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Chapter Text

Veronica saunters into the 7/11, trailing her hand over rows of puffed cellophane bags and snagging a bag of corn nuts without pausing. In less than thirty minutes, she’ll be entering her first Remington party. Her first foray into the world of sticky frat floors and thirty-racks. It’s an honor to be invited, means she’s finally been deemed cool enough by the Queen of Westerburg, but still. She’d rather be hunting with Mac and Duke.

She pauses in front of the slurpee station and frowns, picturing it: Duke’s red hair flashing behind her as she pounces on a vamp, MacNamara’s yellow skirt swinging as she drives the stake home. The denouement of the monster crumbling into a little pile of ash. Now that would get the blood pumping.

She’s gotten a little addicted to vampire slaying, she can admit that. She’s come a long way from her first kill, when she’d been trembling and nauseous. That had been at the start of the school year, when she’d showed up in class finally pretty and with practiced, disdainful confidence. Heather Chandler had plucked her out of the noise and confusion of the Westerburg cafeteria, and after giving her outfit a long, critical look, had invited her to a Heather-hang out in the graveyard.

She’d thought it a tad ghoulish of a location, but who had she been to criticize the goddess herself? Veronica was lucky to even get breathed on by Heather C. So she showed up and walked along with them, trailing slightly behind as they chatted and laughed at a volume obscene for the setting. A few minutes in she’d stopped to read a gravestone, and when she looked back up the three girls had vanished, leaving her alone in the darkness.

“Heather?” She’d ventured into the chilly air. Turning around in circles, she looked desperately for a flash of color. “This some kind of prank?”

“Those girls always were bitches,” a voice had sighed from behind her. 

Spinning around, she saw Rod Castleback strolling casually along the grounds, his hands tucked into his letter jacket pockets and his whole front smeared with dirt.

“Rod?” She’d said in disbelief.

“In the flesh.” He replied with a wink. “Abandoned by your friends in the graveyard?” He was coming close now, close enough for her to see the strange cast in his eyes and the way he passed his tongue along his teeth. In another moment he was right in front of her.

She took a deep breath through her nose, and suddenly her brain went cloudy. He smelled… Really good. Like Old Spice and pheromones and a crackling campfire all rolled into one.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Much too spooky for a pretty girl like you. But I’ll help you out.” He tilted his head. “I think I’ve seen you around school before.”

Veronica had never thought Rod attractive before, but suddenly his mere presence was making her knees weak and her head swim with desire. “I just… I just…” she sputtered.

He tilted her chin up with a single cold finger. “What’s the matter, babe?”

Her self preservation instinct started shrieking through the fog of attraction.This didn’t make sense. None of it did. She shook her head, trying to find a scrap of sanity, and laughed at the utter absurdity of it all. “Pretty sure you died last Friday, babe.”

His eyes changed then, from honeyed to vicious, but at that second Heather Chandler popped out from behind a tree in a flash of lipstick red. 

“Hey, Veronica!” She’d called with a devilish smile. “Catch!”

Veronica barely managed to snag the pointed wooden stake as it flew through the air. “What the fuck?”

Heather shrugged and leaned back against the tree. “Aim for the heart!” She shouted, and settled in to watch.

Rod had sighed. “It’s a shame. I really wanted to take my time.” Then fangs- fangs!- sprouted from what been perfectly normal canines.

Veronica considered her options for a split second, and ran. Fuck this. She was going to sprint until her lungs burned and her feet blistered and she woke up from this god-awful dream, until she was safe in her bed and in a reality where monsters didn’t exist, thank you very much-

Rod caught her around the waist and they both went down, sprawling on the damp grass. He flipped her over easily. His eyes were excited, almost sparkling. “Just gonna love me and leave me, babe? Not so fast.”

He opened his mouth wide, fangs gleaming in the moonlight, and he would have had them in her neck a second later if Veronica hadn’t shoved the stake into his heart with all her might. 

“Here’s a little something to distract from the blue balls.” She spat at him. Rod frowned as his body suddenly went completely gray.

“Shit,” he said right before he crumbled into dust.

Veronica blinked to find that her stake was piercing into thin air. A slow clapping noise started, getting closer and closer as Heather C. approached.

She bent down and hauled Veronica to her feet with surprising strength. “Well done, Veronica Sawyer! Somebody just earned her blazer.”

“Heather, what in the actual fuck? You just left me to fend for myself against-”

Heather had placed a manicured finger over Veronica’s lips. “Don’t ruin it.” She’d said softly, with a little smile. “You just proved you can fly with the eagles. Don’t fly too close to the sun the second you get off the ground.”

The other Heathers bounced up to them. Heather M gave Veronica a friendly push on the shoulder. “Great stab, V! You’re a natural.”

“Nice kill quip for your first time,” Duke said softly. “That’s really important.”

“Look,” Heather C. commanded, holding Veronica’s gaze. “I know you’re all wigged out or whatever right now, but cheer up. I promise, you’re gonna love it.”

