by Lucy Lyons
“No,” the girl shook her head. She was breathing hard, but she looked otherwise unharmed.
“Good. That’s good.”
The girl was looking away from him, instead watching the construction workers as they dealt with the aftermath of the accident. Angry voices drifted their way, but Peter could only think of the girl and the way she had felt in his arms.
“Hey, I still have your pen.” He reached into his back pocket and held it out to her. She took it back with a slight frown. “You remember me, right? From earlier today?” he felt the need to ask.
“Yeah, outside Professor Sharp’s office. Peter,” the girl replied. Peter hadn’t thought she’d been listening to his conversation with the professor, but apparently she had: enough, at least, to remember his name.
Peter replied, “Yeah, but I never got your name.”
“Ashe,” the girl replied.
Peter was worried about the way her arms were shaking. She rubbed them absentmindedly as she watched a passing bicycle. He said, “You’ve had a shock. You should probably sit down somewhere for a while.”
“I’m fine.” The way her eyes kept wandering everywhere but towards him was driving him crazy.
“There’s a café down the street—”
“Thanks for saving me, really, but I’m fine. You don’t owe me anything.”
Peter knew when he was being snubbed. Though the accident had felt almost like fate bringing them together, he did not want to tempt it by pursuing her. After all, she was a human and human blood was his vice. He let her go, for now.
Ashe swept her hair to one side and straightened the headphones around her neck. She seemed to have shaken off the shock of the accident.
“Maybe I’ll see you around then, Ashe,” he called as she turned to walk away from the library.
She made no reply as she left.
Peter watched her go, trying his hardest to figure out just why that girl kept such an impenetrable wall around herself. It was almost like a challenge to him to try and break it, and Peter always liked a good challenge.
Ashe pounded her fist against her pillow. She couldn’t believe her mom was pulling a stunt like this and on a day when things already felt like they were crashing down around her. She looked around her childhood bedroom and its four pink walls that she had not been able to escape even after going to college. Polaroids were pinned to her walls with Ashe’s twelve-year-old smiling face beaming down at her, unaware of the dark times that were to come. She turned her back to them and curled up on her bed, hugging her pillow close to her chest.
She hated that her mom didn’t have the money to allow her to get a place on campus, and that the paychecks from her part-time job ended up paying utilities and gas for her mom’s car. She also hated her flowery comforter and the matching lace curtains and the cream-white antique dresser where she still kept all her clothes. It was almost if her mom had punished her for being born a girl, by making her drown in everything pretty and delicate.
“You were supposed to be our son and you were supposed to go into business. Since you already messed up one of those, the least you can do for me is change your major.”
Her mom was talking to her through the door, but Ashe was in no mood to open it. At least she wasn’t in a yelling mood today.
“It’s too late, mom,” she called back through the door. “I’ve only got two semesters left. I’d never get all the credits in on time.”
Her mom let out a frustrated sigh, loud enough to penetrate the wooden door. “I mean, what are you going to do with a degree in English literature? You’re wasting your time, and my money, and if your father was here he would make you see reason.”
Ashe felt a ball of anger tighten in her chest. She had saved up money all through high school, working every summer since she was sixteen so she could go to college. Ashe wondered just how much of that money her mom supposed was hers.
“Open the door, Ashe. I want us to talk like adults.”
There was never a mature talk when her mother was involved.
“Please, just consider it. For my sake and for yours. You may love those dusty old books of yours now but in the future, they’re not going to do you any good. You’ll be burning the pages for warmth. I’m not going to be able to support you forever, you know.”
Ashe lurched off the bed and opened the door. Her mom stood there with her hands on her hips, the overhead light from the hallway making her red hair look ablaze.
“Are we talking like adults now?” Ashe asked in a biting tone.
Her mom refused to acknowledge her daughter’s sarcasm. “Yes, we are.”
“Since I’m such an adult, wouldn’t you think I’d be able to take responsibility for my own life?”
“Well yes, but—”
Ashe crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her mom withered under her glare, her words fading away into a frustrated silence.
Ashe took the opportunity to get a couple words in. “Maybe I want to go to graduate school, you know? Or maybe I’m planning to work at a publishing company. But how would you know, because all you do is lecture at me about things I should be doing instead. I’m going to be moving out in less than a year. You can’t keep trying to micromanage me for the rest of my life.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t lived enough life to know what’s best for you. You can’t just go off into the world and expect things to work out. You can’t leave me here all alone, you just can’t.”
Ashe stepped back from the door and closed it with her mom still lecturing her from the other side. There was no reasoning with her when she got like this and Ashe knew if she waited long enough her mom would tire out and leave.
Eventually the hallway was quiet again and Ashe was left with some peace and quiet to study. If her mom had wanted her to go into business so badly, why hadn’t she mentioned it three years ago? It was only now that Ashe was getting ready to graduate that she suddenly felt the need to interfere. Ashe could tell that her mother’s issue was not with Ashe’s college major. The issue was that she didn’t want Ashe to move out. She didn’t want to be alone again, not after what had happened.
