Bloodspell

by Amalie Howard

Victoria's heart lurched. Portland? An hour's drive each way with him in a car alone! Impossible. She didn't even want to think about him sitting in such close proximity! She needed to give her hands something to do, find something for her mind to focus on; she already knew how distracted she became whenever he was around. There was no way she could sit in the passenger seat of his car for an hour!

  "Portland?" she asked. "Can't we go somewhere local? Like the Dog?" Somewhere local and safe.

  "I already have the tickets," he interjected smoothly. "Trust me, it's a beautiful exhibit, you'll enjoy it."

  As her stomach began a slow free-fall, inspiration struck. "Christian, would you mind terribly if I drove? I ... I ... get ... carsick on long drives," she said. She could hear the silence on the phone and knew instantly that he would probably see right through her. She didn't care. If she were driving, she'd have to pay attention to the road, not to him.

  "Sure, no problem. I'll be at your place in a half hour." Victoria swore she could hear him laughing under his breath.

  It was still unseasonably warm, so she chose a simple sundress embroidered with pink flowers and tiny green vines. She toyed with a braided green necklace, and then tossed it aside before opening the music box to the tinny sounds of Moonlight Sonata. Her fingers brushed over the red velvet case and she felt the amulet's magnetic pull. She hadn't worn it since that day she'd started reading the journal. She held it in her fingers, watching the light dance off its facets. She remembered Leto's words.

  You are who you are.

  Everything she'd read in the journal had terrified her. Despite her underlying apprehension, with a deep breath, Victoria fastened the clasp and felt the amulet drop to rest against her chest. There was no doubt in her mind—she felt complete.

  The buzzer rang, and she tucked the diamond into the bodice of her dress, giving herself a cursory look in the bathroom mirror. Her hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders and with the exception of some gloss and mascara, her face was bare. Victoria frowned. She looked like she was thirteen but it was too late to go for a more sophisticated look. Christian Devereux was a courtesy date, nothing more. She slipped on some ballet flats and made her way downstairs.

  Christian stood leaning against her car across the street, looking boyishly casual in his dark blue Diesel jeans and a fitted black T-shirt. She forced herself to not stare at him as she unlocked the car doors. Once again, she felt her heart flip-flop as she realized he was staring at her. Its pace tripled. Did all girls react this foolishly to him? His smile was warm as he opened her door, and then let himself in on the other side. It was ridiculous how flustered he made her feel. He wasn't even her type! The amulet flared but her skin was already so warm, she barely even felt it.

  "So carsickness, was it?" A hint of a smile curved his lips, and Victoria swallowed guiltily as she started driving.

  "Yes, it's very bad," she said, proud of the conviction in her voice.

  "I thought that usually happens in the back seat?"

  "Um, yes, usually, but mine is ... unusual." Her mouth twitched. She refused to look at him and could feel her ears burning hot.

  "So tell me something about yourself, Tori. You are quite the mysterious one."

  She shot a sideways glance at him to see if he was joking. His body was angled as far away from her as possible against the door but he was watching her expectantly. His eyes were twinkling with amusement so she relaxed.

  "You mean apart from knocking people over just by thinking about it?" she said.

  "We could start with that if you want." His voice was amused but there was an edge to it.

  "Well, I've never actually done that before ... I mean as in meaning to do it. You know, not to hurt you, but to do it." Her words were halting and flustered. "I mean something like it happened before but I think it was instinctive. Sorry, what I mean is that I wasn't thinking about doing it at the time." She glanced at him, embarrassed.

  But Christian just nodded, his expression carefully neutral. Victoria peeked at him again. He was staring at her thoughtfully, his lower lip between his teeth. He had that look in his eyes again, the one that made her feel like a fly caught in a spider's web.

  She looked away and kept driving with her eyes on the road. It was a straightforward trip on I-95 to Portland and after a while, they made easy small talk to pass the time. She told him about her childhood in New York, and how she had ended up in Millinocket with Holly after the accident. For some reason, she even told him about her time at St. Xavier's, which she hadn't really talked about with anyone, and glossed over the bits she felt didn't really need explaining.

