Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) (13 page)

“You’re going to have to do better than
that,” he tells me stepping back. “As I said before, your problem
isn’t lack of skill. You’ve got good form and you’re a quick study.
The problem is your textbook approach.”

“I do not have a textbook approach!” I reply
indignantly. Do I?

He continues, ignoring my protests. “It’s
fine if you’re satisfied with adequate. If you want to be elite,
you’ve got to feel it. You’re too controlled. There’s no
imagination. No real passion.”

I stare at him dubiously, wondering if he’s
right and if it’s something I can overcome with practice. I sigh
resignedly accepting his assessment. I am here to learn after all.
“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Let go,” he says simply. “You’ve got to let
your instincts guide you. Learn to read your opponent and react
intuitively.”

“Like you do?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Katia, I know practically every move you’re
going to make even before you do.”

He’s being serious for once. Not teasing me,
not laughing. He’s telling me that I’ll never beat him if I don’t
change my approach. I’m good enough to best the beginners in my
class, but that isn’t enough for me.

“What a colossal waste of time!” Blaine
interjects with a sneer, reminding us of his presence. What I
wouldn’t give to knock that look off his face.

“Sorry. Are you feeling left out? You’re
welcome to join us. I can always use another punching bag,” I reply
tartly, shooting him a smile laced with sarcasm.

“Two-on-one. Now there’s an interesting
idea,” Nik smirks huskily in my ear. His closeness is unnerving.
I’m pretty sure he’s trying to rattle me on purpose.

“Again.” This time I give the order. I’ve
resolved to block out Blaine’s unsolicited commentary and Nikolai’s
innuendos.

Nikolai shows me a dozen different patterns
that he wants me to work on. We practice each of the moves together
at first. He gives me guidance, straightening my limbs when needed
and pointing out the best combinations and strike zones for each. I
pick up the pace as we go, increasing the momentum of our
session.

To the human eye our incredible speed would
be just a blur. It’s odd to think how easily I could crush a human
bone or snap a neck. Humans are so fragile by comparison. I can hit
Nikolai with the full force of my muscles, and, while I may break
the skin occasionally, his body repairs itself almost immediately.
We don’t suffer the indignity of bruises and broken limbs long.
Fortunately.

When I catch a glimpse of the clock I realize
we’ve been at it for hours. I don’t have anywhere else to be today,
but maybe Nikolai does. I hate to leave. In here it’s easy to
forget the rest of the world. He catches me eyeing the clock.

“Want to grab a drink and call it a day?”

“Sure.” I hope he can’t sense my
disappointment. We head for the cooler and I realize that Blaine is
gone. He must’ve slipped out while we were sparring. It’s just as
well. I’m in no danger of missing him.

Nik takes the liberty of pouring drinks for
both of us. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I have the
cup in my hand. The smell of the blood arouses my senses. It’s not
human. It’s definitely from a wild animal. A bear maybe? Perhaps a
wolf? There are plenty in the mountains surrounding the school. I
hear them howling at the night sky regularly. I take a big gulp and
savor the taste, wishing I could hunt on my own.

“So what do you think?” I ask earnestly.

“You’re not entirely hopeless,” he teases,
running a hand through his dark hair.

I stick my tongue out at him and drain my
glass. The training center is clearing out. Only a handful of
students remain. I refill my cup and take a seat on the nearby
bench. Nik joins me, turning to watch the stragglers who
remain.

I don’t recognize most of them. Another
glaring reminder of my anti-social behavior and self-imposed
isolation. There is one girl that looks familiar. I think she’s in
my Sociology class. She’s throwing knives, something I’d love to
learn. I study her form, as she hits the bull’s-eye time and again.
I wonder fleetingly if this is something Nikolai can teach me.

“So? How’s Crossroads treating you so
far?”

Really? That’s what he wants to talk about?
Why does everyone keep asking me that? It’s hard to believe any of
them really care. Especially Nik.

“I think we both know the answer to that
question,” I reply sourly. My pleasant mood takes a dive at this
unwanted turn in the conversation, frustration welling up to take
its place.

“Well, you’re not giving it much of a chance,
are you?”

