by J. J. Bonds
“Whoa!” he calls out as I slam into him. The momentum of our collision forces us both to take a step back.
“Sorry.” I return in a hurried voice. The response is more habit than true regret. I try to sidestep him, but we move in unison, as he makes a useless attempt to let me pass. It’s the awkward dance of two people who just can’t get out of one another’s path.
“Lose your way?” he asks, flashing me a confident smile, his full lips parting naturally to reveal his teeth. I don’t know why, but that smile irritates me. Perhaps because it’s brimming with perfect teeth and accented with a perfectly placed dimple. Or maybe it’s because his eyes are filled with laughter, no doubt at my expense.
“No,” I reply shortly, hoping he can see that his alluring smile has no effect on me. The guy’s probably used to girls falling all over themselves to be a recipient of that smile. He’s tall and muscular with angular features and curly black hair, which falls carelessly over his piercing blue eyes. A nice touch to make the girls swoon. I’ve seen his type before. Hell, I’ve dated his type before.
“Could’ve fooled me.” He shifts again, blocking any chance I have of passing by. “Nikolai Petrov,” he introduces himself, offering me his hand and leaving me no choice but to give him my name in return.
“Katia.”
“Well, Katia. We must stop meeting this way,” he says suggestively, leaning in so that only I can hear his words. I quickly analyze his accent and determine it’s probably Russian.
“We’ve never met,” I say, stopping short. I realize my mistake as the familiar scents of flora and spice surround me. This is the guy from last night. My attacker turned savior. “We’ve never met before,” I reiterate firmly, holding my ground. I know he’s not going to rat me out, but it’s best not to allow any familiarity. We aren’t friends nor will we ever be.
“I see you’ve met Katia Lescinka,” Lexie drawls pointedly, sidling up next to me and placing her hand on my arm like we’ve known each other forever. I had been so wrapped up in my irritation that I didn’t notice her approach. I shrug her off and glance around quickly to see that she’s not alone. Lexie’s got another girl with her, and, if I were a betting person, I’d say she’s not happy to see Nikolai and me talking. While her lips are plastered in that fake smile of a frenemy, her eyes are flat and cold as she introduces herself.
“Jade,” she states simply by way of introduction. She doesn’t bother with the usual niceties and dismisses me with a flip of the hair, as though I were no more important to her than a glass of spilled milk. “Nikolai! How I’ve missed you!” she gushes, eyes coming to life, as they settle on her prey. I can’t help but notice that her pink sweater is at least two sizes too small, her skirt six inches too short, and her back arched a little too hard to show off her voluptuous breasts.
For the love of God. I just want to get to class and don’t need this aggravation. It’s clear there is something between these two. And why not? They’re both perfect specimens: Nikolai with his winning smile and Jade with her shiny blonde hair and heart shaped lips. There’s no doubt in my mind that this girl is used to getting what she wants, and, from the way she’s eyeing Nikolai, it’s plain to see what’s next on her list.
“Well, that’s my cue,” I cut in sarcastically, detaching myself from the group in a last ditch attempt to get to class. Apparently none of them share my concern for punctuality, as they make no move to do the same. The halls are virtually deserted now, so it’s impossible not to hear the remainder of their conversation, as I distance myself from them.
“That’s Aldo’s great niece?” comes the scathing question. “Not much to look at,” Jade laughs snarkily.
“I don’t know about that,” Nik replies silkily. I’m certain they are watching me. I can feel their eyes on my back, boring into me like lasers. Before Jade can reply, Lexie cuts in, anxious to share what little she’s heard through the rumor mill.
“I heard that her grandmother, Aldo’s twin sister, had a major falling out with the family and ran away to live in the mountains something like six or seven hundred years ago. Totally off the grid. No one could find her. Not even the Linkuri.” She pauses to make sure she’s got the undivided attention of her cohorts. She’s clearly determined to make the most of the moment. “The family didn’t even know if she was still alive. Then, out of the blue Aldo finds this girl whose own mom, his supposed niece, has just died from the blood disease. Says she’s an orphan. The only one left in the family and his only heir since his own wife never conceived. Can you imagine? I mean, how can Aldo even be sure she’s who she says?” questions Lexie.
“Scandalous,” Jade snickers nastily. “And the best day ever for a fugly mountain troll. Imagine all that power just falling into your lap. What a freakin’ waste,” she finishes derisively.
Nikolai remains silent at first. Just when I decide that he’s not going to weigh in on my juicy background, he speaks. “Aldo’s not only powerful, he’s intelligent. Best not to be overheard questioning his decisions.” His reply is neutral at best. It just pisses me off more.
“What the hell do they know?” I grumble, quivering with anger.
By the time I reach the end of the hall and my classroom, my temper is at a steady burn. My hands are shaking, and I want nothing more than to go back there and tear them to shreds. They have no idea what they’re talking about, and I hate the fact that they can stand there so callously and analyze my life without knowing the facts, without knowing me. But I remember my promise to Aldo, and it keeps me from turning back. I cannot let them get under my skin. Besides, this is only day one and things are likely to get worse before they get better. They always do. Head held high I reach for the door knob and enter Historical Perspectives prepared for the lecture I am likely to receive for my tardiness. They will not defeat me. They do not matter.