  "You were protecting yourself, that's all," he said, after she'd told him what had happened with Brett. "He got off lucky." His lips had thinned, and if Victoria didn't know better, she'd guess that her story had made him angry on her behalf. His odd reaction made her feel flustered and warm again. The rest of the drive passed quickly and before long, they were at the museum.

  They walked leisurely through the exhibit—Landscapes from the Age of Impressionism—enjoying the featured en plein air easel paintings of Monet, Boudin, and Childe Hassam. Christian explained that the tradition of working outdoors with changing light conditions, typical of the Impressionism Movement, meant that colors, textures, shadows and shapes changed from moment to moment, creating subtle differences in the end result of the works. He knew a lot about the artists and of the period in general, and his anecdotes about each of the various paintings made the experience an enlightening and memorable one for Victoria.

  "I love Monet. He is one of my favorite painters ... sometimes I imagine myself escaping into his landscapes." She said it so quietly that it was almost a whisper, but Christian still heard her as they finished up the exhibit.

  "He was very talented, and was happiest at his home in Giverny. Some of his best work came from painting his own gardens, like Water Lilies," he said. His voice was nostalgic.

  "You almost sound like you knew him," Victoria said.

  "You could say that my family knew his," he said, ushering her out to the street. "Why don't we walk? There are a couple of good restaurants just around the corner. It's not far. Are you cold?"

  The night air had cooled considerably and Christian moved closer to her, putting his arm lightly on her shoulders. His body was not that much warmer than hers but she could feel the heat flood her body at his touch. She didn't have to look at him to know that he was smiling at her as the color bloomed across her shoulders. The scent of gardenias permeated the air. Victoria felt incredibly self-conscious, and she pulled her hair around her shoulders in a protective shroud.

  "By the way, I forgot to tell you that you look very ... nice," she heard him say.

  "Thank you," she said. Victoria was absurdly flattered by the compliment, and then scolded herself in the same breath for feeling anything at all.

  "I am really happy that you decided to come here with me."

  "Did I really have a choice?" she asked with a dry look. He had the grace to look sheepish.

  "No, I guess not," he agreed.

  "I came to Portland once with my Aunt Holly for my birthday, years ago."

  "So when is your birthday?"

  "Was. Back in May."

  "Well, happy belated. So let me guess, seventeen? Eighteen? You hu ... kids look older and older these days."

  "Seventeen," she replied automatically, and then stared at him. "Us, kids? Come on, you're hardly that much older than I am!"

  "I am wise beyond my years," he quipped. "Here we are."

  The Italian restaurant was small and cozy, and they could see the water from their table. Victoria studied Christian openly as he enjoyed the view. His skin was youthful and his body toned, but something about his eyes did make him seem older, more mature. His pale compelling face was like a Botticelli painting, and his ridiculously long lashes lent a certain innocence to his face, which was in severe contrast with the danger she sensed lurking beneath the surface whenever she
was with him. Victoria had to admit she was very curious about Christian Devereux. He seemed to have so many secrets hidden behind those enigmatic eyes.

  She took the plunge. "So Christian, what's your story?"

  "What would you like to know?" Although his eyes remained warm, she couldn't help noticing that his tone grew noticeably cooler.

  "Well, what brought you to the thriving metropolis of Canville, Maine for one?" she said, leaning forward in a journalistic pose. "Where did you grow up? Do you have any brothers and sisters? How were you able to get up and walk away after what I did?" She had slipped in that last question so smoothly that Christian almost didn't notice. Almost. Victoria was staring at him intently, but his face remained a carefully composed mask, giving away nothing. She sighed theatrically. A ghost of a smile appeared.

