Vampire Academy: The Complete Collection: 1/6
Page 11
“So what was it like?”
She shrugged and took another drink. “I don’t know. It wasn’t anything.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t anything? Didn’t the earth move or the planets align or something?”
“No,” she said, smothering a laugh. “Of course not.”
I didn’t really get why that should be funny, but I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it. This was around the time the bond had begun forming, and her emotions were starting to creep into me now and then. I held up the bottle and glared at it.
“I don’t think this stuff is working.”
“That’s because there’s barely any alcohol in—”
The sound of something moving in the brush came from nearby. I immediately shot up, putting my body between her and the noise.
“It’s some animal,” she said when a minute went by in silence.
That didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. The school’s wards kept out Strigoi, but wild animals often wandered into the outskirts of campus, posing their own threats. Bears. Cougars.
“Come on,” I told her. “Let’s head back.”
We hadn’t gone very far when I heard something moving again, and someone stepped out into our path. “Ladies.”
Ms. Karp.
We froze, and whatever quick reactions I’d shown back by the marsh disappeared as I delayed a few moments in hiding the bottle behind my back.
A half-smile crossed her face, and she held out her hand.
Sheepishly, I gave the bottle to her, and she tucked it under her arm. She turned without another word, and we followed, knowing there would be consequences to deal with.
“You think no one notices when half a class is gone?” she asked after a little while.
“Half a class?”
“A few of you apparently chose today to skip. Must be the nice weather. Spring fever.”
Lissa and I trudged along. I’d never been comfortable around Ms. Karp since the time she’d healed my hands. Her weird, paranoid behavior had taken on a strange quality to me—a lot stranger than before. Scary, even. And lately I couldn’t look at her without seeing those marks by her forehead. Her deep red hair usually covered them but not always. Sometimes there were new marks; sometimes the old ones faded to nothing.
A weird fluttering noise sounded to my right. We all stopped.
“One of your classmates, I imagine,” murmured Ms. Karp, turning toward the sound.
But when we reached the spot, we found a large black bird lying on the on the ground. Birds—and most animals—didn’t do anything for me, but even I had to admire its sleek feathers and fierce beak. It could probably peck someone’s eyes out in thirty seconds—if it weren’t obviously dying. With a last, half-hearted shake, the bird finally went still.
“What is that? Is it a crow?” I asked.
“Too big,” said Ms. Karp. “It’s a raven.”
“Is it dead?” asked Lissa.
I peered at it. “Yeah. Definitely dead. Don’t touch it.”
“Probably attacked by another bird,” observed Ms. Karp. “They fight over territory and resources sometimes.”
Lissa knelt down, compassion on her face. I wasn’t surprised, since she’d always had a thing for animals. She’d lectured me for days after I’d instigated the infamous hamster-and-hermit-crab fight. I’d viewed the fight as a testing of worthy opponents. She’d seen it as animal cruelty.
Transfixed, she reached toward the raven.
“Liss!” I exclaimed, horrified. “It’s probably got a disease.”
But her hand moved out like she hadn’t even heard me. Ms. Karp stood there like a statue, her white face looking like a ghost’s. Lissa’s fingers stroked the raven’s wings.
“Liss,” I repeated, starting to move toward her, to pull her back. Suddenly, a strange sensation flooded through my head, a sweetness that was beautiful and full of life. The feeling was so intense, it stopped me in my tracks.
Then the raven moved.
Lissa gave a small scream and snatched her hand back. We both stared wide-eyed.
The raven flapped its wings, slowly trying to right itself and stand up. When it managed to do so, it turned toward us, fixing Lissa with a look that seemed too intelligent for a bird. Its eyes held hers, and I couldn’t read her reaction through the bond. At long last, the raven broke the gaze and lifted into the air, strong wings carrying it away.
Wind stirring the leaves was the only sound left.
“Oh my God,” breathed Lissa. “What just happened?”
“Hell if I know,” I said, hiding my stark terror.
Ms. Karp strode forward and grabbed Lissa’s arm, forcefully turning her so that they faced each other. I was there in a flash, ready to take action if Crazy Karp tried anything, though even I had qualms about taking down a teacher.
“Nothing happened,” said Ms. Karp in an urgent voice, her eyes wild-looking. “Do you hear me? Nothing. And you can’t tell anyone—anyone—about what you saw. Both of you. Promise me. Promise me you won’t ever talk about this again.”
Lissa and I exchanged uneasy glances. “Okay,” she croaked out.
Ms. Karp’s grip relaxed a little. “And don’t ever do it again. If you do, they’ll find out. They’ll try to find you.” She turned to me. “You can’t let her do it. Not ever again.”
On the quad, outside my dorm, someone was saying my name.
“Hey, Rose? I’ve called you, like, a hundred times.”
I forgot about Ms. Karp and the raven and glanced over at Mason, who had apparently started walking with me toward the dorm while I was off in la-la land.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I’m out of it. Just . . . um, tired.”
