Eternal w-3

by Kristi Cook

  “Ah, I see.” Goose bumps rippled across my skin as I imagined it, trying to picture a scene where Matthew and I worked in tandem to take out a vampire. Would it come to that?

  Of course it would. There was no hiding from destiny.

  “I’ve already killed three vampires,” I said, my voice shaky now. “All by myself.”

  “I know,” was all he said, but the pride in his voice spoke volumes more.

  I swallowed hard. “You better put your shirt back on.”

  “That’s what she said,” he quipped, slipping the dagger back into its sheath. “It’s a joke,” he added, looking suddenly embarrassed as he reached for his shirt and slipped it back on.

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve seen the show.”

  In seconds, he’d buttoned up. Only now . . . now I was hyperaware of what the plaid shirt concealed. I wondered briefly if it was as uncomfortable as the makeshift sheath I’d worn to carry my stake back when Julius had been threatening us.

  Suddenly, it was as if my right side started to hum. Vibrations pulsed down my arm, concentrating in my palm. “Wow,” I said as unfamiliar sensations washed over me. I extended my arm, flexing my hand several times in an attempt shake it off. “It’s like I feel its absence now. My stake. It’s like . . . like it belongs with your baselard.”

  I dropped my head into my hands, my cheeks flaming with mortification as I realized how dirty that sounded. “Please pretend I didn’t just say that,” I muttered.

  “Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice sharp. “It’s just going to get stronger, these feelings, the closer we get to your eighteenth birthday. We’ve got to”—he shook his head—“I don’t know, find a way to get comfortable with it, okay? I mean, obviously we have to respect the boundaries, but for safety’s sake, we’ve got to learn to trust each other. I’m talking one hundred percent, absolute trust. And yeah, it’s going to get awkward sometimes. But I’ve got your back. Always, every moment of every day.”

  I just nodded, unable to speak. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed me, warring against one another. A part of me wanted to pledge equal devotion to him, an ‘every moment, every day’ declaration to match his. But another part of me . . .

  Aidan. Oh, Aidan. “Here’s the thing, though,” I said cautiously. “I still have to find him. Find him and get him out of there.”

  “Aidan, you mean?”

  I just nodded.

  He let out a sigh, looking frustrated—defeated, even. “I’m sure you’re going to try.”

  “You’ve got to understand, I—”

  “I get it, Violet.” He held out a hand to silence me. “I do. And for the record, it’s not your relationship with Aidan in theory that I disapprove of. If he were mortal . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But he’s not. He’s the enemy, no matter how nice and decent and smart he might be. I’m not saying you should destroy him—or any of them, for that matter, if they’re not a threat. I’m just saying that it’s against your nature, and it’s only going to lead to heartbreak. I mean, from the looks of it, it already has.”

  I digested that in silence, annoyed that he’d resort to such a low blow. Anyway, it didn’t matter what Matthew thought. I was unwilling to accept the idea of failure. I would find him.

  For a moment, neither of us spoke. We simply sat, watching each other warily. As the seconds passed, I became aware of the ticktock of the clock on his desk, the one we used for coaching. “Why did you want to see me, anyway?”

  “To talk about our Saturday-morning sessions.” He walked around his desk and took his seat opposite me, all official-like now. “I’d like to get back to them, but it’s up to you.”

  “Is there anything more you can teach me about the visions?” Because I’d already perfected the replay. I’d gone over the three remaining unfulfilled visions—Cece getting expelled, a short-haired me in an antique-looking bed with a lustful and possibly bloodthirsty Aidan, and one that seemed to indicate I would attempt to slay Aidan again. I shuddered at the memory of that last one. “Any new tricks to learn?”

  “Not really. I was thinking that we should take our sessions in a different direction. You know, talk about situations we might encounter, share what we know about vampires and what threats might be lurking out there. And then start on some combat training.”

  “Combat training?”

  “Yeah, I think we need to get the mechanics down—learn how to work as a team. That kind of stuff.”

