Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) (10 page)

The gym has gotten loud. There’s a lot of
moaning and groaning mixed with the attack cries. I refuse to let
Nikolai get the best of me. I’m starting to get a feel for his
moves and manage to dodge his next assault. I catch him off guard
and am able to hit him with a crescent kick which glances off of
his head.

His head snaps back, and I can see the look
of surprise on his face as he licks blood from his lip. He wasn’t
expecting the move. It’s a minor victory. His face confirms what
I’d suspected all along: he’s been holding back. And still he wiped
the mat with me. We stand there staring at each other for a moment,
assessing one another. The silence is broken only when Garcia calls
the class back to attention.

“Good work today,” Nikolai commends me. I nod
respectfully, and he returns dutifully to Garcia’s side.

I’m relieved when Garcia dismisses us. I’ll
recover quickly, but right now my body is protesting the abuse it’s
taken over the last hour. I head straight for the cooler and pour
myself a glass of blood. It’s chilled, but I don’t care. Beggars
can’t be choosers and I’m thirsty. The beating Nikolai gave me has
left my body physically drained. I’ll have to be better prepared
next week.

**********

Anya and I sit face to face with the desk
between us, neither of us speaking. Secretly I’m hoping that she’s
run out of patience and will cancel all future sessions, but I know
it’s wishful thinking. She’s determined. Deep down I think she
likes the challenge.

“Are you planning to attend the Halloween
Masquerade?” she asks casually.

I look at her incredulously. She might as
well have asked me if I was planning to sprout wings and fly to the
moon on October thirty-first.

“Hadn’t planned on it. Frankly, it seems kind
of pointless. That dance isn’t going to get me any closer to
graduation or to fulfilling my promise to Aldo.” There. Anya will
understand that answer. It’s practical.

“Call me crazy, but it might be fun. You do
know fun, right?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

“Ha ha. Yes, I know all about fun. I just
don’t think that getting dressed up and gyrating around the dance
floor with a group of my peers, who by the way are spoiled- rotten,
vapid….”

“Katia.” Although her tone is stern, a smile
flickers at the corners of her mouth. I decide that she probably
shares my opinion, even if it’s not professional to voice it.

“It’s just not for me,” I finish hastily,
crossing my arms over my chest.

“The Halloween Masquerade is a big event at
Crossroads. The staff really goes all out. While the students are
at Holloway Farm, this place will be completely transformed. It may
not be the biggest event of the year, but it’s definitely the most
outlandish. As you can imagine, the students like to have a little
fun with the holiday. I wish you would reconsider,” she pleads.
“You are allowed to enjoy yourself once in a while, you know. I’m
sure Aldo and Lissette would love for you to attend.”

She’s not wrong there. Lissette would love
hearing about it. She’s far more sociable than Aldo and me and
enjoys a good party. I know it’s a big event for the school because
all of the students, even those who don’t normally have off campus
privileges, are required to go on the trip to Holloway Farm for
Moonlight Madness.

“And it would give you an opportunity to bond
with your classmates,” Anya insists, as if it’s a good thing. She
leans forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the desk, as she
waits for my reply. As usual, she’s the consummate professional.
Calm, composed, and prepared to wait out my obstinacy. Despite the
late hour, she’s still wearing a crisp white blouse which has
somehow managed to avoid wrinkles and a black pencil skirt. During
our many sessions I’ve learned that Anya’s clothes will always be
boring and austere. It’s only in her shoes that she allows her
personality to shine through. Today she’s wearing leopard print
stilettos which peek out from under the desk.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her finally.
Yeah, right. I’d rather bang my head on the desk a hundred times
than go to the Masquerade.

“There’s something else I’ve been wanting to
ask you about,” she begins tentatively, her wild shoes bouncing
under the desk with nervous energy.

“Oh?” I watch Anya as she studies me. Her
brows knit together, and she’s got that look in her eye—the one
that says she’s about to throw me a curveball, and she’s trying to
decide if I’m going to freak out.

“The necklace you wear. I’ve never seen you
without it. Tell me about it.”

