by Vivian Lane
“Well, in the absence of his sire or his childe, both of which have run off for their own schemes, he chose you. He likes to have a lady on his arm that enjoys the bloodshed as much as he does. That’s where turning you comes into play. But…Tallis has his games, and so he wants you built up before he tears you down.”
Catherine’s blood ran cold at the thought. He noticed. “Turn me into what?”
“A vampire. Did he hurt you at all before bringing you here?” he asked.
“A cut on my ankle.”
“Let me see.”
She sat down on the bed and removed her shoe and sock, wincing as the sock pulled the scab away. He grabbed her ankle and turned it so he could properly look at the wound. The edges of the cuts were pink.
“I’ll send someone up with a first aid kit. This looks on the verge of infection.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. His fingers on her skin were warmer now than she expected.
William let go and straightened to his full height. “Get some sleep. Your lessons start this evening.” With that, he left, locking the door behind him.
Finally alone for the first time in hours, she let her tears fall.
****
Catherine was left locked up in her room all day.
In the afternoon, a servant came by with a breakfast tray and an etiquette primer. Breakfast was an egg white omelet filled with vegetables, a glass of orange juice, and a glass of milk. No salt, no butter, and the milk was one-percent. He wasn’t kidding about her diet being carefully regulated. Geeze, it wasn’t like she was fat…most people would even call her skinny!
In spite of feeling vaguely insulted, she gobbled the food up, then skeptically eyed the book. It looked old, from the ‘50s or ‘60s, maybe. Sighing, she started to read, though it wasn’t like she was a cretin, or anything. She knew how to set a table, cross her legs in a skirt, and not slurp her soup.
At sundown, another servant came to fetch her.
Catherine followed, nervous about what William would have in store for her. She was led into a small classroom.
“Good evening, Miss Mitchell.”
“Good evening, sir.” She took a seat at a desk.
William turned to a stern-looking elderly woman at his right. “This is Mrs. Crumb. She used to run a finishing school for girls. She will instruct you how to pass in high society. You will do anything she asks of you.”
“Yes, sir,” Catherine said. She felt very lacking beneath the old woman’s stare.
William continued. “When you are not with Mrs. Crumb, you will memorize this book.” He dropped a large volume on the desk. Zezzik’s List of Demons A-Z. “You will be tested on this book in two days. Every wrong answer will result in a demerit.”
Catherine opened her mouth to protest, then promptly clamped it shut. She raised her hand and waited to be called on.
“Yes?”
“Just to clarify, the whole book, sir?”
“The whole book, Miss Mitchell.” He smirked when she dropped her head in despair. “I’ll leave you in Mrs. Crumb’s capable hands.”
As soon as he left the room, Mrs. Crumb slapped a ruler on the desk, making Catherine jump. “Sit up, child! A lady never has poor posture. Where were you raised?”
“In California, by my grandmother.”
“What was your economic status?”
“We lived well enough.”
Mrs. Crumb frowned, then asked her next question, jotting everything down on a clipboard. “Years of education?”
“I was in my freshman year of college until two days ago,” Catherine said with a touch of bitterness.
“For what subject?”
“A major in History with a minor in British Literature.”
“And did you carouse with the other children?”
“No. I was in class, or studying, or with my roommate. There isn’t time for anything else if you want to pass.”
Mrs. Crumb glared down her nose at her. “I do not like your tone, Miss Mitchell. Control yourself, or I shall have to inform the master that you are being belligerent.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Swallowing her pride around this old bat wasn’t easy. There was something about her that rankled Catherine’s insides.
“Good. Stand up, please. The first thing you need to do is learn how to walk.”
She had a fair idea of what this entailed. Every American girl had seen something on TV about girls walking with books on their heads. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, especially since Mrs. Crumb insisted she walk at a normal pace with the book balanced. Every time it fell off, the old woman would snap at her to start again, and again, and again…
After an hour of that, which had almost brought Catherine to tears, Mrs. Crumb moved on to something else—proper introductions. Every time Catherine used a slang word, the old bat would slap her on the arm with the ruler.
A new lesson began on the third hour—lunch.
Catherine discovered the only thing she knew how to do “right” was picking up her silverware from the outside-in toward the plate. Her wrist wasn’t graceful enough when she picked up her glass. She cut her food in bites too large. Then, she ate too fast. A meal had never been so excruciating.
For the fourth hour, they went back to the book trick, only in high heels. Catherine was only ever marginal in walking in them in the first place, and that was with an inch-and-a-half heel. Mrs. Crumb made her wear a pair at three inches, and by the end of that lesson Catherine was ready to beat the woman to death with them. She was never so grateful to bid a person goodbye when Mrs. Crumb announced their time together was up.
The next “class” was a whole new bag. The woman she’d seen last night, Alicia, came into the room. “Hi! Call me Alicia. I don’t bother with that formal crap. People should be allowed to speak their minds. Anyway, I’m here to teach you two subjects. How are you at math, and have you ever had an orgasm before?”
