Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) Page 3

  Chapter Two

  “Why am I not surprised?” I grumble aloud, dragging my bags into the room and kicking the door shut. I’m not exactly disappointed; just the opposite really. The room is another debt to be tacked on to my ‘How can I possibly ever repay Aldo?’ list. The room is amazing, which suggests that Lissette, Aldo’s wife, probably made all of the arrangements. She has impeccable taste, and I know that each piece will be functional and comfortable, in addition to being exquisite. Apparently she is also well tuned to the cravings of teenage girls.

  I cross the room in a flurry and yank the fridge door open, relieved by what I see. Blood, blood, and more blood. I grab a pouch from the top shelf while reaching for a mug with my free hand. Once I’ve emptied the contents into the oversized mug, I drop it on the warmer that sits above the mini-fridge and set it on high. I figure I’ll give it a minute to heat up and turn to survey the room, while I wait for my pre-dinner snack.

  I suspect the room is large by dormitory standards and am relieved to see that it also has an attached bathroom. Although it’s a bit institutional with its cramped layout and overly white subway tiles (it kind of reminds me of a horror movie I saw once), it’s functional. Better still, it’s private so I won’t be forced to share. Thank God. The idea of crowding into a communal bathroom with a bunch of Lexie-like girls makes my brain hurt. I return my attention to the bedroom. The oversized bed is covered with an ivory down comforter and is accented by sage green pillows that perfectly match the throw rugs. All of the colors are very earthy, very me. I smile at the thought of Lissette restraining herself, rejecting the pinks and purples that most teenage girls would select and that she herself would have thought appropriate.

  I notice that the desk appears to be well stocked with supplies, including a new laptop and several crisp textbooks that look as though they’ve never been opened. Perhaps Crossroads doesn’t believe in used books. Another first for me.

  I turn back to the warmer and grab my mug, carrying it over to the desk so that I can investigate further. I don’t dare look in the closet yet, knowing I’ll more than likely find an unsettling and expensive new wardrobe. I opt instead to check out the books.

  As I drop down on the desk chair tucking my legs beneath me, I take a long pull from the mug, eagerly anticipating its contents. I manage to get through three long satisfying gulps and am nearly to the bottom when the vision shakes me. It’s brief, but intense. The shock causes me to slam the mug down on the desk breaking off the handle and splattering the remainder of its contents on the desktop.

  “Damn it!” I curse, jumping from my seat and fishing the discarded pouch from the wastebasket. How could I be so careless? I quickly scan the package, confirming what I already know to be true. The blood is fresh. It was drawn just a few days ago.

  I’d gotten so accustomed to the staff at the manor screening all of the dates that I hadn’t thought twice before downing it. I generally try not to consume anything under a week old, especially human, due to my unique condition.

  With the thirst, I’d developed a sixth sense allowing me to see the donors’ memories and feel their emotions as I drink. The images are always scattered and the intensity depends on whether I am drinking direct from the source and the age of the blood. It’s a lot like watching a movie in fast-forward where both the images and the emotions are extreme. Since I don’t have a Ph.D. and can’t really explain it in scientific terms, I liken it to sucking the life out physically and psychically. Needless to say, it’s not a feeling I particularly enjoy. It’s an extremely draining sensation and one that I try to avoid whenever possible. I’ve noticed that the more time the blood is separated from the body, the less impact the life-force has left. As the tie to the body is severed, the blood loses its imprint. Some vamps say harvested blood is less fulfilling, but I personally find that it makes my dining experience much more enjoyable.

  In this case, I’m unnerved by the fear this girl had felt at donating. She’d been downright terrified, and yet she’d given by choice at a local blood bank. She must’ve had good reason to overcome her phobia, and I respect that. She’d have been disappointed to know her donation had gone to a bloodsucker like me and not to save the life of another human being.

  Pushing the vision aside I remind myself that others, humans even, are burdened with more inconvenient and troublesome gifts, and that some are not so fortunate to be blessed at all. Returning to the fridge, I carefully select another pouch, eager to satisfy my hunger and the pains that have been working their way into my stomach. The cramps can be unbearable and debilitating if the hunger is not sated. It’s not a pleasant feeling and one I have no intention of experiencing this evening.

  I use a fresh mug this time and sip slowly, letting the blood coat the inside of my mouth and warm my throat, its coppery taste a welcome pleasure. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me a heady feeling, but it isn’t quite the ecstasy described by groupie whores and wannabes. Although the truth of our existence is a heavily guarded secret, there are humans who’ve wormed their way into the outer rings of vampirism, freely offering their bodies as sustenance in exchange for the opportunity to be seduced or even transfigured. They’re freaks. Maybe I’m a prude, but for me the hunger is a fact of life. Feeding is a means to an end, and I work hard to keep it that way. Like most civilized vamps, I get my blood the new-fashioned way: from vamp-run blood banks and butcher shops.

  Thirst satisfied, I return my attention to the desk. As I scan the textbooks, I slide back into the chair I’d so quickly vacated just moments before. I eagerly select the one titled Historical Perspectives, curious about its contents. Although the title is predictably lame, I know this book contains answers to many of the questions I’ve had over the last year. Being raised blissfully unaware of my heritage and the entire vamp world, I know I have a lot of catching up to do if I want to be successful at Crossroads. And I will be successful.