**********
Professor Moore is not at all what I’d expected. I had assumed that anyone who taught Vampir history would’ve been around to experience most of it firsthand. Apparently I was wrong. Moore is relatively young. I know because he doesn’t look a day over 30 by human standards. I figure he’s probably got a few (maybe three?) centuries under his belt. I like him immediately.
He doesn’t give me a hard time for being late, and he’s got a bounce in his step that suggests he doesn’t take himself too seriously, although he’s pretty intense about the subject he teaches. Moore’s sporting rumpled khakis and a Hawaiian shirt, which he’s left open at the collar. He’s got a roguish vibe, with his sloppy clothes and shaggy brown hair, which makes him more endearing than most teachers could ever hope to be. A quick glance at his feet reveals leather flip-flops that complete his seasonally inspired ensemble. I doubt my others teachers will be half as cool.
I settle into my desk and furtively scan the room wondering if it’s apparent to my classmates that I don’t belong in this beginner’s course. The others seem a little younger, but no one’s paying any attention to me. They’re all too wrapped up in their own thoughts and experiences here at Crossroads to bother. The guy sitting next to me is twitching like a junkie. His leg bounces furiously which leads me to the obvious conclusion that he’s craving. Either he missed breakfast or he didn’t feed enough. The girl on my right is compulsively straightening her hair and skirt alternately.
I’m pleased to discover that at least in this classroom my reputation has not preceded me. I smile, enjoying the anonymity, and focus my attention back on Professor Moore, who’s strolling the aisles explaining his expectations for the course. Sounds fair enough. Work load will be heavy, but I’m prepared.
“It’s important that each of you actively participate,” Moore says quietly. “In order to be successful in this course, it will be necessary for each of you to develop your critical thinking skills and your understanding of your heritage. There is nothing as important as knowing where you come from. Knowing our past and understanding the events that have shaped our lives helps us chart a course for t
he future. It gives us purpose. It gives us guidance. It gives us understanding.”
I consider his words carefully. I can’t help but think they ring true after everything I read last night. The Vampir society has survived a great deal. And still, after thousands of years, our existence is not recognized by the outside world. We are the stuff of nightmares, myths, and science fiction. I know much of the mystery has been inspired and proliferated by our own kind as a means of misdirection. Much of the lure stems from the early ages, when bloodlust and indiscriminate transfigurations ran rampant.
The survival of our society and the Covens is a tightly knit web held together by the Elders Council. With their guidance it would seem that we’ve flourished. We’ve beaten persecution, wars, foamea. For better or worse, we’ve become a wealthy society full of talent and privilege.
The Council has even created balance among the purebloods and mixed-bloods, which might have seemed impossible at one time. The Linkuri nearly wiped out all de sange amestecat in an effort to stop unbridled conversion and internal power struggles during the middle ages. The transfigured were hunted relentlessly and slaughtered mercilessly. The mixed-bloods have since repopulated, but they will never join the ruling class. And, though the peace among us is tenuous at best, it is there.
Now, it seems we face our greatest challenge: a blood disease known as otrava de sange that threatens to wipe out the born vampires. It’s a scary thought since we don’t conceive and procreate easily. The questions persist in my mind, as Moore dives into the early days of vampirism and the spread of our race through the old countries.
I do my best to stay focused as Moore lectures but find my mind wandering. I think of Aldo and Lissette and wonder if my presence will be missed at the manor. I try to imagine how Viktor, Aldo’s most loyal member of the Linkuri and my Jujutsu instructor, will spend his evenings now that I am gone. I remember the sense of peace I felt during my last swim in the lake, the soft waves lapping at my skin as my naked body cut across the water.
When Moore dismisses the class I’m surprised to discover that, not only have I missed much of the subject matter, but also there are no bells at Crossroads. Apparently the students are thought too civilized to be herded by such a déclassé tactic. I promise myself that I’ll be more focused as the day progresses even though I know it’s unlikely. I’ve never minded school but have always had difficulty staying attentive.
The rest of the day is a blur of uptight professors, syllabi, and whispers. I finally make it to the dining hall over the lunch hour and grab a lukewarm mug of horse blood. I sit in the corner and make no attempt to join the other students. I’m not as lucky as I was in my history class. It seems that word of my presence has spread since this morning, and I have no doubt whom I can thank. I ignore the whispers, thinking the ludicrous rumors might be comical if they weren’t about me.
Three o’clock can’t roll around fast enough so that I’ll have the freedom to retreat to the seclusion of my room. It’s exhausting trying to bite my tongue and control my temper. I thought the academics were going to be the difficult part of Crossroads, but I’m starting to think I severely misjudged the situation. The highlight of my afternoon is that I manage to avoid Lexie and Jade, which I deem a small blessing in and of itself.
