Red Dawn (3 page)

I wade through the sea of bodies that crowd the halls of the west wing and head for Anya’s office. With the new uniforms, everyone should look more or less the same, but Pratt’s plan has backfired. Personal style seems to be prevailing. In fact, it looks like most of the student body is rebelling against the new unis. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Like Shaye, lots of students have personalized their uniforms. Pratt’s in for quite the shock if he ever bothers to leave his office. He’ll probably have an aneurism. I can’t help but smile at the thought.

I’m still grinning ear to ear when I arrive at Anya’s door. I knock and let myself in. It’s kind of our routine. Anya’s sitting behind her overly large desk, but she jumps up when I enter.

“Katia! So good to see you!” She comes around the desk and holds out her arms for a hug. Her short dark curls bounce with each step and her blue eyes are as warm as any I’ve ever seen. Anya looks just how I remember, loud shoes and all. I gawk at them without reservation. Today they’re open toed red snakeskin with obscenely high heels. If I gave a crap about fashion, I’d probably be drooling over them. “And you’re right on time. Talk about progress!”

“Yeah, well, it was bound to happen eventually,” I joke. “Besides, it’s only day one.” I flop into one of the comfy leather chairs in front of Anya’s desk. Talk about déjà vu. Even though I’m here today for formal training and not counseling, it feels pretty much the same. It’s oddly comforting.

“A girl can dream, right?” she replies raising her eyebrows expressively as she returns to her chair.

“Good luck with that. So what’s the deal with Talent Development anyway?” I ask. Might as well get right down to business. I kind of suck at small talk.

“Talent Development is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. Faculty members are assigned to work one on one with specific students to help them identify and harness their latent abilities. The faculty typically seeks to pair students and instructors based on known or familial talents. Talent Development has been an integral part of the curriculum since Crossroads opened its doors, but this is my first year participating as an instructor.”

“If it’s part of the regular curriculum, why doesn’t Shaye have it on her schedule?” I’m probably being salty, but I don’t care. Considering what I overheard in Aldo’s office, I feel like I’m being singled out again. It wasn’t just dumb luck that got me paired with Anya.

“Not every student requires it. If a student has a relatively simple talent that’s already been mastered and no indication of dormant abilities, then the credits would be waived.”

Damn! Why can’t I be in that group? “So how does this work exactly?”

“Good question.” Anya purses her lips. So
not
a good sign. There’s a very good chance I’m not going to like what comes next. “Learning to control your abilities takes practice and patience.”

“Well, that settles it,” I say, jumping up from my chair. “I’m screwed.”

Anya ignores my sarcasm and points at the chair I’ve just evacuated. I sigh loudly and make a big show of sitting down again. It was worth a shot. Anya does her best to not encourage my obnoxious behavior, but I can tell she’s amused. She tries to hide it, but the corners of her mouth twitch giving her away.

“In your case, we’ll start with the blood visions,” she tells me.

“Wait. What? Why?” I protest sitting up straighter in my chair. I’ve done my best to avoid those wretched visions since I was transfigured. They hardly seem like a useful talent that needs sharpening and I have less than zero interest in subjecting myself to that kind of trauma willingly or regularly. “Out of the question!”

 “Katia, think about it. It’s a logical place to start.” Her voice is calm and soothing. Neat little therapist trick, but it’s not going to work.
“Easy for you to say.” I might think the visions are a great place to start too if I wasn’t the one being exposed to the abject horror they usually bring.

“The blood visions were the first to manifest and since they’ve proven to be most problematic, it’s important that you learn to control them. Then we’ll work to identify other latent abilities. Aldo has indicated it’s likely you’ll have quite a few.”

I don’t bother suppressing a groan. Bloody hell. I’m not going to be able to argue my way out of this one. No wonder Aldo didn’t want me to know about this in advance. Clearly Aldo and I need to work on our communication skills.

“Relax, Katia. We’ll take it slow. You can set the pace,” she tells me reaching across the desk to grasp my hand. Her grip is firm and reassuring. I know Anya is sincere. She’ll do her best to keep me from having a total freak attack. Still, it might not be enough. The visions that assault my mind when I drink fresh blood are exhausting and usually overwhelming. There’s not much I can do to control the onslaught of memories and emotions the life-force leaves on the blood.

