by L. J. Smith
“The same thing—only longer,” drawled Meredith, and the group dissolved into laughter.
The boy had locked his car and was walking toward school. Casually, Elena started after him, the other girls right behind her in a close-knit pack. For an instant, annoyance bubbled up inside her. Couldn’t she go anywhere without a parade on her heels? But Meredith caught her eye, and she smiled in spite of herself.
“Noblesse oblige,” Meredith said softly.
“What?”
“If you’re going to be queen of the school, you have to put up with the consequences.”
Elena frowned at this as they entered the building. A long corridor stretched before them, and a figure in jeans and leather jacket was disappearing through the office doorway up ahead. Elena slowed her pace as she walked up to the office, finally stopping to glance thoughtfully at the messages on the cork bulletin board by the door. There was a large window here, through which the entire office was visible.
The other girls were openly gazing through the window, and giggling. “Nice rear view.” “That is definitely an Armani jacket.” “You think he’s from out of state?”
Elena was straining her ears for the boy’s name. There seemed to be some kind of trouble in there: Mrs. Clarke, the admissions secretary, was looking at a list and shaking her head. The boy said something, and Mrs. Clarke lifted her hands in a “What can I say?” gesture. She ran a finger down the list and shook her head again, conclusively. The boy started to turn away, then turned back. And when Mrs. Clarke looked up at him, her expression changed.
The boy’s sunglasses were now in his hand. Mrs. Clarke seemed startled by something; Elena could see her blink several times. Her lips opened and closed as if she were trying to speak.
Elena wished she could see more than the back of the boy’s head. Mrs. Clarke was fumbling through piles of paper now, looking dazed. At last she found a form of some kind and wrote on it, then turned it around and pushed it toward the boy.
The boy wrote briefly on the form—signing it, probably—and returned it. Mrs. Clarke stared at it a second, then fumbled through a new pile of papers, finally handing what looked like a class schedule to him. Her eyes never left the boy as he took it, inclined his head in thanks, and turned to the door.
Elena was wild with curiosity by now. What had just happened in there? And what did this stranger’s face look like? But as he emerged from the office, he was settling his sunglasses in place again. Disappointment coursed through her.
Still, she could see the rest of his face as he paused in the doorway. The dark curly hair framed features so fine that they might have been taken from an old Roman coin or medallion. High cheekbones, classical straight nose … and a mouth to keep you awake at night, Elena thought. The upper lip was beautifully sculpted, a little sensitive, a whole lot sensual. The chatter of the girls in the hallway had stopped as if someone had thrown a switch.
Most of them were turning away from the boy now, looking anywhere but at him. Elena held her place by the window and gave a little toss to her head, pulling the ribbon out of her hair so that it fell loose around her shoulders.
Without looking to either side, the boy moved on down the hallway. A chorus of sighs and whispers flared up the moment he was out of earshot.
Elena didn’t hear any of it.
He’d walked right by her, she thought, dazed. Right by without a glance.
Dimly, she realized the bell was ringing. Meredith was tugging her arm.
“What?”
“I said here’s your schedule. We’ve got trig on the second floor right now. Come on!”
Elena allowed Meredith to propel her down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and into a classroom. She slid into an empty seat automatically and fixed her eyes on the teacher at the front without really seeing her. The shock still hadn’t worn off.
He’d walked right by. Without a glance. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since a boy had done that. They all looked, at least. Some whistled. Some stopped to talk. Some just stared.
And that had always been fine with Elena.
After all, what was more important than boys? They were the mark of how popular you were, of how beautiful you were. And they could be useful for all sorts of things. Sometimes they were exciting, but usually that didn’t last long. Sometimes they were creeps from the beginning.
Most boys, Elena reflected, were like puppies. Adorable in their place, but expendable. A very few could be more than that, could become real friends. Like Matt.
