Chapter 1

1

brANDON

I'm in the vodka aisle of Brainz Liquor with my water polo teammate Clay, plotting how to charm my roommate-to-be: a nokk. Charm as in "make the n?nokk my friend," not, like, "cast a spell" or "perform a ritual" or whatever. At least, that's my goal.

But I'm having trouble getting started.

Scratching the back of my neck, I squint at dozens of clear glass bottles on the janky shelves. "I wish the tradition called for beer," I say, throwing up my hands. "What if I just pick him up a six-pack of an IPA? Would that be a total mistake?"

I look around the cramped shop, with its squeaky wooden floors and antique bottles shoved way up high into the rafters. Is anyone else here buying vodka?

A cyclops and a fellow human loiter at the closest refrigerator case to Clay and me, arguing over whether they should get Pbr or Natural Light. (The correct answer is neither.) On the other side of them, three thunderbird shifter girls are selecting a twenty-four-pack of Boowery beer. Local microbrew. Nice. Also, not helpful.

I'm overthinking because this is more than buying a present for a potential friend at a new school. I'm setting the tone for a whole new era . Creelin U is the first monster university in the country to welcome humans, and as one of those historic first students, I want to do my part to foster good human-monster relations. Hence, booze.

Except … I'm stuck. You'd think by my junior year of college I'd have the best brands of liquor down pat, but nope. I learned early on that the hard stuff and I don't mix well, so I know very little about it. Beer? Yes, especially in the offseason. Weed? Fine, on occasion. Tequila? I could call up my uncle who makes his own and ask. But vodka? Nope. This gap in my knowledge explains why I've been studying row after row of bottles for the past half hour. It also explains why, when I saw Clay strolling in for a bottle of spiked O negative or something, I roped him into assisting me.

Clay, however, is no help at all. He may be wing to my flat on our water polo team, and thus my new best friend, but I'm learning that he doesn't know much more than I do about buying alcohol.

"If vodka's the rule, then you give him vodka, Fernandez," Clay says sagely, like he's some guru monk in a movie. He's not. He's a vampire. Except he's got a California surfer-boy drawl, so he's more Point Break than Lost Boys . When I met him, I told him so. The next day, he took me to the theater in town to see a new release, demanding that I watch a movie from this century. He hates anything old. In return, I made him watch Better Off Dead on the laptop in my dorm room. No one disrespects my eighties movies. We've now had four movie marathons, but neither one of us can get the other to agree that their movies are better. I'm good with it. Next up is Dead Poets Society .

Arriving on campus early for water polo has rid me of most of my new-school jitters, since I have built-in friends on the team. We've developed the sense of belonging that comes from bonding about the common enemy of having to set our alarms for zero dark thirty during summer break. We get up at dawn, grumble about it, practice for a few hours, then go to brunch. The group is truly starting to come together to dominate in the pool.

But a few nerves remain. I'm worried about how our team is going to do once we're playing for real. I'm worried about keeping up my grades for my scholarship. And I'm really worried about whether my new roommate is going to like me. If he doesn't, this whole year will suck like last year … and the year before. I can be a lot—too much for some people—and I want to get started on the right foot.

You might think I could've avoided this issue by getting my own room in town, and you'd be right, but my scholarship covers the cost of the dorms, and plenty of Creelin juniors and seniors live on campus.

"Just because the design's badass, what, like, it's better?" I ask dubiously. I gesture at a label with an old-school flash tattoo design and then to another one that seems to be dripping in blood. "Does all vodka taste the same? I've heard that, but I dunno. What do I do?"

Today is move-in day for returning students; newbies—which includes all humans plus monster transfers like my roommate—arrive tomorrow. Except I'm already here for polo, and he's coming from Norway, and I guess there aren't a lot of flights or something.

I wonder what his name is. The school didn't tell me. All I know is that he's a n?nokk, which is a monster I'd never heard of before, so of course I looked it up on Witchipedia.

N?nokk (also known as n?ck, nixie)

Shapeshifting water spirit originating from Scandinavian folklore, who takes the form of a handsome man to lure people, especially pregnant women and unbaptized children, to the underground world to take their souls. The dangerous and mysterious n?nokk is often melancholy because he lacks a human soul and will never find salvation. Presenting the n?nokk with a gift of vodka, a black animal, and three drops of blood is tradition, and in return, the n?nokk will teach the giver a special form of music. The n?nokk can stop waterfalls in midair, and the scream of the n?nokk is an omen of …

I don't like the idea of my new roomie being melancholy. I want him to feel like he belongs, which is why I'm here shopping for this traditional gift for him.