What? “Uh, um, I’m alright at math… Um, why is the other question important?”
Alicia rolled her eyes. “Because I’m going to teach you about sex, silly.”
“I-I’ve had the sex-ed courses at school.”
“Which are seriously lacking in instructing boys on the female orgasm, I’d say. Have you had sex?” she asked.
Catherine blushed. “No… I was waiting for the right guy.”
“Ohhh, the romantic version. Yeah, that doesn’t pan out in real life too often. I could tell you a story about a goblin… Anyway, since Tallis owns you, you’re going to need to know a lot. He’s over two-hundred years old, you know.”
“I didn’t.”
“Ya-huh, and that translates to tons of experience. But I don’t want to scare you with all the details. Right now, we’re going to talk Finance, and then I’ll give you your sex homework, ‘kay?”
As if the past twenty-four hours haven’t been bewildering enough…
When they did get to sex education, Alicia was completely shameless. She had diagrams, and props, and stories…all displayed matter-of-factly and with complete abandon.
Catherine had never blushed so much in her life. “TMI” seriously came to mind!
Chapter Two
After eight hours of lessons, Catherine was allowed to go back to her room. She studied for a few hours, then a servant came to tell her to prepare to go running. Cursing, she hunted through the boxes for sweats and trainers.
She found William outside.
“Four laps around the house is a mile. I want you to do two miles,” he said. She grimaced, but started jogging. “And I better not catch you walking any of it!”
At the end of eight laps, he stopped her and stared, then ordered her to do another four.
She stopped after five miles, not from muscle fatigue, but from wheezing.
“Are you on medication?”
She shook her head “no”, unable to speak, yet. England was a lot colder than California and she wasn’t used to this much exercise.
“Sit, b
efore you fall down, for chrissakes!” He tossed her a bottle of water. “Go inside and shower. Supper is in thirty minutes.”
Catherine nodded and stumbled inside. She barely made it to the third floor. Her legs felt like lead.
Showering actually meant standing in the old fashioned claw-foot tub and using a spray nozzle to hose off, so she took a bath, instead. And fell asleep.
Her eyes opened when she had five minutes to be down in the dining room. “Shit!”
She scrambled to dry off, putting her clothes on from earlier in the day, and ran down the stairs, skidding into the room and her seat just as William sat down at the head of the table.
“You’re late.”
By seconds, maybe, she grumbled internally.
“Not on my watch,” Alicia chirped. He glared at her, but she only grinned.
“Dinner, sir,” one of the servants said, setting a plate in front of him. Other servants set plates down in front of the rest at the same time.
Catherine was served a chicken breast with fresh lemon, steamed vegetables, and a glass of white wine. Was she supposed to drink that? In the U.S., she wasn’t old enough for another three years. The others at the table also seemed to have customized dishes.
She didn’t know who the other women were, let alone what species. One had quills instead of hair. Another was wrapped in robes except for her eyes, which were serpent yellow. None of them spoke, waiting for William to start eating before touching their plates.
She kept her eyes on her food, practicing what Mrs. Crumb had drilled into her head, but she could feel William’s eyes watching her.
Alicia chattered away about end-quarter projections or some such.
Dessert eventually came—a lime ice for the human—and it was torture for her. William and Alicia were served rich, gooey, chocolate cake that smelled like heaven. Catherine was painfully reminded that she wouldn’t get to do her nightly stop at the café for hot chocolate and a pastry ever again. She hoped she would be excused at the end of dinner.
The others got to go watch television when they were done. She was locked in her room with more books and fell asleep with the demon encyclopedia in her lap.
The first week was a blur of lessons, studying, jogging four miles, and more studying. Somehow, she managed to retain enough to satisfy their quizzes.
The night schedule was hard to adjust to. Her body still wanted to wake up when it was fully light, and she had to force herself back to sleep again.
At the end of that week, when she showed up heavy-lidded with dark circles under her eyes, William called her on it. “You’re not sleeping.”
“Not well, sir.”
“Why not?”
“The hours, sir. I keep waking up when it’s daylight.” And she wanted to be at home.
He sighed, and paced in front of her for a moment, before declaring, “Your hours will be adjusted.”
“Thank you, sir.”
William grumbled and left the classroom.
A new schedule was on her bed when she came back from her run. It was handwritten in old-fashioned text with the slant of a leftie.
Your sleeping hours are now 1:00AM to 9:00AM. Don’t make me regret showing you leniency.
She sighed in relief and changed clothes for dinner.
Maybe William wasn’t such a bad guy, after all…or maybe he was merely protecting the client’s investment. She couldn’t figure him out. He was always stern and bossy, but at times, he almost seemed…compassionate.
Week Two
Catherine’s eyes widened in terror at the announcement of week two’s new focus. William wanted her to learn how to dance. She didn’t dance. Bobbed her head while sitting at a table, yeah, but no dancing.
“Put your eyes back in your sockets, girl, it’s only two waltzes.” He smiled devilishly. “The real challenge for this week will be learning how to fight.”
