by Dana Fredsti
Unfortunately, the door was badly in need of WD-40, and room 217 was one of the smaller auditoriums. It announced my arrival. Loudly.
From where I stood, conspicuous in layers of pink and violet, I could see that almost every seat was filled—including the back row.
“Excuse me... miss?”
A deep male voice hailed me from the front of the room. A tall, drop-dead gorgeous blond guy in his late twenties stood near the lectern. Nice to see someone my own age in class, even if he was a teacher. Learning about buboes and black vomit might be fun after all.
When I say “blond,” I’m talking the kind of hair people describe as freshly minted gold. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but I was betting on sky-blue. His features were regular, other than a bump in his otherwise perfect nose. He looked like an archangel who’d gone a round or two with Rocky Balboa. A little young to be a professor, but I wasn’t about to complain.
Damn, he was pretty.
He’d been fussing with papers and a laptop, but now he was just staring. I gave him my most charming smile and did a little toast with my cappuccino cup.
He looked totally uncharmed.
“Any reason you can’t take a seat and join us?” he asked loudly.
Okay, now, no need for sarcasm. But I kept the smile.
“Um, not seeing any empty seats?” I replied.
He pointed to one in the front row.
“Please, be my guest.”
Great. I did my best to ignore the giggles and whispers that followed me down the aisle. I noticed a couple of girls looking very pleased at my embarrassment. Dimes-to-donuts they were hot for teacher.
And the cute asshat wasn’t done yet. As I sat down, he leaned forward from the lectern.
“Any particular reason you’re late, Miss...”
“Ashley,” I said, deciding that was all he deserved to know.
“Miss Ashley?”
“Close enough,” I answered, shooting for calm and collected. And speaking of close enough, I could see his eyes now. They were, indeed, a very pleasing shade of denim blue. Much more pleasing than his personality—if that was what you could call it.
He pulled a piece of paper out of a notebook and ran a finger down it.
“Ashley Parker?”
Crap.
I nodded and bit into my blueberry muffin. Now that he had my name, maybe he’d drop it.
“So-o-o...” He drew the word out, and I knew that couldn’t be good. “What made you decide to join us today, given that the first week of class wasn’t to your liking?”
“Not my fault,” I protested. “I’ve been sick,” I added, hoping that would shut him up.
No such luck.
“And now you’re late.”
“Like I said, I’ve been sick.” He raised an eyebrow. “Walker’s,” I added, hoping that might be my “Get Out of Jail Free” card.
The look on his face told me he couldn’t care less.
“Ah, yes, Walker’s,” he said. “The new substitute for, ‘the dog ate my homework.’” That sent a titter through the class.
Did you wake up on the wrong side of bed, or are you always in permanent fucktard mode? I took a deep breath before replying. No way I’d give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice break.
“I sent in a doctor’s note.”
Still no mercy.
“That doesn’t explain today,” he replied, pinning me with those beautiful baby blues.
I’d give my hair a soccer mom cut before I’d cry in front of this jerk.
“It’s still hard to get moving in the morning,” I said between gritted teeth.
“If you didn’t stuff yourself with processed sugar and caffeine, you’d have a healthier immune system.” He stared at my double, extra-hot, wet cappuccino. “I’d think that at your age, you’d know better.” More titters.
I’m going to have to kill him, I thought. What a waste of perfectly good man flesh.
“In fact,” he said, turning to the rest of the class, “Miss Parker here is a perfect example of what not to do if you want to keep up a healthy immune system. She would be one of the first to die in a pandemic.”
I gaped at him. What a tool!
“Excuse me,” I said, “but didn’t a lot of the victims of the Spanish flu die because they had healthy systems? Didn’t their immune response go way over the top, and cause inflammation of the lungs?” Lying in bed for a week, you have a lot of time to read for your classes. My addiction to the History Channel didn’t hurt either.
Jerkwad, however, didn’t bat an eye before shooting back.