And she’d been right. Hunting had proved to be the most fun a girl could have without taking her clothes off. And once you got used to the whole vampire pheromone thing, getting a little revved up while fighting was extremely very. On the few occasions she killed a vamp when the Heathers were out of sight, she’d lean back against the nearest horizontal surface and shove her hand down her skirt, working herself to relief.

Standing in front of the slurpee machine, Veronica wishes more than ever that she was hunting tonight. It’s fucked up, but vamps get her wetter than any Remington idiot ever could.

“Gonna pull a big gulp with that?” A voice says from the side. 

She turns her head sharply to see a boy smirking at her. An interesting boy. He’s the antithesis of Westerburg jockhood, with his black trench coat draped over a wiry frame, longish dark hair framing a pair of green eyes and the flash of a single earring. 

It’s weird that she’s getting chatted up by a stranger, especially at night in a 7-11. It’s creepy and rude of him, frankly. But he’s cute, and fuck it. She might as well make him pay for his rudeness. 

She smirks back. “No, but if you behave then you can buy me a slurpee.”

His eyes flash as he receives the volley. “For that, I’ll do my best to toe the line.” He comes up beside her to grab a cup, closer than strictly necessary. “Cherry or coke?”

“Cherry,” she says, and looks at him closely as he fills the cup. He isn’t granite handsome like Ram Sweeney or Kurt Kelly. His cheekbones are almost femininely high, his eyebrows arched in permanent sardonicity. He’s… Kind of beautiful. She would never forget a face like that, even if she’d only seen him in passing before.

“I take it you’re not a fellow Razorback.” She says. He shifts and she catches the scent of him, earthy and sharp. 

Her senses have gotten heightened since she became a slayer, like the world tuned up to Technicolor. Heather Chandler said it would happen. That it was some sort of cosmic help with the fight against darkness. It’s what’s made her stronger and more agile than any other girl her age, too. The more vampires you kill, the better you get. 

“Nope, I finished my sentence early. Got my GED right before my dad moved us here.” He hands the cup over with a funny little gesture. “Just as the lady ordered.”

She pretends to sniff the cup. “Excellent bouquet.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Our finest vintage. Notes of synthetic cherry and diabetes.” 

She laughs, won over. Cute and has two brain cells to rub together. “Can I know the name of my sommelier?” 

They start walking towards the cash register, and he pulls out cash from his back pocket. “Jason Dean. People I don’t hate call me J.D.”

“I’m Veronica to all and sundry.” She hangs back while he pays, considering him as she makes quick work of the slurpee. He’s an odd individual, no doubt. It’s not just the trench coat or the GED- something in his eyes is a little more alive than most people’s, more calculating and reactive. He’s puzzling her out just the same way she’s doing to him, she can tell. And there’s something more about him, something that does feel familiar but she can’t quite place-

He smiles as he turns back around from the register, and maybe it clicks. His teeth are awfully sharp, for a human. His skin is just a little too pale. And maybe those eyes aren’t unusually alive- maybe they’re undead.

“You know, I’ve moved around the country all my life,” he says conversationally, “but 7/11s are the same everywhere. It’s the best thing about them.”

“Yeah?” She says, buying time to think as they walk out the door. Was Heather right, does she need a break from hunting? Is she just seeing vampires everywhere now? A 7/11 sure is a weird place to spot one.

If he is a vamp, he’s going to try to get her alone. That’s what they always do. He’ll steer the conversation towards anything that will get her in a dark alley and then he’ll make his move. 

He heads towards what must be his motorcycle and sits down in a lithe, smooth motion. “Yeah. It’s comforting knowing that in any town, at any time, I can walk down those aisles and see a Big Wheel staring back at me. Keeps me sane.” 

What he doesn’t know- if he’s a vamp- is that she’ll be ready for him. Even better, she has backup. She chews on the straw as excitement starts to filter through her veins. A hunt after all. “Great bike.”

“Just a humble perk from my dad’s construction company.” He pauses. He looks especially pretty in the half-light, shadows carving him into a dark angel.

This is it. This is the moment he suggests she hop on the back so he can get her alone. It really is a shame to kill such a hot guy. Why couldn’t it be one of the stupid Remington frat brothers that turned out to be a vamp?

“You’ve seen the commercial, right? ‘Bringing every state to a higher state?’” He makes quotation marks with his fingers.

It’s a lot more backstory than vamps usually give. Then again, maybe he just likes to play with his food. “Your dad is Bud Dean? Like Bud Dean construction? Must be rough always moving from place to place.”

He shrugs. “Everyone’s life has got static. Is your life perfect?”

As if on cue, Heather Number One honks the horn in impatience.

Veronica laughs. “No. For one, I don’t really like my friends.” She’s giving him an opening. She can almost hear his response, how he’ll say something like ‘what about ditching them and hanging out with me tonight?’

“For two?” He says instead.

“What?” 

His sly little grin does something to her insides. “You said for one. So what’s the two?”

She gives him a grim smile. “For two, I’ve got a lot of extracurriculars. Really sucks up time in the day.” 