“Too much excitement last night?”
I gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“I guess,” he laughed, though he didn’t exactly sound amused. “Sounds like Jesse couldn’t handle it.”
“He did okay.”
“If you say so. But personally, I think you’ve got bad taste.”
I stopped walking. “And I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
He looked away angrily. “You made it the whole class’s business.”
“Hey, I didn’t do that on purpose.”
“Would’ve happened anyway. Jesse’s got a big mouth.”
“He wouldn’t have told.”
“Yeah,” said Mason. “Because he’s so cute and has such an important family.”
“Stop being an idiot,” I snapped. “And why do you even care? Jealous I’m not doing it with you?”
His flush grew, going all the way to the roots of his red hair. “I just don’t like hearing people talk shit about you, that’s all. There are a lot of nasty jokes going around. They’re calling you a slut.”
“I don’t care what they call me.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re really tough. You don’t need anyone.”
I stopped. “I don’t. I’m one of the best novices in this fucking place. I don’t need you acting all gallant and coming to my defense. Don’t treat me like I’m some helpless girl.”
I turned around and kept walking, but he caught up to me easily. The woes of being five-seven.
“Look . . . I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just worried about you.”
I gave a harsh laugh.
“I’m serious. Wait . . .” he began. “I, uh, did something for you. Sort of. I went to the library last night and tried to look up St. Vladimir.”
I stopped again. “You did?”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t much on Anna. All the books were kind of generic. Just talked about him healing people, bringing them back from the edge of death.”
That last part hit a nerve.
“Was . . . was there anything else?” I stammered.
He shook his head. “No. You probably need some primary sources, but we don’t have any here.”
“Primary what?”
He scoffed, a smile
breaking over his face. “Do you do anything but pass notes? We just talked about them the other day in Andrews’ class. They’re books from the actual time period you want to study. Secondary ones are written by people living today. You’ll get better information if you find something written by the guy himself. Or someone who actually knew him.”
“Huh. Okay. What are you, like, a boy genius now?”
Mason gave me a light punch in the arm. “I pay attention, that’s all. You’re so oblivious. You miss all sorts of things.” He smiled nervously. “And look . . . I really am sorry about what I said. I was just—”
Jealous, I realized. I could see it in his eyes. How had I never noticed this before? He was crazy about me. I guess I really was oblivious.
“It’s all right, Mase. Forget about it.” I smiled. “And thanks for looking that stuff up.”
He smiled back, and I went inside, sad that I didn’t feel the same way about him.
ELEVEN
“YOU NEED SOMETHING TO WEAR?” Lissa asked.
“Hmm?”
I glanced over at her. We were waiting for Mr. Nagy’s Slavic art class to start, and I was preoccupied with listening to Mia adamantly deny the claims about her parents to one of her friends.
“It’s not like they’re servants or anything,” she exclaimed, clearly flustered. Straightening her face, she tried for haughtiness. “They’re practically advisors. The Drozdovs don’t decide anything without them.”
I choked on a laugh, and Lissa shook her head.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Because it’s awesome. What’d you just ask me?” I dug through my bag, messily looking for my lip gloss. I made a face when I found it. It was almost empty; I didn’t know where I was going to score some more.
“I asked if you need something to wear tonight,” she said.
“Well, yeah, of course I do. But none of your stuff fits me.”
“What are you going to do?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Improvise, like always. I don’t really care anyway. I’m just glad Kirova’s letting me go.”
We had an assembly tonight. It was November 1, All Saints’ Day—which also meant we’d been back almost a month now. A royal group was visiting the school, including Queen Tatiana herself. Honestly, that wasn’t what excited me. She’d visited the Academy before. It was pretty common and a lot less cool than it sounded. Besides, after living among humans and elected leaders, I didn’t think much of stiff royals. Still, I’d gotten permission to go because everyone else would be there. It was a chance to hang out with actual people for a change and not stay locked in my dorm room. A little freedom was definitely worth the pain of sitting through a few boring speeches.
I didn’t stay to chat with Lissa after school like I usually did. Dimitri had stuck to his promise about extra trainings, and I was trying to stick to mine. I now had two additional hours of practice with him, one before and one after school. The more I watched him in action, the more I understood the badass-god reputation. He clearly knew a lot—his six molnija marks proved as much—and I burned to have him teach me what he knew.
When I arrived at the gym, I noticed he was wearing a T-shirt and loose running pants, as opposed to his usual jeans. It was a good look for him. Really good. Stop looking, I immediately told myself.
He positioned me so that we stood facing each other on the mat and crossed his arms. “What’s the first problem you’ll run into when facing a Strigoi?”
“They’re immortal?”
“Think of something more basic.”
More basic than that? I considered. “They could be bigger than me. And stronger.”
Most Strigoi—unless they’d been human first—had the same height as their Moroi cousins. Strigoi also had better strength, reflexes, and senses than dhampirs. That’s why guardians trained so hard; we had a “learning curve” to compensate for.