“True, but they didn’t have the medical resources we do today,” he countered. “And I guarantee that an uncompromised immune system, coupled with modern medicine, will serve you better than a double latte when fighting the pandemics of the future.”
I swear the girl next to me scooted over. I resisted the urge to sneeze on her Coach handbag.
As I did so there was another loud creak, and a short and skinny little Goth girl slipped in through one of the side doors. She was all decked out in black and purple, with pale pink hair floating around her face like a pastel dandelion. Her black, buckled platform boots said “tough girl,” but her bright smile seemed free of ‘tude. She scurried straight over to my new arch-nemesis.
“Hey, Gabriel,” she said. “Sorry I’m late. My car broke down and I had to take the bus the rest of the way from Maberry.”
Gabriel, huh? Like the nasty angel in Prophecy, always blowing his own horn and causing trouble. It fit. And now he had a new victim. I took a sip of my coffee and waited for him to rip her a new one. Then don’t drive cars. I don’t.
But “Gabriel” just gave her a half-smile.
“At least you made it,” he said.
I almost choked on my cappuccino. How come Miss Hot Topic got a free pass?
Then he turned and addressed the class.
“Everyone, this is Jamie Ackerman, Professor Fraser’s new intern.”
Ah, so dickwad isn’t the professor? The plot thickened.
“She’ll be helping out in class for the rest of the semester,” he added. The girl next to me, a total Mean Girls type, raised her hand and spoke in a high voice.
“Does this mean you won’t be helping any more?” Great, I was sitting next to Betty Boop, and she was hot for teacher, too. Now I really wanted to sneeze on her bag. Yet she gave me hope...
“No, I’ll still be assisting Professor Fraser, as well,” he announced.
Damn.
A nearly audible sigh of relief rippled through the auditorium as students whispered amongst themselves.
The side door opened again and the conversations immediately died down. Gabriel practically stood at attention while Jamie turned toward the newcomer like a flower seeking the sun. This had to be Professor Fraser.
A tall, elegant woman with patrician features, clear grass-green eyes, and blond hair drawn up in a French twist, she commanded attention immediately. Her outfit was a tailored, hunter-green trumpet skirt and jacket with a nipped-in waist. Very retro. She could have been anywhere between forty and fifty-five. Cate Blanchett would play her in the movie.
She strode to the lectern and surveyed all of us with a cool green stare. Her gaze fell on me and she raised an eyebrow. Her Vulcan forefathers would have been proud.
“You’re new.”
“Ashley Parker,” I said.
“Ah, yes, I received the note from Dr. Albert.” She stared at me sharply, and I wondered why. “Walker’s, yes?”
“Er... uh-huh.” I braced myself for another lecture on nutrition and the evils of caffeine.
“You still look a bit pale,” she said. “Make sure to get plenty of sleep.” With that she clapped her hands together and smiled. “So, who’s ready to learn about buboes and the difference between bubonic, pneumonic, and septicemic plagues?
“Everyone? Excellent!”
Maggie was hungry.
The chunks of flesh m
issing from her arms didn’t bother her. She didn’t notice that both breasts were gone or that her intestines poked through the gaping hole in her abdomen. And even though her left leg was shredded and barely bore the weight of what remained of her torso, she didn’t care. The hollow, gnawing sensation inside was the only thing Maggie registered.
Staggering down the stairs, she made her way to the front door and began her slow, lurching march toward food.
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
“... That jerk had the nerve to humiliate me in front of the entire class and he wasn’t even the professor!”
“Sounds like a total bag o’ douche.” Matt dropped a comforting kiss on the top of my head. Seeing as he was six foot and then some, it was easy for him to do. I’m just five-seven in my stocking feet.
“I should’ve kicked him in the cajones,” I grumbled.
“Should’ve,” Matt said agreeably. “If he had any.”