She’s starting to get a little irritated. What is she, day old pate? Why isn’t he trying to get his fangs in her neck? Even if he’s human, the lack of carnal interest is a little insulting. 

“Extracurriculars.” He looks like he’s enjoying a private joke. “Trying to get the ideal college app, I see.”

She has to laugh. “I wish. I… I have a job. It pays like crap and it’s weird hours. But I still love it.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What’s your official title?”

Heather honks the horn again. Veronica’s out of time and he’s not taking the bait. She sighs and gives him her best smirk. “Got to keep a little mystery. How else am I going to get a second slurpee out of you?”

He smiles in a way that’s almost, almost predatory. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Definitely,” she promises, and tosses one last smirk over her shoulder on her way to the car. He raises a hand to wave.

She kind of digs the way he looks at her. It’s not how Westerburg boys and vamps alike look at her, like she’s a piece of meat in a skirt. More like she’s an engaging puzzle, which is exactly what she’d want to be. It makes her feel sexy and powerful. Just powerful enough to do something a little stupid.

A few steps before she gets into the car and back to being Chandler’s lapdog, she bites her lip and spins around.

He’s still looking at her. “Forget something?” He calls.

She cups her hands around her mouth. “Just this: Pick me up on the corner of Franklin and Thurgood at seven tomorrow night.” Then she giggles and dives into the car.

For some reason she doesn’t tell Heather about the maybe-vamp. It could be because she can’t get a word in edgewise over Heather bitching her out about how they're going to be late. Maybe it’s because Heather always has the highest kill count and Veronica would love to out-dust her once in a while. 

It definitely has nothing to do with the flush in her cheeks or the urge to rub her thighs together. Definitely not.

Chapter Text

Dear Diary, I want to kill and… The ink runs out.

“Damn pen!” Veronica growls, throwing the offending pen across the room and grabbing another. Damn indeed.

She just doesn’t understand how Heather Chandler can have a kill count in the triple digits and yet still care so much about being popular. She understands even less how Heather C. can make her care about it too. The party had been stupid, the boys had been spectacularly moronic, and yet Veronica knows she’s going to kiss Heather’s slayer-cized ass come Monday morning. She feels trapped. She needs a kill.

She’s eyeing the window, wondering if it’s pushing her luck to sneak out twice in one night, when who of all people but Jason Dean sticks his dark head through the frame.

She jumps, and then smiles questioningly. She wonders if he can hear the way her pulse just doubled.

He shakes his head. “Dreadful etiquette, I apologize.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t have given you the cross streets right by my house,” she says evenly. She conceals the tension in her legs, the way she’s ready to spring up the second he asks permission to come in. 

Instead he gestures back out towards the yard. “I saw the croquet set-up in the back. Up for a match?”

She considers for a moment, and then nods. She might need a kill. But strip croquet will do in a pinch.

***

She stops worrying about his possible vamp-hood when his shirt comes off and reveals the wiry muscles that flex under his pale skin. She wouldn’t admit it to herself, but she stops caring entirely once her own shirt comes off and he actually licks his lips. So when they’re both down to their underwear and she sidles up to him to put her hands on his chest, she doesn’t pull away at the cool sensation of his skin. 

“God, you’re freezing,” she remarks. Wondering what excuse he’s going to come up with.

He just shrugs. “I always run a bit cold.” He threads his fingers through her hair, light as a whisper. 

It’s about as honest as he could get if he is a vamp. Fair enough. She’s made a lot of bad decisions tonight, and this might be the worst one, but he hasn’t tried to fang her despite myriad opportunities, and her stake is in her robe pocket just a few feet away on the ground, so fuck it. She’s always wondered if vampires could get erections.

She pushes his shoulders down, making him sit on the grass so that she can lower herself to straddle him. “Let’s warm you up.”

***

“Sounds like a rough night.” J.D. says. “You were understating how much your friends suck.”

Veronica shifts her head against his shoulder. “It’ll be worse on Monday. Then she’ll have the whole school to back her up.”

Their strategy was actually pretty successful. He feels almost warm at her side, laying on the grass together as her pulse slows. She tries to move her head so that her ear is against his chest, but at that same moment he shifts down a little so that she stays on his shoulder. He’s clever. He probably doesn’t know that she suspects him, but he’s not dropping any easy clues either.

 “That was my… first game of strip croquet. I thank you.” His thumb traces circles on her arm.

She laughs. “You’re welcome. It’s a lot more interesting than just flinging your clothes off and boning away on the neighbor’s swing set.”

He shrugs underneath her. “I don’t know, maybe there’s something- Ow!”

She stops biting his collarbone and giggles, waiting, but he doesn’t move. “What, no love bite for me?”

He kisses her instead, long and slow. It’s kind of troubling how tender it is. She lets her head tip back, wondering if she’s really an idiot and he’s just human with circulatory issues after all.

Then he says, “Heather Chandler is one bitch who deserves to die,” and she’s back to being pretty sure he’s a vampire.

