Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1)

by J. J. Bonds

  I quickly flip to the back of the book looking for old world translations. I picked up some Romanian living with Aldo but only enough to get by and there are several words I don’t understand in this one short paragraph. “Ugh,” I groan aloud. This book is going to be a bigger challenge than I’d originally thought. I commit the translations to memory and reread the passage, substituting the English words with which I am more familiar.

  Vampirism has deep roots which can be traced back to the dawn of man and which predate the first written word. Historical Perspectives makes no attempt to cover this extensive history. Instead, we focus on the paramount events that have shaped our world and brought order to the Vampire society. Inside the pages of this book you will come to understand not only your heritage but also the impact of our people on the modern world. You will gain unparalleled insight into the blood lust, the hunger, and ultimately the old blood from which you were born. Not every chapter will paint a pretty picture, as history is often unkind and grotesque; but the Consiliul de Batrani has endorsed this book as a key component of your education. The Council recognizes that in order to reach your full potential, it will be necessary for you to accept the harsh realities of the world in which we live and the dangers presented by the blood poison and the mixed-bloods. Your studies will provide the foundation for a deeper understanding of the Councils’ defining values—values that you, too, will come to embrace and to which you will swear allegiance upon graduation.

  “Interesting,” I whisper to the empty room. Aldo hadn’t mentioned the oath in our talks. I’m curious about its implied meaning and its implication in my studies at Crossroads. I should ask Aldo about it when we talk next. By nature I’m not a fan of surprises, and the oath’s notable mention in the preface of my history book suggests that it is of great importance, even if I have yet to understand its significance.

  Curiosity piqued, I surge ahead delving into the first chapter. I pause briefly to take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I repeat the exercise a few more times for good measure. As usual, this act of meditation calms my nerves and allows me to tamp down the excitement I’m feeling. It’s a silly little relaxation trick designed for humans, but it always works for me. I know I shouldn’t be so energized by a textbook, but it seems beyond my control. There’s just so much I still don’t know.

  The night passes quickly as I devour the text, drinking in every last detail as though the words can nourish the brain the way blood nourishes the body. Turns out I can’t get enough of it. I can’t put it down until I’ve sapped the last bits of information from its pages.

  “So many questions, so few answers,” I muse, reverently laying the book on the desk and sliding my feet to the floor. “Typical.”

  I glance out the window above the desk and admire the full moon, which hangs low in the night sky. Its beams illuminate the rolling mountains surrounding the school and provide the only light in the room, aside from the dull glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand. Its putrid green numbers remind me of the late hour.

  I smile in the dark. Not too long ago I’d have been unnerved by this scenario, but now I can rest assured there’s nothing more fearsome in this inky blackness than myself. I’ve fallen into the habit of reading by moonlight over the last year and rarely rely on traditional fluorescent lights anymore. I don’t need to. My eyesight is sharp, and I require little light to make out the words on the page. Like tonight, I have a tendency to get absorbed in the text, losing track of the time and my surroundings.

  I contemplate a quick stroll around the grounds to burn off a little energy and decide that it’s not worth the risk. Recalling Anya’s warning about the Pazitor, I figure they don’t take kindly to students wandering the campus after curfew. How would they react to such a blatant violation of the rules? I fleetingly wonder if the stoic guards ever show emotion or if their control has infinite limits.

  Choosing the path of least resistance and self-preservation, I settle for exploring the interior of the school. I rummage through the file Anya gave me and grab the school map. Since I missed dinner and my opportunity to get a better lay of the land I figure it can’t hurt to take an unauthorized, self-guided tour and track down all of my classes. It sure beats the alternative of wandering around tomorrow with a map in my hand when the halls are bustling with students who are better acquainted with Crossroads.

  **********

  I slip into the hall quietly, glancing both left and right, straining my ears for any telltale sign of movement. After a few seconds I decide the coast is clear and gently close the door to my room behind me. It clicks softly into place, and I come to the realization that most of my classmates are probably at rest by now preparing for what promises to be an interesting, if not eventful, day tomorrow. Still, I know it’s best not to take chances when surrounded by a community of creatures with heightened senses.

  I give silent thanks for the thick rugs which mask my footfalls and allow me to move though the halls undetected. A quick study of my map reveals that the dining hall and most of my classrooms can be reached from the main foyer where Lexie and I entered the school earlier today. The hall has three offshoots and provides access to the stairwells that lead up into the recesses of the school. Although I’m no stranger to the dark, I’m surprised by the lack of natural light and wish fleetingly for the moon to illuminate my path as its beams had lit my room just moments ago. It’s then that I remember the heavily tinted windows, which had provided such comfort while the suns rays were shining brightly today. Apparently they are even more effective at night. Oh, well. C’est la vie.

  I pad silently into the main hall and ignore the common rooms which had captured my attention earlier, immediately deciding to explore the west wing of the school first. Although I won’t have my MMA class until Wednesday, the training center housed there is the area of most interest to me. I pause briefly, listening again for any sign of company. Just as I decide that I am alone, I notice something I’d missed earlier in the day.