Okay, she took back everything she’d thought about him being not so bad.
William was positively evil. Couldn’t he tell she had two left feet? Apparently, he didn’t care, since a set of dancewear and heels were on her bed the next time she was sent back to her room. She seconded the “evil” assumption when she put on the new clothes, a tank top and leggings that left little to the imagination. She tied a hoodie around her waist in case the room was cold.
Another surprise of the house was that it contained an actual small dance studio, complete with a mirrored wall and ballet barre. She walked into the room in her heeled dance shoes and saw William waiting for her, wearing a black button-down shirt and slacks.
He walked over to a stereo system and turned on a piece of classical music. “Come all the way in, girl, you’re wasting time! Now, the waltz is the simplest and easiest of the ballroom dances. It runs on three-quarter time. One-two-three, one-two-three…”
She nodded her head in time to the beat of the music, earning a small approving smile. He walked over to her and started positioning her arms.
“Your arms are to be held high, like this, but with your shoulders still down and back. Now, you will always place them this way with your partner.” William placed her left hand on his shoulder and clasped her right out to the side. “This hand that’s out from the body always points in the direction you’ll go, so to start, you will step your right foot to the side, then bring your left to meet it, and take a tiny step with the right again. This puts your left foot ready to repeat the process. All to the one-two-three. Your partner will either start you to the side, or lead you forward. It’s important to match your partner’s steps so you don’t mash anyone’s toes. Now, let’s begin.”
Catherine tried remembering what he said while watching his feet.
“Head up! Look at me, or over my shoulder, but never down at the floor.” William tapped the bottom of her chin with the command.
She immediately obeyed, and got caught in his intense blue eyes. Uh-oh… She kicked his boot with the tow of her shoe.
“Oi! Watch the leather!”
“Sorry!” So, she stepped on his other foot.
William changed tactics. “Relax, girl. Focus on how I’m moving as I lead you. You can feel where I want you to go.”
She nodded and took a breath. “Okay…”
She relaxed her arms so she wasn’t fighting him with her stiffness and focused on the points they were connected—her hand on his shoulder, his hand on her waist, their hands entwined…
He was right. The gentle pressure he used told her exactly when he was moving and she should move, and let her absorb the music as part of it, too.
Step, step, step… Step, step, step…
“Now, you’ve got the hang of it. You notice how the rhythm naturally encourages you to step on the ball of your foot, not heel-toe. That’s where your weight should be for every dance, like you’re stepping on clouds.” he said. “Ready for a twirl?”
“Not yet! How does the dance end?”
His eyes were twinkling at her as he said, “With the twirl.”
“Oh. You mentioned before, another kind of dance?”
“The Viennese Waltz, but you don’t want to do that, yet.”
“I don’t?”
“It’s double the speed of this one, with turns,” he said, grinning, then laughed when her eyes bugged out in horror.
He actually has a nice laugh.
“We’ll get to that tomorrow. I’m going to show you the turn now.”
By the end of the hour, she was enjoying herself, and William wasn’t a bad teacher.
The butterflies in her stomach took flight again, however, when he announced that fight training was her next station.
“Harder!”
“I’m trying!”
“What was that?” he growled.
“Yes, sir!” Catherine said, realizing she’d slipped out of her role.
William was making her punch a padded dummy over and over with boxing gloves on. It felt funny, and she wasn’t the violent type. She didn’t want to hit
anybody.
He seemed to read her mind. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to hit anything, Miss Mitchell. The day will come when you have to. Now, commit!”
“Dance Instructor William” had now been replaced by “Drill Sergeant William”. She didn’t like him very much.
“Stop, stop! I have an idea.” She waited while he left the room and came back a minute later. He taped a piece of paper to the bag. It was a crudely drawn face in black marker. Catherine recognized exactly who it was supposed to be. “Go ahead, girl. It’ll be our little secret. God knows, I haven’t slugged ‘im nearly as much as I’ve wanted to.”
She hit the face and made the bag sway ever-so-slightly.
“Good! Harder!”
Right, right, and a left! Once she got started, it felt good to keep hitting that image, giving the pretend-Tallis punishment for every demeaning word and touch he’d subjected her to.
“There’s where you’ve been hiding your fire…” William said. “Over to the mat, now. Let’s work on somethin’ different.” He pulled the gloves off Catherine’s hands, then handed her a big foam-covered stick. She quirked her brow. “Bo staff. Easier to start with than a sword.” He held one identical to it. “Show me what ya got.”
“Huh?”
He rolled his eyes. “Follow your instincts. Come at me.”
“Sir…”
“Attack me, Miss Mitchell, or you’ll be cleaning the kitchen floor with your tongue.”
She gulped, then edged forward to hesitantly tap his arm with the stick. William looked at the staff, then at her, arching his brow. He extended one arm with a lightning-fast movement, knocking her down with the end of his staff.
“Take this seriously, will you?”
Catherine got up, rubbing her arm and pouting.
“Aww, does poor little Cate have a bruise?” he taunted.