His assumptions grate on my nerves. “I’m
here, aren’t I?”

“You’re only here because I can give you
something you want. Otherwise you wouldn’t give me the time of
day.” I’d like to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t.

“Good thing you don’t have a fragile ego
then, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Seven o’clock on Tuesday?” he asks
casually. I admire his profile as he stands and stretches. He’s
tall and well-muscled without being bulky. Like Anya he’s got nice
bone structure: prominent cheekbones, straight nose, dimple on his
left cheek. His dark hair is a mess, though, from training. It
suits him and adds to his reckless appearance.

“Works for me,” I reply, hesitating. “And
Nik… thanks.”

It’s
difficult not to notice Shaye’s absence from Anatomy. The first day
I don’t think much of it, but when she’s still a no show later in
the week I begin to worry. What could possibly be keeping her from
class? No one else seems to care. I doubt most of our classmates
have even noticed the empty desk. Like me she’s in no danger of
winning a popularity contest. But Shaye’s absence gnaws at me.
Attendance is mandatory, and there’s no way she’s getting away with
skipping two classes in a row.

When Professor Hooke wraps up his lecture on
the differences between human and vampire musculature, I linger
behind while the rest of the class trickles out.

“Professor Hooke?”

“Yes, Katia. What is it?” he replies
hurriedly, looking up from his desk and filing our homework
assignments in his briefcase. It seems he’s on a tight schedule
today.

“Would you like me to take the assignments to
Shaye? She’s missed two classes now. It would be a shame for her to
fall behind. You know how much she loves Anatomy.” It’s a white
lie, but I doubt he’s really listening to me anyway. He hasn’t paid
much attention to me at all since the day I fell asleep in class.
The day Shaye saved my ass.

“It’s very good of you to offer,” he says,
pausing to pull some blank worksheets from his bag. He hands me the
forms. “Just tell her to bring them with her when she returns to
class.”

“Will do. Umm… Can you also look up her room
number for me?”

“You don’t know it?” he asks exasperated.

It will only take him a moment to look it up
on his desktop computer, so I just smile and do my best to look
completely oblivious to the fact that I’m asking him to break a
rule by disclosing personal information. He checks the time on his
wristwatch and frowns. Hooke’s running late, and it works in my
favor. His fingers fly over the keyboard, accessing the course
roster and the information I need.

“Three fourteen.”

“Thanks!” I take the worksheets and get out
of there before he can ask any more questions.

When I arrive at Shaye’s door, I find it
locked. I knock gently and wait for her to answer. She doesn’t. I
knock again. This time harder and more urgently. I know Shaye can
hear me. If she’s home. When she still doesn’t answer, I resign
myself to the fact that she’s not there and slide the homework
assignments under the door.

I’m not sure what else to do. It’s not like I
can go to the headmaster’s office and demand an explanation. Just
as I’m about to give up, the door opens a crack. Shaye is home
after all.

“It’s really not a good time, Katia,” she
whispers hoarsely.

Something isn’t right. Her voice sounds funny
and what little I can see of her looks terrible. What’s going on
here? I make a snap decision and shove the door open. Shaye makes
no effort to resist. She steps back and allows the door to swing
wide open.

“Might as well come in then,” she says,
wearily retreating back to the comfort of her bed. She ignores the
worksheets on the floor so I do the same. Shaye’s wearing baggy
gray sweats and looks like she hasn’t showered in days. As she
tucks herself back into bed, I notice that her eyes are bloodshot
and sallow. Deep purple bruises lay under her eyes.

“You look awful. What’s wrong? Why haven’t
you been in class?” I demand. Shaye’s used to me and isn’t put off
my bluntness.

“I haven’t exactly been feeling well,” she
replies, settling back into a pile of pillows.

“I don’t understand. How can that be? What
are you talking about?” I’m bombarding her with questions, but I
can’t help it. She’s not making any sense.

“I’m not well, Katia.”

“Not well? You’ll have to do better than
that, Shaye.”

“Look at me,” she says simply. “You’re a
smart girl. You can figure it out.”

