Cold Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

  "Looks like they got that foundational issue taken care of," Grandma said, looking critically at the far corner of the building. “I wasn’t sure if Vernon would be able to deal with the contractor after that screw-up with the permits.”

  My mother muttered a response that made it sound like she knew what Grandma was referring to but didn’t really care enough to respond. I, on the other hand, had no idea. Before I could even ask her about it, she cut the engine and turned back to me.

  “You ready?" Her eyes were soft and understanding.

  I was tempted to stick my chin out and say, “No, I most certainly am not ready” and let Grandma take me in her arms and hug me like I was five again, but my mother was looking at me, too, and the softness wasn't nearly as evident in her gaze. I sighed.

  "Yeah, let's go," I said. I grabbed my backpack and we piled out. I blinked, adjusting to the brightness of the sun after sitting behind tinted windows all morning.

  I gazed up at the building in front of me, charmed despite my reservations. Up close, I could see the stone was dotted with pale green ivy that twisted and turned its way up the walls. The ivy looked faded and reckless in its half-dead state, and I wondered what it would look like in spring, when everything was bright and alive.

  “Tara, come on,” my mother called.

  I shifted my gaze from the view above and rounded the hood of the Hummer, hurrying to catch up, and collided with someone. I steadied myself and stepped back.

  "Sorry," a male voice muttered.

  I opened my mouth to brush it off as my fault and stopped, my eyes locked onto his. The dark hair and tanned skin might have been hard to place, but the striking green eyes were not. This was the boy I'd seen at Leo's warehouse, the one who'd saved me.

  He stared back at me without speaking, his expression one of disdain.

  "Tara?" Grandma's voice came from somewhere behind him.

  Again, I opened my mouth to say something, but he gave a curt nod and stepped around me, disappearing around the corner of the building. I stared after him, wondering what had caused him to look at me like that. Surely, he’d recognized me.

  When he was gone, I joined Grandma and my mother; neither of which commented on the boy I’d seen. Then again, he’d darted away so quickly they probably hadn’t recognized him from that far away.

  As Grandma reached for the door, it swung open and a short, stocky man stepped out, holding it ajar with his backside. He smiled expectantly at Grandma–an action that pushed his round glasses further up his nose–and crinkled his eyes so his irises disappeared behind tiny slits.

  "Edie, it's good to see you," he said, holding his hand out towards her.

  "Vernon." Grandma took his hand and then leaned in to kiss the man's cheek. His already flushed cheeks flamed a little brighter from her attention, and his eyes flicked to my mother.

  "Hello, Elizabeth," he said shyly.

  My mother smiled back at him, a gesture that was more genuine than I'd expected. "Vern, how are you?" She, too, leaned down and kissed his cheeks before passing through the doors.

  Vernon reddened again and then looked back at me. "Miss Godfrey. I’m Headmaster Whitfield. Welcome." He waved me inside with a polite gesture.

  "Thanks," I mumbled. Headmaster? Was this place above using the word “principal?”

  I heard the door close behind me, and the robust headmaster stepped around me, heading for Grandma.

  "You made good time," he said as they took up the lead and drifted towards a side hallway.

  Grandma responded with something about traffic and the Hummer being a smoother ride than you’d think. I tuned it out and stared at the lobby. The walls next to me were covered with long tapestries colored to look like foreign flags and interspersed with large oil paintings of some alumni or another from decades past. Bronzed plaques hung underneath the paintings, giving names and dates. Again, I was struck by how little this felt like a normal school; College, maybe. More like the UN, though.

  And what was that boy doing here? Did he go to school here? Grandma would know, since she'd brought him with her that day as part of her team, but I couldn't ask her now. She was still locked in conversation with my new principal. Sorry, Headmaster.

  "Tara." I turned at the sound of my mother's voice. She’d paused at the edge of a hallway where Grandma and Headmaster had disappeared. Her foot tapped a harsh beat against the gleaming floor.

