by Mindy Klasky
I was just starting to file away the paperwork from the early evening rush when James materialized in the doorway. I looked up from the computer record I was creating and hoped that I didn’t have anything hideous stuck between my teeth as I asked, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me how you just appear like that?”
He didn’t bother answering my question. Instead, he merely spun the hands on the “I’ll Be Back” clock that was glued to my office door, indicating that I’d return within two hours.
“Ready?” he asked, as if we were going on a class field trip.
“Ready.” I tried to keep my voice even. I lined up my mouse with my keyboard and clicked firmly on the keys that locked my terminal. I tried not to worry as I followed James through the halls. He’d saved my life the night before. He wasn’t likely to put that same life at risk with whatever training I was about to receive. Right?
He led me toward a door at the end of a long, out-of-the-way corridor. It looked just like all the other doors in the courthouse hallways—I expected to see offices behind it.
The road to hell is paved with expectations.
James opened the door with a carefully selected key from the ring that nestled in his right pocket. He pushed it back with a flourish, like some medieval knight casting his cloak across a puddle to protect his lady’s slippered feet. Not that I was wearing slippers. I was wearing my practical pumps, the same ones that I’d nearly died in the night before.
There was a short landing on the other side of the door, and a steep flight of stairs that yawned into absolute darkness. I hesitated at the top step, turning back to see James silhouetted in the doorway. “Really?” I asked. “We’re going down there?”
For answer, he merely palmed a light switch on the wall, illuminating a bare bulb that gave off a stingy twenty-five watts. The sickly yellow glow barely penetrated the shadows on the landing, much less the yawning darkness below. James stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, taking time to turn a hefty deadbolt. The finality of that bar sliding into place sent a shiver down my spine, reminding me of everything that had happened behind that other locked door, inside Judge DuBois’s courtroom.
James led the way down the stairs, flight after flight—five of them in all. With every step, I became more convinced that I was making a mistake. Sure, James had saved me after Brauer’s, um, outburst. He’d seen me safely home. But none of that changed the fact that he was a vampire. He’d practically bathed in my blood the night before. I’d seen the tight expression on his face, right after Ernst Brauer was restrained. James had longed to drink from me as much as everyone else in that courtroom.
Sure, he had held back then, when he was under a direct order from Judge DuBois. But could I really trust him now? Here? When we were off the clock and hidden in the bowels of the courthouse, with no one having the slightest idea of where I was?
Smart girls didn’t let themselves get trapped like this.
James seemed unaware of my agonized thoughts. When we finally reached the bottom of the stairs, we were on another tiny landing with another locked door. The dim bulb from above barely cast a shadow down here; I could just make out the white flash of James’s shirt, the glint of his hand as he slid his fingers into an inside pocket of his jacket. He removed a night-dark shadow.
I blinked, and the shadow resolved itself into an old-fashioned key, the type with square teeth cut out of iron. It looked vaguely familiar, as if I’d handled a similar one a lifetime ago. Before I could comment on its appearance, James plunged it into the door’s lock, rotating with determined pressure.
“Let’s go,” he said, and he opened the door wide. At the same time, he must have flipped some switch inside; my eyes were blinded with sudden, shocking light. I staggered into the room, blinking furiously, barely hearing James close and lock the door behind us.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a medieval dungeon, with iron chains suspended on the wall. Or a laboratory, complete with glowing beakers and steaming vats. A torture chamber, iron maiden standing ready to embrace an unsuspecting victim—me.
But this room was none of those things. None of them, yet all of them, all at the same time.
The space around us was huge. The floor was hardwood, old and battered. The walls to either side were lined with countless books. Many had leather spines; there were huge tomes that looked like they’d been copied by medieval monks. Other shelves were full of case files, green and red pasteboard marching on in dusty rows.
A table hulked to our right, approximately the size of an aircraft carrier. Eight massive chairs clustered around it, cracked leather looking like they were waiting to swallow unsuspecting scholars. Papers—no, I quickly realized—parchment covered the table. My fingers itched to stack the pages into neat, even piles.
Across the room was a boxing ring, ropes strung tight. Floor mats filled the space in between—deep, cushioning blue that reminded me of high school P.E. classes. To my left was a weight machine, a full Universal gym, with stacks of iron plates. Free weights were neatly stacked to the side. Gymnastics equipment arched over its own set of blue mats—a balance beam, and two sets of parallel bars, even and uneven.
The far wall was broken up with various hooks, each holding a specialized type of equipment. I recognized epées and rapiers from my abortive attempt at making the college fencing team. There were sturdier blades, too, some that looked like they’d take both of James’s hands to maneuver. There were maces as well—evil, deadly-looking things. I saw lances and staffs, some of which hung unevenly on their hooks. I felt the urge to straighten them, but I didn’t think that James would appreciate my housekeeping efforts. Not right then.