  I shouldn’t be surprised by the presence of the portrait. It’s certainly not anything I haven’t seen before, but Aldo’s eyes staring out intently from the wall freeze me in place. The portrait looks a little older than the one in his office at home, but I recognize the other members of the Consiliul de Batrani immediately.

  Their twelve cold faces, along with Aldo, represent the most powerful covens in the world and our ruling class. I’ve been caught and even though it’s not rational I feel a tremor of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I had promised Aldo I’d be an exemplary student, and here I am sneaking around on my first night breaking the rules.

  I contemplate turning back, but decide that, since I’ve already taken the risk, it would be a shame not to reap the reward. I turn on my heel and march into the new wing, determined to see what I’ve come for and ignoring the nagging feeling that those thirteen pairs of eyes are watching me, judging.

  As I move through the west wing of the school, which is decidedly creepy at night, I take note of several advanced laboratories, a dance studio easily identified by the parade of mirrors on its far side and what I’m certain is a music studio designed for both instrumental and choral instruction. I briefly stop to study the rooms as I go. I’m surprised that each room has a wall of windows lining the hall which afford the inhabitants little privacy. While it seems Crossroads caters to a wide array of interests, it is also very open about showcasing the talents of its students. Or, perhaps I’m being naïve and it’s simply a means of monitoring the inner workings of the school and preventing any impropriety since adolescent vamps are notorious for their raging hormones. The one thing I am certain of is that Anya was right. The school is far more modern on the interior than it appears from the outside. Where I come from facilities like this simply don’t exist for students.

  I feel a rush of adrenaline, wondering what the training center has to offer and quicken my pace, realizing that I’ve lingered too long already. I can hardly believe my eyes when I reach the end
of the hall. The training center is wicked awesome. Like the other rooms I’ve passed, it’s showcased by a wall of glass, allowing its occupants to be observed and monitored from the outside. Unlike the other rooms, the training center is three stories high and significantly larger. I assume this is due to the fact that all students must complete physical training, while the other areas of study would draw fewer dedicated pupils.

  I quickly discover that, while I’m standing on the first floor of the school, the training center’s primary entrance is in the basement. Secondary access is possible from floors one and two where the doors open directly onto an exposed metal staircase that descends to the floor. I reach for the door and am loathe to discover that my keycard is required for entry. Figures. While tempting, I have no doubt that swiping the card will bring the Pazitor and unwelcome trouble.

  Since I can’t enter the room freely, I settle for scanning its contents and admire the open spaces devoted to martial arts and hand-to-hand training. Aldo had allowed me Jujutsu arts instruction back in Romania, but it was nothing like this. The Jujutsu was for self defense and discipline. This is something else altogether.

  If I didn’t know better I’d think the school was training its own army. Laid out below there are obstacle courses designed for agility and combat training as well as areas dedicated to target practice, where the student can choose from a variety of weapons both modern and those more Renaissance. It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven as I stand there taking in the expansive room below. Not really wanting to know the time but accepting that my tour is likely over for the night, I glance reluctantly at my watch. It’s after four in the morning, and I know the school will be coming to life soon. I take one final longing look at the training center and begin to retrace my steps back to the comfort of my own room.

  Spent and distracted I don’t realize how careless I’m being until it’s too late. As I enter the main foyer, I’m rocked off my feet and dragged backward into the hall by unseen hands. Strong arms clamp over my midsection and mouth simultaneously, preventing any sound from escaping. Panic washes over me, and I start to struggle instinctively. What the hell am I up against? And how can this be happening within the well-guarded school?

  Determined to free myself, I draw my knees up to my chest and jerk them downward, kicking my attacker in the left thigh. I feel his body tense, but he doesn’t make a sound. Apparently I’m no match for his muscular legs. As I continue to writhe in his arms, he whispers almost inaudibly in my ear: “Guardians.”

  He doesn’t need to say any more. This single word is enough to make me realize that my captor has just helped me avoid detection when I was being so sloppy on my own. I force my body to relax and feel his steel grip loosen on my waist, acknowledging a silent understanding. Neither of us wants to be caught breaking curfew.

  We press ourselves flat to the wall, standing like statues in the dark, willing the wide set doorjamb to hide us from the Pazitor. The air around us stirs as the guards breeze past, and I catch his scent. It’s a comforting mix of lavender and sweet yet spicy cologne. It’s a distinctly masculine smell, despite the floral undertones. Although curious, I don’t dare look at him, afraid any movement will reveal our presence to the pair of guards who stride past without a backward glance.

  I give myself a mental head slap and wonder why it hadn’t occurred to me that the rugs presented as much danger as protection. My footfalls were not the only ones muffled in these halls. I wonder how I could be so stupid and have the sense to be embarrassed that this guy felt compelled to come to my rescue. It’s with a combination of shame and gratitude that I mumble thanks and dart into the hall once I’ve determined that the coast is clear. Like the guards, I don’t even consider a backward glance. What else is there to say?

  Chapter Three

  FML! This is my first coherent thought when I roll over in the morning to discover that while I’d intended to sleep only briefly, I’ve dozed for a few hours. “Great way to start your first day, Katia. Late.” I mumble grouchily, dragging myself into an upright position. I’m told that with age I will require less sleep, but at seventeen, with all of the physical and emotional changes taking place, my body requires a constant stream of blood and rest to stay fully charged. Right now I feel like I could sleep for days. Probably I shouldn’t have stayed up all night. It’s not like I don’t know better.

