The Vampire's Spell - Stars of The Night

by Lucy Lyons

  Ashe was in the first semester of her final year at college. While those around her were preparing for their lives after graduation, Ashe found herself feeling just as lost as when she had first stepped onto campus three years ago, everyone had told her she would find her passion in time and to take as many different classes as she could until she found the ones that fit. However, in all this time nothing had sparked her interest in the slightest. She liked to read— she knew that much— and she liked to play the piano in the music building below her, but those two things alone did not make a future. She wasn’t enrolled in any music classes. She only liked the building for its practice rooms and easily accessible roof. Besides, she had been reading books and playing music long before coming to college.

  What she needed was something to wake her back up. She sighed and stretched her arms out in front of her. The bell in the tower of the campus cathedral started chiming out the hour, its somber melody ringing out across the quad and distorting against the sides of buildings before it reached Ashe’s ears. She had a few minutes yet until class. She sat up, letting the book tumble off her stomach as she reached for her backpack. She tossed the book inside and zipped it up then got to her feet, dusting the concrete grit from the back of her jeans.

  The door to the roof was set in at an angle, like the trapdoor to a tornado shelter. Ashe yanked it open with a grunt and slid herself in through the opening. When her boots hit the metal rungs of the ladder, she reached up again to close the door behind her. She wasn’t really supposed to be up there, but the door to the roof was never locked and she hadn’t gotten in trouble about it yet. She climbed down the ladder into the vast room that comprised half of the music building’s third floor. Once used as a rehearsal studio, it was now filled with dusty old boxes and empty instrument cases. Ashe often took loose sheets of music from the boxes and tried them out on the pianos downstairs. Their melodies were often macabre; sometimes atonal, and Ashe could see why they had been hidden away in the unused part of the building.

  Ashe could almost feel the energy crackling in the air outside. It wasn’t a matter of if it would rain, but rather when. The wind whipped her long auburn hair in front of her face and she tucked it behind an ear so she could see. Students hurried between buildings with their coats clutched close, hoping to get inside before the downpour. Ashe set off towards the lecture hall with a small smile on her face. She liked the idea of a coming storm.

  Angry red marks glared at Ashe from the paper. They slashed down the page like cuts wet with blood. Ashe glanced up at the students filling the lecture hall around her, but no one was paying her any mind. They never did. At the bottom of the last page was her failing grade and a message from the professor: SEE ME. The way it was written, in all caps with two sharp underlines for emphasis told Ashe this was just the beginning of her headaches. Three years of college and she was still just dragging herself along. She swept her long hair to one side and shoved the paper into her backpack. As she stood up to leave the lecture hall, a pen toppled onto the floor. She stooped to pick it up and hooked it onto the collar of her loose black V-neck so that she wouldn't lose it a second time.

  She hadn’t studied for this test, not really, and if she was being completely honest with herself she could have done better. But her midterm on medieval European folklore had come at a time when all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep all day, hiding away from the world’s crap. Days like that happened more often than Ashe would have liked to admit, especially since going to college and realizing that the drama didn’t stop after high school. She kept to herself mostly and could count on one hand the number of people she bothered to keep in touch with. Campus was small, but her world was microscopic.

  Ashe was nearly out the door when Professor Sharp called her name. She debated pretending she hadn’t heard him, but she had tried that tactic before and the man had followed her out into the hallway making the situation all the more embarrassing. This time she stopped and turned around, facing her professor with a poorly-hidden scowl on her face.

  Her mythology professor was like a library come to life, not so much in his vast knowledge of all things related to folklore and myth, but rather in his appearance. He wore a corduroy jacket of a dusty brown with matching brown leather elbow pads sown in. His trousers were of the same fabric as the jacket. Though he couldn’t have been much older than Ashe’s father, his hair was a uniform white as if he had personally watched the centuries go by instead of merely studying them.

  The man gave Ashe a searching look through his thick wireframe glasses. “You know I have office hours after class,” he said. “And if there’s anyone who could benefit from them right now it would be you.”

  “I was going to go to the library,” Ashe replied. “There’s a book I need for my next class.” This was not entirely the truth, but Ashe was not prepared to spend an afternoon listening to her professor’s motivational words about the value of education and the rewards of hard work. She already knew what her problem was—she just wasn’t that interested in mythology.

  Professor Sharp smiled. “I’ll make sure you still have plenty of time to get to the library when we’re finished. Walk with me to my office.”

  Ashe hated how the professor refused to give up on her, even after a semester and a half of unimpressive grades. It made it that much harder to disappoint him. She begrudgingly waited as he shuffled his papers into his brown leather shoulder bag and followed him out the door.

  “You know, a lot of lessons can be learned from folklore,” the professor said as Ashe walked with him through the hallway. “For example, the dangers of pride and the value of friendship and asking for help.”

  “I’m not proud,” Ashe said, though immediately she regretted it. The words made her sound childish, insolent.

  Professor Sharpe chuckled good-naturedly. “I didn’t say you were. I just think it would be good for you to reach out to your fellow students a little. Share the burden of studying for my impossible midterms and maybe make a friend or two along the way. It wouldn’t hurt.”