  “I guess,” I agreed. I couldn’t help but remember those training sessions with Aidan, where he’d taught me how to use my stake. I remembered the mental and physical exhaustion, the strain it had put on our relationship. I wondered if this would be easier, more natural. After all, there was nothing natural about learning how to kill a vampire . . . from a vampire. But this—at least this made sense.

  “Maybe one of your friends could help us out now and then,” he suggested. “You know, play the role of the vampire.”

  “Yeah, sure.” That’d be easy. I had no doubt they’d be falling all over each other to volunteer. “And speaking of my friends, I wanted to ask about telling the guys—Joshua, Tyler, and Max—about our situation. I mean, they know so much already. It just feels sort of weird keeping it from them. Especially since all the girls know.”

  “Do you trust these guys?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I do. They’re with us now—a part of our group.” Besides, Winterhaven students by nature were good at keeping secrets. For most of us, it was just a part of who we were.

  “Well, I’ll let you make that call. Though with Tyler’s fencing training, he’d probably be pretty handy for us, training-wise. I wish I could think of somewhere other than my office to meet, though.” He glanced around the space, looking thoughtful. “There’s really not enough room in here for what I want to do. I guess I could reserve one of the studios in the gym, but I’m afraid people will start to wonder—”

  “I know a place,” I interrupted. “The chapel. It’ll be empty on Saturday mornings—it’s pretty much always empty.” Especially now, with Aidan gone.

  “Good idea. Want to make it a little earlier, though? Say, ten, so we have a couple of hours to work before lunch?”

  “Sure, why not?” Cece was up early for tennis practice anyway.

  “Okay, then—Saturdays at ten. But if you have any sort of problem in the meantime—anything at all—don’t wait till Saturday, okay? You’ve got my number. Call me, text me, whatever. Whenever. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I replied, standing and reaching for my bag. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

  He nodded, and my gaze was involuntarily drawn toward his left pecs, to the spot where I now knew his silver dagger—his baselard, I corrected myself—rested in its sheath. I reached for my right wrist, rubbing it with my thumb, picturing it inked with the tattoo that would mark me as a full-fledged Sâbbat.

  Just a little more than two months from now.

  I turned to leave, but suddenly remembered something he’d said earlier. “Wait,” I said, turning back to face him. “What day next week?”

  He already had his cell back in his hand. “What day what?”

  “Your birthday,” I clarified. “You said it was next week.”

  “Oh, right. Thursday. Why?”

  “Just curious.” With a wave, I sauntered out, already plotting a surprise as I left him to his phone call.

  To Charlie, no doubt.

  * * *

  “Wow, student council went really late tonight,” I said, glancing at the clock by my bed when Cece strolled in later that night.

  Cece tossed her bag to the floor and collapsed onto her bed facing me. “Nah, we got done a couple hours ago. I ran into Joshua on the way back to the dorm, and we ended up going over to the café together. I have no idea how it got so late.”

  I scooted over to the edge of the bed. “Just you and Josh?”

  Her face lit up with a smile. “Yeah. We got to talking, and next thing I knew, th
e café was closing.”

  “Um, okay.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I’d noticed the way Joshua was looking at Cece earlier in the dining hall, but I wasn’t quite sure if I should mention it. I didn’t want to jinx anything. If there was anything to jinx, that is.

  “What?” Cece said, grinning now. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “How am I looking at you?” I hedged.

  She wrinkled her nose, making a face at me. “Okay, fine. So I’m kind of crushing on Josh. Just a little bit,” she added, holding up a finger and thumb to indicate about an inch. “But ho-ly crap! When did he get so cute? Seriously, the boy must’ve shot up a foot and a half since last year, and he filled out nicely. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

  I was grinning now too. “I noticed. I just wasn’t sure that you did.”

  “It’s just . . . you know, the whole shifter thing. I mean, I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” She waved one hand in dismissal. “But I dunno . . . it’s kind of out there, right? As far as abilities go.”

  I shrugged. “My boyfriend is a vampire, remember?”

  “He asked me to the early movie on Saturday.” She was literally bouncing on the bed now. “I said yes, so we’ll see.”