That’s it? She wants to know about my
necklace? To me it’s a thing of beauty, but Anya’s sudden interest
perplexes me.

I hold the necklace up to the light and study
it. The amulet is more than a thousand years old. It’s made of
heavy gold and rests on a sturdy chain that I can easily slip over
my head. The amulet itself is oval in shape, its stone nestled in
an ornate gold carriage. The filigree on the setting would have
been a work of art in its time.

While the craftsmanship is impressive, it’s
the stone that draws the eye. The Bloodstone is a deep green
Chalcedony, and is splattered with a burst of iron oxide spots,
which run across its surface. The iron gives the appearance of
bloodlines for which the stone is so aptly named.

“There’s not much to tell really. It’s a
Bloodstone amulet that Aldo gave me. It belonged to his sister,
Anastasia. It’s all he had left of her when she disappeared. It was
important to Aldo, and so it’s important to me.”

“That’s a very special gift,” she
comments.

“As I said, it’s important to Aldo, so it’s
important to me,” I return haughtily. “Wearing it helps me feel
closer to him.” I don’t tell her that Aldo has the matching ring or
that it was a matched set given to brother and sister upon their
birth. She might think it’s weird. Or creepy. The truth is, twins
are an anomaly among our kind. They must’ve caused quite a stir in
their time.

“The Bloodstone has some very interesting
lore behind it,” she says thoughtfully.

I know what she’s driving at. I’ve researched
it myself. Known as the Martyr’s Stone, there are those that
believe the blood of Christ has fallen on the rock giving it
healing properties. It’s also been used for blood purification,
strength, and has come to symbolize justice. I don’t really believe
in any of that though. To me it’s significant only because of the
value Aldo has placed upon it.

“I don’t put much stock in magic,” I say
firmly. “I prefer to put my confidence into science, into things
that can be proven logically.”

“I see. Like our existence?” she challenges.
“You prefer to focus on the biological explanations of our species
as opposed to the mythical?”

“Shouldn’t I? I haven’t met anyone that can
morph into a bat or disintegrate into smoke,” I reply flippantly
chewing on my fingernails. It’s a dirty habit, but I don’t care at
the moment.

“That’s for you to decide, Katia. Certainly
science has explained much about the evolution of our species, and
there are theories galore to cover that which hasn’t been proven.
What about your… gift?” she asks.

“What about it?” I ask defensively dropping
my hand from my mouth to grip the sturdy arms of the leather chair.
Anya’s ability to get past my defenses is disconcerting. She has an
uncanny knack for finding an opening and picking until she gets
what she wants.

“How do you explain the exceptionally high
number of gifted individuals in our species?” she asks
innocently.

“Evolution. Humans only use ten percent of
their brain. It’s natural that our brains would become more
advanced over time, as we live longer and have more time to
develop. It would be a tragedy if we weren’t more sophisticated
mentally, just as we are physically. We’re faster, stronger, more
resilient, and have better control of our bodies in every possible
way. Why should mental capacity be any different?”

“That would certainly explain some things,”
she says smoothly. “But what about psychic talents like yours?
There are definitely some unknown factors at play there.” Anya
stares at me, the challenge blatant. I break eye contact first and
turn my eyes to the far side of the room.

As I study the accolades on the wall I try to
think of a good reply, but she’s got me and she knows it. Not all
gifts manifest themselves psychically, but there’s no doubt mine is
beyond scientific explanation. Since I don’t have a rational
response, I decide to go with irrational. I get up and walk out of
the room, leaving Anya alone with her prying questions.

**********

I wake with a throbbing headache. The ground
beneath me is cold and hard. Cement. My head is pounding. Can smoke
do that? I crack my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. I can only
see patches of the mottled paint through the smoke. It swirls
around me, polluting my lungs and piercing my eyes. Smoke assaults
me from all sides, blurring my vision, the acrid stench clinging to
my clothes and hair. I roll to my left and grab the corner of a
metal table. Using the leg for support, I drag myself into a
sitting position and climb to my feet.

