Bloodspell (11 page)

Jake, the boy with the tuba, elbowed her. "He's amazing," he said, his voice awed. She nodded, an automatic response, and stood, making her way out of the room pretending to collect discarded sheet music. She felt Christian's eyes on her again, but kept walking until she reached the office.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the energy inside of her and calmed her racing heart, beat by beat. The magic helped to soothe her frantic spirit. And she was grateful.

After that, when Victoria saw Christian at rehearsal, it was as if the interlude during his first violin solo had become a figment of her imagination. He ignored her most of the time, and seemed to take special care to not be in the same room when she was. Sometimes it was inevitable, and during those times, he treated her with a casual indifference that hurt more than anything, but after a while, she became adept at concealing her hurt behind a facade of activity.

If she concentrated hard enough, the sensation of him seemed to fade into the background like a dull buzz. She had no idea if what she was doing was a part of her magic but it helped, and that was all she cared about. The amulet became a source of comfort as she found that whenever she held it, she found clarity, and with it strength. And each day it became easier to avoid and even ignore Christian Devereux.

Along with Christian's violin solo, he was also doing a piano duet with another girl in the orchestra; one who stared at him with such lovesick eyes, it was a wonder that she could even play sitting next to him. The choice of music was a beautiful piece, a four-hand piano arrangement of Tchaikovsky's
The Sleeping Beauty Suite.

Despite not having played for years, Victoria loved it so much that one day after rehearsal she sat at the piano and just let her fingers drift over the keys. Her playing was halting at first and then grew more confident. It was only a one-sided rendition of a piece meant to be played by two people but the music still soothed that place in her heart occupied by memories of her mother. When she finished, she let the tears come and was so lost in her thoughts that at first she didn't hear the soft voice beside her.

"Are you all right?" Christian asked, as she wiped her eyes hastily. He hadn't spoken more than two words to her in two weeks and suddenly he cared why she was crying? Victoria wanted to tell him to go away, but a part of her was so desperate for comfort that she found herself sitting with him and telling him about her parents and her mother's life-long love affair with music.

"I stopped playing after they died," she told him. "She loved Tchaikovsky, this piece in particular. I'd forgotten how much I loved it ... her ..."

Then she cried again, and he stayed with her talking until the custodian came to clean the building. He told her funny stories about his brother when they lived in France as children and some of the pranks they'd played on each other.

"Lucian was a trickster. I was always the one who got away, being my mother's favorite. No one could tell us apart but even when we switched identities, she always knew," he said.

"Were you close? You and Lucian?" Victoria asked.

"We were inseparable." Sadness thickened his voice. "I remember when we were ten," he said with a nostalgic smile, "we'd gone sailing and as we often did, got into a scrape about something. I don't even remember what it'd been about. But one thing led to another and we both fell in. In those days ... winter," he said, after a glance at her, "clothes were thick and heavy. I pushed him out first, but then I started sinking. He jumped right back in to save me, and in the end, we both had to be rescued. That's how it always was. We protected each other even if it meant hurting ourselves to do it."

"Sounds like you loved each other very much."

"Yes." His eyes were far away then, but his hand gripped hers tightly. She squeezed it sympathetically.

"So, why
did
you go sailing in winter?" He sent a startled smile her way. "That sounds like something I would do."

They talked for hours and Victoria found herself telling him things that she'd never told anyone else. Memories of her parents and living in New York, mundane but beautiful things she missed about the city, about them, about her life.

"My father was quiet," she told him. "My mother was not. They were polar opposites, but you'd think they were a match made in heaven the way he loved her and she, him. He'd sit and listen to her play for hours like it was their special language. I miss that the most, their music. It made me feel ... part of something beautiful."

Christian was understanding and sweet and funny, making her sadness disappear, and despite their earlier interaction, it seemed like they could be friends.

"Thank you," she said to him after he'd walked her to her car. "You didn't have to give up your entire evening for me."

"I wanted to."

"I feel like I should apologize for thinking you were a bad person," she confessed, as she got into her car. "I misjudged you, and I'm sorry for that. I'd really like it if we were friends."

He stared at her then, his light eyes unfathomable. Victoria felt them on her long after she'd driven away and was out of his sight.

THE NEXT DAY Christian reverted to his other personality, the one who couldn't bear to look at her or be near her. It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside of him and the night before had never existed. He was agitated and angry, snapping at her when she brought him the wrong music, until finally she lost her patience with him and yelled, not caring who heard. "It's pretty obvious we can't be friends. You don't like me, and I don't like you. And you can get your own music!"

Over the next few days, Victoria stayed as far away from him as possible during rehearsal, and when he performed his solos, she usually tried to find something else to do in the office. His music undermined every strong thought she had against him, flowing into her as powerful as actual words. It left her weak. And he knew it. Those were the times that she left practice running for her car, desperate to escape his presence, the amulet in a death grip between her fingers.

Once they ran into each other at Willard's, the local diner in town, and despite their attempt to be civil to each other, the conversation was forced and fake. He wasn't even able to look at her. Even Charla gave her a quizzical look over Christian's obvious rudeness.

"What's with you and hot-French-boy?" she asked.

"Nothing. He's doing a solo for the orchestra, and he's a prima donna," Victoria responded, still smarting from his coldness.

"Devereux is a
band geek
?" she laughed. "That's just rich."

Angie surprised Victoria by commenting in a sour voice. "He's not a band geek, he does solos every year at Windsor and Harland. My parents said he played at Carnegie Hall last year for some charity benefit."

Victoria and Charla stared at her with twin expressions of astonishment.