  “This is an interesting development,” I said. “I like it.”

  “I somehow figured you would. Anyway, we were talking about the whole Aidan situation, and we had an idea. There’s got to be something in Mrs. Girard’s office—a note, a book, maybe an e-mail—some sort of clue to help us figure out where she is. Or where the Tribunal is, at least. I’m going to project there in the morning, before Ackerman gets in, and take a look around.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if someone catches you?”

  She looked almost insulted. “How’s someone going to catch my astral bad-boy self? My body’s going to be right here, in bed.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know. What about other projectors? Couldn’t they somehow see you?”

  “Yeah, but there’s not that many of us here. I mean, what are the chances? I won’t take long—just do a little bit of snooping, and then I’ll come right back.”

  I glanced over at the window. Outside, the ground was covered with the season’s first snowfall. Not much, just a few inches, but enough to remind me of my vision, the one where Cece had been expelled. “No,” I said resolutely. “You can’t risk it. I’m serious, Cece. It’s too much like the vision. You know how badly I want to find him, but there’s got to be another way. If you get expelled, I’ll never forgive myself. Just . . . promise me you won’t.”

  “Okay, okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Sheesh. You and your visions.”

  “My visions are going to save your butt,” I said. “Look, I’ve already lost Aidan. I can’t lose you, too.”

  She leaned over and reached for my hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate the offer, though.” I gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Hold up. You’ve been at the café all this time and you didn’t bring me back anything? Where’s my decaf mocha?”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. I texted you three times asking if you wanted anything. Don’t you ever check your phone?”

  “Crap, I turned the sound off and forgot about it.” I’d been talking to Whitney, and then I’d switched it off so I could read my English assignment—several poems by Wordsworth and Coleridge—in peace. Even though they should have been quick, painless reads, my brain had been stumbling over the words, and what should have taken an hour ended up taking two. “Are you going to bed now?”

  “Nah, I’ve still got homework.” Cece stood, stretching her arms toward the ceiling before hurrying across the room to retrieve her bag. She tossed it to the bed, pulled off her shoes, and then sat back down with a groan. “It’s not fair—the first day back should be a homework-free zone.”

  “Yeah, I’m not going to bed anytime soon. I’ve still got some history to do.” I was giving up on the poems. It was a losing battle—I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for romantic poets and their jibber jabber about sunsets and moonlight and the delicate curve of their beloved’s cheek.

  Cece pulled a thick paperback from her bag. “Okay, I’ll read my English assignment, and then you want to go over the French homework together?”

  “Sounds good,” I said, reaching for my history reader and turning to the first assignment. The British Peerage System, the title read. A quick scan of the first page made my heart sink. If it wasn’t love poems, it was barons and dukes and viscounts, oh my.

  Why did everything have to remind me of what I’d lost?

  7 ~ Family Ties

  What’s this?” Matthew asked as we all filed into his office the following week bearing a cardboard tray of cupcakes purchased at the café. Max lit the candles—I wasn’t asking where he got the lighter—while we all broke out into a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday.”

  I set the tray in front of Matthew. “What, did you think I’d forget?”

  He blew out the candles and then leaned back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head. “Actually, I was so sure you wouldn’t that I skipped dessert and came back to my office early,” he said with a grin. “I’ve just been sitting here, waiting.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t go getting all insufferable on us.”

  “Wow, ‘insufferable.’ I’m impressed,” Matthew said. “Are you reading Jane Austen in English or something?”

  “I wish,” I said. “No, we’re studying the romantic poets right now. Actually, Sophie and I have a test tomorrow, so we can’t stay long.”

  “Well, thanks for coming, guys. C’mon, help yourselves—these look great.” He reached for a cupcake topped with blue buttercream icing and pulled the wrapper off. “Hey, red velvet. My favorite.”

  Somehow I’d known it would be. It was my favorite too.

  “Maybe to show your appreciation, you could excuse me and Soph from tonight’s homework,” Tyler suggested, draping an arm across Sophie’s shoulder.