Ashe flopped back on the bed and reached for her backpack lying against the headboard. She pulled books out until she found the one she was looking for and flipped to an earmarked page, running her finger along the notes written in the margin. She tried to let her mind calm around the words, to escape into the world of literature that she had wrapped around herself like a cocoon to keep out the rest of the world. Her mom’s word’s kept ringing in her head as Ashe twisted and turned on the bed trying to make herself comfortable enough to focus on the words in front of her.
She dug in her backpack for a pen and pulled out the one she had lent to Peter. It jumped from her hand as if alive and rolled along her comforter until it rested against the side of her leg.
Peter.
The name needled her brain like a burr in her sock. She had never seen him on campus before, but today she had run into him twice. Part of her wished she would never see him again, as the feelings his presence awoke in her were foreign to her and more than a little uncomfortable. She knew nothing of him, apart from the few minutes they had spent together, but his hold over her was already too strong. Just the memory of those hands pulling her to safety brought goosebumps to her skin. Not to mention his eyes like storm clouds full of concern for her safety.
He had saved her and that should have counted for something. But Ashe could not bring herself to give him even that much credit. It wasn’t a problem with him so much as that there was a part inside of Ashe that was broken. Years ago, she had told herself she would never trust anyone again. People were the root of the pain of the world. They lied, took advantage of your love, and ultimately left. There was no one for Ashe to trust except herself. She was the only one who would always be there, for better or worse.
Even as she told herself this, a small place in the back of her mind rebelled strongly aga
inst the distrust. That was the part that wanted to see Peter again. She picked up the pen and twirled it in her fingers. She wanted to know which of Professor Sharp’s classes Peter was taking and why he had been lent the text for her class. She also wanted to know why, when she hadn’t been able to open her heart to even a friend in the past few years, Peter had suddenly re-awakened the part of her that yearned for the chance to connect to someone again. These feelings fighting in Ashe’s chest were all at once lovely and terrifying. She didn’t know if she should trust them.
CHAPTER 2
The blank face of the mirror stared back at Peter. The useless relic had been left in the old, dusty house by the previous owners and didn’t have any real use for those of his kind. He wished he could have lived on campus like a normal student, but his clan had moved at an odd time in the semester and there were no vacancies available for him in the dorms until next fall. For now, he had to live with his family in a foreclosed house they had bought cheaply from the state. He washed his face in the wide marble basin, but the chill of the water did nothing to make him feel better. The heat he felt was deep within, in a place that had been cold for centuries.
Peter turned off the tap and wiped his face on a towel. He closed the bathroom door behind him before leaving down the hallway. The sight of the empty mirror still unnerved him after all this time and he didn’t want to catch any glimpses of it when passing the open bathroom door. He had thought to remove it, but it was stuck fast to the tile and could not be pried free. Like most of the furniture in the house it had likely been there since the place had been built.
Stacks of moving boxes teetered in the hallway. Though they moved often and had few possessions, there always seemed to be a mess of boxes in the house whenever they moved. What they contained Peter could not say and he feared what he would find if he were to go snooping through them. His older sisters knew more of the family secrets, but Peter was content to let the skeletons stay in the closet. No matter how hard they tried to respect the mortal lives around them, clans as old as his left a trail of bodies behind them. That was why Peter had to be careful not to get too close to Ashe.
He knew that he would only endanger her in the end. If he really came to care for this girl, it would be all the more wrenching were he to slip up and give in to his bloodlust. He had been taught at a young age not only the responsibilities but also the dangers of his condition. He never wanted to hurt someone because of what he was. That was why his clan’s blood supply came from donors. Stolen, of course, but donated nonetheless. Their supplier never harmed a living person in the pursuit of blood. At least, that is what he told them, and Peter had no reason to doubt the man.
He turned from the hallway into the kitchen. The polished wood floor was smooth under his bare feet. He opened one of the dark oak cabinets above the sink and took out a tall glass. There was a dry smudge of red along the rim, which he wiped off on a towel. He opened the refrigerator and took out a pint-bag of blood from the stacks piled on top of the shelves. The label had the blood type in large bold letters, with red print below it: Volunteer Donor. If only they knew what they had been donating for.
The congealed liquid sloshed as Peter held it the bag to the light. It was a bright ruby red, still fresh. He would only need a pint to get him through the day. Older blood took larger doses to get his fill, and the oldest could be deadly. Animal blood could do in a pinch, but more as an emergency measure than a sustainable food source. Although it had been inconvenient to have to move here, Peter was glad his family had a blood supplier they could count on.
Peter pulled the cap off one of the tubes leading out of the bag and let it empty into the glass. He drained the glass in one go, refusing to savor the taste as the liquid slid past his tongue, though it tempted him more than he could describe. He was strong enough to resist the allure of blood, he told himself, and his consumption of it was only for survival. He put the glass in the sink and let the water run over it, washing the evidence of his unwholesome meal down the drain so he wouldn’t have to look at it any longer. He tossed the empty bag in the trashcan. It would go in the incinerator later.