  I peel the cover back slowly and prop my feet up on the desk getting as comfortable as possible. I inhale deeply, enjoying the scent of the fresh pages and the hint of glue that binds them to the sturdy cover. I’ve always been a fast reader, but I want to absorb every detail of the text, which means pacing myself through all four hundred pages. “It’s going to be a long night,” I murmur, scanning the Table of Contents and flipping straight to the Preface.

  Vampirism has deep roots which can be traced back to the dawn of man and which predate the first written word. Historical Perspectives makes no attempt to cover this extensive history. Instead, we focus on the paramount events that have shaped our world and brought order to the Vampir society. Inside the pages of this book you will come to understand not only your heritage but also the impact of our people on the modern world. You will gain unparalleled insight into the sete de sange, the foamea, and ultimately de sange vechi from which you were born. Not every chapter will paint a pretty picture, as history is often unkind and grotesque; but the Consiliul de Batrani has endorsed this book as a key component of your education. The Council recognizes that, in order to reach your full potential, it will be necessary for you to accept the harsh realities of the world in which we live and the dangers presented by the otrava de sange and de sange amestecat. Your studies will provide the foundation for a deeper understanding of the Councils’ defining values—values that you, too, will come to embrace and to which you will swear allegiance upon graduation.

  I quickly flip to the back of the book looking for old world translations. I picked up some Romanian living with Aldo but only enough to get by and there are several words I don’t understand in this one short paragraph. “Ugh,” I groan aloud. This book is going to be a bigger challenge than I’d originally thought. I commit the translations to memory and reread the passage, substituting the English words with which I am more familiar.

  Vampirism has deep roots which can be traced back to the dawn of man and which predate the first written word. Historical Perspectives makes no attempt to cover this
extensive history. Instead, we focus on the paramount events that have shaped our world and brought order to the Vampire society. Inside the pages of this book you will come to understand not only your heritage but also the impact of our people on the modern world. You will gain unparalleled insight into the blood lust, the hunger, and ultimately the old blood from which you were born. Not every chapter will paint a pretty picture, as history is often unkind and grotesque; but the Consiliul de Batrani has endorsed this book as a key component of your education. The Council recognizes that in order to reach your full potential, it will be necessary for you to accept the harsh realities of the world in which we live and the dangers presented by the blood poison and the mixed-bloods. Your studies will provide the foundation for a deeper understanding of the Councils’ defining values—values that you, too, will come to embrace and to which you will swear allegiance upon graduation.

  “Interesting,” I whisper to the empty room. Aldo hadn’t mentioned the oath in our talks. I’m curious about its implied meaning and its implication in my studies at Crossroads. I should ask Aldo about it when we talk next. By nature I’m not a fan of surprises, and the oath’s notable mention in the preface of my history book suggests that it is of great importance, even if I have yet to understand its significance.

  Curiosity piqued, I surge ahead delving into the first chapter. I pause briefly to take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I repeat the exercise a few more times for good measure. As usual, this act of meditation calms my nerves and allows me to tamp down the excitement I’m feeling. It’s a silly little relaxation trick designed for humans, but it always works for me. I know I shouldn’t be so energized by a textbook, but it seems beyond my control. There’s just so much I still don’t know.

  The night passes quickly as I devour the text, drinking in every last detail as though the words can nourish the brain the way blood nourishes the body. Turns out I can’t get enough of it. I can’t put it down until I’ve sapped the last bits of information from its pages.

  “So many questions, so few answers,” I muse, laying the book on the desk and sliding my feet to the floor. “Typical.”

  I glance out the window above the desk and admire the full moon, which hangs low in the night sky. Its beams illuminate the rolling mountains surrounding the school and provide the only light in the room, aside from the dull glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand. Its putrid green numbers remind me of the late hour.

  I smile in the dark. Not too long ago I’d have been unnerved by this scenario, but now I can rest assured there’s nothing more fearsome in this inky blackness than myself. I’ve fallen into the habit of reading by moonlight over the last year and rarely rely on traditional fluorescent lights anymore. I don’t need to. My eyesight is sharp, and I require little light to make out the words on the page. Like tonight, I have a tendency to get absorbed in the text, losing track of the time and my surroundings.

  I contemplate a quick stroll around the grounds to burn off a little energy and decide that it’s not worth the risk. Recalling Anya’s warning about the Pazitor, I figure they don’t take kindly to students wandering the campus after curfew. How would they react to such a blatant violation of the rules? I fleetingly wonder if the stoic guards ever show emotion or if their control has infinite limits.

  Choosing the path of least resistance and self-preservation, I settle for exploring the interior of the school. I rummage through the file Anya gave me and grab the school map. Since I missed dinner and my opportunity to get a better lay of the land I figure it can’t hurt to take an unauthorized, self-guided tour and track down all of my classes. It sure beats the alternative of wandering around tomorrow with a map in my hand when the halls are bustling with students who are better acquainted with Crossroads.