For the first time I notice the flames. They
crackle all around me. The clinic is engulfed. But why am I inside?
And where is everyone else? What the hell is going on? This isn’t
right. I’m not supposed to be here. It’s not supposed to be me!

Panic stirs my gut, threatening to burst
forth. The beginning of a scream makes its way through me, coiling
up from my stomach and into my throat. If I don’t let it out, it
will consume me. I imagine the fear ripping me to pieces from the
inside out, leaving nothing but an unrecognizable and bloody mess.
Not today. I slam my hand over my mouth, clamping it shut. I
swallow my fear. I have to stay calm. I have to get out of
here.

The overhead lights surge with power and
short out. The bulbs explode, leaving a deluge of sparks to rain
down on me. I smell singed hair and pat my sleeve where the fabric
has burned through. Time is running out.

I stride across the room and slam my hands
against the nearest window. The glass does not give under the force
of my blow. I strike it again; this time with my fist. And again.
Still, nothing. I am not meant to get out. I’m meant to burn as
they did. As they always do in my nightmares.

In an act of desperation I grab a stool and
smash it futilely against the unyielding glass. It clatters to the
floor and is quickly swallowed by the flames. I fight the urge to
cry. I will be strong. I will be brave. I watch the flames, as they
creep across the floor, inching closer to me.

The room is getting unbearably hot. The soles
of my shoes grow warm and the rubber begins to melt. I wonder if I
too could melt. It beats the alternative of burning. It’s a fitting
death I suppose. I’ve long suspected there’s a ring of hell for
those like me.

As the flames take hold of my pant leg,
searing nerve endings and destroying flesh, my brave façade
crumbles. I fling myself against the window and pound on it with
every ounce of strength I have left. I hardly recognize the
deafening scream that reverberates through the night as my own.

I wake up screaming. My heart is pounding so
hard I wonder if it will beat right out of my chest. I sit up
slowly and look around, reminding myself that I am safe in my dorm
and that nothing can touch me here.

“It’s just a dream. Get a grip,” I tell
myself contemptuously. The feeling of helplessness, of fear, that
comes with the nightmares is infuriating. But they’re so real.
They’re always so real. I glance at the clock knowing I won’t get
back to sleep tonight. It’s only twelve thirty. I didn’t get much
rest. It’s going to be a long night and an even longer day
tomorrow. I contemplate blood from the fridge but find I can’t
stomach the thought of it right now. Instead, I grab my laptop and
pull up the digital photo album stored on the hard drive. I know
how I will spend the remainder of the night: remembering the
past.

The
next morning it’s all I can do to keep my head up in Anatomy.
Professor Hooke is droning on and on about genetic makeup, and,
even though it’s important, I can’t seem to stay awake. I’m
exhausted. His lecture is going in one ear and out the other.

“Our genetic makeup is not so different from
the human species, although we do have our differences,” Professor
Hooke reminds us. “Much is known about both our species, although
we certainly have the advantage of being more knowledgeable than
the humans.”

I feel my eyes drooping and jerk upright in
my seat. For the love of God, will this class never end?

“Humans endure a life of constant aging,
physical ailments, and disease. We are virtually impervious to all
of these things. Who did the reading last night? In layman’s terms,
I’d like a volunteer to summarize the assignment.”

I feel his hand settle on my shoulder, as he
steps up behind me. “Katia.”

Hell’s bells! Hooke has a funny take on
volunteerism. I’m drawing a blank. What is he talking about? I rack
my brain and still come up empty. The other girls may think he’s
sexy as hell with his penetrating brown eyes, muscular physique,
and English accent, but right now all I see is a sadist bent on
humiliating inattentive students.

“With the onset of puberty and the thirst,
vampires experience a dramatic slowing in age. There is no
scientific name for the phenomenon. It’s as natural as birth for a
vampire,” interrupts Shaye. “It’s the exact opposite of Werner’s
Syndrome in a human. In the afflicted human there is a rapid
progression of age whereby the life span is dramatically shorter
than average. For a vampire the aging process is so slow that we’ve
managed to appear immortal to the human world. Most of our own live
so long that death becomes a conscious choice instead of an
inevitable demise.”