A Wind of Change (2 page)

Milkman Benjamin.

I imagined my sister would get a kick out of that image.

My sister.
The thought that I was a threat to even her now made my gut clench.

I have to figure out why I’ve turned into this monster.

But first, I need to escape this place.

I arrived at the stable, entered it, and walked along the aisles of slobbering camels until I spotted Michael, bending down in one corner over a bucket milking a particularly stout camel. After learning from Jeramiah that he was one of the managers of The Oasis, I was surprised to see him doing such a menial job.

He didn’t even look up as I approached, although he had obviously sensed me.

He had been nothing but frosty with me since the time I had first met him with Jeramiah in Chile. I had no interest in trying to spark up a conversation so I ignored him too. Though it would have been useful to get at least some direction as to how to milk a camel.

Walking further down the aisles, I picked a camel who seemed to have a particularly swollen udder and placed the bucket on the floor. As I motioned to touch her, she jerked backward and began grunting and kicking wildly. One of her heavy feet narrowly missed my right foot.

I stood up and placed both hands firmly on her back, trying to calm her.

“It’s okay, girl.”

Believe me, I’m as uncomfortable about this as you are.

My body expelled animal blood like it was poison anyway. Any fear this creature had of me was unfounded. I approached her head and stroked her long neck. That seemed to calm her down gradually and she stopped struggling. I bent down and started squeezing the milk from her teats. This time she remained still for me—well, still enough for milk to start squirting into the first bucket.

Once she seemed to be growing uncomfortable again, I moved on to the next camel. Then the next. And the next. Until all six buckets were filled up with the frothy white liquid. Wiping my sticky hands against a towel hanging on a hook, I looked around the stable for Michael. I couldn’t see him. He appeared to have finished his work and returned to The Oasis.

I was glad that the buckets came with lids. If they hadn’t, I would’ve spilled a lot of the milk on my journey back. The lids were tight, but balancing six heavy buckets of milk was a challenge even for a vampire. My palms were only so big. Still, going slowly and taking care not to slosh the milk too much, I reached the entrance of The Oasis and descended the staircase.

I took the elevator down to the ground floor. Looking out across the gardens, I spotted Jeramiah by the lily pond again. He was talking with a female vampire I didn’t know the name of but had seen the night before.

“Jeramiah. What do you want me to do with these?” I asked, nodding to the buckets.

“Ah,” he said, looking pleased as he eyed the large buckets. He left his female companion and approached me. Taking three buckets from me, he led me back toward the bottom terrace. We headed straight for the room that led down to the prison. We both took the buckets inside, and as we reached the door at the back of the room, I noticed that the lock had been replaced. It looked much stronger and sturdier. When Jeramiah drew out a key from his pocket, I could see from the way that it was molded that this was a much more complicated lock—much more difficult to pick than the one I’d managed to crack.

I wondered whether they’d found out that someone had been down there—and that the intruder had been me.

Or perhaps it was a coincidence.

A very odd coincidence.

As he opened the door and stepped inside with three buckets, I motioned to follow him. Planting his buckets on the floor, he swiveled back around and held up a hand, blocking the entrance.

“I’ll take these. Thanks.”

He took the three buckets from me, placed them on the ground next to the others, and then closed the door behind him. There was a sharp click as the door locked.

A delicious aroma wafted into my nostrils from down below. I could appreciate the smell even as a vampire. Someone was cooking something exotic in the basement. It must have been for the humans. I was curious as to who exactly was doing the cooking and where. I had not noticed any kitchens. Then again, I’d only explored a small part of the maze that was their prison system. I actually had no idea how big it was. For all I knew, it could be spread out over several levels underground.

I decided to wait for Jeramiah to return. He did about five minutes later, locking the door behind him and slipping the key into the right pocket of his pants.

He flashed me a smile. “That can be a morning duty for you from now on. Six buckets of camel milk. I have to think what else you can help with around here. I’m going to discuss it with Amaya and Michael.”

“I was surprised to see Michael up there milking,” I said.

“Yes. Well, we don’t like too much hierarchy among us. Even I will take a turn in milking once in a while.”

We headed back toward the gardens, passing the lily pond and entering a sprawling orchard containing an array of exotic-looking trees.

He stopped and looked me in the eye. There was a faint look of amusement on his face. “Now, I know you said you weren’t interested in having any servants in your quarters. But wouldn’t you like a female companion? Sometimes the nights can feel long without one…”

I rolled my eyes internally. Girls were the very last thing on my mind right now.