In the far corner of the room was a cage, man height, with thin dark bars at four-inch intervals. It looked sturdy enough to keep a ravenous tiger at bay. At first, I thought that the bars were made of iron, but then I realized they were tarnished silver. I swallowed hard, hearing the sizzle of Brauer’s neck against the silver chain wielded by Eleanor in the courtroom far above us. I could remember the smell of charred flesh all too clearly.
“What is this place?” I asked, surprise battling fear in my voice.
“The Old Library.” James’s tone was neutral.
I glanced at the books, the gym equipment, the weapons. “I take it, a little more than research gets done here?” I tried to sound nonchalant but that extra octave in my voice probably gave me away.
At least I was rewarded with an approving nod. “The courthouse used this space decades ago, for storage of duplicate materials, out-of-date texts. Now, with so much having gone electronic, no one even remembers these books are here. The files are from the Eastern Empire Night Court. Cases from before we kept everything online.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve taken the liberty of deleting this room from all the official floor plans.”
“What about the cage?” I nodded toward the silver bars. “Is it used to hold defendants?”
“Nothing here is official, for the court. Especially not the cage.”
I heard the chill in his voice, and I suspected that he was remembering some unofficial tenants of the cell. I fought the urge to shudder, making my voice overly bright as I said,
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to box.”
His lips curved into a tight smile. He had to know that I was terrified. “We won’t start with boxing.”
He crossed the room to an enormous armoire that sprawled next to the weapons on the far wall. The doors were open, displaying its contents like prizes from a battle. Long garments hung on the left side; from my vantage point, they looked like graduation robes, but without the usual colorful hoods. The right side of the cabinet was broken up by shelves. James turned to look back at me, his head at an appraising angle, and then he extracted two rolls of fabric. He held them out, and I had no choice but to walk across the room. My heels beat a military tattoo on the floor.
“You can change into these.”
I sh
ook out the fabric. One bundle was a pair of flowing cotton pants. The other turned out to be a belted tunic, like a short bathrobe, but more fitted. I looked from the clothes to James, suddenly eager to delay whatever else was coming. “Black?” I asked, trying for a casual, conversational tone.
“The better to hide fresh blood,” he said, without any hint that he was joking. I swallowed audibly as James nodded toward a door in the corner. “You can change in the locker room.”
The space turned out to be small but adequate—a toilet stall, a wall with three shower heads, a pair of sinks. A half dozen lockers stood like sentries, metal doors ajar. A full length mirror reflected my pale face.
I took my time wriggling out of my sweater set, folding my skirt, peeling off my pantyhose and lining up my shoes as if I expected to be graded on neatness. The black garments fit perfectly; they could have been tailored for my body. I thought about how James had eyed me from across the room, and I blushed.
As I ran out of dilatory tactics, he pounded on the door. “Let’s go!”
I wondered if he had somehow heard the blood flowing through the capillaries in my cheeks. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the tiled haven. My heart flipped as I looked over at the equipment rack. The staffs looked thicker from here. I could imagine the welts they could leave on my flesh. The swords were wicked; several had scarlet tassels dripping from their hilts, like blood.
“Come here,” James said. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I glanced at his right forearm, trying not to remember how I had drunk from it, scarcely twenty-four hours before. The flesh was smooth, unblemished, without even a whisper-white scar to mark how James had bled.
He had slipped out of his black wing-tips. He stood in his stocking feet on the hardwood floor, balanced, poised. Like a panther waiting for prey in the middle of the jungle.
I held my head high as I walked toward him. I didn’t want him to know how terrified I was. I didn’t want him to hear the pounding of my heart, the harsh panting of my lungs. I didn’t want him to see me lick my lips.
But I didn’t get to set the rules. He did.
“Relax,” he said, but I couldn’t comply with the command.
“What are you going to teach me?” I couldn’t help but dart my eyes toward the weapons.
“Some sort of vampire kung-fu?”
“Something like that. Eventually.” He took a step closer to me, and I stiffened every muscle in my body to keep from ducking away. “For now, though, you’re going to learn to breathe.”
“Breathe?” I could barely get the word out, I was so surprised. This creature that needed no air was going to teach me how to breathe?
“Relax,” he said again, but I didn’t do any better in complying. “Spread your feet.” I shuffled them an inch apart. “More,” he said, starting to reach toward my ankle. I quickly broadened my stance, before he could touch me. “Good,” he said, as if he hadn’t noticed my panicked adjustment.
I was completely aware of him, of his body next to mine. My skin was drawn to him the same way that tiny hairs are pulled upright by static electricity. I had part of him in me, his blood had become mine, and like it or not, I was seduced by that connection.
“Pick a point in front of you,” he said, and his voice rumbled at the lower limits of my hearing. He glided to stand behind me. “Stare at it. Feel it draw you. Pull you.”
I knew that he wasn’t Enfolding me, wasn’t hypnotizing me with his vampire charm. He couldn’t do that—we’d established that fact the night before. Nevertheless, his tone was calming; the rhythm of his words washed over me like warm water.
“Excellent,” he whispered, and I knew that he’d moved closer, even though he was standing behind me, even though I could not see him. “Now, inhale into the bottom of your lungs. Deeper. Deeper. And exhale. Let the power of your breath carry you straighter. Taller.”