Veronica thinks of how easily it could happen, if a vamp happened to knock the stake out of Heather’s hands and get their fangs in her neck. One good bite and it would be over. And really, when all is said and done, wouldn’t Heather deserve it? She manages to be so cruel to the living that all her slaying of the undead probably still doesn’t tip the scales.

But she shakes her head. “Killing her wouldn’t solve anything.”

He shrugs again. “I’m just saying. Sometimes the population needs a little rebalancing.”

Doesn’t she know it. “It would be so easy. She’s overconfident.” Veronica says without thinking.

He looks at her with raised eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

She tries to laugh it off. “Oh, you know. She’s got the same job as me, and honestly her technique is a bit sloppy. She really ought to be more careful.” It’s true. Heather is always turning her back too soon or letting go of her stake, relying on the other Heathers to shout a warning or throw her theirs. 

“More and more intriguing. What job is this?”

“You still haven’t bought me that second slurpee.” She reminds him with a tap on his nose. “Come on, let’s forget about her and live in the moment. We can’t be young forever, can we?”

Once again, he sidesteps the bait. “Great point,” he murmurs, and pulls her in for another kiss.

***

Saturday is when the whole team always plays together. Veronica doesn’t dare to show for the usual pregame at Mac’s, or the kegger at Ram’s they planned to tide them over through the late evening. But when midnight strikes, she’s waiting at the cemetery, stake clutched tight in her fist. 

“Well, well,” a satisfied voice says behind her.

Veronica wheels around as Heather Chandler snaps her gum, smiling sarcastically with her arms crossed. Heather is a lone flash of red in the midnight darkness, unflanked by the usual green and yellow.

“Looks like you had the balls to show after all,” Heather says, looking Veronica up and down like she’s already wearing last year’s fashions. 

Veronica takes the plunge. “Listen Heather, I think we both said a lot of things we didn’t mean last night.” 

Heather just laughs. “God, I should have told Heather and Heather to come after all. I thought they might take pity on you, but you’re just pathetic enough to be funny.”

Veronica’s hand tightens around the stake. “I’m sorry I puked on you.”

Heather makes a show of surprise and disappointment. “Is that all you really think this is about?” She starts to prowl forward, towards Veronica. “You think after years of staking vamps, getting down in the dirt and blood, that a little puke is just too much for me to handle?”

Heather comes to a stop in front of Veronica. She raises up the stake, tapping the point into Veronica’s chest with just enough pressure to hurt. “See, Veronica, I picked you out of the masses because you were smart. Smart enough to know that you were better than everyone else.” 

Heather looks down at the stake point and gives a tiny, fond smile. “You had this wonderful disdain. And I thought, ‘she might be fun.’ After all, Heather and Heather are a bit of an intellectual desert.”

Veronica holds her breath. The stake point is tearing through her shirt, into her skin.

Heather looks back up and her eyes are pure ice. “But then you started thinking you were better than me. A mistake, I can assure you.”

“I don’t think-” Veronica begins, and then Heather’s leg sweeps her own and she’s on her back in the mud.

The cold peal of Heather’s giggle rings out in the night. “I’ll see you Monday, Veronica. I wouldn’t recommend hunting again- it’s not safe by yourself.”

Veronica waits until Heather’s steps have faded out of earshot, and then gets up. She’s never been more furious in her entire life.

***

It was considerate of J.D. to tell her where he lives, and even more so to have a first floor bedroom. Sure, she can climb as well as he can, but she’s damp, tired, and her shoes are still slick with mud. So she appreciates the convenience.

She throws up the window sash to catch J.D. lying on his bed with his walkman. He immediately sits up, only the briefest shock crossing his face before that sexy smile returns. “Miss Sawyer.”

She casts an appraising look around his room. It’s a bare room, dimly lit with a single lamp and with moving boxes stacked in a corner. The only decoration is a Nine Inch Nails poster up over his headboard. He’s got the same gray plaid bedspread as any normal boy in America. “Nice digs.”

He shrugs and walks over to her, helping her over the window frame. “You’re visiting in the sweet spot when nothing is actually unpacked. Come back in two days and there’ll be clothes on the floor, my sax in the corner, and you’ll realize I’m a slob.”

“You have a saxophone?” She says, ready to tease, but at that moment he catches sight of the mud on her hands.

“Jesus, Veronica, you’re looking mangled.” He says as his eyes flick up and down, taking in the damage.

She snorts and crosses her arms. “Thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

His eyes linger over the hole in her sweater. Maybe he can scent the drop of blood that’s drying on her chest. Either way, his eyes narrow and he grabs her arm, pulling her closer. “Who did this to you?”

She doesn’t shrug him off. His grip should feel possessive, and it does, but it’s somehow nice. Warmth curls in her chest. “Her Royal Bitchness, who else?”

He shakes his head. “Another day, another social crime she’ll never pay for.”

Veronica laughs harshly. “Oh yeah, she’ll regret this someday when she’s all burnt out from being married to a fabulously wealthy lawyer and living in too much luxury.”