“Trust me.”

“I really don’t have a choice, do I?”

Anya nods her head, confirming what I already know: there isn’t going to be any negotiation in Talent Development. I throw up my hands in frustration. I hate giving up control. This totally sucks.

“Alright,” I concede gravely. “Since this is not optional, we might as well get started.”

“If you’re ready,” she replies dropping my hand. I watch as Anya spins her chair around and opens the mini fridge behind her desk. From where I sit, I can see that the fridge is fully stocked with packets of blood. It appears to be human and was probably brought in from the local blood bank. After reviewing several labels, Anya carefully selects a pouch and twists off the freshness seal. The scent of blood fills the air, invading my nostrils and awakening my hunger. Despite my reservations about this exercise, I crave the blood. I feel my fangs drop as she pours the smooth crimson fluid into a crystal glass. I’m curious as to what it was Anya was looking for on the label.

It’s not as if I care about blood type. Perhaps she was checking dates. The fresher the blood, the more impact the life-force will have left and the better the chance the vision will be intense. Knowing this, I hope Anya has chosen something older from her stash. Forced to choose between stale blood and the hellish visions, I’ll take the former any day.

I sit quietly as Anya slides the glass across the desk. It’s difficult not to cast a wary eye on it as I contemplate my next move. Although I long for the blood, the price of consumption is unknown. Maybe the vision will be brief. Maybe not.

“You need to relax,” Anya coaxes. Despite the look of consternation on her face, her tone is calm and soothing.

I am anything but relaxed right now. My nerves are wound so tight I’ve got a death grip on the glass. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t shattered into a million pieces already. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, practicing one of the relaxation techniques professor Edwards taught us last year.

“You need to be in complete control of your emotions before we can start,” Anya warns. So
not
happening. Anya’s completely deluded if she thinks I’ll actually be able to do this. “Empty your mind and let go of the fear.”

“Working on it,” I grumble as I continue performing the breathing patterns. Anya’s coaching isn’t exactly helpful. I’m sure it’s meant to be constructive, but it just sort of seems like common sense.

“When you drink the blood, you’ll want to pace yourself. Take small, even sips. It’s nearly a week old so the impact of the lingering life-force should be mild.” That’s good news at least. It means the vision will be brief. “The donor was a housewife who gives regularly, so I doubt there will be anything too overwhelming imprinted on her blood.”

“How reassuring,” I say as I roll my eyes. I take one final look at the glass before deciding that I’m as calm as I’m going to get. “Cheers.”

I try to do as Anya’s instructed, taking small sips, but by the fifth one I’m ready to quit. My mind is flooded with this anonymous woman’s life. Unwanted memories and conflicting emotions burst into my mind scattered and meaningless, impossible to sort out
. Soccer game, funeral, graduation, spaghetti dinner, child birth, wedding, sailing on the lake.
Flashes of her life just keep coming, swirling around inside my head as if they were my own. Only they’re not mine. I feel my calm slipping away as my mind rejects the visions and fights back against this cranial invasion. Even these menial events, with their emotional highs and lows, are too much for me to handle. My own emotions are somersaulting. They burn through me like brush fire seeking an outlet for release. There’s a small whimper and it takes me a minute to realize that the sound came from my own lips.

“I’m done. I can’t do it.” I push the nearly full glass back toward Anya and drop my hands into my lap. I try to still my shaking knees before Anya notices. I’ve shown enough weakness for one day and though I hate to admit defeat, I cannot drink from that glass again
. I won’t.

“Alright. That’s enough for today then.” We study one another silently. I can only imagine what she’s thinking. I doubt it’s anything good. “We’ll try again next week.”

“Do we have to?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Given the opportunity I’d trade this talent for just about anything else. I can’t think of a single practical use for these visions and they certainly don’t agree with me. No amount of practice is going to change that fact.

“Yes. But for the rest of today’s session we can work on something simpler. How do you feel about compulsion?”

