by J.J. Bonds
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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. 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,” she says, studying the amulet, “has some very interesting lore behind it.”
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. “I prefer to put my confidence into science, into things that can be proven logically.”
“I see. Like our existence?” Anya 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 drop 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.
“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. “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.