“We do have some half-blood girls who aren’t yet coupled with vampires. I’d be happy to make an introduction. Just a suggestion. You are one of my people now, and it’s my responsibility to make sure your needs are met…”

“I appreciate the gesture. I’ll let you know,” was the politest way I could think to reply to his suggestion.

We continued walking through the orchard in silence. We had almost reached the end of it when a hissing sound came from behind us. I whirled around in time to see a giant snake with jet-black scales and a blood-red tongue launch toward me.

My first instinct was to launch right back at it and tackle it to the ground. But in the split second before the snake and I made contact, Jeramiah had flown at the creature and pinned it to the floor. The snake writhed and tried to wrap around Jeramiah’s body, but he kicked it to the side forcefully, holding its head from the back and positioning its gaping fangs away from him. He had a look of mild irritation on his face as he yelled out across the atrium: “Who let this snake into the orchard?”

A male vampire came hurrying out from one of the rooms on the ground level, carrying a long, thick sack. He and Jeramiah wrestled the snake into it and tied up the opening.

“Sorry about that,” the vampire muttered to Jeramiah before making his way back to the room, dragging the squirming bundle behind him.

What on earth was that about?

I’d expected them to kill the creature. It might not be something a vampire couldn’t handle, but it would certainly be a threat to half-bloods who weren’t as strong as us. Instead they seemed to be… keeping it.

Since Jeramiah offered no explanation, I didn’t ask. We exited the gardens and arrived back on the veranda that lined the ground level of the atrium.

He turned to me. “I’ll have a talk with Michael and Amaya, as I said, and get back to you about other responsibilities you can take on.”

I nodded. Parting ways with him, I headed straight back to my apartment.

Even aside from the fact this place was managed by Lucas Novak’s son, something about this place was off… though I couldn’t yet put my finger on exactly what it was.

All I know is, the sooner I get out of here, the better.

The trouble was, unless I managed to coerce a witch into helping me, it no longer looked like I was going to get the quick escape I’d been hoping for…

I
stared
at my father through the glass separator. His black, gray-streaked hair hung limply at the sides of his face and his brown eyes looked dim and jaded. His face was speckled with more scabs than I wanted to count. His orange uniform contrasted starkly with his pale complexion and he looked thinner than I’d ever seen him. If I hadn’t known him to be forty-four, I would’ve assumed him to be in his early sixties.

Folds of loose skin gathered on either side of his mouth as he smiled at me, revealing stained teeth. His hand unsteady, he reached for the phone on his side of the window and placed it against his ear.

I picked up the phone on my side.

“River,” he breathed into the receiver, his voice raspy. “Sweetheart, how are you?”

I swallowed back the lump in my throat.

“Okay.”

His eyes roamed either side of me. Then his expression sagged in disappointment.

“Dafne and Lalia… They didn’t come?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed heavily, then forced another smile.

“Are you off school now?”

“Yes,” I replied. “We just got off two days ago.”

“I’ve been reading whatever papers I can get a hold of, but one hasn’t come my way the last week. Have there been any more kidnappings?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. “The schools on the West Coast were still closed right up until the holidays started. But nobody seems sure whether the threat has passed or not.”

“Well, let’s hope it has passed.” He paused, wetting his lower lip. “How is your French going?”

“Spanish, Dad.”

“Spanish,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. How’s it going?”

“Okay. I’m still a bit behind compared to the rest of the class. My teacher has given me some extra work to do over the summer.”

“Good,” he replied. “Good. And how are they… my three other cherubs?”

“Okay, too,” I said. “Jamil is the same as ever.”

The corners of my father’s eyes moistened.

I broke eye contact. There was only so long I could look at him before my throat became too tight.

“When are you transferring?” I asked, staring down at the metal counter. “Still this Friday?”

“Still this Friday,” he replied. “Will you come to visit me down south?”

I breathed out. “Texas is a long way, Dad… We don’t have a lot of extra money right now.”

“Oh, I know, honey,” he said quickly. “That’s okay. I’m sure we’ll see each other again sometime soon…” His voice trailed off.

I looked up at the sound of his right hand pressing against the glass. He was leaning closer to look at me, clutching the phone in his left fist.

“I don’t deserve you, Riv,” he whispered, his voice choking up. “I don’t deserve you, Dafne, Lalia, Jamil, or your mother.”

That’s why you lost us.

I’d heard my father say all this before. I felt numb to it now. His expressions of regret and apology had come to mean nothing to me because he never acted on them. When he was still living with us, he’d be remorseful for perhaps a couple of days, then sink back into his habit and we wouldn’t see him for the next month. Although I had been devastated when my mother divorced him, I’d slowly come to realize that she’d done what was best for all of us. My father… this man… he wasn’t good for us. Especially not for my younger sisters. Leaving him was the bravest thing my mother had ever done.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I wish I could believe you.