Clay frowns, his black pompadour slicked back to show his pale, blueish skin. "Yeah, huh. Hmm. Pick one you like."

"That's the problem. I don't like vodka." I stare at Clay. "Do you?"

"No. I drink blood." He flashes me his fangs.

I burst out laughing. "Oh my god, I can't believe I asked you to help me."

He points at a bottle shaped like a black crystal skull that's sitting at eye level. "Buy this one. The bottle's sweet ."

The price tag on the shelf makes me clear my throat. I pull out my phone and navigate to the app with my bank balance. Same tiny number to get me through the weekend. My scholarship should hit Monday, but I keep wishing it will magically fund earlier.

I turn to Clay. "It's also sixty bucks. Is it really that good? Doubt it." I run my blunt nails down my cheeks. "I dunno what I'm doinggg."

"Witchipedia didn't specify a kind, did it?" Clay asks.

"Nope."

"Then I don't think the brand matters."

"What if he doesn't like me because I pick the wrong one?" I mutter.

Clay pats my bare bicep with his cold hand. It feels like being hit with a frozen chicken breast. "He will. Or he'll answer to me."

I rub my arm. "Pretty sure you can't vampire-aura someone into being my friend."

"I could try. Besides, everyone likes you. I don't know what you're so worried about."

"I just want to have a better start than I did at my old school. Not being able to hang out in my own dorm room sucked."

"Still. You're trying too hard."

"Whatever." I don't care if I'm trying too hard. This matters. Who my roommate is matters, and I want to make the best first impression I can.

I tilt my head and again study the choices. Finally, I spy a dusty bottle of charcoal-filtered vodka on the bottom shelf for $10.99. Perfect. I snatch it up. "This'll do. Let's go." Now I have to find this zombie everyone says doesn't card people. "Everyone" being our teammate Phil.

I don't see a zombie, but there's a brown-haired harpy with wire-rimmed glasses perched behind the cash register, texting on her phone. She looks familiar. Ah, she's the Creelin U student body association rep who gave me an early orientation tour. Bingo.

Walking up to her like I've done this a million times, I set the bottle on the counter and beam at her, but her head's down. She scans the barcode and tells me the price, and I hand her a crumpled twenty my grandma gave me for my birthday. Then she looks up and squeals, "OMG, Brandon!"

"Hey there." I bite the inside of my cheek. Crap, she remembers my name. What's hers? "I didn't know you worked here!"

Clay shuffles behind me, and I see his hand move over his mouth as he tries not to laugh. Dammit, he can read me well already.

"Yeah, it's a new job. Closest store to school. Better pay than work-study." She winks, and her wings unfurl. "Are you starting to find your way around?"

Putting an elbow on the counter and leaning in closer, I say, "I am. I've almost got the cafeteria figured out, and I know where all my classes are going to be. Thanks so much for your help."

"You're welcome," she says brightly. "It's … different having humans on campus, but I think this year's gonna be great."

"Yep, it is." My eyes slip from hers to the Visa/MonsterCard logo on the counter. "First group of humans enrolled at Creelin. It's gonna be, uh, new." What else can we talk about? Help.

A pause. Then comes the dreaded question. "Totally sorry, Brandon, but can I see your ID?"

My stomach sinks.

No, I can talk my way through this. Cheeks burning, I dig in my pocket for my wallet and nonchalantly pass over my driver's license. I'm going to have words with Phil next time I see him.

The cashier holds my ID up and studies it. Her brows knit together. "Um, this says you're twenty."

Clay snorts quietly and murmurs, "Wait, you're not old enough? What the hell, Fernandez?"

I shoot him side-eye. "I'll be twenty-one in less than a month. That's just days . Let's have a party. Karaoke. Know what? I'm inviting everyone who wants to come. You could join us." I give the cashier my most charming smile. "Can't you round up?"

The harpy presses her lips together in an apologetic pout. "I'll get in trouble." Her eyes shift to the back of the store, where a zombie, likely the owner, is sweeping.

"I thought he was cool." I jerk my head his way.

She shakes her head. "He's absent-minded, but he can be strict. Sorry. Karaoke sounds fun, though. Are you going to do it at Scareoke?"

Where's the local Scareoke franchise? I nod anyway.