Oh, Matt. Last year she’d hoped that he was the one she was looking for, the boy who could make her feel … well, something more. More than the rush of triumph at making a conquest, the pride in showing your new acquisition off to the other girls. And she had come to feel a strong affection for Matt. But over the summer, when she’d had time to think, she’d realized it was the affection of a cousin or sister.
Ms. Halpern was passing out trigonometry books. Elena took hers mechanically and wrote her name inside, still wrapped in thought.
She liked Matt more than any other boy she’d known. And that was why she was going to have to tell him it was over.
She hadn’t known how to tell him in a letter. She didn’t know how to tell him now. It wasn’t that she was afraid he’d kick up a fuss; he just wouldn’t understand. She didn’t really understand herself.
It was as if she were always reaching for … something. Only, when she thought she’d got it, it wasn’t there. Not with Matt, not with any of the boys she’d had.
And then she had to start all over again. Fortunately, there was always fresh material. No boy had ever resisted her successfully, and no boy had ever ignored her. Until now.
Until now. Remembering that moment in the hall, Elena found that her fingers were clenched on the pen she held. She still couldn’t believe he’d brushed by her that way.
The bell rang and everyone flooded out of the classroom, but Elena paused in the doorway. She bit her lip, scanning the river of students flowing through the hall. Then she spotted one of the hangers-on from the parking lot.
“Frances! Come here.”
Frances came eagerly, her plain face brightening.
“Listen, Frances, you remember that boy this morning?”
“With the Porsche and the—er—assets? How could I forget?”
“Well, I want his class schedule. Get it from the office if you can, or copy it from him if you have to. But do it!”
Frances looked surprised for a moment, then grinned and nodded. “Okay, Elena. I’ll try. I’ll meet you at lunch if I can get it.”
“Thanks.” Elena watched the girl go.
“You know, you really are crazy,” Meredith’s voice said in her ear.
“What’s the use of being queen of the school if you can’t pull a little rank sometimes?” returned Elena calmly. “Where do I go now?”
“General Business. Here, take it yourself.” Meredith thrust a schedule at her. “I’ve got to run for chemistry. Later!”
General Business and the rest of the morning passed in a blur. Elena had hoped to catch another glimpse of the new student, but he was in none of her classes. Matt was in one, and she felt a pang as his blue eyes met hers with a smile.
At the lunch bell, she nodded greetings right and left as she walked to the cafeteria. Caroline was outside, posed casually against a wall with chin up, shoulders back, hips forward. The two boys she was talking to fell silent and nudged each other as Elena approached.
“Hi,” Elena said briefly to the boys; and to Caroline: “Ready to go in and eat?”
Caroline’s green eyes barely flickered toward Elena, and she pushed glossy auburn hair out of her face. “What, at the royal table?” she said.
Elena was taken aback. She and Caroline had been friends since kindergarten, and they had always competed with each other good-naturedly. But lately something had happened to Caroline. She’d begun to take the rivalry more and more seriously. And now E
lena was surprised at the bitterness in the other girl’s voice.
“Well, it’s hardly as if you were a commoner,” she said lightly.
“Oh, you’re so right about that,” said Caroline, turning to face Elena fully. Those green cat-eyes were slitted and smoky, and Elena was shocked by the hostility she saw there. The two boys smiled uneasily and edged away.
Caroline didn’t seem to notice. “A lot of things changed while you were gone this summer, Elena,” she continued. “And just maybe your time on the throne is running out.”
Elena had flushed; she could feel it. She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Maybe,” she said. “But I wouldn’t buy a scepter just yet if I were you, Caroline.” She turned and went into the lunchroom.
It was a relief to see Meredith and Bonnie, and Frances beside them. Elena felt her cheeks cool as she selected her lunch and went to join them. She wouldn’t let Caroline upset her; she wouldn’t think of Caroline at all.
“I got it,” said Frances, waving a piece of paper as Elena sat down.