“Mind control?” I reply smiling wickedly. “I’m there.”

Chapter Four

I inhale deeply as I enter the gym. The day is humid and the scent of sweat and blood hangs in the air mixing sweetly with lemon cleaner. It’s a welcoming smell. For the first time since returning to Crossroads I truly feel at home. Here, in the gym, everything is just as it should be. Mats, sparring dummies, lots and lots of weapons. What more could a girl ask for? As I soak in the energy of the training center, I note that Garcia’s been busy. He’s added a new obstacle course. It looks wicked tough and I can’t wait to give it a try. It’s almost enough to make me forget why I’m here.
Almost
. Truth is, I’m not sure there’s anything that could erase the violent churning in my stomach.

I have mixed feelings about resuming training with Nik. I was thrilled when he first messaged me with the offer. I wasn’t sure if he’d have the time since it’s his last year at Crossroads and there’s still a lot I can learn from him. On the other hand, I’m in the dark on the status of our possibly nonexistent relationship. It’s occupying my mind far more than it should. Damn raging hormones! I really need to get myself under control.

Shaking off my lusty thoughts, I swing my gym bag over my shoulder and head for the blood cooler where Nik’s standing with his back to me. I can’t help but notice the way his hair curls over the collar of his t-shirt. It’s been a while since he’s had a haircut. It suits him.

“Hey slacker,” he teases, turning as I approach.

“Right back at you.”

“Hardly. I’ve already loosened up.” He gives me ‘the smile’; the one that says he knows just how good he looks in his fitted workout gear and he’s not above using it to his advantage. “As always, I’m ready to go.”

“Of course you are,” I respond, rolling my eyes. I’m pretty sure he uses the suggestive innuendos to throw me off my game. There was a time when I thought Nik was nothing but a douchey player, but I know him well enough now to realize that isn’t really the case. He just likes to get me fired up. Not today though. I push all thoughts of Nik’s sexy smile from my mind. I need to be completely focused unless I want to spend the afternoon eating mat, which I don’t.

“So what’s the plan for today?”

“Since you’ve been working so hard with Viktor all summer, I figured I’d give you a special treat.”
“Which is?” I ask suspiciously. I know better than to trust Nik inside the training center. I have to be prepared at all times because he’s always testing me.

“A chance to try and prove yourself and get me on my back in the process.” I track each of his movements. If I let my guard down, he will take advantage.

“Cocky much?” I ask, braiding my hair with deft fingers. Nik’s feeling frisky. Judging by the roguish look on his face, it’s probably best not to give him anything to grab onto. I swiftly tie off my braid as Nik begins to circle. Keeping my eyes trained on him, I assume a defensive stance shifting my weight to the balls of my feet. Before I can determine whether or not I should attack, Nik takes the decision out of my hands.

Nik lunges forward and my instincts take over. His fist shoots past my head as I duck under his extended arm. I ball my own fist and deliver a counter strike to his midsection. The blow lands solidly on his right side. Before I can withdraw he brings his knee up and drives it into my chest. I stumble backward and land on my ass.

“I thought you’d been practicing?” Nik taunts.

“Shut it,” I growl through gritted teeth as I jump back to my feet. I can’t let him get inside my head. If I do this match will be over before it begins.

I go on the offensive as soon as my feet hit the ground. I surge forward delivering a triple kick that drives Nik backward across the mat. Outside kick, spinning back hook, roundhouse. Although he yields his position on the mat, Nik blocks them all. I drop to the mat and attempt to sweep his feet out from under him, but Nik easily dodges. He flips gracefully over my head and as I spin around I get an elbow strike to the temple for my effort. The force of the blow causes me to bite my lip and I feel a warm trickle of blood making its way down my chin.

We go at it like this for a while. Punch, kick, block, roll, sweep, kick, dodge. It’s a vicious and brutal cycle. Seeking to end the match, I roll to the left and spring up from the mat, driving my palm into the underside of Nik’s chin. His head snaps back and I follow up with a spinning back fist. He retaliates with a kick to the back of my right knee. I crumple to the mat and just barely manage to block the fist that very nearly crushes my throat as Nik descends upon me.