Jealousy sa-3

by Lili St. Crow

  Trial challenge? What? Probably some djamphir thing. I could ask Benjamin. Or Leon.

  Just as soon as I got out of here.

  Kir stiffened. He’d looked handsome in the Council room, but he was pale and his skin gleamed slightly. Was he sweating? That was weird.

  I heard cloth moving—Graves was still in his long black coat—and the crinkle of paper and cellophane. Then, my God, the click of a lighter and a long inhale.

  He was smoking. “That’s assuming,” he said quietly, “that I’d take it.”

  Kir’s hands hit the tabletop, and he made as if to push himself up. The aspect folded over him, fangs sliding free and golden streaks spilling through his short hair, and I braced myself. I actually drew myself up as tall as I would go and stared at him.

  There was no way I could match a djamphir past his drift, let alone one old and powerful enough to be on the Council. Still, I heard Dad’s voice, way back from the time before my whole life had turned upside down. This is where you do the starin’ down, before the throwin’ down, honey.

  Dogs can smell fear, and people—or things from the Real World—are pretty much the same way. Predators have finely tuned antennae for terror. But ninety-nine times out of a hundred, a dog can also smell when you’re the alpha. It takes the same kind of flat look and decision to be fearless as facing down a bunch of jocks bent on harassing someone.

  I just hoped I was giving Kir the staredown, and not an exhausted, oh my God look.

  Anna eyed Kir for a long, taffy-stretching second. She made a soft, sliding motion with one hand, the lacquer on her nails glinting. “Oh, Kir. Relax. Mr. Graves has a sarcastic sense of humor. It’s something to appreciate in a man. Boy humor is so juvenile.”

  The redheaded djamphir’s face scrunched up like he smelled something really bad. I caught Anna’s flash of a smirk before she looked directly past me at Graves. I’ve seen cheerleaders look at boys that way before.

  It meant they were marking their next cut of prime rib. My heart gave a sick thump. If Graves wasn’t interested in me—or was only kind of interested—maybe he’d be interested in a girl who looked like a fashion model. No matter that she’d chew him up and spit him out. That kind always does.

  Gee, Dru, you think you’re judging her by what she wears much? I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe I was just judging her because I did not like her way down in my bones. It wasn’t fair.

  “It wasn’t sarcasm.” Graves blew out a cloud of acrid smoke. “It was pointing out a fallacy in your logic, babe.”

  Anna’s jaw actually dropped. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or push him out of the room. Way to go, Graves.

  “I must be late.” A pleasant tenor, behind me. Hiro slid into the room, his footfalls eerily silent against the plush carpet. “Kir. Milady.” His lip all but curled, sarcasm dripping from the word. Then he half-turned and looked at me. When he spoke again, it was a respectful murmur. “Milady.”

  How he could say the same word so differently each time was beyond me. He bent forward slightly, a tiny bow, and I did the same thing before I could help myself. Hey, man, when in Rome, right?

  He smiled as he straightened. “Exquisite manners, young one. I regret my lateness. Forgive me.”

  I was about to say no problem, but Kir almost choked. Anna’s face was smooth and smiling too, but something glittered far back in the depths of her eyes. Her boots hit the carpet and she rose gracefully from the chair, silk whispering as her dress fell in choreographed folds. The table held her reflection lovingly, but distorted it oddly as she moved. She passed behind Kir’s chair, and I could swear the slim redheaded young man flinched as her shadow drifted over him.

  She came to a halt at the end of the table, and I squared my shoulders as we sized each other up. The taste of waxen oranges faded, and I smelled her warm spicy perfume.

  Her baby blues dropped to my feet, came back up. Measuring me all the while. When she spoke, it was as if we were the only people in the room. “I’d like it if we were friends, Dru.”

  “Me too,” I lied, with feeling. If they think you’re stupid enough to be taken in, you can get enough running room for escape.

  Always let your enemies underestimate you. Dad taught me that. I wasn’t sure if she was an enemy or just one of those antimatter girls. She was another djamphir and a svetocha to boot. She was in just as much danger from the suckers as I was. We should stick together, at least as far as we could while being on different ends of the social spectrum.