  "I was born in New York but I spent most of my life in Paris, including my childhood and early teenage years. I have a"—Christian hesitated, then continued in an almost dispassionate tone—"twin brother, he is still there." Victoria's eyes widened as she digested that information. He rushed on as if he just wanted to get it out in one go. "My parents are dead although I have a few cousins and other extended family still in France. Then I moved to America to study, moved around here and there, and pretty much ended up here at Harland with my program. Et voilà." He spread his hands and inclined his head in the mockery of a bow.

  "That was the fastest synopsis of someone's life I have ever heard! And you managed to tell me absolutely nothing. Saying just enough without saying too much so perfectly—it's an art!" Her voice was nonchalant despite the amulet burning a hole in her chest.

  "Why would you say that?"

  "I don't even know you. You could be dangerous."

  Her cheeks flooded with violent color at her blunt comment, and Christian leaned forward in magnetic impulse. His jaw tightened and pain shadowed his face for an instant before he changed the subject abruptly.

  "Tell me more about the hospital." His tone was brusque and Victoria stiffened but welcomed the change of topic.

  "Not much to tell." She unconsciously echoed his curt tone. "I told you that I had some sort of blood poisoning, which the doctors thought was a form of acute leukemia when some abnormal cells tried to take over."

  "Did they?"

  "Did they what?"

  "Take over?" Christian's tone was light but he was watching her carefully.

  "I recovered, didn't I?" Victoria could be evasive too. After reading the journal, she knew she had to be more careful. She could play the offense as well. "Tell me how you managed not to get hurt when I threw you."

  Christian smiled a slow, lazy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Perhaps I am like you," he said.

  "I sincerely doubt that!"

  From that point on, their conversation began to degenerate into an evasive verbal exchange. They circled each other like two alpha lions, each waiting for the other to make the first move and neither willing to trust the other. Before long, their check arrived, and they walked to the car. The ride back was quiet, with long awkward silences, and Christian spent most of the time looking out the window, preoccupied.

  Victoria focused on driving as she pulled off the exit, her own thoughts chaotic from the strangely charged dynamic between them. She jumped as his soft voice broke the silence.

  "It's just up here on the right."

  She pulled into a curving driveway lit with ornamental lights that led to the front of a majestic house.

  Victoria switched the engine off and turned to face him. Admittedly, she didn't want the night to end, even if the ride back had been uncomfortable. A part of her didn't want him to leave, the insistent part that was drawn to the danger lurking just beneath the surface, like a moth to a flame. She wanted ... her gaze dropped to his lips and she hastily averted it ... she didn't know what she wanted!

  She focused her attention on his house. "Your home is beautiful."

  "Thank you. Would you like to come in?" he asked.

  "No, thanks. It's late and I should be getting back." Without thinking, she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, a silent apology for her part in what the rest of the evening had become.

  Christian froze as her lips grazed his skin, his body a statue. A muscle ticked in his jaw as if he were fighting to control himself, his eyes like pieces of flint, dark and furious. Victoria pulled back, a flash of hurt lancing through her at his response.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

  The words stuck in her throat as Christian unclenched his jaw and forced himself to face her, gently grasping her shoulders. Liquid silver stared into molten jade, and he touched his lips to hers, the kiss tentative at first, as if he were afraid to give himself over to it. But as the warmth within her bloomed, decimating walls and reason, his lips sank into the softness of hers with desperate urgency. Victoria dug her fingers into his arms, caught. It felt as though her life began and ended in that kiss.

  Her lips parted in a silent gasp against his mouth and Christian's body jerked as the warm rush of her breath tore through him. He pulled away with sublime regret, a tortured look in his eyes. His voice was a harsh rasp.

  "What am I doing? It's ... forbidden."

  Victoria felt his bunched muscles shift restlessly under his shirtsleeves where her fingers still gripped, and although her mind felt fuzzy, his words still registered. She ripped her hands away in silent shame. His arms remained wrapped around her.

  "Let me go," she said thickly. Her eyes were panicked.

  Christian released her. He looked like he was in pain, his lips a thin, grim line. "I'm ... sorry."