Actually, I’m not sure that I can. All of the
signs and her comments point to one answer but it can’t be right.
She’s too young. Even though my head is telling me that it can’t
be, my heart is telling me that I’m right.

“Sete de sange?” I ask quietly. Blood
disease.

“First try. Impressive.”

“But how can that be?” I ask, ignoring her
mocking tone. You’re so young. I thought….” I trail off. Of all
people I should understand how unpredictable life can be. There are
no certainties.

“It’s rare but not unheard of.”

Talk about an understatement. The blood
disease only affects a small percentage of our species. The number
of youth plagued with it has to be infinitesimally small.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask. “Have
you fed today?

She stares at me with a blank expression.
What a stupid question! I berate myself mentally. She’s dying, and
I offer her a glass of blood.

“Sorry. I’m nervous. I’m not good at things
like this, and I’m not sure what to say,” I tell her honestly,
sitting down next to her on the bed. For the first time I stop to
check out her room. It’s surprisingly feminine and is counter to
everything I’ve seen of Shaye thus far. I’m surrounded by pastels
and flowers. I cringe inwardly. It looks like Martha Stewart threw
up in here. Definitely not my style.

“It’s okay,” she says smiling weakly. “I’m
not going to die today. Maybe I won’t die at all. Some of the best
minds in the world are working on a cure. I just have to be tough
and stay strong until they find it.”

She’s got moxie. I’ll give her that. It can’t
be easy going about your everyday life while facing certain
death.

“How long?” I ask.

“Two years. It started slow. I just felt
tired a lot and needed to feed frequently. My family thought it was
just adolescence, you know? Anyway, some days are better than
others. My situation isn’t so bad yet. I’ve got time. And
hope.”

“That’s good.”

“You lack faith.” Her tone isn’t exactly
accusing, but I can tell she’s disappointed by this revelation.

“I really am sorry.” There’s no point
discussing my faith or lack thereof. “I didn’t mean to ambush you
like this and pry into your personal life. I was just worried when
you didn’t show up for class again. I didn’t want you to fall
behind.” This excuse sounds contrived even to me. I can only
imagine how it sounds to her.

“Actually, I’m glad you came.” She smiles,
perking up a bit. I’m full of crap, and Shaye knows it. I could
care less if she falls behind in Anatomy. Even though I don’t say
it, she knows I was just plain worried about her.

“It’s nice to finally tell someone. Carrying
a secret like this is a heavy burden. There’s so much pressure all
of the time. Now I don’t have to pretend any more. Not with you at
least.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I say,
squeezing her hand in what I hope is a comforting gesture. She nods
in assent. Shaye knows that she doesn’t have to ask me to keep her
secret.

“You might try it you know,” she whispers
quietly, raising her eyes to mine.

“Huh? Try what?” I ask confused.

“The truth. Stop running. Stop hiding,” she
says, her body wracked by a fit of coughs. She reaches for a box of
tissues on the nightstand and covers her mouth. A drop of blood
passes her lips, staining the tissue. She looks so small and
helpless surrounded by that awful flowered bedspread. I’ve never
thought of Shaye this way before. I hope that I won’t always think
of her like this. “You can talk to me. You can trust me,” she says,
stuffing the tissue in the pocket of her sweatshirt.

I wave her off casually although her words
terrify me. She’s getting a little too deep here. There’s no way
she could know, is there? I don’t think so, but I decide to get out
of there anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But
I’d better get going. You need your rest, and I’ve got an
appointment with Anya in a little while.”

“Do me a favor?” she asks before I can flee
the room.

“Sure.”

“Can you run down to the stables and let
Keegan know I’m okay?” she asks awkwardly. “I texted him, but he
doesn’t believe me. He wants to see how I’m doing for himself.” She
pauses, idly tracing the floral pattern on the bedspread with her
finger. “I’d like to see him, but it’s not a good idea. Too many
inquiring eyes here in the dorm.”

“Sure,” I reply. “I’ll go now.”

“Thanks, Katia.”

“What’re friends for?” I can tell I’ve made
her day. I might be imagining it, but aside from the bloody tissue
peeking out from her pocket, she looks a little better than when I
arrived. She’s smiling from ear to ear as I leave.