  My chest hurt. I realized I was holding my breath, and exhaled. The touch throbbed inside my head, but everything in the room was so tense and mixed-up I couldn’t tell where the current of . . . what was it? Fear? Bloodhunger? Rage? But nobody looked even remotely upset in here. Just uncomfortable. Kir’s face had gone pasty. His freckles stood out, glaring.

  I thought of the flash of red I’d seen down the hall. Benjamin had thought it was a svetocha, and I’d been sure it was Anna, but both she and Christophe smelled like spice.

  Would Christophe be messing at my door, though? Or maybe it had been the traitor. A djamphir I’d never seen, but who smelled like them?

  “Good.” She held out one slim white hand, her nails perfectly manicured and coated in candy-apple lacquer. It matched her lipstick, and her eyeliner looked professionally done.

  I could never in a million years have that high gloss. As soon as I put my hand out and touched hers, bracing myself for whatever the touch would tell me, I felt dirty. Like I’d just come in off the playground, covered in muck, and was now standing in the middle of the adults while I hoped they wouldn’t notice the smudges and scrapes.

  The touch rang like a gong inside my head. Whirling images, none of them pausing long enough to be absorbed. She gave my hand one limp shake, then drew back with a patient smile. That smile, by the way, was directed up over my shoulder.

  At Graves.

  The back of my throat turned rough and dry. I made a sort of hrmph noise, clearing it, and Anna glanced at me again, this time amused. Don’t you look at him that way, I wanted to say—and I probably would have, if I hadn’t had to keep my mouth shut.

  Because my teeth were tingling. I felt the subtle crackling in my upper jaw as my canines extended.

  Call them fangs, Dru. That’s what they are.

  But I couldn’t. I could just stand there, keeping my mouth closed tight so nobody around me would see teeth turning into sharp little points. The warm-oil feeling of the aspect didn’t slide down my skin, though. I hoped my hair wasn’t doing anything weird, decided it didn’t matter. Because nobody was looking at me. Every eye in the room, including my own pair, was on Anna.

  She swept by, sliding past motionless Hiro with a half-mocking little pirouette, her skirt brushing his knee. I heard her murmur something at the door. Footsteps going away—probably she and the djamphir in the shoulder holster and red T-shirt.

  Did he put that on to match her? Jeez. And I thought “I’m with Stupid” shirts were pathetic. I breathed deeply, searching for calm.

  The crackling in the air went away. Now all the touch could bring me was a complex, hot wash of feeling from Kir. I couldn’t even name it, it was so messed up. He coughed and pushed himself up from his chair. “So.”

  “Orientation.” Hiro folded his arms. “I think it’s best I tag along. You don’t have any objection, do you, Kir?”

  The redheaded djamphir smiled. It was an animal’s baring of teeth, and I almost took a step back. “Of course not, brother.”

  Whoa, wait a second. “You’re related?” I blurted out, and I sounded totally horrified. Graves exhaled another long stream of cigarette smoke. It touched my hair, and I made a face, too.

  “No.” Kir’s face wrinkled up again, like he tasted something sour. “It is the traditional mode of address between Kouroi. To remind us that we are all—”

  “—connected,” Hiro interrupted smoothly. “And all equally at risk of being murdered by nosferatu. Some
do tend to forget it.”

  “No shit,” I muttered and stuffed my sweating hands in my pockets. I suddenly resolved never to be in a room alone with Kir if I could help it. “Can I just go look around on my own?”

  “You may if you wish. But the loup-garou may not, and before you attend classes you will have to endure orientation in our company.” Hiro folded his arms, as if I was Being Difficult. “Milady.” This time he said it like the syllables meant please.

  I wanted to figure out how he did that.

  “It was a rhetorical question. So what’s first?” I rubbed my palms, trying to get the dampness off, and decided he wasn’t so bad. Graves muttered something uncomplimentary, but very softly, and mixed with the smoke besides.

  “First, we allow Mr. Graves to extinguish his cigarette.” Hiro didn’t even blink. “Then we will go over safety rules and take a tour of the school.”