"I'm not sure I can make it, since I'll probably have to work, but thanks for the invite." She taps the vodka bottle with her talon. "Can't you come back on your birthday?"

I lower my voice, press my hands together like I'm praying, and look at her intently. "Look, I'm not actually buying it for me. It's a present. I need vodka to befriend my new roommate. Please. He's a n?nokk. Do you know any n?nokks? I've never met one before. They're rare in the United States, and I want to make him feel welcome—"

"I still can't sell it to you if you're underage." She wrinkles her nose in a kindly way so her glasses push up her face. "I'm sorry."

Dammit, Phil.

Sighing, I pass the bottle to Clay. I hope he's older. He flicks his eyes to the ceiling, shakes his head slightly, and hands her his ID. He exchanges an amused-slash-annoyed look with the cashier, then addresses me. "Dude, why didn't you just ask me to begin with?"

I scowl. "Didn't think I needed to. Phil said they don't card here."

Clay puts a hand on his hip, turning to fully face me. "You trusted Phil ?" He rolls his eyes, and the harpy starts to roll hers, too—Phil's pretty well-known, I think, since he's a seven-foot-tall Sasquatch—but then she reads Clay's identification.

"Um." She strokes her chin. "This also says you're twenty. And it looks really fake."

I burst out laughing. "Wait, you're not twenty-one, either?"

"Oops. Shit. I'm older than that." He sighs and pulls out his wallet again. "I hate my real ID."

I catch a glimpse of the identification she returns to him. "You have an inverse fake ID, Clay Cannon? Stuck forever before your twenty-first birthday, huh?"

With a pointed glare at me, Clay gives her his driver's license.

Her eyes widen. "Yeah, okay. You're plenty old enough. Thanks so much for shopping at Brainz! Hope to see you at the bonfire tomorrow night!" She bags up the bottle and hands it to Clay, along with my change, which he pockets. He waits to pass the vodka to me until we step outside into the warm but overcast afternoon.

Yes, even though he's a vampire, he can go out during the day. Eighties movies don't get everything right.

I pull out my phone and text Phil a string of emojis: whiskey glass, ID, red x , thumbs-down, knife.

He immediately sends me a middle finger emoji, and I snort, showing my phone to Clay.

"How come you never text in words?" he asks.

"Why would I use words when they"—I shake my phone at him—"give me so many emojis to use?"

"But what you send doesn't make sense sometimes."

I shrug. "You always figure it out." Then I sing, "Money, please," as he and I start strolling back to campus.

Clay digs in his shorts and gives me the change. "I don't get a buyer's fee?"

"Nope."

Then he pats his pockets, his face looking pained. "Crap. I think I lost my room key."

I look back over my shoulder. "Did you leave it in the store?"

"No, I don't think so. You would've seen it."

"True. Then you can go check your room—did you leave the door unlocked?"

He nods. "My roommate was there."

"Well, if you don't find it, the housing office is still open. You can stop by there and see if they can give you a spare or something."

"Yeah, okay."

We walk a few moments, enjoying one of the last afternoons before classes start and we have less free time. Finally, I pipe up. "I wanted to buy the booze on my own—felt like more of a gift from me, you know?—but I'm glad you were there. Thanks for helping."

He nudges me with his shoulder. "You're welcome. Young'un."

"I should've known it wouldn't work, except I've bought beer before without getting carded. And everyone said the owner was cool."

"I get it. I don't normally get carded, either."

"That's because you turned twenty, what, nineteen or twenty years ago?"

He shrugs and mumbles, "Something like that."

Clay definitely doesn't act forty. Maybe vampires mature slower.

"What were you gonna buy?" I ask.

"Hmm? Me? Oh, I forgot. I was going to get a blood pop. It's okay, I can get one later."

It's a pleasant day, so we're both in tank tops. The sides of my shirt are sliced halfway down, and the breeze feels good. It ruffles my curly, overgrown hair, which is flopping in my eyes. I should've gotten it cut before I left home, but I was too busy.

"Continuing on," I say as we pass by a couple of girls, who wave at us. I've never seen them before. I wave back anyway. "How should I give him the three drops of blood?"

"You could let me bite you." A glint of hope sparkles in Clay's violet eyes. "And I can spit in a test tube."

I hold up a hand. "Ew. No. Gross. Pass." I purse my lips, and then the light bulb turns on. "I can get some microscope slides from the student store and poke my finger. That'd work, right?"

