by L.A. Jones
Chapter Twenty
"I hear you've been hanging out with Dax lately," Roy remarked to Aradia.
His timing was just as awkward as ever. He and Aradia shared a long art table with Rhonda, Calvin, Frank, Billy, Al, and D. This is exactly the kind of conversation I want to have in front of most of the people I know in this school, Roy. Thanks for that.
Al and D were two of the only non-freshmen in the room. According to them, when Aradia had asked why they were taking the class, they needed an art credit, and metal shop had been full. Roy had a different take, suggesting it might be due to the fact that for two consecutive years they’d failed the class.
Either way, they all sat at the same table at the back of the room, wearing smocks and attempting to paint half-decent still lifes.
Aradia had enjoyed the company of Al and D quite a bit since she and Roy had outted each other’s hiddenness. Quite of their own accord, they’d taken on the role of her bodyguards. They knew perfectly well that she could handle herself in a fight, but when she pointed this out, Al had replied, “This is high school, Aradia. It’s your reputation that needs protecting.”
Truth be told, she had noticed that ever since the older guys had started hanging around, no one had bothered her or her friends.
She had to wonder if that was their only motivation. Even if they’d heard how she’d bested Roy in his wolf form, and on a full moon at that, they hadn’t seen her in action. Plus, several dangerous accidents had happened to her over the last couple weeks.
At the track, while running relays, Aradia had grabbed the baton from her running partner, only to discover it was badly damaged and painfully jagged. It gauged deep into her palm where she’d taken it. Her partner had been deeply apologetic, and Aradia was sure she’d had no idea.
The next day, in a stairwell, Aradia was heading down amid the crush of students changing classes. Another student, on his way up, tripped and his books went flying. Aradia, caught off guard, slipped on one of his textbooks and stumbled down half a flight of stairs. She was fine, but bloodied her knee pretty badly.
Another time, a fellow student had bumped into her while she was cutting a canvas with heavy scissors. The unexpected shove knocked her off balance, and she had sliced a thick bloody cut across her hand. It was after the scissors incident that Roy and his brothers had started guarding her.
She did feel touched by Roy's concern for her safety, but she worried he might interpret it as a sign that they were more than friends. Her concerns were emphasized when, in front of everybody, he brought up her dating Dax.
On the one hand, she wanted to snap at Roy that it was none of his business. On the other, the mixed signals Dax was sending made her want to spill her guts so Roy might beat the crap out of him.
It was true she and Dax had been hanging out a fair amount since their first date, but it was always casual. In fact, whenever she tried to be more intimate with him, whether it was an attempted kiss or even something as minimal as placing a hand on his shoulder, he would grow cold and hastily take her home.
"I’d focus on my painting, Roy," Aradia said, dipping her brush in the water. “Maybe you can break your family legacy and actually pass this class.”
“Not cool, Rai,” D said with a reluctant smile on his face.
“Hey, Al,” she asked, attempting to change the subject Roy had so awkwardly raised, “how’s your arm?”
He glanced at the cast on his arm and shrugged. “Doctors say it is a clean break, no complications. Another month and I’ll be good to go.”
Lowering his voice so the humans at the table wouldn’t hear, D whispered conspiratorially, “Ready to go show that punk clan of fledglings what happens when you mess with the SilverMoon pack. Not to mention what happens when you mess with my bro.” He and Al gave each other a pound, then blew it up.
Aradia glanced around nervously. Even if Rhonda or her human friends did overhear, they probably wouldn’t make too much of that. She commented, “I think it was that attitude that got your arm broken in the first place. Look, guys, this whole thing hasn’t spiraled completely out of control just yet. At least don’t spur on the violence, okay?”
That was basically the end of that conversation.
I’m not doing so well with any of the Morales brothers today.
Roy just moped in stony silence. He slid his chair closer to hers, propped his chin onto his hand, and looked at her. After a few minutes of his intense silent scrutiny, Aradia got up.
"Where are you going?" asked Roy, grabbing her hand.
Aradia snatched it away and snapped at him, "I’m going to get more paint. Is that okay with you?"
Realizing people were staring and that he was being really weird, Roy backed off and turned back to his own painting.