**********
“So much for enjoying the quiet life,” I sigh, shutting off my favorite iTunes playlist, which includes my new band of choice, Vs. the Earth. Apparently solitude sucks when you’re trapped in a 20 x 20 dorm room. I decide to take a walk and finish exploring the grounds before dinner. I’ve already exhausted the options within my room and have successfully rummaged through all of the drawers and cabinets to get a lay of the land. I’ve also discovered that Crossroads has some sort of housekeeping staff. The bed I left a twisted mess this morning is now perfectly made, and the wet towel I threw carelessly on the bathroom floor has been collected and no doubt whisked away for washing. I’ll have to be more considerate in the future, I think. I left the room a mess this morning in my haste to get to class.
Might as well see what else Aldo has in store. I pull the key ring Anya gave me yesterday from my shoulder bag and decide to check out the garage. The key ring has a tag indicating the vehicles’ position in the garage. It’s the same as my room number so it will be easy to remember and even easier to find. As I stare at the key, I have a pretty good idea of what I can expect to find, and I’m not disappointed when I arrive.
The garage is a cavernous gray metal building that was designed to be functional rather than aesthetically pleasing. The exterior has none of the charm of the main building. I enter through the front door and flip on the lights. I’m greeted by rows and rows of cars, most of them luxury models. No surprise there. The air reeks of motor oil and rubber although the cement floors are spotless, save for the yellow traffic signals painted on them. Using the overhead signs for guidance, I locate spot 139 and give a low whistle when I see the vehicle occupying the slot. It’s beyond wicked!
The car is a black Audi TTS Coupe, and it’s a thing of beauty. A quick inspection reveals deeply tinted windows and a 5-speed transmission. After disabling the alarm and sliding into the supple leather drivers’ seat, I decide it’s best to think of the car as a loaner. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever own a car like this, and it’s less overwhelming to think of it as borrowed. I slip the key into the ignition and can’t help but smile as the car roars to life. I’d love to take it for a spin, but first I’d better check the rules for leaving campus with Anya. While I know I have privileges, I’m certain they come with strings. Doesn’t everything?
I turn on the radio and begin to deftly search for alternative stations. The car’s even got satellite radio, which I figure is probably a lifesaver being this far from civilization. There probably aren’t a lot of great stations out here in the mountains.
After programming my favorites I shut the car off and drag myself back to the real world. I’m drawn to the vehicle like a moth to a flame and find myself caressing the hood gently, compelled to run my hands over it one more time before I go. I’ve always loved the freedom of an open road, and this car is meant for driving. At least now I’ve got something to look forward to other than homework.
Next stop on my tour de Crossroads are the stables. According to my map it’s not far from the garages, and a glance at my watch tells me that I can probably afford to do a bit more investigating before dinner. I’d read that the campus has an impressive fleet of horses, but I’ve never really been around equine before and don’t know much about riding. Perhaps this will be another challenge to fill my hours here at Crossroads.
I follow the stone path from the garage to the stables and again find myself admiring the beauty of the campus. The vegetation here is more natural than that along the driveway, and there are no roses to be found. Thick evergreen trees provide lush cover for the campus, and I’m enveloped in the scents of late summer, as I walk alongside them. The aromas of fresh cut grass and wild berries abound and I inhale deeply enjoying the intoxicating vitality of it all. I sense the forest is alive with activity this afternoon. My ears pick up the sounds of the wildlife with ease, and I try to identify the animals within based solely on these audible clues. I’d read that Vermont is home to moose, gray wolves, and black bears among other smaller, less challenging game. I doubt any animal with a strong sense of self-preservation would venture too close to the school with both the Pazitor and the student body underfoot. I encounter two of the guardians on the trail. Like the guards from last night, they are broad shouldered and their faces are hard and uninviting. I don’t bother to say hello and they don’t bother to acknowledge my presence, forcing me off of the path to let them pass. They appear to be patrolling the perimeter. Too bad.
What I wouldn’t give to be on the hunt tonight with a full moon in the sky. Another activity that I’m quite sure is not allowed. Back in Romania, hunting with Aldo was one of my favorite things to do. He’d taught me to move silently
and to kill swiftly, respecting the passing of a life that would prolong my own. Above all else, the thirst has taught me to respect life. I stare longingly into the forest, wishing to catch a glimpse of the wildlife beyond its borders.
Compared to the temptation of the forest, the stables are anti-climatic. They’re made of red pine and look like just about every stable I’ve ever seen on TV. I push aside the large sliding door and let myself in. I wander by the stalls not the least bit deterred by the disgruntled cries of the animals inside as I invade their space. I drift quietly from one stall to the next admiring the inhabitants. I don’t know much about horses, but these creatures appear impressive by any standard. Like my own species, no two are the same. They come in different colors and sizes and are painted with a variety of markings. I suppose they’re different breeds. Some appear smaller and lighter, better suited to long runs and great speeds, while others are large and sturdy, their power evident in the taught muscles of their legs and chests.
I’m intrigued to find that there is a trainer in the corral outside and approach quietly hoping to observe and perhaps learn something about these animals. I’m bummed to discover that, today, I’m not the only observer. There is a girl sitting on the fence post watching. I avoid making eye contact and go directly to the corral. I place my forearms through the sturdy metal railings allowing the gate to support my weight as I lean in for an unobstructed view.