He relaxes his grip on her and smirks. “Shame there’s no vaccine for affluenza.” His eyes flick up and down her front. “Where did all this mud come from, anyways?”

“The cemetery. That’s where I left her.” 

J.D.’s eyes narrow. “Dangerous place for a girl to be after midnight.”

“Yeah.” Veronica waits a moment. Then guilt creeps in and she looks down at the ground. “She’s probably home by now.” Untrue. Heather usually stays out until 3am on Saturdays. 

“Yeah,” he says casually. “I’m sure.” His eyes gleam. “You’re all damp. Want to change into something dry?”

Veronica smiles as she nods, and he steps closer into her space.

“Your hands must be freezing. Let me help,” he says, and then his hands drift onto her hips, dragging her shirt up inch by inch. She raises her arms up so that he can slide her shirt off, but he stops at her wrists, twisting the cotton fabric so that her hands are lightly bound. 

Again, she feels powerful as his gaze travels up and down her body, eyes lit with desire. He leans his head down and kisses the tops of her breasts, moving upwards to linger on her neck. He doesn’t seem to notice the tiny spot of blood on her chest.

She really, really shouldn’t be so turned on by having his teeth so close to her jugular, but it is what it is. She sighs when he actually scrapes a bite over the delicate skin. 

“You like that?” He whispers into her ear.

“Mm, I’d like it better if I could kiss you,” she says, only half lying, and he pulls her shirt off entirely so that her hands are free. She returns the favor by sliding his black band t-shirt over his head, and then finally his lips are on hers, and his hands are running all over her skin, and before she knows it her bra is on the floor and he’s walking them backwards towards his bed.

He pushes her down and lowers himself so that he’s settled in between her legs. Veronica halfheartedly tries to flip them over, but he easily resists and pins her wrists next to her head.

“You got to drive last time,” he says while shaking his head. “My turn to be in charge.”

“I suppose this is what they mean by equal opportunity,” Veronica drawls, but underneath the cool retort her blood is racing. She almost wants to try to flip them again, with real effort this time, just to see if he could keep her pinned. The thought of being genuinely helpless is enough to make her instinctively tilt her hips up towards his. 

He exhales as she grinds against him, his eyes darkening. “Christ, Veronica,” he mutters, and kisses her until she’s panting and writhing, wanting so much more. 

“Come on, J.D., please,” she whispers against his lips, and she feels him smile against hers. 

He lets go of her wrists and pushes himself up. Soon his belt buckle is clinking and then there’s the rustling sound of his jeans piling on the floor. 

Veronica sits up to wrestle off her skirt and tights, and she gets them both halfway down her thighs before J.D. pushes her back down.

“What was I just saying?” He says in mock disappointment. He takes over what she started, moving the plaid skirt and blue tights at a glacial pace. Every inch seems to take several seconds.

She knows she must look flushed and desperate. She doesn’t care. “You’re such a goddamn tease,” she snaps, and he just laughs. 

“Maybe so.” He finally drags the tights off her feet and throws them on the floor along with her skirt. Then he crawls in between her legs, pulling her thighs over his shoulders.

Oh. This is new. Veronica is suddenly very happy she showered earlier. 

Slowly, he drags her panties over to one side, and ghosts his hot breath over her. “Beautiful,” he says in a distracted tone, and then his mouth is on her and she’s tipping her head back on his pillow.

On and on it goes, his mouth hot and his tongue teasing her clit relentlessly, licking in strokes that send pulses of pleasure through her body until she can’t wait any longer.

“Now,” she gasps. “Fuck me now.”

He pulls back and chuckles against her thigh. “Politeness is so rare these days.”

“Please,” she spits, as insolently as she can manage, and he shrugs and moves up over her, pulling her panties off and then taking himself in hand.

“Close enough,” he says, pretending he's not desperate for it too, and then he gives her what she wants.

***

Veronica wakes to the sound of her phone ringing itself off the hook. She hauls herself to the other side of her bed and grabs for the phone, managing to snag it right before it goes to the answering machine. 

“Veronica? Veronica, are you there?” Heather Mac sounds frantic.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Funny. She’d thought Duke and Mac would never speak to her again after Chandler clued them in on her new pariah status. Maybe they’re better friends than she thought.

“Turn on the news!”

So Chandler still hasn’t told them. Irritation surges through her. Chandler is one devious bitch, and keeping Veronica waiting for the hammer to fall is horribly effective as torture method. “I’m in bed, Heather. I’m not going downstairs before 10am on a Sunday just to watch TV.”

“I guess I get it. You’re not going to believe this, but Heather Number One got it in the neck last night.”

The world drops out from beneath her. “No.”

“Way,” Mac confirms. “They found her in the cemetery this morning. Must have been one quick vamp who got her.”

Veronica’s heart starts to race. She had told J.D. that Heather was still in the graveyard. She’d only stayed with him until about two o’clock. But it has to be a coincidence. “I saw her there last night at midnight. She was fine when I left her.”

