A few hours later the sun was blaring through the multi-storey windows of Arran's bedroom far more brightly than it had any right to on a late September morning in Lancashire. The offensive sunshine touched on all of the chaos that had built up on the floor as a result of too many summer nights spent wasted and too few sober mornings spent cleaning.

With Cynthia's blood still fresh in his system, his senses were supernaturally heightened making the light burn the back of his eyes and the edges of all the mess jump out in offensive clarity as he stood above it on the mezzanine level of his bedroom.

The blinds actually did a very good job of blocking out the light on the rare occasion that the northern skies weren't overcast. It's a pity, then that Arran hadn't thought to close the blinds when he got home late the night before. He tried in vain to spot the small remote that controlled them amongst the piles of clothes on the floor below but was met instead with a bout of vertigo.

Abandoning all hope of finding the remote for the blinds, or possibly ever seeing it again, he made his way down the stairs to get ready.

His school uniform wasn't hard to find, it was one of the only things left hanging up in his wardrobe and not on the floor somewhere. He pulled it on and attempted to do something about his hair which was short at the sides, but when it was wet the top uncurled and strands wrapped around his head and stuck out at odd angles.

Drying his hair only went so far to improving how he looked. His dark brown eyes were bleary and bloodshot and his skin was pale and blotchy.

Giving up on his appearance, he pushed back into his room, kicking a pile of clothes off of his sofa. He sat in the space that he had created and stared at the glorious day outside, defiantly ignoring the throbbing in his eyes and head that had somehow ebbed its way into his teeth. If he could make it through the train ride to school, he could make it through to lunch and by lunch, the hangover had to be over.

The train was going to be a problem though, thirty minutes in an enclosed space filled with humans. It looked hot outside so all the windows would be open, the ventilation would help, provided no one came too close, but it was the first day back, any other students on the train would want to catch up, talk about the summer.

But that was a problem for later, first he had to survive the bollocking that he was due from his mother.

Celyn Redfern's history was the stuff of legends. She had started and ended supernatural wars and now served as the leader for her small sub-species of vampire. Quite often, especially in times of unrest, she would disappear in the night and not come home for days, leaving Arran either with one of his many half-siblings or her brother-in-law Lex.

Arran hoped that today was one such day. If Lex was here he'd encourage Arran to stay off school and probably refrain from telling Celyn that Arran had been out all night. Lex saw Arran as an unfortunate distraction from Celyn's work and had happily lied to her that Arran was doing fine all Summer.

Eventually, Arran got up, he looked through the open door of the bathroom and checked the mirror again, lying down with damp hair hadn't helped his appearance much. He scowled and forced himself through the inner door into the rest of the house.

The hallway was lined with family photos; an eerie mix of his three oldest siblings not ageing next to their ever-youthful mother while he grew up. The oldest photograph was of all the children and their mother just after Arran had been born nearly eighteen years ago and as Arran turned the corner into the main living space he was met by the same woman in that photo, completely unchanged by almost two decades.

Celyn was known to have been one of the greatest minds of the 19th century had once been the most powerful weapons designer in the supernatural world; she created chemicals that targeted vampire flesh and guns that when fired could keep a werewolf bipedal forever. She was known by everyone and feared by most. Arran watched as she frowned, trying to unstick some egg from a frying pan. As he sat down, grateful to put the breakfast bar in between the two of them, she glanced at him but didn't speak. She put a plate of omelettes down in front of him, his stomach turned but he couldn't tell if he felt sick because of the alcohol or out of trepidation.

"Morning," he tried, what really came out was a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Morning."

"You look like shit," she said, she didn't sound angry, but she looked it. "What time did you get in?"

Arran briefly considered trying his luck with looking into his mother's mind to ascertain if she had actually been home before him, or if she was guessing he'd been out late from his appearance. He quickly dismissed the idea, even at the best of times her thoughts made him dizzy. Celyn's mind moved quicker than anyone else he had ever seen. She often had some complicated chemical equation running in the back of her mind, or else an extensive proposal for the council. Even if he could concentrate on her main train of thought there was no guarantee it would be in a language that he knew. It was probably safer to tell the truth.

"Just before five," he admitted. Then, in the interest of getting it all over with, he added: "I've been drinking in the city a fair bit this last month."

"What exactly did you think would happen when I came back?" she asked.

To be fair, he thought, this was the third time that you said you were definitely coming home.

"I've been through your bank statement," she continued before he could answer her. "Suffice to say your allowance has been stopped. My wealth is hard-earned, I'm not having you waste it on hotel rooms and booze. If you want to do that you can use your own savings."

Arran nodded silently, not telling her that he had already burned through a lot of his savings.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I've just been trying to distract myself since Cree left. I know it's not healthy, it just hurts."

The muscles around Celyn's mouth softened slightly and she sighed.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around much, Arran, I really am but-"

"No it's fine!" he interrupted. "I've just been on a bit of a rebound, it's not 'abandon critical votes' serious. I'm okay."