I didn’t know how to respond. I still loved him more than I could say, but he’d worn me down over the years, just as he had my mother.

But this was my last visit before his transfer and I had no idea when I’d see him again. I couldn’t stand to end our meeting with bitterness or resentment. He’d made his choices, and the judge had made hers.

So I just bit my lip and nodded.

“I know, Dad.”

As he leaned in toward the window further still, I wished I could touch him. Although he was a ghost of the father I remembered, a wreck of his addiction, I just wanted to feel his arms around me, his kiss against the top of my head.

I reached up to the glass, and flattened my hand against his. We remained silent in this position for several moments before a harsh voice called behind my father.

“Mr. Giovanni. You’ve had your time.”

“Goodbye,” I said softly.

My father didn’t budge.

“I’m sorry, River,” he repeated. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mr. Remo Giovanni.” The guard spoke again, louder this time.

“Go, Dad. We’ll see each other again. Hopefully soon,” I said, even though I held no hope for such a thing. We were struggling just to cover our groceries. A trip across the country wouldn’t be affordable for the foreseeable future.

The guard approached behind him and gripped his shoulders, pulling him back away from the window. The phone clattered against the counter. My father’s wiry frame towered above the guard as he stood to his feet. His eyes remained fixed on me right up until the guard ushered him through the door.

I remained staring at the empty doorway.

Stay safe, Papa.

P
assing
along the corridors toward the prison’s exit, I felt like an inmate myself. I hated the way the guards eyed me, male and female. I breathed out deeply once I reached the final door and stepped out into the crisp, early evening air. I headed straight for the bus stop. There was a small crowd of people waiting there already. I took a seat on the bench as far away from everyone as possible, but I didn’t manage to escape the attention of an elderly woman.

“Who were you visiting, honey?” she asked.

I wasn’t in any mood to talk, but this woman had kind eyes and I didn’t want to be rude.

“My father,” I said quietly.

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

“That’s okay.”

“I came to visit my son,” she said. She reached out and squeezed my hand gently. “Sometimes people just don’t think through the consequences of their actions. It doesn’t always mean they’re bad people. Often they’re just stupid… Like my dumbass boy. Smashing up a police car. What the heck was he thinking?” She shook her head.

I gave her a weak smile, then looked down at my feet.

If all my father had done was trash a vehicle, I would be sitting here now with a much lighter heart.

The woman seemed to take the hint and didn’t attempt to strike up another conversation. I fumbled in my bag for my iPod, unwound the headphones from it and placed them in my ears. I brushed a finger against the cracked screen and navigated toward the files I had copied from the Spanish-learning CD my teacher had given me. I turned the volume right up, letting the soothing female voice fill my ears. It helped to drown out the thoughts going through my head.

We waited ten more minutes before a bus pulled up. After the elderly lady and the rest of the crowd had boarded, I climbed inside. I chose a seat that was furthest away from everyone and replaced my earbuds in my ears.

The bus revved and moved forward. Soon, we had started along the bridge that led back toward Long Island City. A strong gust of wind blew in through the window of the bus, catching my hair. I stared out at the river flowing beneath us. As we finished crossing the bridge, I looked behind us toward the prison one last time. I wiped my eyes against the back of my jacket sleeve as my vision blurred. Then I forced myself to focus on the Spanish in my ears once again.

I looked up again only when I sensed my stop was nearing. I thanked the driver and left the bus, stepping out onto the sidewalk. I had to wait for another fifteen minutes before the bus arrived that would take me to my next destination. I took a seat closer to the front this time, where I could get a clearer view of my surroundings. I enjoyed looking out of the window at this part of town. The pretty buildings, the fancy shops, the people wearing beautiful clothes…

I debarked again as we arrived on a particularly swanky road. Stepping out, I removed the buds from my ears and placed my iPod back in my bag. Then I straightened out my jacket and jeans so I looked a little less scruffy. I walked up to the chocolatier directly opposite the bus stop and looked at my reflection in the window. My long brown hair had gotten messy from the river wind, so I attempted to tame it a little. Once I was satisfied that I looked at least semi-presentable, I walked another hundred feet and stopped outside a gorgeous five-star hotel. Walking through the entrance, I took a left and entered the restaurant.

It was closed still, but I could see some of my colleagues milling about the tables preparing for dinner. I knocked and caught the attention of a co-worker I particularly liked—Trisha, a short young woman with curly black hair. She gave me a smile and walked over to the door. Pulling out a key from her pocket, she opened it for me.