She couldn’t take any more of his staring, but she really did need more paint. She opened the cupboard and perused the various bottles and colors.
Painting had proven to be a real outlet for Aradia. Firstly, it was a subject she found she excelled at. The instructor, Mrs. Mancini, gave the students just enough guidance, but plenty of freedom. Aradia liked the mix. Moreover, though, she found it therapeutic. She’d even picked up a starter kit of acrylics and an easel for her home use.
Today, though, she just wasn’t feeling the art. Thanks to Roy’s prodding, all she could think about was Dax’s distance, Roy’s jealousy, and the unsolved murder.
Of the three topics, the Vampire Murderer weighed upon her most heavily. He or she had been plaguing her conscience since day one. She knew she could help, but she’d so far been unable to convince her father to let her in on the investigation.
Now the murders were creating tension amongst the factions of the hidden community. Tension was always high, Aradia had determined, but the murders had pushed things to a breaking point. Packs of werewolves were beginning to act on their feelings, engaging in acts of vandalism and violence. So far, there had been no vampire retribution, which Aradia suspected was because they seemed to be slightly more organized and a hell of a lot more patient. She knew the situation could easily get much worse.
She’d even complained about the state of affairs to Tristan, who had explained that gang-like fights between the hidden races were not uncommon.
“In fact,” he’d said, “what you call justice is rare among our people. Secrecy is part of who we are.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have justice,” she’d replied.
“It’s not about justice, simple girl. When an offense is perceived, you retaliate. If you fail to strike back with sufficient strength, you will be hit again and again and again.”
“That’s the way you see it, maybe.”
“That’s the way it is. The only way a major conflict could be resolved is for the culprit to be found and put to death. Until that happens, the violence will continue. It’s not unheard of for whole clans or packs to feud practically to extinction. More often the pack gets wiped out. Vampires are cold bastards, but they know how to wage war. Whoever wins, though, as long as they leave the humans alone, no one will stop them.”
Aradia did not know what bothered her more: the fact that such behavior was considered acceptable in the hidden world or the fact that she’d spent so little time trying to fix it and so much time fretting about boys. She found herself torn somewhere between guilt and the incredibility of the whole matter.
As if on cue, who should glide up to her but Dax. She was holding a bottle of red paint. She had opened it to see the paint itself. He surprised her with his stealthy approach and said, "That’s a good color. It is the color of love and passion."
"Huh?" Aradia said, startled. She was so surprised that she dropped the bottle. Dax not only managed to grab the bottle midair, but also grab the lid that she’d set on the countertop. He screwed it on tightly and held it out to Aradia, smiling. This he all did without spilling even a drop.
Aradia was not impressed.
"Yeah, well," she said as she grabbed
the jar from him. "Red may be the color of all that, but I think it's also the color of dishonesty."
"No, that's yellow," Dax countered, still smiling with irritating charm.
"So what are you, then? Red or yellow? Passion or dishonesty?"
Dax was no longer smiling.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Aradia threw him a sarcastic look and said, "Dax, I like you, but I’m getting the feeling that the reason you are hanging out with me is not because you like me back."
Crap, Aradia thought, I really didn’t want to have this type of conversation in art class!
"I like you, Aradia. Of that you can be certain."
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question. I want you to be honest with me, Dax. What exactly do you want from me?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yeah, I do," Aradia replied.
"Well," said Dax as he leaned in seductively. "The truth is, what I really want from you Aradia, is to know all of your secrets."
"You want to know all my secrets, Dax?" she finally asked him.
"More than you know," Dax replied.
Despite his eagerness, he maintained his seductive tone.
"Well," Aradia began as she lowered her voice and leaned in towards him. She brought her face right next to his chest and tilted her head to look up at him. She appeared as innocent and naive as a baby lamb. "I don’t have many secrets, but I do have one that I guard with my life."
"What is it?" Dax asked his voice now low but positively tingling with excitement.
"My biggest secret is..." Aradia paused for dramatic effect and then rushed on to say, "I think you have a staring problem."
Dax’s jaw dropped open. Aradia turned on her heel and sauntered back to her table.