"Boring, but yeah. I guess." Clay's phone lets out a distinctive sound, but he ignores it. It's the WereScruff hookup app notification. I don't use it, because I'm straight—at least, if you ignore the online tests that say I'm not 100% straight. You can't trust anything on the internet, and I round everything up. Like my age. But I have lots of LGBT friends like Clay who use the app and have heard that sound many times since I started college. "Let me know if you change your mind and want me to bite you."

I shove him. He laughs, and we cross the bridge over the Lin River. It rushes below us, dancing over rocks to a quiet pool downstream. My friends and I—along with a lot of other students—spend quite a bit of time on the banks of the Lin and Cree Rivers. Since the weather's been good, we've practically lived there the past few weeks when we weren't at practice, in the cafeteria, or watching movies.

"Where do you think I can find a black animal?" I ask. "Should I go to an animal shelter and adopt a cat? A black bear? What other kinds of animals are black? A panther?"

Clay snorts. "What the hell is he going to do with a black bear in the dorms? And where would you get one, anyway? Just catch the n?nokk, like, a beetle."

I hum. "I wanna do this right, but I'm good with giving him something tiny and low-maintenance. Where do you think we can pick up a beetle?"

"Um. The forest." He does jazz hands as he waves at the groves of trees off the side of the road. The school's surrounded by a wooded area, which is currently bright green with late-summer leaves.

"Yeah, maybe." I bite my lip and do an up-nod at a mummy who's staring at me. Well, I think he's staring. With the bandages, sometimes it can be hard to tell.

Also, now that I think about it, it's felt like everyone's been looking at me since I got here, but especially today with the arrival of the returning monster students. What the hell?

"Is there something on my face?" I turn up my face to Clay for inspection like I'm a toddler needing someone to wipe off a milk mustache.

Clay raises an eyebrow that's the same blue-black as his hair. "It's fine."

"Okay, good. So why does it feel like I've been stared at all day?"

"You're human. Having you on campus is as new for us as it is for you. It's one thing to live in the same city, another to go to school together." As an afterthought, he muses, "Or maybe they want to eat you."

I smack his chest, which feels like hitting an Igloo cooler—from the inside. "Are you serious? I thought that was only in movies. Like, monsters don't actually eat people in real life, do they? None back home did." I don't think.

"Not that kind of eating." Clay smirks. "Have you seen yourself?"

"Yeah," I say. "I have a mirror. Wait, is the thing about vampires not being able to see themselves in the mirror true?"

Clay starts laughing. "Oh my god, dude, you're going to make me say it? You're hot, Brandon. All the monsters want to bang you."

"They do not!" I hiss, although the image of banging one of the thunderbird shifters we saw earlier comes into my mind. I've only ever been with human girls. What would it be like to get together with a monster girl?

He nods emphatically, pulling me out of my reverie. "They do. Humans, too."

"Whatever."

"And yes, I can see myself in a mirror. Sheesh, it's like you get all your info on vampires from the movies."

I smile. "I love movies."

Clay shoves me.

We pass through the gargoyle-guarded university gates, and I study them, watching for movement. Apparently some are statues and some are real, but humans can't tell the difference. At least, I can't. They all seem like stone.

"Huh." I bite my lip, thinking over all the looks I've been receiving. "I was wondering what was going on. I got in the wrong line in the cafeteria this morning—you know, the one with the bloody food for the werewolves? At any rate, everyone was staring at me like I was the snack."

"To be fair, your blood does smell delicious," Clay says reasonably.

"Go away, vampire. You're not getting any of this." I jokingly point to my chest. "And how do I smell different from any other human?"

He laughs. "Okay, fine. You just smell like a good, normal human. But that's what's up. They all want in your pants. Guys, girls, nonbinary folx. Humans. Monsters. I think it's your face. And that hair."

"Whatever," I repeat, although I'm excited for what the school year will bring. Maybe I'll find the girl of my dreams. Or at least get laid.

And I'm already getting my biggest wish—to belong. Back home, I was too much for some people and not enough for others. At a new school on a very diverse team with all kinds of monsters as well as other humans, where everyone brings something unique to the group, I'm feeling accepted. Finally.

Clay stops short as a spider scurries past us on the ground. With lightning-fast speed, he scoops it up and keeps it cupped in his hand. "Here's your black animal."

"Thanks! Come with me to the student store?"

We smile and coo at the little spider as we head in to buy microscope slides … and maybe get a container for the n?nokk's new pet.