  "I need to go," she said, shoving the memory of his lips away, and forcing herself not to look at his mouth. How could she have thrown herself at him like that? She was mortified. Christian shifted and she tensed automatically.

  "Please, I won't—" hurt you.

  "You won't what?" She turned to face him, her eyes glacial. "Do it again? Don't worry, that was a mistake for both of us."

  Christian stepped out of the car, his earlier warmth replaced by a shuttered, careful expression. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry."

  Though they were hers, the words stung.

  She did not look at him. She couldn't look at him.

  "See you around then." The tears didn't come until she reached the end of the driveway.

  CHRISTIAN STARED THOUGHTFULLY down the driveway long after she'd left. After that kiss, he knew without a doubt that he was playing with fire. The ferocious hunger in his belly had almost consumed him, just from the single taste of her lips. Even then, his body continued its slow metamorphosis as he struggled to calm himself—his muscles bunching spasmodically, readying themselves for the chase, his teeth distending, adrenaline flowing wildly in his veins.

  Christian steadied himself, for the first time in over a hundred and fifty odd years, having the difficulty he would expect of a far younger vampire. The effort was futile.

  The only safe place for her would be in a world where she'd never met him.

  As the bloodlust filled his eyes, all he could see was her face.

  OVER THE NEXT few days, Victoria busied herself with classes and getting settled into a manageable routine. Charla had taken her under her wing, and Victoria didn't protest too much even though she sometimes felt like Charla's new prize show pet. She was grateful to Charla for bringing her into her circle of friends and for making the transition a lot smoother than she could have hoped for. Senior year at Windsor actually had the makings of a good year.

  She hadn't read anymore of the journal, ignoring its pull every time she looked at the music box, but she'd kept wearing the amulet. Every day following her acceptance of her power, she'd felt the magic grow more and more inside of her. Yet Victoria still found herself reticent to explore it. The power scared her, and the fear of being like Brigid terrified her. She held on to "staying normal" like a lifeline, and for the most part, Leto seemed to understand her desperate need for normalcy.


  On top of that, it had been almost two weeks since her shattering kiss with Christian. Even the mere thought of him sent her heart into a panicked whirlwind and made her bones feel like they were made of rubber. She couldn't fathom how someone could make her feel so conflicted—wanting to see him yet dreading it at the same time, and then being disappointed if she didn't. It was exhausting!

  She'd found herself breathless on several occasions when she'd seen someone who looked like him walking across the campus or in the town. But it was never Christian and she'd always felt curiously deflated. Victoria was sure that something was wrong with her.

  She found herself thinking about him again as she walked toward the music hall between classes and gave herself a mental shake. "Get a grip, Tori," she told herself. "Christian Devereux is not part of your life and you are better off without someone like him. Forget him." She took a deep breath in support of her declaration, and walked into the building.

  Her job as an assistant to Windsor's Junior Youth Orchestra kept her busy, and included assisting with attendance paperwork and coordinating rehearsals for the band. So far, she liked it. Charla called it her "Band Geek Job" but Victoria didn't mind. Being around music was therapeutic.

  An alumnus of Julliard, her mother had been a concert pianist and Victoria's childhood had been filled with music. She'd learned to play the piano at the same time she'd learned to talk. Despite her natural talents, she'd stopped playing the day her parents died.

  "Hey Tori!" a young man with a tuba called out waving. She turned to wave back making her way to the front office and crashed into someone on his way out. She fell straight back into an ungainly heap on the floor.

  "We really have to stop meeting like this," a wry voice said, extending a hand to help her up. "At least this time it's not me on the ground."

  Victoria grimaced from the pain shooting up her backside and ignored Christian Devereux's proffered hand. She pulled herself up and glared at him.

  "What are you doing here?" she snapped, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he stuffed his hand back into his pocket. His face was expressionless, guarded, and still as compelling as she'd remembered. Her gaze flicked to the floor.