  Since I only have about 20 minutes to get myself to class, I jump out of bed and head straight for the fridge. I’m starving again and know that there won’t be time to stop in the dining hall for blood or food. I don’t eat much human food, as it carries virtually no nutritional value for me, but I still eat on occasion as an indulgence. After all, who doesn’t like a decadent slice of chocolate cake to celebrate a special occasion or a nice juicy steak once in a while?

  I decide that if I hurry I can squeeze in a quick shower while the blood warms. I scan the date on the package and hastily tear the bag open with my teeth, moving next to pour the contents into the last clean mug. Wasting no time I haul ass into the bathroom and set the shower to scalding knowing that my enjoyment of the steamy spray is more mental than physical. Sure it’s practical to be clean, but it’s not like the jets will do anything to relax my muscles or alleviate tension. That’s the upside to being a vampire: with a few exceptions, all physical ailments are immediately self-correcting.

  After scrubbing myself from head to toe with my favorite pomegranate-mango body wash, I dance quickly from the shower to the hot plate, my naked body leaving a trail of water drops behind. I grab my breakfast, knowing I’m going to need every bit of strength it offers for my next endeavor: the closet. I’d avoided looking at its contents yesterday knowing full well that it would be stuffed with piles of beautiful and expensive things about which I care nothing. Lissette fails to grasp that I’d be just as happy with a sweater from Old Navy as I would be with one from YSL. I find the functional aspects of clothing more attractive and practical than worrying about fashion, which I deem next to worthless. But it makes Lissette happy, so I acquiesce to her indulgences and accept the gifts without complaint.

  As I step up to the closet I brace myself and yank open the door forcefully. I don’t have time to delay, so it’s best to just get it over with quickly. I sigh with relief realizing that although it’s a walk in, this closet is smaller than the one back at the manor. I scan the contents quickly noting that jeans are stacked neatly on the shelves to my left with a variety of skirts hanging beside them. Dresses, sweaters, and tops are to the right, and the back wall is lined with racks of shoes and accessories. Apparently Lissette has stocked my closet for all possibilities.

  I reach blindly to the left grabbing the first pair of jeans in the pile while my right arm extends to snatch a long sleeved black t-shirt from the rack on the right. It doesn’t really matter what I wear, only that I’m not late. I enter the closet and grab a pair of soft, flat leather boots and make my retreat. I throw the ball of clothing on top of the dresser and begin searching its drawers for undergarments. Belts, socks, pajamas. On my fourth try I hit pay dirt and pause only briefly to take in the rainbow of lacy garments Lissette has picked out for me. Apparently her attempts to make me more fashionable and feminine know no limits. I shake my head in amusement and grab what I think will be a pair of lacy black boy shorts and the matching bra so delicately placed alongside of them. As I tug the panties up over my thighs, I try to imagine the poor soul who had unpacked this stuff, undoubtedly following Lissette’s exacting instructions on how things should be laid out to make it as easy for me as possible. Yes, there was a time when I would have been overjoyed at such a sick wardrobe, but that time has passed. There are more important things in life than clothes. It’s a lesson I had to learn the hard way.

  I hurriedly begin to dress realizing that the jeans won’t leave much to the imagination and that the t-shirt, which hangs off the shoulder, is far from understated with its gold trim and ruched sleeves. A glance in the mirror reminds me that
I haven’t brushed my hair and that I’m still missing Aldo’s amulet. I never go anywhere without it. I check the nightstand and find it right where I left it along with my gold cuff bracelets. I hurriedly put the finishing touches on my outfit and race back into the closet in search of a book bag. I find a red leather messenger satchel and am satisfied that this is the most practical choice among the bags and clutches that line the shelves of the closet. A glance at the clock tells me I’m making good time but that I need to pick up the pace. I don’t know where I’m going, only that my first class is Historical Perspectives with Professor Moore.

  After shoving my textbooks into the red bag and grabbing a headband from the bathroom I’m off. I’m surprised to find that the halls are deserted and attribute this to the fact that most students would have vacated the dorms earlier in search of breakfast or socialization. Since I’m running late I’ve probably missed the rush.

  I easily find my way to the main hall where I’m met with a thrush of students and teachers also trying to make their way to class. The slow movement of the crowd allows me a moment to consult my map discreetly. It seems that Historical Perspectives is on the second floor in the east wing, which I have yet to explore.

  I move swiftly through the crowd while observing my peers and push to the left as I see an opening for the stairwell. I race up the stairs taking them two at a time. I’m relieved to see the crowd is much thinner on the second floor and that there are only handfuls of students still milling around. I head to the right only to realize I’m going the wrong direction when I see that the numbers on the classroom doors are increasing. Typical. My sense of direction often leaves a lot to be desired. As it turns out, a profound sense of direction is not an inherent vamp trait, despite what Hollywood would have you believe. Making a quick 180° turn, I crash face-first into the guy behind me.