“Oh, right.” Heather Mac’s anxious voice filters through the speaker. “She told us she wanted to talk to you privately. She said she was mad at you. She didn’t really say what, just told us something happened at the Remington party.”

“Yeah, we got into an argument.” She thanks whatever resides above that Chandler was apparently saving all of the takedown for Monday.

“Well, I guess it’s whatever now. I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“I don’t know, it kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?” Veronica tries to keep her tone light. “She was getting overconfident. How many times did we have to throw her our stakes?”

There’s a beat of silence from the phone. “Yeah,” Heather Mac says. “Sometimes it kind of felt like we were her backup dancers. Remember three weeks ago? Duke almost got bit because Heather was taking her time on that one dweeby vamp.”

“Let’s be better to each other from now on.” Veronica says. “No hunting alone. We can’t lose another one of us.”

“Definitely not,” Mac agrees.

When she’s finally gotten off the phone, Veronica leans back against her pillow and tries to slow her racing thoughts. It could be possible that J.D. killed Heather. But it’s not necessarily the obvious solution, and there’s no sense in trying to confront him immediately. Better to wait. Better to watch. If it’s him, she’ll trip him up, and then he’ll be dust. 

She runs her tongue over her teeth. She’ll kill him if he’s guilty. Even if he is a really, really spectacular lay.

Chapter Text

Monday is a slow shift at the graveyard. The girls wait on some family plot, the Gordons or Grossmans or whoever they were before time and moss ate away their name. Veronica perches on a patriarch’s headstone while Duke walks in circles and Mac sits cross-legged on the ground, pulling up grass. 

Duke pulls a granola bar out of her pocket and tears the wrapper, eating half of it in one bite.

Veronica makes a sound of disbelief. “Careful there. You might actually be digesting food.”

Duke flicks a look at her, then smiles at the remaining half of the bar. “Fuck it,” she says around her mouthful of granola, and then swallows.

Veronica smiles. Good for Heather. She’s always been so quiet and repressed, hiding her face behind her long red hair. Veronica always knew there was more to her than Chandler’s sycophant. 

“God, I’m bored,” Mac sighs before flopping backwards onto the grass, not even caring what the damp earth will do to her blazer. “There’s always at least one. What’s the point of being constantly sleep deprived if there’s no vamps to kill?”

“Maybe they’re taking a beat after getting Heather,” Duke says. She shoves the granola bar wrapper into her pocket. “Resting on their laurels.”

Veronica kicks her heels against the headstone. “Let’s just give it another five minutes. It’s barely midnight.”

“My mom wants me to join student government,” Mac says dreamily from the ground. “She thinks it would be good for my extracurriculars. But they meet at seven! I can’t imagine getting up half an hour earlier.”

“I can’t imagine spending a whole thirty minutes of my day on student government,” Veronica snorts. 

“Maybe you should,” Duke says sincerely. “I mean, come on. We’ve got all this extra energy from killing vamps. Maybe we should put it towards something that matters, you know?”

Before Veronica can retort, snort, or even raise her eyebrows, there’s a change in the wind. All three of them feel it at the same time. 

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” a pitchy male voice says from behind them. 

They all jump up, forming a line with their stakes at the ready. Veronica can feel excitement start to pulse between them.

A vampire is striding towards them, all wild curling hair and acne pockmarks. He looks like he barely made it to sixteen before he got it in the neck. He’s clearly hyped on his new power, smiling wide and somehow managing to exude chauvinism just from his saunter. “One at a time, please!”

“Your team is slacking,” Veronica informs him. “You’re the first one we’ve seen all night.”

The vamp shrugs. A slight look of uneasiness passes over his face before it’s painted over with fresh cockiness. Probably compensating. He looks like he was a loser in life, with his concave chest and braces. “There’s some new kahuna in town. Called dibs on the graveyard.”

“That’s annoying,” Duke says. She frowns in sincere irritation and puts her hands on her hips. “Ugh! It’s such a nice central location for us to meet.”

“Yeah, you vamps never think of anyone but yourselves,” Mac says, but she’s tossing her head and flexing her hands in a way that means her engine is revving and her mind is on slaying.

Veronica files the bit of information away. “Well, aren’t you a brave boy, coming here anyways.”

The vampire spreads his hands with oily charm. “I hear this sort of thing happens from time to time. Somebody gets too big for their britches, until they’re cut back down to size.”

“And you’ve got the scissors.” Veronica says.

The vamp mimes a cutting motion with two fingers. “Snip snip. Of course, you ladies are my first priority. I would never want to neglect those of the…” His eyes flick over their legs lecherously. “...Female persuasion.” 

“Gag me with a spoon,” Veronica says. Then tension between her and the Heathers snaps, and they spring towards Count Geekula as a pack. 

But he’s fast, just a tiny bit faster than they are. He drops down and swings a leg out, tripping Duke and almost managing to clothesline Veronica and Mac. Then he’s up, landing a punch on Veronica’s gut and dodging Mac’s stake.