"Are you?"

He clearly wasn't convincing her at all. He tried his luck at changing the topic.

"How was your summer of executive votes anyway? Are we putting the whole coming out to humans thing to another referendum or can you not tell me until the official announcement?"

"The official announcement that came out yesterday?" she asked, her eyebrows raised in disbelief that he would have missed such important news. "The referendum has been benched, for now."

"It's not like anyone would vote for it anyway," he replied, tying to show that he had been paying attention at some point. "It would cause chaos and panic."

"There are always people who stand to gain a lot from chaos and panic, Arran."

She must have meant the witch dominated council but Arran couldn't understand why. As far as he could see it would be just as calamitous for the human world to be exposed to witches as werewolves and vampires.

"Anyway," she continued, "what have you been doing all summer if not keeping up with current events. How's your UCAS application coming along?"

He hadn't started it. He had sort of decided on studying English at University if only to stave off thinking about his future for another few years but he hadn't a clue where he wanted to go. In reality, a degree probably wouldn't help him in his world, his greatest qualification would always be his last name.

Like the rest of his family, his vampiric genome was different, a little closer to human. It meant that he had to eat and sleep to supplement the energy that he got from human blood but theoretically it also meant that he had more innate abilities. He could read minds, but his grip on it was erratic unless he had recently drunken fresh blood. If he concentrated, he could catch the gist of what someone was thinking, but rarely the full thought, and it was so hard it wasn't usually worth it. Now and then, someone else's thoughts would crash into his head, uninvited and tricky to block out.

He could also erase recent memories through touch and sometimes, only a handful of times in the past, he could see the future. Every time had been a living hell. On top of that, he had never seen anything remotely useful.

All in all, his supernatural CV was sorely lacking. Unlike his super-powerful half-siblings, who could bend wills, change perceptions and peer into the future whenever they liked.

His other sister, his father's daughter, worked for the council in their headquarters in Italy. With no discernible talents that was likely where he was headed, and a few years of buffer before then sounded wonderful.

"I haven't put much thought into my application," he admitted.

"Right. Well if you expect me to put you through University you are going to have to put the effort in. You need to do something with your life and if you can't show me that you are willing to commit to your studies then you'll have to figure it out on your own."

This seemed drastic to Arran. Given the way that student loans worked he would receive next to nothing from the government and he would in no way be able to afford to go under his own steam.

"I put time into my school work, there's nothing wrong with my grades!"

"They don't reflect your abilities."

"Well then I'll just use my abilities to read the minds of others during the tests and ace them, shall I?"

"By all means, if you want to work on developing your supernatural talents go for it. I don't care what you do with your life, as long as you actually do something and don't just get drunk and sleep around," she said. "You could visit Celeste and maybe she could teach you more about your visions, or your father might be able to help you focus your telepathy-"

"No thank you," interrupted Arran, who had no desire to spend any time with the man who had abandoned Celyn while pregnant. "I'll put more effort in at school, I promise. It's not like you're really giving me a choice."

"I'm not trying to be cruel," she said as she reached across the bar and squeezed his shoulder. "But you can't live your life drifting aimlessly. I know that you're in pain but you can't let that take over. And please don't think me uncompassionate but by the time that I was your age I had been made both a mother and a murderer. Your life could be a lot worse."

"I know that," he said. As punishments go it could have been a lot harsher. "And speaking of school I'm going to have to run if I want to catch my train."

"Finish your breakfast, I'll drive you in," she replied. "I can pick you up too, I'm going to make an effort to be around the house more if you need me."

"Thanks mum."

---

By the time that they arrived at the school, Arran's headache had receded but was still lingering and he had his nausea under control. It wasn't the ideal state for school, especially since he needed to do well, but the first week back was never that vital.

He was surrounded by humans and he could hear the thrum of a hundred syncopated heartbeats. His head swam, a pint of fresh blood would be the ultimate hangover cure. He took a deep breath and dug his nails into his palm, focussing on the slight pain, the sound of blood subsided as he rebalanced his senses. He may have felt better but it still wasn't going to be an easy day. He took another deep breath and walked towards his form room.

He arrived at an empty room, he'd beat the train in and anyone else this early was likely in the common room. The tables had been arranged into a large horseshoe. Arran groaned internally and sat in the corner, as far from the teacher's desk as he could get and lay his head down on the desk. The plastic surface was cool and soothing, he savoured the sensation, imagining the blood in the capillaries in his face getting slightly colder and going back towards his heart, taking his internal temperature down infinitesimally with each beat. His peace was broken as people started filing in, among them, though he didn't stand out much, was the man that Arran presumed was the new form tutor, Mr Arkwright. He couldn't have been more than five years older than the class.

"Come in, come in. Sit wherever you like, I don't do seating plans!" Arkwright was beaming, clearly excited for the first day.