“I didn’t know you were working today,” she said.

“I’m not. But I need to speak to Rachel. Is she around?”

“Yeah. She’s in the kitchen doing inventory.”

“Great.” I hurried along the restaurant’s trendy beechwood floors and entered the kitchen area round the back. Sure enough, Rachel was standing in the center of it, leaning against one of the metal counters with a tablet in her hands. As I approached, she raised her blue eyes to me, brushing aside her blonde-highlighted hair.

“River. What are you doing here?”

“Do you have a moment?” I asked, setting my heavy bag down on one of the tabletops.

“Sure,” she said.

“As I told you, I won’t be able to work next week. But when I return, I wanted to ask if there are any extra slots you could give me, say… starting Monday the twenty-fourth?”

She furrowed her brows. “You’re already scheduled to work lunch and dinner, five days a week. You really want to work on weekends too? It’s the summer holidays.”

Exactly.
I had to work as much as I could before school started up again.

“Yes. I’d like to take as many extra days as you have available. Can you fit me in?”

“Hm. I s’pose I could schedule you on Saturdays too.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Was that all you came to see me about?”

“Yes.” I picked up my bag and flung it back over my shoulder. “Have a good evening.”

“You too, hon,” she said, giving me another smile before looking back down at her tablet.

I headed back out onto the street and hopped onto another bus. The prospect of a day of extra income per week had lightened my mood a little. I plugged myself back into the calm voice of the Spanish woman. As the last leg of my journey progressed, I became increasingly grateful for her calm, because the bus got delayed a number of times before reaching my neighborhood. My mother would be worrying and wondering why I was late. And my phone battery had died, which meant I couldn’t call her. The thought of my mother worrying always made me tense.

When the elegant roads gave way to shabbier, rougher-looking ones, I knew I was nearing home. It was dark by the time the bus finally pulled up at my stop. I took a moment to tuck my bag beneath my jacket and pull up the hood over my head before racing along the shadowy sidewalk toward our apartment block. Only lost tourists were out after dark on these streets. When I had a late shift cleaning up in the restaurant kitchen, Trisha usually let me crash at her place and return home in the morning so I didn’t have to make the journey at night.

At the entrance to our towering apartment block, two hooded men smoked by the doorway. I fixed my eyes on the ground and strode through the door. I walked to the far corner of the entry area where the mailboxes were stacked. Pulling the key from my bag’s zip pocket, I opened our box. There was only one letter inside. A thin brown envelope addressed to Nadia Haik.

It was still strange to see my mother being addressed by her maiden name, even though it had been more than two years now since the divorce. I slipped the letter into my bag, locked the box and hurried past the elevator toward the stairs. I never used the elevator anymore, not since it had broken down on me six months ago and I’d been trapped in it alone for two hours before the engineer came.

I climbed up staircase after staircase until I reached the seventh floor. Panting, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath. The smell of delicious cooking wafted into my nostrils. It made me realize how hungry I was.

I ran the rest of the distance to the door of our two-bedroom apartment and opened it with my key.

“River?” My mother’s voice drifted through from the kitchen as I shut the door behind me.

“Hello, Mom,” I called back, untying my shoes.

She appeared in the hallway wearing an apron, her thick brown hair tied up in a bun. She placed her hands on her waist, her turquoise eyes wide.

“What happened? I tried to call you.”

“Sorry. My phone battery died.” I finished taking off my shoes and stood up straight. At five-seven, I was two inches taller than my mother.

“How come you’re almost an hour late?”

“I got delayed on the bus journey home.” I reached into my bag for her letter and handed it to her. She took it from me and eyed it briefly before looking back at me. I could see the question behind her eyes, but I knew she’d wait until my sisters had gone to bed.

“You must be starving.” She took my hand and led me into the kitchen. I dumped my bag on the floor. My three siblings were still seated at the table in the center of the small room.

“Why are you so late, River?” Lalia, my six-year-old sister, scolded through a mouthful of hummus.

I heaved a sigh and sat down at the table. “The buses weren’t behaving themselves.”

My ten-year-old sister Dafne peered at me through her round purple spectacles. “Where did you go?”

“You know… the restaurant.”

Dafne, Lalia and I looked more like our mother than our father—more Lebanese than Italian. We shared her eye color, her rich brown hair and light tan skin. My nineteen-year-old brother sitting opposite me resembled our father uncannily with his black hair, brown eyes and whiter skin tone.

“Hello, Jamil,” I said, giving him a smile.