"What? I'm just saying," Angie said, ducking her head.

"Why're you keeping tabs on him if you don't like him?" Charla exclaimed with a wink at Victoria.

"Not keeping tabs, and I
don't
like him. He's good at music, that's all," Angie said. "There's a reason for that but it's not like anyone cares," she muttered under her breath. Victoria frowned. That was the second time Angie had made a snide comment about Christian Devereux.

"What's that?" Victoria asked.

A glare from Angie. She answered Victoria's question with a question of her own. "Doesn't it strike you as weird that he so good at everything?"

"Gabe's like that too though," Victoria pointed out.

Charla smirked. "Two words. Silver spoon. He's like the British princes, doing the works—boarding school, etiquette classes, clarinets, and polo. I wonder what else he's good at." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Angie stared at her, a shocked giggle transforming her dour face. "Char,
you
did all those things at boarding school," Angie said, still smiling before her tone soured. "And Christian Devereux does not date girls at Windsor. Remember sophomore year?"

"Oh right," Charla said. She turned to Victoria. "I almost got expelled."

"Because of Christian?" Victoria said.

"He was a senior here. Some girl was flirting with Gabriel and Charla was all over Christian to make him jealous. But Christian made it clear that he wasn't interested so Charla knocked the girl's teeth out instead." Victoria gaped at Charla who wore an unperturbed expression.

"You punched someone?"

"She
knocked
her
teeth
out," Angie emphasized dryly. "Charla's a black belt."

Victoria stared at Charla's slight figure, skeptical. She looked like an anime doll with her red spirals and huge brown eyes.
A black belt
?

Charla shrugged. "I had a lot of aggression issues as a child," she said mildly, as if that explained it all. "Therapy and Taekwondo."

"Remind me never to mess with you," Victoria said, half-joking.

Charla turned toward her, her stare measured. "Just stay away from Gabriel, and you and I will be just peachy." Her tone was mild and she'd said it with a smile but Victoria couldn't help but sense the menace underscoring her words. An odd coldness settled across her shoulders.

"I would never—"

"I know."

TO KEEP HERSELF busy, Victoria went straight from classes to rehearsal to the Black Dog. Her days merged into a carbon copy of the day before; wash, rinse, and repeat. But she didn't mind the predictable monotony. It helped her to not think about anything other than what she was doing at the time—not her strange gifts, which she'd ignored since her discussion with Leto, and certainly not Christian Devereux.

She saw Gabriel once at a football game that Charla had dragged her to, and he had asked her to a party at his friend's house. Victoria had declined. Although she liked Gabriel, he was too fast for her and given Charla's obsessive-compulsive behavior where he was concerned, she didn't even want to be around him. Gabriel had seemed disappointed but hadn't pushed. After what had happened with Christian, Victoria wasn't sure that she wanted to get involved with anyone at all, not even someone who would help her to forget him.

She'd briefly wondered about what Angie had said about Christian not dating anyone at Windsor even when he'd gone there, and it didn't surprise her. He seemed far too self-assured to have a girlfriend, which made his bizarre reaction to her even more extraordinary. It overwhelmed Victoria to even try to understand him. He had a Jekyll and Hyde complex that was beyond her comprehension. So she'd decided to just pretend he didn't exist. And apparently, he'd decided to do the same. Despite her relief, her disappointment must have been transparent because Charla had caught on to it.

"What's with you lately?" she asked, when they were hanging out after class at Willard's. "You're all jumpy one minute and mopey the next. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were in love."

"What? No!"

"Okay, now that's definitely a sign. Jumpy, and mopey, and defensive." Charla leaned over the counter of the booth pushing her plate of blueberry pie to the side and patting her flat stomach. "Stuffed. So come on, spill it. Who is he?"

"It's no one. Really." Victoria flushed, shoveling a piece of pastry in her mouth to avoid talking.

"And the fourth sign is denial," Charla said dryly. "Trust me, I am an aficionado of boys and boy behavior. You, my dear, are in the first stages of boy fever."

"Don't be ridiculous," Victoria said, her mouth full with another bite. "Look there's Angie. Hey Angie, over here!" She waved to Angie, who shot her a mystified scowl but made her way over to their booth.

"Hey," she said warily, eyeing Victoria and sliding in next to Charla. "What's up?"

"Not much except that Tori has a crush on someone and is totally holding out on me," Charla said, scooting over. She turned back to Victoria. "Speaking of, didn't you have a date like three weeks ago?"

"I don't have a crush, and my date was with a boy named ... John."

"John?" Charla tapped the side of her head and then shook it decidedly. "I don't know any Johns."

"Come on, there's at least five of them in our senior class," Victoria protested.

"None worth crushing over," she said, winking. "And you got saved, because here comes my crush right now. But don't think you're getting away, I'm on to you." She waved to Gabriel who'd entered the restaurant with four other football players.

Gabriel sauntered over, once again completely ignoring Angie to say hello to Charla and Victoria, and leaned against the table. He had his shirtsleeves rolled back and his tanned forearms were taut with muscle. His smile was lazy and confident.

"Hey Tori, is my girl getting you into trouble?" Charla blushed prettily.

"No more than usual," Victoria joked back.

"There's a party tonight at Jake's place. His parents are away and it'll be fun. You guys in?"

"Sure," Charla said. "Ange?" She turned to Angie who hadn't moved an inch since Gabriel had stopped to talk. Victoria didn't see anything but she could have sworn that Angie trembled slightly and shut her eyes almost like she had a sudden sharp headache. Her fingers clutched the books in her arms with a death-white grip. Victoria was astonished at the abrupt change.