  “Great.” I tried to sound excited, failed miserably. And the whole time, I knew Kir was watching me.

  I could feel it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “ We should go to Nordstroms,”Benjamin muttered for the fiftieth time. Leon’s mouth actually twitched, like the was holding back a smile. The two blonds were out in the parking lot on a gorgeous spring afternoon, probably both sleepily leaning against the SUV Benjamin had signed out at the parking garage in the south corner of the Schola’s property.

  That was eye-opening, the way Benjamin had just casually said, It’s for the svetocha, and the dark-haired djamphir with the sign-out sheet had stared at me like I had something stuck on my face before he fell all over himself pointing out different cars. Being sandwiched in the back of an Escalade full of pretty djamphir boys and Graves was a new experience, too.

  I rolled my eyes. “There’s nothing at a Nordstroms I need or want. Overpriced junk that’ll fall apart.” I folded up another pair of jeans and stuck them in the red cart. Even under fluorescents the djamphir boys looked like models gone slumming. It was hard to pick stuff out with them hanging around looking gorgeous and bored.

  When Benjamin said shopping he meant Nordstroms at the very least. I guess he had some weird idea I wanted couture or something.

  When I say shopping, especially for clothes, I mean military surplus first, and Target or Dillard’s to get soft goods. Like, say, panties and stuff. I’d already made the boys go away while I poked around in the lingerie section. I mean, come on. I’ve been buying my panties alone since I was nine.

  I’m used to this. Dad would just give me plenty of cash and a list. I’ve been doing our shopping, other than ordnance, for as long as I can remember. Dad had enough to do just buying ammo and stuff; I took care of clothes, food, all the little things you need when traveling, or to make a house run. I used to love dawdling in the appliances section at Target no matter where in the country we were. I would make up little stories in my head about how we really needed a bread maker or a Foreman grill. Or an espresso machine. I would compare, contrast, and pretend we weren’t moving in a couple of months anyway so why bother with more weight to lug around?

  I saw a display of T-shirts that looked okay and headed for them. Graves had taken over pushing the cart, and he was wearing an expression you usually only see when someone in court is sentenced to a long haul. Of course, we’d shopped for him first, and I figured that since he was a guy he wouldn’t have as much embarrassment over buying underwear. I’d just told him to go and get a couple packets of whatever he was wearing now. Benjamin looked like he’d swallowed a frog, and I’d given the djamphir one of my best glares, an imitation of Gran’s shut-yer-mouth look. He subsided and muttered something about Macy’s. Followed by Neiman Marcus, please, even that would be better, under his breath.

  I figured if Benjamin wouldn’t pay for it with the Order-approved cards, I’d use the roll of emergency cash in my bag to cover it. It wasn’t quite an emergency, but Jesus. I wasn’t going to have Graves wearing all the same stuff while I was kitted out.

  “So where does the money come from, anyway?” I stopped in front of the display and started going through the checklist. V-neck, short sleeves, not bad. I hate fabric crawling up on my neck. All-cotton, good, get them kind of bigger because they’ll shrink. A yawn caught me off-guard, I kept it behind a cupped hand. They had four black tees in medium. I grabbed them all and set them in the cart.

  “There’s plenty.” Out of all of them, Leon looked the closest to human under the fluorescents. He was looking at a display of spring dresses, polka-dotted things that would be completely useless if you were running away from something. “Is this what girls wear now?”

  “Not this girl,” I muttered. “Seriously, where does the money come from? Come on, I want to look at clearance.”

  “Why?” Benjamin sounded honestly baffled. “A svetocha can have anything she wants, Dru; we have plenty of money. The Order invests and has several corporations.”

  Now that was interesting. Where there was corporation and stock, there were paper trails. At least, you could find out some stuff with public records and other stuff by hack and by crook. I filed that away. “Just because you have money doesn’t mean you have to waste it. Target’s good enough. And what about a svetocha getting what she wants? I thought Anna was supposed to be a big secret.” I halted near the clearance racks and started digging. It was a good time to get hoodies because when spring comes they clear out just about everything to make way for the bikini-fest in early summer.

  I shuddered at that thought.