Veronica is winded, but not much. He’s weak, she realizes. Not strong. Just quick. She holds a hand up to Duke, trying to communicate with her eyes not to rejoin the fight just quite yet. 

He’s a whirlwind of curly hair and acne scars, but bit by bit, Veronica and Mac manage to push him backwards. It’s intense cardio, and they’re both gasping from the effort.

“Come on, ladies,” he says, the smugness dripping from his metal smile. “You’re going to need much more stamina if you want to go steady with me.” Then his smug expression turns into abject dismay as a wooden tip sprouts from his chest.

“No thanks,” Mac says. “We’re more the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.”

The vamp disappears into dust, revealing a grinning Heather Duke holding out her stake.

“Now that was some grade-A work,” Veronica says, still catching her breath. She’s elated. 

Mac does a little dance of excitement. “That was epic! We’ve never flowed like that before. That was like- like a perfect cheer routine.”

“Maybe we didn’t need Chandler,” Duke says brassily. “Maybe we’re better off without her.”

***

Three weeks later, Veronica does have to admit that Duke was right: Life is better without Heather Chandler. For one, Duke’s lunches have stopped making reappearances. For two, Veronica herself won’t need to transfer to another high school. And for beautiful, blessed three, the remaining slayers are definitely fighting better than ever.They work as equals, helping each other without needing to pause for one of Chandler’s kill quips. Maybe this is how things should be: Just girls, killing vamps. The simple life. 

J.D. keeps sneaking up to Veronica’s window, and she keeps sneaking into his. He’d shown up a few days after Heather C.’s death, and Veronica had invited him in before he needed to ask.

She knew it was a certifiable move. But at that moment, playing clueless had seemed like the right tactic to ease his guard down. And honestly, sex on the lawn was fun one time, but she really didn’t want to make a regular thing of it. So, she’d invited him in, and he’d slipped over the window frame and into her bed.

It’s funny, though. With every day that goes by she gets less and less suspicious that he’s the one who took Chandler’s blood donation. He never makes a move for her neck. She never runs into him in the graveyard.

So she’s let things lapse into a sort of unspoken understanding: He’s stopped asking about her job. She’s stopped trying to cop a feel on his pulse. So far? It seems to be working for them. 

And now they’re in the dark of the almost empty movie theater, cuddling in the back row as Glenn Close schemes with John Malkovich on the screen.

“I just don’t buy it,” she complains when Malkovich goes crazy for Michelle Pfeiffer. She can feel J.D. raising his eyebrows. “Alright, so she’s a smokeshow,” Veronica admits. “But personality wise, she’s such a drip. I don’t like him either, but it seems against type.”

J.D. considers and lobs a piece of popcorn a few rows down. “I have to agree with you. You really have to wonder why he blew it with Merteuil.”

“Now there’s a match made in hell,” Veronica agrees. “Such a bummer that he has to go and die over Volanges, of all people.”

J.D. jogs her shoulder with his elbow. “Hello? Spoilers?”

Veronica just snorts and steals the coke from his cupholder. “Like you didn’t read the book the second I suggested this movie.” 

He just grins at her and stretches his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. She knew it. He’s a total bookworm- every time she’s snuck into his room there’s some new classic on the shelf she got him. 

It’s a big upgrade from the previous tower of paperbacks piling up on his floor. She thought about getting him an actual bookcase, but she doesn’t have a car and it’s not the kind of thing that fits through a window easily. Besides, coming into his house through the front door would mean asking questions, like where his dad is or what J.D. does during the daytime. Questions that might open doors Veronica would prefer kept closed.

She still notices all the little weird things, like how he’s had hardly any of the coke and popcorn, or how he never stays in her bed until morning. But there’s lots of normal things about him, too. For starters, Bud Dean Construction is a real company. J.D. lives in a four bedroom house with a green lawn and backyard, just like everyone else in the neighborhood. He wears normal- albeit punk- clothes for a teenage boy, and listens to music on his walkman as much as Peter or Brad do. So what if she’s never seen him in daylight?

She does think about it, sometimes, when she’s feeling a bit idiotic. What it might be like to wake up next to him instead of sneaking back home.

Anyways, the truth is that life is good right now. She and Mac and Duke are slaying like never before. She hasn’t had to go to a single Remington party, or write any more cruel notes, or do just about anything she doesn’t want to. And there’s J.D., who is starting to seem every day less like her go-to hookup and more like an actual boyfriend. 

As if on cue, he leans in and whispers into her ear. “Let me guess- you only suggested this movie because you’d already read the book, too.”

“Maybe. And maybe not.” She chooses to take a dignified sip of coke.

“You can’t pretend with me. Who do you think I stole my copy from?” He says, and then, not caring about a single thing John Malkovich has to say, starts kissing the side of her neck with cool lips.

She smiles and closes her eyes. Life is really, really good.

***

She curses when she gets out of the theater. She had thought the movie would be over by ten, but she’d forgotten about the commercials. She’s already late to meet up with Mac.