  "Coming," I said.

  The hallway we turned down felt much more like a school office. Flyers for various protocols and procedures were stuck to the walls or hung on bulletin boards. I passed a few doors, mostly open, and was greeted with polite smiles from secretary-looking women who looked up at me over the rim of their reading glasses before going back to the click-click of their computer keyboards.

  At the end of the hall, I followed my mother into an office and found Grandma already sitting in a leather chair across from Headmaster, who sat behind the biggest desk I'd ever seen. Despite his roundness, he looked tiny behind that desk; or maybe his chair was too low to the ground. I couldn't decide. He and Grandma were still talking and laughing, but grew quiet when my mother shut the door behind me with a click. Grandma gestured for me to join her.

  I sat in the chair next to her, while my mother lowered herself onto the sofa that lined the wall behind us. There were more framed portraits in here, with more names I'd never heard of, and a dark green tapestry covered the wall behind Vernon's desk with some sort of seal on it that depicted an eagle with a sword in its beak.

  "Tara, this is Headmaster Whitfield. He runs Wood Point Academy," Grandma said, calling me back to the moment.

  My eyes flicked from hers to his and I managed a polite smile. "Nice to meet you," I said.

  Headmaster Whitfield, on the other hand, was grinning widely at the mention of his proper title and responsibility. His chest puffed out as he spoke. "And you, Tara. It's a privilege to have a Godfrey at our school again. We're very excited to have you. Do you have any questions for me?" I shook my head and he went on. "I know, due to your, er, circumstances this is a bit rushed. There isn't much time to do anything but jump in. Then again, from what your Grandma tells me, you're making up for lost time in your combat capabilities with raw talent. Still, we need to get you caught up. I've arranged for a tutor to help with that. If you work hard, you should have no trouble catching up in time to graduate next year."

  "Sounds great," I said, wondering if he could hear the absolute lack of energy in my words. If he did, he ignored it.

  "Here is your schedule." He handed me a sheet of paper. "We used your previous school's records to determine placement in English and Math. The rest is pretty standard here, but if you have any questions or concerns, don't hesitate to voice them. We want this transition to be as seamless as possible. Oh, and there's a map of the property, and I've marked your room number and building so you can find it later."

  Headmaster Whitfield handed me everything across the desk and glanced at Grandma, looking very much like a schoolboy seeking his teacher’s approval. She rewarded him with a smile and a nod that I took to mean she was satisfied. Headmaster Whitfield beamed.

  I skimmed the schedule, trying to figure out what the names of the classes meant. I recognized English, and Algebra II, and American History, but the rest were foreign to me. There were classes like ‘Hunter History’ and 'Defensive Maneuvers 2'. Those actually sounded interesting. Then my eyes caught on a class called 'Lineage', and I remembered what Grandma had said about Hunters family lines being a source of pride here. So, I had to study genealogy? I’d rather do math.

  "Oh, honey, I'm so excited for you," Grandma said. I looked up and saw that she was smiling at me, her face shining with pride.

  "Thanks, Grandma." I held up my schedule. “Everything looks really, uh, interesting.”

  Headmaster Whitfield cleared his throat. "Well, I think you belong in Defensive Maneuvers 2 right now."

  "Right, we should let you get settled,"
Grandma said. She turned to Headmaster. "Oh, Vernon, her bags are still in the truck."

  He waved his hands. "I'll have a student aide take them to her room for her. She can get right to class and unpack later."

  "Thank you.” Grandma rose, and I followed her lead.

  From the back of the room, my mother did the same and held the door open for us again. Grandma put her arm around me and guided me out.

  "Let us know if you need anything, okay? And we'll visit in a few weeks." She pulled me into a hug before I could respond, which was good because words caught in my throat. A few weeks? I was stuck here for a few weeks before they’d be back to check on me?