  Ashe felt the prickle of anger, though she knew she had no reason to be angry. Professor Sharp may think people were the answer to all life’s problems, but Ashe knew just how much trouble they could bring. It wasn’t that she hated other people, but that she was trying to protect herself. Her past had taught her all she needed to know about the follies of relying on others.

  As they rounded the corner to the professor’s office, Ashe could see someone already there waiting for him, someone she had never seen on campus before. If she had, she surely would have remembered. He was tall and a little gaunt, but the arms crossed in front of his chest looked stronger than his thin build would otherwise suggest. The dark circles under his eyes on an otherwise pale face made him look like he was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. A lock of raven hair spilled over his brow, which he brushed to the side as he looked up to greet the professor. His smile made Ashe feel naked, as though any small move would betray just how fast her heart had started beating upon seeing him. Worst of all, she had no idea why she was feeling this way.

  “Peter,” the professor greeted the student with a wave of his hand.

  “Professor Sharpe,” the student nodded.

  Ashe slowed as the professor approached the waiting student, not wanting to draw attention to herself or be unnecessarily pulled into the conversation. She was still trying to puzzle out the strange effect the man had on her.

  “Need something?” the professor asked.

  Peter gestured down at the rather large book in his hand. “I just wanted to return this.” It was a copy of one of the texts that Ashe should have been studying before the midterm, but she didn’t recognize Peter from her class. Her own copy of the book was currently wedged under a wobbly desk leg in her apartment.

  “I found the section on Slavic vampire beliefs to be especially interesting.”

  The professor laughed. “You’ve gotta give them credit f
or imagination, at least.”

  “Yeah,” Peter agreed. “Though it makes me wonder how people were ever able to separate myth from the truth.”

  “The truth?” the professor asked.

  Peter’s brow furrowed. “I mean, these stories appear in the belief systems of people from all over the world, and this was way before anyone was trading information across cultures. Even a scholar like you would have to think there’s at least some truth to the idea of vampires.”

  The professor shook his head, a humoring grin creasing the wrinkles around his eyes. “You’re a smart man, but you have to stop taking things at face value. There’s a difference between understanding information and accepting it as true. Try not to let my books get to your head so much. Vampires, hah.”

  Rather than feeling ashamed or perhaps angry as Ashe would have, Peter seemed untouched by Professor Sharp’s criticism. He simply shrugged his shoulders and handed the professor the book. “Maybe I have been taking these stories too much to heart.”

  The professor chuckled to himself. “I’m looking forward to hearing what else you have to say about the book, but for now I’ve got a student here in desperate need of my sage guidance.”

  As he gestured back towards Ashe, Peter’s eyes met hers for the first time. They were a confusing green-grey, like storm clouds rolling in on the ocean. If Ashe had been asked to pick the color out of a box of crayons, she would not have been able to complete the task. It was as if the color was alive and constantly changing. She had to force her own amber ones from their tight grip.

  Professor Sharpe thanked Peter for the book, opened the door of his office, and stepped inside.

  Before Ashe could follow him, Peter said, “Hey, can I borrow your pen?”

  Ashe looked at him in confusion and he pointed at the collar of her shirt. She looked down to see her pen hanging where she had put it earlier. Crimson rose in her cheeks, realizing that the weight of the pen had pulled the neckline of her t-shirt a little lower than she would have preferred.

  “Yeah, whatever.” She unclipped it and tossed it at Peter, deliberately not returning his gaze.

  He caught it deftly in his hand and gave her another killer smile. “Thanks. By the way, don’t let Sharp’s air of intellectualism get to you. He doesn’t know nearly as much as he thinks.”

  Peter tucked the borrowed pen in the back pocket of his jeans and set off down the hall. Ashe watched him for a moment before remembering she had a meeting with Professor Sharp. She reluctantly entered his office, still thinking of Peter and wondering how she had never seen him around before.

  Peter couldn't get her out of his head. As ridiculous as it was, those few moments outside Professor Sharp’s office were enough for Peter to know that there was a lot more to that girl than met the eye. For one, there was that t-shirt she was wearing, which bore the name of a 60’s occult rock band that most people their age had probably never heard of. The shirt was deeply faded, too, as if it was an original print. There was also the matter of Sharp having to talk to her, meaning she had likely done poorly on her midterm. Peter was glad he wasn’t taking any of Sharp’s classes. The professor could be a hardass, and seemed to forget that the students he was teaching did not have the benefit of six years of graduate school under their belts like he did.

  Despite the girl’s t-shirt, and her grades, the girl he’d met in Professor Sharp’s office had seemed quiet and studious. It was almost as if she wanted to blend into the background, like she feared human connection. Peter knew that he too had to be careful around humans, but for entirely different reasons. He was a vampire, and though most did not know of his true nature, he always had to be on guard in case his careful control slipped. Though he had an iron will when it came to keeping others safe from his bloodlust, Peter had a feeling he had just met the girl who could cause him to slip up. Which was a pity because she was beautiful.