Arran sat back upright, watching the crowd of classmates that he hardly knew. Thankfully, heading toward him, Arran spotted James Chopra-Braithwaite, an awkwardly tall lad who was prone to getting detention for disruptive behaviour. He was nice, though, and since most of his friends from his many extracurricular sports teams did not share any classes with him he had sat with Arran during English and Italian last year. With a bit of luck, this would continue.

"Redfern," James greeted him, folding his long body into the plastic chair next to Arran's.

"Braithwaite," Arran nodded in return. "Good summer?"

"Dismal, you?"

"Yeah, pretty awful."

Neither boy pushed the other for more details, they were not that close. Before Arran could ask James which classes he had this year, someone else arrived in their corner.

"Mind if I sit with you guys?" asked Naomi Fall, already putting her bag on the desk of the empty seat next to Arran.

Arran knew who she was, but only vaguely. She was one of the numerous students at the school that took themselves far too seriously, nothing but the best grades and most prestigious university offers would do for her. She kept herself to herself and blended into the background somewhat but had always seemed nice enough. Over the break she had had long extensions put in and despite himself, Arran found himself thinking that the change suited her. But perhaps he had simply never noticed that she was actually quite pretty because he had had only eyes for Cree.

"Sure," said James with a shrug.

"You've picked the best spot," she explained as she started pulling her things out of her bag and sitting down. "I read this study that found most teachers focus much heavier on the side of the room to their right, so sitting in the corner to his left was a smart move."

"Nice!" James said.

Arran shook his head. "But what are the chances that he's read the exact same study and is now going to overcompensate?"

"I hadn't thought of that, he does look like the type to have read anything and everything on teaching," she sighed. "Oh well, too late now."

"I can just tell he's going to be a nightmare, look at him." James nodded in the direction of Arkwright, who was already chatting excitably to a group of girls the other side of the room. "And what's with this set up? Classrooms have functioned for hundreds of years with everyone facing the front, swots up top, twats in the back, it's time honoured."

Arran laughed and said, "at least it's only registration and pastoral."

Naomi nodded, standing up her tablet computer and bringing up her timetable. "Who have you got for English this year?"

"Elder, sixth period," Arran replied.

"Same," Naomi smiled. "James?"

James took out his phone to check his own timetable and grimaced. "Fifth with Arkwright."

"Unlucky," Naomi laughed.

"Cheer up Braithewaite, you know what amazing new teaching methods he's learnt, you're lucky, really, to get this guy, look at him, fresh out of University. He's going to reinvent teaching," said Arran while James scowled.

"I bet he does Romeo and Juliet as his classic text," Naomi beamed, enjoying herself.

"Shut up," James didn't even look at her, fuming.

"I'm so jealous, Elder doesn't even do Shakespeare, James." Arran caught Naomi's eye and they both laughed.

James let out a long groan. "It's fifth period as well, I'm going to be stuck in here all day."

"What?" Asked Arran.

"It's the first day, first four periods are pastoral," Naomi explained, pointing at a note at the bottom of her timetable screen. It was Arran's turn to scowl. "What were you meant to have?"

"Double Italian, double free. I was just going to sleep until lunch." There goes that plan.

"How were you planning to sleep through double Italian?" Naomi asked.

"Abiatti adores him," supplied James, before Arran could reply. "They just chat away in Italian and she lets him get away with anything."

"Are you fluent?" She sounded impressed.

"Practicamente." He winked at her.

"Then isn't doing it at school a bit of a cop-out?" On second thought, she didn't seem impressed at all.

"That was kind of the plan."

Arkwright tried to call the room to attention, James, Naomi and Arran looked up, but most of the room kept talking, buzzing with stories of summer. The teacher, unsure of what to do, hovered at the front of the classroom and opted to sit down at his desk to mask the attempt.

"That's nice," said James, pointing at Naomi's tablet.

"Thanks, it's a present, it was my birthday last week." She stroked the top of the tablet.

"Sucks to be one of the oldest, doesn't it?" Arran asked, his own birthday was just a few weeks away.

"Yeah, if I were born two hours earlier, I'd be starting University right now."

"That's terrifying," James said.

Arkwright stood up and asked for attention with a little more volume this time and the class fell silent. He introduced his revolutionary start-of-year icebreaker task that involved each of them getting to know the student next to them and then at the end of the hour presenting what they had learnt.

The noise levels rose again in the classroom as the students continued their conversations while making varying degrees of attempts to look like they were working. James had turned away to work with the boy the other side of him, misinterpreting Arran's attempt to catch his eye and responding with a wink that said: "get in there".

Arran sighed to himself, that was definitely the last thing on his mind. He had spent the entire summer chasing girls but, with the exception of his unexpected friendship with Cynthia, they had been in a certain way disposable. Mutually beneficial in terms of both pleasure and lack of commitment. Flirting with a girl from school was a very different dynamic and in no way going to happen.