  Casting an apologetic glance in Kate’s direction, Sophie wriggled out from under Tyler’s arm. “Speak for yourself,” she said, shooting him a deadly glare. “Some of us already did our homework.”

  Tyler’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “Yup.” Sophie nodded solemnly. “There’s this thing after dinner called study hour. You should try it sometime.”

  “Yeah, well, I was gearin’ up for party mode. Didn’t want to let Dr. Byrne down or anything.”

  “It was my fault,” Max offered, licking the icing from his empty cupcake paper. “I was playing him my new song, wanting some feedback.”

  “And?” Matthew prodded.

  “I liked it,” Tyler answered. “Sounded great acoustic. I had no idea the dude could sing like that.”

  “I heard your set at the Halloween Fair dance,” Matthew said, nodding approvingly. “I was impressed. You guys are really good. Do you ever book gigs in the city or anything like that?”

  “Yeah, they played a few this summer,” Marissa said. “They were awesome.”

  Max shrugged off the compliment. “It was just a couple of bar sets.”

  Matthew looked thoughtful. “Actually, I have a friend who’s involved with the Mercury Lounge. Maybe I could talk to him, see if he could hook you guys up with a gig. You know, like a showcase night.”

  “Are you kidding me, man?” Max’s eyes were nearly bugging out of his head. “There’s, like, record label types at those things!”

  “That’s what I hear,” Matthew said. “Can’t hurt, right?”

  “Mercury Lounge,” Max muttered, looking suddenly pale beneath the shock of spiky black hair. “I mean . . . wow.”

  “Whoa, Dr. B.” Joshua said, clapping Max on the back. “You’re gonna give the guy a coronary or something.”

  “Quick, hand him another cupcake,” Cece quipped.

  Kate obliged, and soon we were all laughing and chattering away, excited a
bout this possible opportunity for Max and his band. No one looked happier than Marissa, her cheeks flushed and her dark eyes shining with obvious pride.

  I was glad we’d decided to surprise Matthew, pleased to see everyone getting along so well—like a family. This large, boisterous group was my family, I realized with a start, a slow smile spreading across my face. Sure, we didn’t always get along, and we’d had our problems, but I felt a kinship with them all, even Tyler. And Matthew . . . Matthew was like the big brother I never had. I felt better when I was with him—with all of them together. Better and whole.

  Immediately, my smile disappeared. Guilt washed over me, making my stomach lurch uncomfortably. How could I possibly consider myself whole when Aidan was gone, either being tortured or used as a pawn in a dangerous vampire war? Did he really mean so little to me that I could forget him as easily as that?

  I hadn’t forgotten, I assured myself. And I wasn’t giving up. For a brief moment, I closed my eyes and searched for that connection to Aidan, for that thread that somehow bound us. I called out to him telepathically, something I hadn’t allowed myself to do in a while, knowing it would only lead to disappointment. But now . . . I wanted to feel like he was still a part of us, if only in my head. I had to at least try.

  Aidan? I tried, forcing aside the celebratory sounds there in Matthew’s office, making them recede to an indistinguishable hum.

  Nothing. No reply. Had I truly expected otherwise? I tamped down the disappointment, refusing to acknowledge it.

  And then I gasped as red-hot heat seared my legs from my hips down. It felt as if the skin were melting from my bones. I could smell it—singed flesh—sickening me, making me gag. Flames lapped at me, the heat unbearable now, like I was being burned alive.

  I screamed, falling to my hands and knees on the hard tile floor.

  “Violet!” Matthew shouted. Everyone scattered, and he was by my side, kneeling on the floor with one hand on my back.

  I was aware of his presence, aware of the words he was saying in my ear. And then . . . I wasn’t.

  His office fell away and I was in some sort of dark, shadowy place—a dungeon, maybe. The walls were made of stone, dark brown and gray and dingy. Acrid smoke lingered in the air, mixed with the metallic scent of blood. I tried to lift my head, but I couldn’t. I was weak, exhausted, paralyzed with the most overwhelming sensation of despair I had ever felt.