Michelle grins at you. "Intimidated? Don't worry, mortal. I'll keep an eye on you."
After a moment, she looks at her watch. "Oops," she says. "We'd better motor. Gym class outside in thirty minutes: the perfect follow-up to a large breakfast."
"Outside?" you say, raising an eyebrow. "Is that really a good location for a class full of vampires?"
Michelle shrugs. "No one's crumbled into dust yet," she says. "There's some barrier that blocks out the light: magic, I'd guess. You ready?"
It's a quick trip back to your room to get changed. Then, appropriately attired for physical activity, if slightly queasy at the thought of it, you follow Michelle out to the school grounds.
You're not the first to arrive. In fact, there's a large number of students standing around the grounds. You notice a definite separation between the vampires and the werewolves, with Renault floating contentedly in the center.
As you arrive, they turn, subjecting you to red, orange, or mostly transparent scrutiny.
"Well, look who it is," a diminutive, brown-skinned vampire says, looking you up and down. "Mister Mortal. Come to play with the undead?"
"Leave it, Sonia," says a tall, shirtless werewolf, a tattoo covering one arm and most of his pale chest. He tosses back his shoulder-length blond hair. "Plenty of time to see what this one's made of in just a few minutes."
Sonia rolls her eyes. "You really are a typical werewolf, Max. At least as far as brains go."
Before Max can reply, a piercing whistle rips through the air. You clamp your hands over your ears, feeling the sound grip your head and squeeze it tight around your brain. If those condemned to hell could still scream, you imagine it would sound a lot like this.
As bad as it is for you, your undead classmates, with their inhuman senses, clearly have it worse. Max has curled up into a ball on the ground, trembling violently. Sonia has collapsed to her knees and seems to be retching onto the ground.
When the sound finally dies away, you hear footsteps. They seem to shake the very earth underneath you, as though their owner has a personal grudge against the ground itself.
"ALL RIGHT, YOU HORRIBLE LOT!" The roar isn't as bad as the whistle, but it's close. Only Michelle and Renault seem to be unaffected.
A figure has marched onto the grounds. As tall as the werewolf from last night was, this apparition is taller: at least eight feet high, with a shoulder width that's not much less. Under a shining, bald head, blazing pupilless eyes of pure scarlet glare out of a face that looks like it's been carved of granite. Muscles shift like tectonic plates under a polo shirt that looks stretched to its absolute limit, and you'd swear that there was actually steam rising off his bare skin.
You stare at Michelle, wordlessly asking about five different questions at once.
"Mr. Simmons," she hisses. "Gym teacher. Human."
You turn back to Mr. Simmons, your examination tinged with a new flavor of horror. You've never seen a human being like him before. You've never seen anything like him before. Michelle doesn't have real skin, and she looks more human than the monstrosity that is, apparently, your gym teacher.
"EVERYONE LINE UP!" Mr. Simmons screams, "SO WE CAN SORT YOU INTO TEAMS FOR DODGEBALL, NOW!"
As your fellow students start to stagger into position, the monstrous gym teacher rounds on you. "SO," he booms, "A FELLOW HUMAN! HOW ABOUT YOU BE ONE OF THE TEAM CAPTAINS?!"