by Lucy Lyons
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 against 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 h
e 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 reminded 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.
Professor Sharp pushed his glasses up and squinted through them at Ashe. She knew he was over-exaggerating his actions on purpose, to try and lighten the mood, but it all came across as patronizing. She didn’t need the professor telling her, for the second time in as many days, that she was not putting her full effort into her studies.
“We’re a little more than halfway through the semester now, and if you’re serious about graduating you need to show it.”
“I’m serious,” Ashe said. “I mean, I want to graduate. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Professor Sharp nodded. His expression softened. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You just need a little push, which is why I’ve arranged a tutor for you.”
There was a knock on the door. Ashe was glad for the interruption.
“That would be the tutor, I believe,” the professor said. “Come in,” he called to the person at the door.
Ashe sank down further in the armchair. She wanted to be invisible. She did not want to be chained for the semester to some student whose job it was to tell her how lazy she was.
The door opened and Peter stepped into the room. Ashe quickly straightened herself up in her chair and tried to control the nervous butterflies in her stomach. She should have known, after Peter’s conversation with the professor, that he would be the one assigned as her tutor. Though she had been daydreaming of running into him again, she had not anticipated being brought together like this. It was too sudden.
“You said I was supposed to meet you about a job,” Peter said. “If you’re busy with another student I can come back later.” His hand was already on the doorknob and he looked ready to leave.
The professor waved him inside. “Yes, I have a job for you. Miss Linfield here is in need of a tutor.”
“I can’t,” Peter said quickly. Ashe almost breathed a sigh of relief, but she didn’t know why. She couldn’t decide how she felt about him.
Professor Sharp’s face turned stern. “You may have just transferred here, but you’re the only student who knows the syllabus for my European mythology class. Miss Linfield has only a couple of semesters to graduate and if she can’t make it her four years here will have gone to waste.”
Peter’s brow furrowed as he considered the professor’s words. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Good, good.” Professor Sharp said with a satisfied smile. He reached into the drawer of his desk and took out a stack of old books. He slid the stack across the desk to Peter. “In case you need your own copy for reference, though from our talks I have a feeling you’ve got these all memorized by heart.”
Peter gave only the hint of a smile at the professor’s compliment. His eyebrows were still furrowed in concern. Ashe wanted to apologize for being an inconvenience to him, if that was the case, but her throat felt dry and she had no words to say. Peter took the books from the desk and tucked them under his arm.
“Do you have class now?” Peter asked Ashe, the first words he had directed towards her since walking in. They held none of the gentle warmth of yesterday’s introduction.
Ashe shook her head. “Not until evening.”
“Then let’s go.” Peter nodded at her to follow him out of the office.
Ashe couldn’t help but notice the satisfied smile on the professor’s face as she left.
Peter walked briskly through the hallway and Ashe struggled to keep up. “You think you could slow down?” she said to his back.
“From what the professor told me, you’ve got a lot to catch up on,” he replied. Ashe didn’t like his tone. It was cold, almost condescending.
“Hey,” she said. “If this is about yesterday, I’m sorry. I was shaken up by the accident and I’m not good at getting along with people anyway. But I’m not as bad a student as the professor made me out to be. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Let’s humor the professor for a little while, at least. Might be that your grades go up after all.”
Ashe couldn’t stand the way he was talking to her. She wanted to prove him wrong about her, but knew that her bluff would be called as soon as they started studying. She was way behind on her readings and needed time to cram before their first tutoring session. That way she could show him up and prove that she didn’t need his help after all.
“If you still want to get that coffee, I’d be glad to go with you,” she said, hoping to distract him from getting any actual studying done.
Peter stopped and turned, his pale face locked between a frown and a smile. He brushed the hair back from his forehead. “First let’s get your grades back up, okay? Then we’ll talk about coffee.”
He had stopped right in front of an alcove in the hallway containing a low table and several armchairs. Peter gestured for Ashe to sit and took the chair across from hers. He tossed his books onto the table. They fell into a jumbled mess and Ashe felt sick just looking at all of the unread pages. She had not done an ounce of work in two months.
Peter leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. The sleeves of his button-down were rolled midway and Ashe could see the thick veins of his forearms pulsing blood from his muscles. His skin was so pale that she could even make out the blue hue of the oxygen-deprived blood.
“Your problem isn’t these books,” Peter said. “The pro
fessor said you’re a literature major. You like to read.”
Ashe had been hoping Peter was maybe going to hang around while she caught up on her reading and look over her essays before they were due, but apparently he was taking things very seriously. Though he couldn’t have been any older than Ashe, there was something about him that seemed old, like he understood far more of life than Ashe could ever hope to.
Ashe sighed. “It’s just that the professor wants us to talk about these myths like they’re a part of history, like they’re real. I don’t mean what you were saying about vampires being real flesh and blood, but he wants us to think that people actually believed in this stuff back in the day. But it’s all so ridiculous. Even in the Middle Ages, people must have had better sense than that. At least in my literature classes everyone knows the stuff we’re reading is fiction.”
Peter smiled. It was a knowing smile that Ashe didn’t like. She felt silly for opening her mouth and saying the truth. He probably thought she was an idiot.
“You have a point,” Peter replied.
“Then why are you smiling like that?” Ashe didn’t want to start a fight, but she felt the anger bubbling up inside of her nevertheless.
Peter leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. “You seem so sure none of this is real, but how can you be? Does the fact that you’ve never seen something mean it doesn’t exist?”
“Well, no, but—” Ashe started. She didn’t know why she was even arguing with him about this. It had nothing to do with getting her grades up. All she wanted was enough motivation to study for the stupid class.
“At least you can accept that a lot of these myths have origins in the truth,” Peter said. He grabbed a book up off the table and flipped through the pages. “See, this woodcut print from the fifteenth century for example.”