Dimitri nodded. “That makes it difficult but not impossible. You can usually use a person’s extra height and weight against them.”
He turned and demonstrated several maneuvers, pointing out where to move and how to strike someone. Going through the motions with him, I gained some insight into why I took such a regular beating in group practice. I absorbed his techniques quickly and couldn’t wait to actually use them. Near the end of our time together, he let me try.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Try to hit me.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Lunging forward, I tried to land a blow and was promptly blocked and knocked down onto the mat. Pain surged through my body, but I refused to give in to it. I jumped up again, hoping to catch him off guard. I didn’t.
After several more failed attempts, I stood up and held out my hands in a gesture of truce. “Okay, what am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I wasn’t as convinced. “If I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I’d have rendered you unconscious by now.”
“Unlikely. Your moves are all correct, but this is the first time you’ve really tried. I’ve done it for years.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes at his older-and-wiser manner. He’d once told me he was twenty-four. “Whatever you say, Grandpa. Can we try it again?”
“We’re out of time. Don’t you want to get ready?”
I looked at the dusty clock on the wall and perked up. Almost time for the banquet. The thought made me giddy. I felt like Cinderella, but without the clothes.
“Hell, yeah, I do.”
He walked off ahead of me. Studying him carefully, I realized I couldn’t let the opportunity go by. I leapt at his back, positioning myself exactly the way he’d taught me. I had the element of surprise. Everything was perfect, and he wouldn’t even see me coming.
Before I could make contact, he spun around at a ridiculously high speed. In one deft motion, he grabbed me like I weighed nothing and threw me to the ground, pinning me there.
I groaned. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”
His eyes looked levelly into mine as he held my wrists, but he didn’t look as serious as he had during the lesson. He seemed to find this funny. “The battle cry sort of gave you away. Try not to yell next time.”
“Would it have really made a difference if I’d been quiet?”
He thought about it. “No. Probably not.”
I sighed loudly, still in too much of a good mood to really let this disappointment get me down. There were some advantages to having such a kick-ass mentor—one who also happened to have a foot of height on me and outweighed me considerably. And that wasn’t even considering his strength. He wasn’t bulky, but his body had a lot of hard, lean muscle. If I could ever beat him, I could beat anyone.
All of a sudden, it occurred to me that he was still holding me down. The skin on his fingers was warm as he clutched my wrists. His face hovered inches from my own, and his legs and torso were actually pressing against mine. Some of his long brown hair hung around his face, and he appeared to be noticing me too, almost like he had that night in the lounge. And oh God, did he smell good. Breathing became difficult for me, and it had nothing to do with the workout or my lungs being crushed.
I would have given anything to be able to read his mind right then. Ever since that night in the lounge, I’d noticed him watching me with this same, studious expression. He never actually did it during the trainings themselves—those were business. But before and after, he would sometimes lighten up just a little, and I’d see him look at me in a way that was almost admiring. And sometimes, if I was really, really lucky, he’d smile at me. A real smile, too—not the dry one that accompanied the sarcasm we tossed around so often. I didn’t want to admit it to anyone—not to Lissa, not even to myself— but some days, I lived for those smiles. They lit up his face. “Gorgeous” no longer adequately describrd him.
Hoping to appear calm, I tried to think of something professional and guardian-related to say. Instead, I said, “So um . . . you got any other moves to show me?”
I scrambled to my own feet and followed him out of the gym. He didn’t look back as he walked, and I mentally kicked myself on the way back to my room.
I was crushing on my mentor. Crushing on my older mentor. I had to be out of my mind. He was seven years older than me. Old enough to be my . . . well, okay, nothing. But still older than me. Seven years was a lot. He’d been learning to write when I was born. When I’d been learning to write and throw books at my teachers, he’d probably been kissing girls. Probably lots of girls, considering how he looked.
I so did not need this complication in my life right now.
I found a passable sweater back in my room and after a quick shower, I headed off across campus to the reception.
Despite the looming stone walls, fancy statues, and turrets on the outsides of the buildings, the Academy’s insides were quite modern. We had Wi-Fi, fluorescent lights, and just about anything else technological you could imagine. The commons in particular looked pretty much like the cafeterias I’d eaten in while in Portland and Chicago, with simple rectangular tables, soothing taupe walls, and a little room off to the side where our dubiously prepared meals were served. Someone had at least hung framed black-and-white photos along the walls in an effort to decorate it, but I didn’t really consider pictures of vases and leafless trees “art.”
Tonight, however, someone had managed to transform the normally boring commons into a bona fide dining room. Vases spilling over with crimson roses and delicate white lilies. Glowing candles. Tablecloths made of—wait for it—bloodred linen. The effect was gorgeous. It was hard to believe this was the same place I usually ate chicken patty sandwiches in. It looked fit for, well, a queen.