I smiled up at him, taking a moment just to admire how damn cute he was. Our five-year age difference didn’t quite make him my boy toy, but it was enough to make me feel slightly naughty. Matt reminded me of a cross between Owen and Luke Wilson, hair between blond and brown, hazel eyes, and that body... He did more for Gap jeans and white cotton shirt than most men did for a tux.
We moved up another foot in the line.
As usual, Che Cafe was crowded. It had the advantage of being in the student union, the central hub of Big Red, and the food was pretty damned tasty. You could get a veggie burger or a big honkin’ buffalo burger. Pizza, decent Thai and Middle Eastern food, sandwiches, a burrito/taco bar, tofu, steamed veggies, and salads. Something for everyone.
I’d been living on miso soup, chicken broth, saltines, and watered-down Gatorade for what seemed like forever. I caught the smell of red meat and practically started drooling. My appetite was back with a vengeance.
Finally we reached the front.
“What do you want, babe?” Matt grinned down at me, an endearingly cocky grin known to melt the panties off entire sororities. “My treat, to make up for your sucky TA.”
“Ooh, buffalo burger with double cheese. And onion rings.” I snuggled against him. He may not have been the smartest guy on campus, but Matt never failed to make me feel special.
“No wonder you got sick, eating like that.”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me...
I looked around and there was the douchebag himself. And in spite of myself, I confirmed that he did as much as Matt for jeans and a plain white cotton shirt. Maybe even a little bit more. He was about as tall, too.
There is no justice.
Had he been standing there the entire time? I mean, could I be that clueless? Judging from his expression, the answer to both those questions was a big old yes.
Ugh.
Okay, the only defense at this point was a good offense. Disengaging myself from Matt, I crossed my arms.
“What the hell do you care about what I eat?”
Gabriel smirked down at me from his superior height.
“Not a hell of a lot,” he replied, “except for the fact you’re wasting Professor Fraser’s time, and a seat in class that could belong to someone who deserves it.”
Matt bristled behind me.
“Ash, is this the douchebag?” he growled. I waved him back.
“I’ll handle this, sweetie.” This was my war.
I took a step toward Gabriel.
“Are you for real?” I demanded. “I mean, do you just wake up every morning and say ‘Today I will be an asshole to the first innocent bystander who crosses my path’? Or did I kill your puppy or something? ’Cause I’d really like to know.”
“I just don’t like the idea that the university is wasting time trying to improve people who can’t be improved,” he countered. “Anyone who’s too stupid to live properly shouldn’t be cluttering up the system.”
“Hey, asshole...” Matt said, and I heard him step forward.
“It’s cool, babe,” I told him over my shoulder. Then I turned back to my new archenemy. “Two things,” I said. “One, class hadn’t even started yet, and you know it.” My teeth were clenched so tight I bet I could have made a diamond from a lump of coal. “The professor—the real one—wasn’t even there.”
“That’s not the point, now, is it?” he replied. “Class is supposed to start at eight. Professor Fraser is there to teach the students. You’re not there to teach her. So the least you can do is show her the respect of showing up on time.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “I missed seeing how you stack your notes. Damn. There goes the midterm now.”
Gabriel narrowed those gorgeous blue eyes.
Stop it! I told myself.
“Two,” I continued, determined to have my say. “Did anyone tell Westborough Baptist one of their judgmental pricks is missing?”
His nostrils flared. Score.
“Why are you even taking Professor Fraser’s class?” he demanded.
“Because it sounded interesting,” I shot back. “Did I need a better reason?”
“You’re a Liberal Arts major, aren’t you?”
“And that’s supposed to mean what?”
“That you don’t know what you want to be when you grow up, so you’re wasting our time while you figure it out.” He gave me a dismissive once-over. “Your slot could be occupied by someone who’s worth the time and effort.” He followed this up with a look so condescending, it was all I could do not to punch him in the face.
The fact that he might be right didn’t help.
Matt, on the other hand, felt no such restraint. Testosterone crackled and before I knew what was happening he’d stepped in front of me and straight-armed Gabriel with a hand to the chest.
