calling securit--”

Mihail took off his sunglasses and cap. “Please do not.” He opened up his gym bag and took out a spare jersey. “I am here for an extracurricular program. It is supposed to be a surprise for the students.”

The receptionist seemed a bit shocked. Not totally [i]star-struck[/i] per say, but clearly she knew who he was. “... Count Blockula?”

Mihail rolled his eyes. “Yes, that is me.” He [i]loathed[/i] that nickname.

The receptionist smiled, “Ahh, the nickname, Aschefeld runs that weird paranormal activity club. That makes sense. How do you know her?”

“She is a friend of my mother,” Mihail replied matter-of-factly, oblivious to the humour in the receptionist's statement, “Can you tell me what room she is in?”

The receptionist directed Mihail to the Morris Library, where he happened upon a congregation of students led by a singular female staff member. He had to crouch a bit to get his seven-foot-one frame under a low-hanging [i]Reading is fun![/i] sign.

“... Are you Gertrude Aschefeld?” he asked in a deep, heavily-accented voice.

A wiry woman, with partially greying brown hair, extended one hand to Mihail.

She looked to be somewhere in the nebulous 40 - 50 bracket, depending on how well or poorly she had aged, and wore a pair of round spectacles over a narrow face, that wasn’t exceptionally beautiful nor ugly. 

“A pleasure, Mister Dobrescu,” she said by way of greeting, in a voice that betrayed neither joy nor malice, “I’m Gertrude.” 

The angular figure firmly gestured to the trio of high school students. 

“These are my pupils,” she explained, “and your new peers.” 

A burly young woman, with firm, muscular arms and a protruding belly, gave Mihail a reverent look up and down. 

“Count - FRICKIN’ - Blockula,” the sturdily-built teenager beamed, “my big bro won a Benny, betting on your last game.” 

Mihail was flummoxed by the sudden warm welcome, but managed to force out a response in his just-barely-fluent English, trying his best to respond to the slang with which he was unfamiliar:  “I am glad that Benny was able to win this bet. And please call me Mihail.” He managed a nervous smile and held out a hand to shake the powerlifter’s (at least she looked to Mihail like a powerlifter), then turned to the rest of the hunters. He’d expected them to be older, not a bunch of high school students. Was he expected to learn the basics of hunting alongside them? Mihail felt thoroughly embarrassed, but then again, there likely weren’t many options for training on such short notice.

“... Gertrude, you are injured.” Mihail said, turning to his now-mentor, “... Bloodsuckers?”

The middle-aged woman nodded. 

“It was a precarious fight, but I triumphed, and the world is better off for it.” Gertrude assured Mihail. 

Whilst she spoke, the English teacher took off her thickset glasses, and lightly polished the lenses. 

“Malina was rather explicit about me treating you as I would any of my other apprentices, and everyone else here learnt [i]on the job[/i], so that is how I plan on beginning your education, Mister Dobrescu.” 

“Hell yeah!” the chunky young woman chimed in, with an eager smile. 

 “A remarkably repulsive blank body has taken up residence in the ruins of an old monastery, once belonging to the [i]Society of Leopold[/i],” Gertrude explained, “the demon is sneaky, but not nearly as sneaky as it thinks it is. I was planning on taking my hunters there, to destroy the monster, and I think it will make a fantastic starting point for you, Mister Dobrescu.”

Mihail nodded. “It will not be the first time I have given a vampire their final death, though the first time was very much a... fluke, as they say,” he said hesitantly. He clenched his fist, causing smoke to rise out from between his knuckles. When he realized what was happening, he rapidly fanned his hand back and forth to douse the flames with a nonchalant expression on his face, as though this had happened many times before. Mihail had experimented here and there with his pyromantic powers, but was far from mastering them. “You are aware of the impending... eh, perhaps it would be best if we speak in private about this?”

Gertrude offered a brief, almost imperceptible nod to the basketball player. 

“Malina told me,” she explained to Mihail, her voice lowering slightly in volume, “to say I am disturbed is an understatement, but it does explain the alarming increase in activity that we’ve been witnessing.” 

“What's up, Mrs A?” one of the students called out. 

“Nothing that needs immediate addressing,” the English teacher assured them, “for now, we have an immediate threat to deal with. We’ll talk more later.”