  I blinked the tears back, not wanting to show how upset I was. It wasn’t like I’d never been away from home. I’d done summer camps before and this wasn’t much different, but it felt so foreign…and final. There was all this unspoken pressure for me to live up to a family legacy that I didn’t even know existed until now.

  Grandma stepped back, holding me at arm's length for a long look before finally letting me go. My mother stepped up and reached out for me. Behind her tight frown, her eyes were sad and, as usual, worried.

  "You be careful, okay? Stay on school grounds. Don't leave at all," she said, into my ear.

  "Oh, don't worry, Elizabeth. Students aren't allowed to leave school grounds at all," Headmaster Whitfield said.

  My mother gave me a look that said “never stopped her before” and shook her head. Then they were walking away, down the long hall towards the lobby. At the end, they waved once, and then they were gone. I stared after them, feeling empty.

  The sound of Headmaster’s voice made me jump. I’d almost forgotten I wasn’t alone.

  "If you'll wait in the lobby, your tutor will be along in a few minutes to show you to your class," said Headmaster Whitfield.

  I nodded, and he disappeared back into his office.

  I made my way back to the lobby and wandered along the wall, pretending to study the portraits I'd seen earlier. A few kids came and went; most of them didn't even bother to hide the fact that they were staring at me. I assumed they were trying to figure out who the new kid was, until I heard one of them whisper, "That's her," as they passed by.

  “What a freak,” said the other one. Both of them looked at me like I was day old seafood.

  I watched them walk away, feeling confused more than offended. I did a quick outfit check. I knew I didn’t look runway ready in my jeans and hoodie, but I hadn’t had time to change after the trip. And now, with my bags being sent to my room, I guess I wouldn’t. I ran a hand through my hair and used the tie on my wrist to pull it up into a quick ponytail. Maybe that would help.

  A couple more students passed through the lobby, and I got funny looks again, but they weren’t close enough for me to hear what they were saying. I was getting paranoid. I wandered towards the wall where the polished plaques of dead alumni hung and used the reflective glass as a mirror. I pulled a lip gloss out of my backpack and slid some over my lips.

  Someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned and found myself face to face with the same green eyed boy from the parking lot – and the warehouse.

  "I know you," I blurted, finally managing words this time. He looked back at me with lifted brows. "I mean, I saw you. In the warehouse. You saved me. Thanks." My words were rushed partly because I was afraid he was going to bolt again and partly because my nerves were starting to get to me.

  He shrugged like he wanted to be done with it, and when he spoke, his words were fast and clipped. "No biggie. I'm Alex.”

  “I’m Tara.”

  “You ready to go?"

  "Go?" I blinked at him. "You're my tutor?"

  "Apparently. Is that a problem?"

  "Well, I mean, you're a kid. I guess I expected a teacher or something."

  A hint of a smile appeared, but it was rough at the edges and sarcastic, like his words. "We'll make do." He gestured to the schedule I held. "Is that your class list?"

  I nodded and handed it over. He skimmed it and handed it back.

  "Defensive Maneuvers Two, huh? They must think you're capable enough. Hopefully they're right and training will be easier than I thought." He headed for the doors without waiting to see if I was following, or noticing that I was now glaring. "Coming?"

  I rolled my eyes and followed him out.

  Chapter Four

  Alex led me around the side of the building where he'd disappeared earlier. As soon as we turned, several more buildings became visible. Apparently, the main building was so enormous it hid the rest of the campus from view. The buildings behind it were set up across from each other, two on each side, forming a large square, with a grassy courtyard in the middle. Each one was made of the same stone material, worn smooth and half hidden by layers of moss and climbing vines that made them seem to spring up from the ground like a part of the forest; especially since that’s what closed us in on all sides. Despite the season, there was green in every direction. A fair amount of them were fir and pine trees so the ground was littered with needles and small twigs but it was packed tight from years of foot traffic (or an expensive landscape company), creating a narrow path that led straight into the center of the square. There was even a small garden with a fountain in the center of the courtyard, lined with decorative trees and marble benches. I breathed in the crisp smell of bark and dirt and stared. It looked like the secret woodland home of garden fairies.