“What’s the matter?” J.D. asks. Don’t tell me you’re torn up about Valmont and Tourvel.”

“Obviously not.” She looks at him and bites her lip. “I promised Heather I’d go on a double date with her.”

His eyes narrow and something shuts down behind them. It makes his smirk seem less playfully predatory, more reptilian. Like instead of puzzling her out, he’s assessing her coldly. “Sounds fun.”

She rushes into her explanation. “It’s just these two idiots from school. Heather told them I’d be there, and now if I don’t show she’ll be all alone with them. And trust me, you wouldn’t want any woman you cared about to be alone with them.”

“They sound like real gentlemen,” he says, and pulls a cigarette out of his coat. His face relaxes slightly. 

Veronica shrugs. “They’re on the varsity football team,” she says matter-of-factly, “and in Sherwood that’s better than a Nobel.”

J.D. offers the cigarette to her and she takes a drag, tapping the toe of one leather pump against the pavement. She shakes her head as she exhales. “They’re wastes of space. But dating one of them gets you social big bucks at Westerburg, and Heather is always looking to invest.”

“We are all of us slaves to the paycheck,” he says lightly, taking the cigarette back. His gaze flickers over her, and she can tell he’s wondering about her job. But true to form, he doesn’t ask.

“Not you,” she says. “Mr. GED. You’re officially too cool for school.”

He laughs. “That’s not why I got it, but it’s a very pleasant side effect.”

Veronica hesitates for a second. “Then why?”

It sounds like a simple question, but she knows it’s not. She knows she’s breaking their little contract of never asking about anything personal. But isn’t that wall already starting to slip? There was nothing impersonal about her using her allowance to buy him a damn shelf, or him knowing her well enough to find and steal her copy of Les Liaisons Dangereuses. 

J.D. stares at her for a second before answering. “Made things convenient for me and my dad. Moving around, you know, it’s not so easy on the ol’ GPA.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Your dad was okay with that?”

J.D. looks surprised. “I don’t know that he’s ever given the matter much thought,” he admits. 

She waits for him to tear up his own half of the contract, to finally ask her what the hell she does for work or why she only ever climbs through his window after one AM. But he just smiles and hands the cigarette back to her.

“Here,” he says. “Better calm your nerves before you hang out with the all-stars.” 

***

Kurt Kelly can’t sing for shit. “When I get that feeeeeling,” he warbles, making a half-hearted, flailing attempt to chase after Veronica, “I need sexual healing.” He paws ineffectually at the fence, his feet repeatedly slipping off the lowest slat. 

“Yeah right, asshole,” Veronica mutters under her breath. He’s not even worth the effort of yelling over her shoulder. Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney are bottom feeding, troglodytic, inane pond scum of the most single-celled variety. 

At least she was spared the indignity of getting covered in mud when they tipped the cow. A microsecond before Veronica and Heather were about to get splattered, their slayer reflexes kicked in and they jumped backwards.

And now Heather’s lying in the dirt anyways, with Ram Sweeney drunkenly attempting to maul her boobs through her shirt.

Veronica had grabbed Heather’s hand just five minutes ago, ready to make some excuse to get out of there, when Heather had let go with a warning in her eyes. That look had said it all: You might know I’m a super-powered slayer, but to them I’m just any other girl. Don’t mess this up for me. 

So Veronica had let it be and made her own excuses, leaving Heather to pay the price for social acceptance. Stupid Kurt. Stupid Ram. Stupid society, really, when you think about it.

“What is this shit?” A voice says from above her.

Veronica looks up and smiles wide. J.D. is perched on his bike at the top of the hill, smoking another cigarette with a sardonic expression. A street lamp backlights him majestically. 

“You said double date, I thought you meant like a drive-in.” He says.

Veronica thinks for a second, and decides she doesn’t care that he almost certainly followed her from the movie theater. She sighs as she starts legging it up the hill. “Don’t I wish. I’m afraid Sherwood hasn’t reached that level of sophistication.”

There’s a muddy squish as Kurt falls backward off the fence. “Feel like making bah dah dah, feel like making love,” he slurs.

Veronica rolls her eyes. “The things I do for Heather.”

J.D. laughs harshly as he takes a drag of his cigarette. “Another fucking Heather.” Then he shakes his head and smiles ruefully, exhaling smoke out of his nose like a trench coated dragon. “Sorry, I’m feeling a bit superior tonight. Seven towns in three years, and the only thing different is my zip code.”

Veronica pauses, glaring up at him. His words make her feel small, and the only reason she gives a single crap is because she knows it’s true. Paranormal vigilante shit aside, she’s caught up in the same terminally banal plight of any other teenage girl in America. 

J.D. wipes the smile from his face, looking at her with that rare, troubling sincerity. He holds out a hand, apology in his eyes. “Our love is god. Let’s get a slurpee.”

Then he’s helping her onto his bike, and they’re disappearing over the hill together, leaving Kurt, Heather, Ram, and the whole tangled mess of high school politics behind.

***