“Back off, asswipe!” Matt growled.
I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but next thing I knew there was yelling, Matt was on the ground with one arm twisted up behind him, and Gabriel’s foot was braced against his back.
“You jerk!” I yelled. Never mind that Matt had thrown the first... er... shove.
I smacked Gabriel on the side of his head as hard as I could. He whipped around and his expression very nearly got an “I’m sorry” out of me. His pupils were dilated so they were more black than blue, and he honestly looked as though he’d kill me without a second thought. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde.
I was just stubborn enough—and hungry enough—to stand my ground. Low blood sugar is a great equalizer.
“Let go of him now!” I demanded. Then I prepared for the worst.
To my surprise and relief Gabriel slowly backed off, lifting his foot and releasing Matt’s arm at the same time. He moved out of the way as Matt rolled onto his back and then jumped to his feet, fists clenched. I quickly stepped in-between them just in case Matt decided to take another swing.
I needn’t have worried.
Evidently Matt’s surge of protective testosterone had faded as quickly as it’d come. What he said next floored me.
“Damn, that was fast!” He peered at Gabriel, and his fists uncurled. “Judo?”
Gabriel shook his head.
“Aikido.” His expression was almost sheepish. “Are you okay?”
Matt nodded.
“Just a little embarrassed,” he said. “It’s not cool being taken down in front of my girlfriend.”
“Don’t be,” Gabriel said. “It wasn’t a fair match. I’ve been training for fifteen years.”
I couldn’t resist.
“Training at what? Being a black-belt pain in the ass?”
Gabriel’s lip twitched in what might have been a smile if it’d had a chance to grow a little.
“Perhaps I owe you an apology.”
I waited.
“I’m... sorry.” The words didn’t quite stick in his throat, but they tried. “I’m working on five hours sleep over the last three days, and it’s made me short-tempered.” He faced Matt when he spoke, so I didn’t think I was
meant to be the recipient of his mea culpa.
“Oh, dude, that sucks,” Matt said. “I did a couple of all nighters for mid-terms last year. Totally screwed with my head. I’m sorry I swung at you.”
I rolled my eyes. Enough with the male bonding already.
“Um, Matt?” I said, maybe a little too sharply. “Can we get some food please?”
Matt stared at me blankly for a second.
“Huh? Oh, sure.” He moved back toward the counter, paused, and then looked at me again.
“What did you want?”
The testosterone-drenched fun fest didn’t end there. Gabriel ended up sitting with us during lunch. Normally I’d be totally jazzed to be sitting with two guys that hunky—especially considering the envious stares of coeds much younger than me—but I’d had enough crap for one day. And there was something really irritating about how fast Matt went from protective boyfriend to total man-crush.
I stared at Gabriel and openly savored a juicy bite of my buffalo burger, but he seemed to be out of self-righteous snark for the time being.
“So you don’t eat any meat?” Matt took a big bite of his burger, oblivious to the irony of his question.
“No meat, no poultry, no dairy.”
“No fun,” I muttered, dipping an onion ring in ketchup.
“Not true,” Gabriel replied. “You’d be amazed.”
“I bet I would,” I said. “What about onion rings? There are no animal products in onion rings, are there?” I waved one at him.
“Vegan diets are free of cholesterol, and are generally low in saturated fat.” He sounded as if he were reciting from the Vegan Bible or something. “So no, no onion rings.”
I shook my head. “Like I said,” I replied, “no fun.”
Maggie made slow but steady headway toward Redwood Grove. Some instinct kept her moving in the right direction even when she left the winding road, taking a more direct path through the woods.
She fell often, the lack of connective tissue around her left knee making balance a problem. Her feet were bare and the flesh was torn, but she felt no pain, not even when she landed face first in a bush and a broken branch punctured an eyeball. It snapped off with the force of her fall, leaving Maggie with a stick jutting out of her ruined eye socket, vitreous egg-white oozing from the puncture and sliding down her cheek like thickened tears.