  All around us, kids were milling around; some standing in small groups to whisper to each other, some sitting in pairs hovering over their open books, or horsing around in the courtyard. I resisted the urge to stare, to look for differences between these kids and the kids at my school back home. I knew there shouldn’t be, but I’d never actually seen this many Hunters up close, especially my own age. A part of me was excited by it.

  Someone laughed, though the sound was soft, somewhere closer to bells tinkling, and I looked up to locate the source. It was a girl my age, with flowing blond hair that reached past her shoulder blades standing with her back to me, near a bench in the center of the courtyard. Even though I couldn’t see her eyes, I knew they’d be a perfect blue. I knew it in the way you just know when you’ve seen the most popular kid in school.

  A group of girls stood in a circle around her. One of them broke eye contact with her long enough to glance over and spot me walking by. Then the girl, a skinny brunette with lashes that seemed to hold an entire bottle of mascara on them, turned back and said something to the blond, too low for me to hear. She began to turn, flipping her hair over her shoulder as her neck swiveled. Our eyes met and held for only a second before I glanced away. I immediately cursed myself for being the one to look away first. That is not how you were supposed to overcome “new kid syndrome”.

  A couple of snickers went up, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her smirking at me with a curled lip and a manicured hand on her hip before she turned back to the group and her jaw began moving again. Something about the way she smirked made me think of Cindy Adams, and I felt my hands close into fists automatically. My tension must’ve shown because I felt Alex glance over at me, one eyebrow raised. I forced a smile, eased my hands open, and willed myself to relax.

  As if the rest of the student body was taking their cue from the blond, more heads began to turn in my direction. When they did, it was like a domino effect. One alerted another, who alerted another, and another. Soon, everyone was pointing at me and whispering. None of them looked outright hateful, but none of them looked particularly friendly either. It was the same expression I’d seen from those first two kids, in the lobby. The ones who’d called me a freak. I was beginning to realize there was something going on here; something bigger than rumpled clothes and smudged makeup. It was starting to get to me.

  I kept my face carefully blank and my eyes averted, making it a point to notice the scenery above their heads, instead of their faces. I stared purposefully at the bright green iv
y that covered the front of the building we approached. It wasn’t entirely difficult to be distracted by it. The shade of green was mesmerizing. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen ivy before, or woods, but the colors here were so vibrant; brighter than the woods at home.

  Somewhere nearby whispered voices drifted over.

  “She’s the one I was telling you about. The wolf chic,” whispered a girl’s voice.

  “No way. Eww,” was the response. “Why did they let Kane’s crew help her anyway?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not one of us.”

  Beside me, I felt Alex stiffen and then relax again. He said nothing but he picked up the pace and we hurried on. We’d almost made it to the doors of the building when I heard it.

  “Hey, look. That’s the dirty blood.”

  This time, I was sure Alex noticed–in the way that people try to politely ignore an uncomfortable situation. He kept his eyes forward and his expression neutral, but again, he picked up the pace. When we reached the doors, Alex stepped over and opened one, holding it wide for me to pass through. When we were both inside and the door had clicked shut behind us, I sighed. Alex made no move to continue. He stood, staring at me with a curious look on his face.

  “What?” I asked bracing myself because I wasn’t really sure I wanted to know what. Crossing the courtyard had been a combination of being the raggedy new kid in a school full of rich kids, and doing the walk of shame after prom and being caught by your mother. Horrible.

  “Nothing,” he said after a pause. “C’mon.”

  We started walking again, bypassing a grand staircase wide enough for an eighteen wheeler to come down – sideways, down a long narrow hallway to our left. The scent of bleach and floor wax mixed with the smell that was inherent to any learning institution. The halls were empty, thank goodness, but every few steps I passed a flyer advertising some student club or event. I saw one for a “Fight Club”–yes that’s what it was called–and stopped to read it.