“And I have some good stuff,” said Bonnie importantly. “Elena, listen to this. He’s in my biology class, and I sit right across from him. And his name is Stefan, Stefan Salvatore, and he’s from Italy, and he’s boarding with old Mrs. Flowers on the edge of town.” She sighed. “He is so romantic. Caroline dropped her books, and he picked them up for her.”
Elena made a wry face. “How clumsy of Caroline. What else happened?”
“Well, that’s all. He didn’t really talk to her. He’s ver-r-ry mysterious, you see. Mrs. Endicott, my biology teacher, tried to get him to take off his glasses, but he wouldn’t. He has a medical condition.”
“What kind of medical condition?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s terminal and his days are numbered. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”
“Oh, very,” said Meredith.
Elena was looking over Frances’s sheet of paper, biting her lip. “He’s in my seventh period, European History. Anybody else have that class?”
“I do,” said Bonnie. “And I think Caroline does, too. Oh, and maybe Matt; he said something yesterday about how it was just his luck, getting Mr. Tanner.”
Marvelous, Elena thought, picking up a fork and stabbing at her mashed potatoes. It looked as if seventh period was going to be extremely interesting.
Stefan was glad the school day was almost over. He wanted to get out of these crowded rooms and corridors, just for a few minutes.
So many minds. The pressure of so many thought patterns, so many mental voices surrounding him, was making him dizzy. It had been years since he had been in a swarm of people like this.
One mind in particular stood out from the others. She had been among those watching him in the main corridor of the school building. He didn’t know what she looked like, but her personality was powerful. He felt sure he’d recognize it again.
So far, at least, he’d survived the first day of the masquerade. He’d used the Powers only twice, and then sparingly. But he was tired, and, he admitted ruefully, hungry. The rabbit hadn’t been enough.
Worry about that later. He found his last classroom and sat down. And immediately he felt the presence of that mind again.
It glowed at the edge of his consciousness, a golden light, soft and yet vibrant. And, for the first time, he could locate the girl it was coming from. She was seated right in front of him.
Even as he thought it, she turned around and he saw her face. It was all he could do not to gasp in shock.
Katherine! But of course it couldn’t be. Katherine was dead; no one knew that better than he did.
Still, the resemblance was uncanny. That pale golden hair, so fair it almost seemed to shimmer. That creamy skin, which had always made him think of swans, or alabaster, flushing faintly pink over the cheekbones. And the eyes … Katherine’s eyes had been a color he had never seen before; darker than sky blue, as rich as the lapis lazuli in her jeweled headband. This girl had those same eyes.
And they were fixed directly on his as she smiled.
He looked down from the smile quickly. Of all things, he did not want to think about Katherine. He didn’t want to look at this girl who reminded him of her, and he didn’t want to feel her presence any longer. He kept his eyes on the desk, blocking his mind as strongly as he knew how. And at last, slowly, she turned around again.
She was hurt. Even through the blocks, he could feel that. He didn’t care. In fact, he was glad of it, and he hoped it would keep her away from him. Other than that, he had no feelings about her at all.
He kept telling himself this as he sat, the droning voice of the teacher pouring over him unheard. But he could smell a subtle hint of some perfume—violets, he thought. And her slender white neck was bowed over her book, the fair hair falling on either side of it.
In anger and frustration he recognized the seductive feeling in his teeth—more a tickling or a tingling than an ache. It was hunger, a specific hunger. And not one he was about to indulge.
The teacher was pacing about the room like a ferret, asking questions, and Stefan deliberately fixed his attention on the man. At first he was puzzled, for although none of the students knew the answers, the questions kept coming. Then he realized that that was the man’s purpose. To shame the students with what they didn’t know.
Just now he’d found another victim, a small girl with clusters of red curls and a heart-shaped face. Stefan watched in distaste as the teacher badgered her with questions. She looked wretched as he turned away from her to address the entire class.