  “She’s a secret—from the nosferatu. She doesn’t mix much with the general population. Busy running the Order and . . . well, it’s best to stay out of her way. Out of the way of anyone on the Council, really. They don’t get there by being decorative.” Benjamin looked even more uncomfortable. “You’re actually the first svetocha I’ve personally been in a room with. But it’s in all the basic classes—all about svetocha, and how they’re . . . well, they get everything they want.”

  “Huh.” Even though there aren’t a lot. I absorbed this. “So I could go shopping anywhere I wanted?” Getting some ammo might actually be a good idea.

  “I, um. Yes. You really . . . anywhere, I guess.” Benjamin sounded like he was reconsidering telling me about this. Or faintly hopeful that I’d suddenly decide Nordstroms was a good idea.

  “Cheer up, old man.” Leon actually chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “It could be worse. She could be in the dressing room for hours.”

  With you guys watching everything? No thanks. I know my sizes, that’s enough. I decided to test out this anything rule. “Okay, so I need a military surplus store, too. Do you guys know what the gun laws are like here?”

  “Fingerprinting and licensing. But it boils down to, Don’t get caught if you’re in the Order.” Leon gave me one of his odd little looks. “We can go to the armory, if you like. You can practice.”

  I shook my head. Found a charcoal hoodie with a zipper and good sleeves, checked it for loose threads. “Just wondering. Hey, Graves, you want to go get shampoo, toothpaste, that sort of thing? And if you need any over-the-counter stuff, you know. Get me some Midol, all right?”

  Benjamin all but choked. Leon studied the ceiling with a great deal of interest, a smile twitching at the corners of his thin mouth. While Benjamin looked ready to sink into the floor, Leon looked highly amused.

  I decided I liked him.

  “I think you should pick your own Midol.” Graves even said it with a straight face, but there was a ghost of a grin quirking his lips. He’d found a way to shave, and he looked attractive but normal. Not ultra-gloss like the djamphir. “’Cause, you know, there’s different types.”

  “Point.” My stomach rumbled. “We should probably go back soon. Is the cafeteria open during the day?”

  “Well, yeah. We can get a midnight snack. Midday snack. Same thing.” Benjamin’s cheeks were scarlet. “Don’t you want to do more shopping?”

  I surveyed the overloaded cart. Jeans for Graves
and me, T-shirts and long-sleeved shirts for him, short-sleeved T-shirts for me, a couple of wool sweaters, sweats for both of us, two or three hoodies apiece, including the clearance-rack one I was holding. Boxers to sleep in. Packets of underwear, four sports bras. A belt for him, a belt for me. Along with everything I’d ordered online, this was really reasonable. The Schola was pretty stocked, but there were things like cotton balls and toner I wanted. And my own brand of shampoo. They had some expensive stuff in the shower. I felt like I was in a fancy-dancy hotel, using it.

  Which wasn’t bad. I totally love the little samples of stuff they put in the bathrooms at major hotels. Dad sometimes had us in really cushy places with nice high-end samples I stashed in the truck. I rated them according to effectiveness and smell, and I went through a phase when I was about thirteen of saving a bunch of them before I figured out there are always more hotels.

  Sometimes I still think about that clutch of little trial bottles in a dark Dumpster somewhere. Like a rock collection or something.

  I checked the price and decided what the hell, plopped the hoodie into the cart. “I think that’s everything, after we make a run through the pharmacy section. Since Graves thinks I should pick my own Midol. Is there anything you guys need while we’re here?”

  Leon actually laughed. “They have slushies up at the front.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Benjamin muttered. “Nordstroms. Macy’s. We could go to Paris for the spring season. I was expecting transatlantic flights.”

  I figured ignoring that was best for all concerned. “Is there an Old Navy around here? They’ve got shorts and stuff.” I caught the look Benjamin gave me. “What?”

  “Nothing. We just thought a svetocha would be more, well, difficult.” Leon’s mouth twitched. “I do seriously want a slushie.”

  I tried a tentative smile. I definitely liked him now. “I haven’t had one in ages. Maybe the guys outside—the double blonds—would want one, too?”