He gave me a lopsided half-smile and met my gaze briefly before mumbling inaudibly to himself and looking down at the table. I could see that my mother had been feeding him when I’d arrived back—he had half a plate of stuffed eggplant and falafel still in front of him.

My mother approached with my plate and set it down in front of me. My mouth watering, I dug right in. There was nothing in the world like my mom’s cooking. She resumed her seat next to Jamil, picked up his fork and continued feeding him.

“How’s the makdous?” she asked. “I think I added too little salt.”

“No, it’s perfect,” I said. “So what have you guys been up to today?”

“We’ve just been hanging around the apartment… Dafne’s been getting a headstart on her history homework—”

“Hey, River, you know my class is studying the Ancient Egyptians next year?” Dafne interrupted. “Finally!”

I chuckled. Our grandfather on my mother’s side being an Egyptologist, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Dafne knew more about Egyptian history than her history teacher.

“And Lalia painted a picture,” my mother continued.

“Of us!” Lalia piped up. Still clutching a piece of falafel in one hand, she slid off her seat and ran out of the kitchen. She returned with a watercolor painting. It was typical Lalia-style—brave, bold colors and half a dozen giant flowers floating around our stick figures for no discernible reason. This wasn’t the first family portrait Lalia had painted. We had a whole pile of them stacked beneath her bed. But something about this one made me stop chewing.

Our father was missing. This was the first painting I’d seen of hers where she’d excluded him.

Although it made me ache inside, I supposed it was a good thing. Perhaps she was letting go. I caught my mother’s eye. From the look of melancholy on her face, I could tell that she was thinking the same thing.

“It’s beautiful, Laly,” I said, kissing her chubby cheek.

She grinned proudly before setting the picture down on the kitchen counter and resuming her seat between Dafne and my mother.

“We also made baklava,” my mother said.

“Can I have some?” Lalia said, stuffing the last forkful of her main course into her mouth.

My mother rolled her eyes. “You already sneaked five pieces before dinner, little rascal.”

“Just one… please?” Lalia fluttered her eyelashes.

“I’ll give you half a piece,” my mother muttered, standing up and opening the fridge door.

Lalia pulled her grumpy face.

“Baklava will start coming out of your ears soon if you’re not careful,” Dafne said, casting Lalia a sideways glance.

My mother returned with a tray of the sweet, rich pastry. Slicing a piece in half, she handed it to Lalia. Then she scooped up two pieces and handed them to Dafne and placed two pieces in a bowl for me before putting the tray back in the fridge.

“None for Jamil?” Dafne asked.

My mother shook her head. “I’m cutting down on his sugar for a while. It’s not good for him.”

I finished the last of my savory food and pushed my chair back, rubbing my stomach. I was stuffed.

“Oh, and Grandpa called,” my mother continued. “Dafne spoke to him.”

“What did he say?” I asked, leaning forward.

“He just wanted to make sure we were ready for the trip,” Dafne replied. “And he said he’s got a surprise for us when we arrive.”

My grandfather always had one surprise or another for us when we went to visit in the summer. He lived in Cairo. Dafne, Lalia and I were due to travel there this coming Sunday—without my mother. She’d had a falling out with her father a few months ago.

“He also said again how disappointed he is that we’re only going for a week this time,” Dafne continued.

“Yeah.” I breathed out. “Well, I already told him I want to work more this summer. You two could stay on longer than me. Bashira could bring you back… I’m sure Grandpa wouldn’t mind the expense.”

“You can discuss it with him when you arrive,” my mother said. She eyed Lalia and Dafne, who’d both finished dessert by now. “Okay, time for bed.”

Lalia crinkled her nose. “But it’s summer break.”

“And you’ve already stayed up an hour past your usual bedtime. Come.”

Lalia leapt up from her chair and darted into the living room, while Dafne obediently made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

My mother chased after Lalia and returned to the kitchen half a minute later, carrying my sister on her back. “River, could you keep an eye on Jamil while I put this monkey to bed?”

Jamil’s head lolled slightly as he sat strapped to his chair. He’d be ready to sleep soon.

“Yeah,” I said, standing up and walking to the sink.

“When are you coming to bed, River?” Lalia called to me as my mother disappeared with her toward the bathroom.

“Soon,” I called back.

I started washing up the plates and cutlery from dinner.

Jamil grunted suddenly. I whirled around to see his shoulders beginning to tremble. Dropping the plates in the sink, I ran to the kitchen door and unhooked the helmet that hung over the back of it. I strapped it over his head and fastened it just in time before his whole body went into a seizure. If he hadn’t been strapped to the chair, he would have fallen to the floor.