“You see what I mean? You think you’re pretty hot stuff; you’re seniors now, ready to graduate. Well, let me tell you, some of you aren’t ready to graduate kindergarten. Like this!” He gestured toward the red-haired girl. “No idea about the French Revolution. Thinks Marie Antoinette was a silent film star.”
Students all around Stefan were shifting uncomfortably. He could feel the resentment in their minds, and the humiliation. And the fear. They were all afraid of this thin little man with eyes like a weasel, even the husky boys who were taller than he was.
“All right, let’s try another era.” The teacher swung back to the same girl he’d been questioning. “During the Renaissance—” He broke off. “You do know what the Renaissance is, don’t you? The period between the thirteenth and seventeenth centuries, in which Europe rediscovered the great ideas of ancient Greece and Rome? The period that produced so many of Europe’s greatest artists and thinkers?” When the girl nodded confusedly, he continued. “During the Renaissance, what would students your age be doing at school? Well? Any idea at all? Any guesses?”
The girl swallowed hard. With a weak smile she said, “Playing football?”
At the ensuing laughter, the teacher’s face darkened. “Hardly!” he snapped, and the classroom quieted. “You think this is a joke? Well, in those days, students your age would already be proficient in several languages. They would also have mastered logic, mathematics, astronomy, philosophy, and grammar. They would be ready to go on to a university, in which every course was taught in Latin. Football would be absolutely the last thing on—”
“Excuse me.”
The quiet voice stopped the teacher in mid-harangue. Everyone turned to stare at Stefan.
“What? What did you say?”
“I said, excuse me,” Stefan repeated, removing his glasses and standing up. “But you’re wrong. Students in the Renaissance were encouraged to participate in games. They were taught that a healthy body goes with a healthy mind. And they certainly played team sports, like cricket, tennis—and even football.” He turned to the red-haired girl and smiled, and she smiled back gratefully. To the teacher, he added, “But the most important things they learned were good manners and courtesy. I’m sure your book will tell you that.”
Students were grinning. The teacher’s face was red with blood, and he was sputtering. But Stefan continued to hold his eyes, and after another minute it was the teacher w
ho looked away.
The bell rang.
Stefan put his glasses on quickly and gathered his books. He’d already drawn more attention to himself than he should, and he didn’t want to have to look at the blond girl again. Besides, he needed to get out of here quickly; there was a familiar burning sensation in his veins.
As he reached the door, someone shouted, “Hey! Did they really play football back then?”
He couldn’t help throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Oh, yes. Sometimes with the severed heads of prisoners of war.”
Elena watched him as he went. He’d deliberately turned away from her. He’d snubbed her on purpose, and in front of Caroline, who’d been watching like a hawk. Tears burned in her eyes, but at that moment only one thought burned in her mind.
She’d have him, even if it killed her. If it killed both of them, she’d have him.
3
The first light of dawn was streaking the night sky with pink and palest green. Stefan watched it from the window of his room in the boarding house. He had rented this room specifically because of the trapdoor in the ceiling, a trapdoor that opened onto the widow’s walk on the roof above. Just now that door was open, and a cool damp wind blew down the ladder below it. Stefan was fully dressed, but not because he was up early. He had never been to sleep.
He’d just returned from the woods, and a few scraps of wet leaf clung to the side of his boot. He brushed them off fastidiously. The comments of the students yesterday had not escaped him, and he knew they had been staring at his clothes. He had always dressed in the best, not merely out of vanity, but because it was the right thing to do. His tutor had often said it: An aristocrat should dress as befits his position. If he does not, he is showing contempt for others. Everyone had a place in the world, and his place had once been among the nobility. Once.
Why was he dwelling on these things? Of course, he should have realized that playing the role of a student was likely to bring his own student days back. Now the memories came thick and fast, as if he were skimming through the pages of a journal, his eyes catching an entry here and there. One flashed before him vividly now: his father’s face when Damon had announced he was quitting the University. He would never forget that. He had never seen his father so angry….