  Peter strolled around the campus green trying to rid his head of its visions of the girl with the amber eyes. The loud sounds of construction coming from the library did little to distract him from his thoughts. The library was an old, musty building that rose up in three stories over the busy sidewalk. The school was building a new wing onto the existing brick building, and had been for what seemed like ages. The project had been stopped and started countless times as the college president kept using the funding for other endeavors, such as getting a certain high-profile businessman to talk at last year’s commencement. The man seemed to think the student body needed a half hour of motivational speaking more than they needed new books and computers. The businessman had talked of how he had never graduated from college. Peter found the whole thing counterproductive, but then again, his immortality gave him wisdom beyond his apparent 21 years.

  A voice from behind finally brought him out of his reverie. It was strangely familiar.

  “You’re really fitting in here, aren’t you?”

  Peter cringed as a firm hand grasped his shoulder. Though Peter was tall, Landon was a few inches taller, giving him a looming presence that always unnerved Peter. Landon walked with his hand around Peter’s shoulder as if they were old friends, though they were nothing of the sort.

  “Are you liking classes? I heard you’ve been a bit slow to make friends. Probably because you don’t belong here.”

  “I’m not trying to fit in. We only go wherever the blood goes,” Peter replied.

  Landon sneered. “And you just happen to show up on my clan’s doorstep? I don’t think so.”

  Peter’s eyes scanned the quad around him for a way out. He did not want to get into a fight with Landon over something as stupid as territorial rights. Vampire clans could get along with each other, quite well in fact, as long as their members weren’t alpha-male dicks. Sadly, Landon’s clan was beset with them.

  “My family’s just been back from a bit of a vacation, I guess you could call it,” Landon said. “We were jonesing for some of the fresh stuff and popped out to the country for a feast. It’s amazing how much can go unnoticed in the middle of nowhere.” He smacked his lips as if he had just eaten a delicious meal.

  Peter felt sick. He hated vampires like Landon and wanted to get away from him as soon as he could. As Peter weighed his escape options, he happened to notice the girl with amber hair and black t-shirt from Professor Sharp’s office walking towards the library. She had on a pair of large headphones and was looking down at the ground as she walked, seeming to be lost inside her own private world. She was going to pass the unfinished wing and head straight for them. If he could catch her attention again, maybe by returning the pen he had borrowed from her on a whim, he might be able to get her name. But to do that, first he had to get rid of Landon.

  “I should get to class,” Peter said.

  “Not so fast.” Landon’s grip on Peter tightened. Peter didn’t want to draw attention to the two of them, so he went along.

  Landon was steering Peter in the direction of the library. Peter dreaded the thought of Landon setting his sights on the girl. The sounds of hammers banging on metal and the buzz of an electric saw filled Peter’s ears. He had a hard time hearing Landon over the noise.

  “What is it you want, anyway?” Landon said into Peter’s ear. “Why’d you come to the city?

  Peter raised his voice, “Our blood supplier moved out here. That’s the only reason our family moved. We’re not looking for trouble with your clan.”

  Landon let go of Peter and looked at him with curiosity. “Blood supplier? What are his rates?”

  Vampires that procured blood for others, through either stealing from blood banks or more nefarious means, were more valuable than gold to the clans they served. But the nature of their work meant that clans had to move from place to place as people started to get suspicious. There was no way Peter was going to let Landon’s family try and take their supplier from them.

  He shouted at Landon over the din of construction, “He’s ours. You’ll have to find your own.”

&nb
sp; They had just stopped in front of the metal scaffolding covering the face of the new wing of the library. The girl was not far away; though Landon; watching the construction, blocked Peter’s view of her.

  Peter followed Landon’s gaze to the workers guiding a crossbeam down from a crane perched above. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked.

  Landon gave him a mean smile. “No reason, except that crane’s about to give way.”

  Peter had no time to ask Landon what he meant by his words, because already their meaning had become frighteningly clear. Peter heard the loud groan of metal and the snap of thick wires as the crane came free of its moorings. He leapt out of the way, nearly tripping as he cleared the sidewalk and made it a safe distance from the machinery. Landon was nowhere to be seen. Peter knew that he had used his weak precognition gift to lure Peter into a trap.

  The beam that the crane had been lowering pitched wildly to the side as the workers shouted for everyone to get out of the way. As Peter looked down the sidewalk, he noticed the girl standing as if frozen to the very spot the crane was about to fall. Her lips were parted in a gasp as she looked up at the swinging beam, but her body seemed unable to obey her mind, which was undoubtedly screaming for her to run.

  The crane lurched another few feet towards the sidewalk and Peter dashed towards her without thinking. He grabbed her up in his arms and carried her out of the way. There was a huge crash behind him, the violence of the impact of metal on concrete sending vibrations up Peter’s legs as he lowered the girl back down on a much safer part of the sidewalk. She looked up at him with those amber eyes, their corners glistening as if she were about to cry.

  “Th—thank you,” she stuttered.

  Peter ran a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry I had to grab you like that. You’re not hurt or anything, are you?” He was glad his fast reflexes had been able to get to her in time.