A grandfather clock chimed in the hallway, telling Peter it was time to get to class. It didn’t really matter whether he attended classes or not, but it was important for him to keep up appearances as a normal student until his clan moved on to the next place. The house was silent but for the chiming of the clock. Most of his clan— the elder members including his parents and sisters— would not wake until evening. They slept in the basement where no light would disturb their slumber. Peter grabbed his wool coat from the hook by the door and headed out of the house. The cold never bothered him, but the sun did, and he would get a nasty burn if he were not careful. Luckily the day was overcast and he did not run a high risk of exposure. Still, he wrapped the dark fabric close around himself as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Landon was waiting for Peter at the curb, leaning against Peter’s car like he owned it. His pitch-black hair was slicked back almost as if he were trying to emulate the stereotypes his kind suffered at the hands of popular culture. The only difference was that the sides of his head were shaved close and he had on a light sweater instead of a cape.
Peter wondered how long it would be before Landon tired of his games.
“It’s good to see you... alive,” Landon smiled as Peter approached. He moved off the car to let Peter get to the driver’s side door, but Peter had no intention of driving to school. He liked the brisk fifteen-minute walk into the city as a way to clear his head before entering the human world. It was all too easy to get caught up in the old-world ways of thinking when everyone around you was a vampire. Landon noticed Peter’s change of direction and jogged to keep up.
“Not talking today?” Landon asked.
Peter ignored him.
“I heard about you being a hero. Saved some girl from being crushed into the sidewalk. Does she mean something to you, or was it just a random act of kindness?”
Peter didn’t like Landon talking about Ashe, not even in passing.
“I’m going to take that silence as a confession.”
“I wasn’t going to stand by and let someone get killed.”
Landon nodded as if he understood Peter’s sentiments, but Peter knew the man had not a single altruistic bone in his body.
“Hey, if you’re saving her for later I’ll back off,” Landon said. “Just make sure you drain her, not turn her. This town has already got enough of our kind. In fact, it’s feeling a little crowded these days.”
“I may be new around here, but I’m not going to let you use this college as your playground,” Peter warned. “That stunt with the crane could have brought a lot of unwanted attention our way.”
Landon laughed derisively. “You think you’re going to tell me how to do things? I think you’ve forgotten who’s new here. My clan’s been in this city forever and we’ve never had any trouble. Humans are slow, stupid. They’re to us as cows are to them. Generations of them live and die in the time it takes us to age a couple of years. New ones replace the dead faster than we can drain them.”
Peter tried to control his rage, to keep himself from punching Landon. It was the hubris of immortality that fueled his words. Peter knew just how special human lives were and how even the shortest ones were filled with wonders a bloodsucker like Landon would never understand. Sometimes Peter wished he knew how it felt to have warm blood pumping through his veins and to hear the beat of his heart in his chest. It must have been exhilarating for someone like Ashe just to wake up every day.
As they approached campus Peter slowed. He was trying to think of the places that Ashe wouldn’t be, but he knew too little about her to make any deductions. Though he doubted she would try to come and talk to him, especially after the coldness of her departure after the accident, he didn’t want to take any risks. He didn’t trust the flame that had awakened inside of him as soon as he had met her for the first time. Its burn remin
ded him that passion ruled reason and a momentary slip could have fatal consequences.
“I’ll see you later,” Landon said as he stopped in front of the art history building. “Be careful of falling construction equipment.” Peter was glad to see the back of him.
Peter hurried along to his own lecture hall and ducked inside the building like a thief. He wondered if he would have to be on his guard every day until the end of the school year. The idea seemed exhausting. At least he knew he was safe in class. He tried to focus on the professor’s words droning through the lecture hall rather than the memory of Ashe’s body pressed against his.
Ashe sat in the stiff armchair in Professor Sharp’s office. Bookshelves towered over the back of the professor’s chair. Most of the book’s spines were well-creased and fading with age. She pushed the sleeves of her sweater up over her forearms, feeling uncomfortable in the overly warm office. The professor seemed unperturbed by the temperature.
His glasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose as he studied Ashe’s essay. His lips moved in motion with her words, and every once in a while, he would sigh or nod his head. After he had finished with the last page, his eyes snapped up to hers and he leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers over the paper.
“Your ideas are good but they have no conviction, no substance. Did you read the books I recommended to you?”
Ashe gave a noncommittal shrug. She was having a hard time focusing on Professor Sharp’s words, as questions about Peter swirled in her head. She thought she had seen him outside the student café, but he had disappeared before Ashe could cross the quad.
“Why are you taking this class, anyway?”
“It was a requirement for my major,” she answered without pause.
“Which is?” Professor Sharp asked.
“English literature.” After the angry words exchanged with her mom, Ashe found that having to say her major aloud left a bad taste in her mouth. It sounded weak. Even worse, she knew the professor was already aware of her major. By feigning ignorance, he was almost poking fun at her inability to keep up with the readings in class.