I concentrated on his words, tried to match his instruction. This was so much easier than I’d feared. Even with a vampire standing behind me, I could follow these instructions. My fingers started to tingle with the force of my breathing. The roof of my mouth vibrated as I took another deep breath, as I exhaled and lengthened my spine. A crimson mist drifted across my vision.
“There you go,” he said, and I was startled to feel his lips beside my ear. I started to edge away, raising my shoulder to protect the vulnerable stretch of my throat. He reached around me with one arm, though, pulling me close against his chest. His fingers spread across my belly, firm and commanding through my crisp cotton jacket. It felt like we were dancing some impossibly intimate tango, even though we were standing perfectly still.
“Again,” he said.
I took another breath, trying to focus on my lungs, trying to ignore the stone of his chest against my back. His fingers vibrated against me as I reached the peak of my breathing, as the room turned to ruby. His palms called me further, demanded that I channel even more oxygen. “And release,” he whispered, barely voicing the syllables, communicating through the velvet of his lips on the pulse point in my throat. He flexed his wrist minutely, lifting his fingers from my abs. I exhaled until I thought I might collapse, until my spine felt longer than the staircase that had brought us to this secret chamber. The scarlet cast to the room deepened.
Nine times more, he had me repeat the exercise. Each time, he ordered me to pull more into myself, to focus on stilling my heart, on bringing my body to perfect, frozen stasis. By my final exhale, I wasn’t sure where my body ended, where his began. We were bonded in one crimson whole. He was supporting me, but I had more strength in my body than I had ever felt before. He was guiding me, but I was exploring new territory on my own, discovering the extent of my flesh, the limits of my body.
“And relax,” he said. The two spoken words thundered through the room, as loud as if he’d shouted them, even though he’d used a normal speaking voice.
I let the power flow out of my spine, slip from my arms, from my legs. I lapsed into regular breathing, into ordinary human existence. All of the energy that James had raised, all of the power he had sparked across my limbs, all of that force was released at once, and I stumbled forward, unable to stand against the sudden, crashing freedom.
He caught me from the side, gliding around to stand in front of me, folding his hands around my biceps to keep me upright. “Easy,” he said, supporting more than half my weight. “Take a moment to find your balance.”
I let him hold me, let him keep me steady while the scarlet haze faded. “I—” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish that. “What did you do to me?”
He smiled, amusement actually defrosting the chill of his eyes. “I did nothing. I was merely your guide.” I started to protest, and he shook his head. “You found the core of your power. The strength inside your body. You must focus on it. Nurture it. Expand it, so that you can use it for your other exercises.”
I fiddled with my hematite bracelet, a little surprised to realize that I hadn’t removed it when I’d changed into the strange workout clothes. “And that’s going to help me defend myself against vampires how?”
Again, that mysterious smile. “When you draw inside yourself, when you are most centered, you are strongest. And you are least visible to us.” I started to protest. I knew that I hadn’t disappeared. If anything, I’d been more visible to him, more bare. “Not here,” he said, anticipating my words and resting a single finger on my temple, near my right eye. “Here.” He spread his other hand across his chest, making me even more aware of the body beneath his oxford cloth shirt. “We’ve evolved to listen for humans, to sense them.”
I knew the words he wasn’t saying: “As prey.” Vampires were used to tracking their meals, chasing them into dark corners.
He nodded. “When you center yourself, you deaden your fear. You make us less aware. You remove vampire instincts from the equation and create a more even battlefield.”
I shuddered, recalling just how uneven that territory ha
d been when Brauer had, um, come after me. I couldn’t imagine finding any calm core, any peace or internalized energy, when I was in the middle of fighting for my life. Desperate to distract myself from the image of Brauer chomping down on my throat, I reached for the first thing that sprang to mind.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How did you…” I wasn’t sure how to phrase what I wanted to know. “When did you…” This shouldn’t be so difficult. I just wanted a few facts. “What was your life like before you were a vampire?”
He hissed and pulled away. I was astonished by how much I missed his body next to mine. His eyes darkened, and the line of his jaw grew harder. “That’s private.” He clipped the words into three precise syllables.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you.” My heart was back to hammering in my chest. Great. Antagonize a vampire by asking an unwelcome question, then tempt him with a tasty blood treat. I watched James’s fingers curl inwards, measured the minute steps he took to keep himself under control.
Control. I took a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled. This was precisely the sort of situation that I could defuse. I breathed again. Again.
When I dared to look at his face, I caught the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Very good,” he said. “But just to clarify, I wasn’t close to attacking you.”
“I—I never thought you were.” I’d always been a lousy liar.
He didn’t bother to contradict me. Instead, his voice was almost gentle as he said, “We hold our Turning stories close. They’re our last link with our humanity. We don’t share that lightly.” He quirked an eyebrow. “At least not when we can’t Enfold the person we’re speaking to.”
Great. Yet another way my freakish resistance to Enfolding set me apart.
