Red Dawn

by Bonds, J. J.

  “Here’s hoping,” I reply before draining my glass. Both he and Shaye laugh and I find myself relaxing too. I certainly wouldn’t mind spending my free time rolling around on the mat with Nik, but I think we may have different things in mind. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Jade asks approaching the table with Lexie and Blaine in tow. Please don’t let them sit down, I think, even as Jade grabs the empty chair next to Shaye and makes herself comfortable. So much for relaxing. Lexie follows Jade’s lead, but Blaine hesitates.

  “Are we really doing this?” he challenges. Clearly time had done little to ease his dislike of me.

  “Do you want to sit with Nikolai or not?” Jade asks, giving him a pointed stare as she tosses a handful of blonde curls over her shoulder. Apparently they’ve already had this conversation at least once. “If this is the price,” she says nodding her head at Shaye and me, “then I say we pay. How bad can it be really?”

  Bitch. That’s what I want to say. Instead I roll my eyes and keep it clean. “There’s the Jade we all know and love. Way to suck it up and take one for the team.” Jade doesn’t respond. Instead she turns her attention to feeding. It’s probably for the best since I’m supposed to be on my best behavior anyway.

  “Come on, Blaine,” Nik joins in, slinging his arm across the back of an empty chair. Nik’s ability to completely ignore tension is without rival. “Just sit down.”

  For a second I think he’ll turn and walk away as he searches the room for an alternative, but no such luck. Blaine grudgingly drops down next to Lexie looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. I’m starting to feel the same way. I avert my eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. I can’t afford to incite WWIII and I’m pretty sure that’s what’ll happen if I open my mouth. Only a handful of people know the secret of my past and this jerk is one of them? Un-freaking-believable.

  I’m relieved when Blaine shifts his chair so it faces the front of the hall. I can’t tell if he’s simply refusing to engage us or if he’s really interested in the speech Headmaster Pratt is preparing to deliver. He watches raptly as Pratt arranges his notecards on the podium up front. As if anything Pratt has to say will be that interesting.

  “This should be good,” Shaye quips. Looking bored already, she props her chin up on her hands and makes a big show of yawning.

  “Tell me about it. Can you believe these heinous uniforms?” Lexie says, flicking her tie with distaste. The red unis are especially unflattering with her ginger hair. I actually feel bad for her. She’s got it worse than the rest of us thanks to genetics.

  “Completely juvenile,” Jade agrees nodding her head. “And the way they sprung them on us at the last minute? It’s just cruel. Who does Pratt think he is anyway?”

  Go figure. Something we can all agree on: our total and utter dislike of Pratt. Who’d have thought solidarity would come so easily to this group, even fleetingly?

  “Attention! Attention students and faculty.” Pratt stares expectantly at his audience, waiting for silence. As the room settles down, he presses on, not bothering with pleasantries like welcoming the new students. Typical. “For those of you who do not know me, I am Headmaster Pratt. As we start off yet another year at Crossroads Academy, I am pleased to announce that I have instituted a new student handbook. This handbook includes several new policies intended to bring us back to our roots: discipline, hard work and the endless pursuit of knowledge.”

  Pratt looks pretty pleased with himself and I cringe at the thought of what else might be contained within the pages of that handbook. Things at Crossroads are going to be a little different this year and most likely it won’t be for the better.

  “At Crossroads Academy, we have a reputation for being progressive and for producing some of the best educated vampires in the world. We will maintain that stature only through the execution of the aforementioned principles.” He pauses, his severe face taking on an even darker edge. Summer break hasn’t exactly softened him. His dislike of the student body seems as strong as ever. His beady black eyes rake over the audience as he continues, “Discipline. Hard work. Knowledge.”

  “It’s a wonder he didn’t mention the penalty for disobedience,” Shaye whispers. “We all know how he loves himself some work detail. I would have thought it warranted inclusion in his core principles.”

  “Maybe he just hasn’t gotten there yet?” Lexie drawls, twisting her red curls absently. “Has anyone actually read the new handbook? Any mention of corporal punishment? I wouldn’t be surprised if he slipped it in there somewhere.”

  “Pretentious jerk,” Shaye mutters.

  “More like sadist,” Lexie counters.

  I tune out the rest of Pratt’s grating speech and the whispers of those around me until Jade stands up and announces that she gets to cut out early.

  “Who knew that being a TA would prove so beneficial?” she trills, flashing us a brilliant smile.

  “You’re a teachers’ assistant this year?” Nik asks in disbelief. “For who?”

  “What? Like it’s so hard to believe?” Jade asks, flipping her hair indignantly. She purses her lips as she builds her defense. Naturally, it just makes her high cheekbones look even more enviable. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been assigned as a floater, which means I’ll be able to get even more letters of recommendation.” We all stare at her doubtfully, but she’s unfazed. “How hard can it be anyway? I just have to file and grade papers and copy notes and stuff. It’ll be a breeze.” She turns on her heel and heads for the door with her hips swaying seductively the whole way. Same old Jade.

  Frankly, the idea of Jade working at anything other than flirting is almost laughable, but I bite my tongue. It turns out I’m not the only one who feels that way when Blaine speaks up.

  “Jade? Working?” His thin mouth curls into a sneer as he leans forward, showing interest in the rest of us for the first time since sitting down. “Has hell frozen over?”

  Chapter Three

  Another year, another heavy schedule. Chemistry, Psychology, World Literature, Historical Perspectives II, Intermediate MMA & Self Defense, Advanced Meditation Techniques and Talent Development. Talent Development? With Anya? Although there’s no description, I can guess what that one entails based on the conversation I overheard between Aldo and Viktor. My relationship with Anya was a lot like a game of cat and mouse last year, with her continuously trying to pin me down and extract information. Despite my initial reservations we ended the school year on good terms. Anya really came through for me when it counted and I’ve learned that I can trust her unequivocally. After all, Aldo does. She’s also Nik’s sister. Fortunately, his cocky attitude doesn’t run in the family.

  I wade through the sea of bodies that crowd the halls of the west wing and head for Anya’s office. With the new uniforms, everyone should look more or less the same, but Pratt’s plan has backfired. Personal style seems to be prevailing. In fact, it looks like most of the student body is rebelling against the new unis. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Like Shaye, lots of students have personalized their uniforms. Pratt’s in for quite the shock if he ever bothers to leave his office. He’ll probably have an aneurism. I can’t help but smile at the thought.

  I’m still grinning ear to ear when I arrive at Anya’s door. I knock and let myself in. It’s kind of our routine. Anya’s sitting behind her overly large desk, but she jumps up when I enter.

  “Katia! So good to see you!” She comes around the desk and holds out her arms for a hug. Her short dark curls bounce with each step and her blue eyes are as warm as any I’ve ever seen. Anya looks just how I remember, loud shoes and all. I gawk at them without reservation. Today they’re open toed red snakeskin with obscenely high heels. If I gave a crap about fashion, I’d probably be drooling over them. “And you’re right on time. Talk about progress!”

  “Yeah, well, it was bound to happen eventually,” I joke. “Besides, it’s only day one.” I flop into one of the comfy leathe
r chairs in front of Anya’s desk. Talk about déjà vu. Even though I’m here today for formal training and not counseling, it feels pretty much the same. It’s oddly comforting.

  “A girl can dream, right?” she replies raising her eyebrows expressively as she returns to her chair.

  “Good luck with that. So what’s the deal with Talent Development anyway?” I ask. Might as well get right down to business. I kind of suck at small talk.

  “Talent Development is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. Faculty members are assigned to work one on one with specific students to help them identify and harness their latent abilities. The faculty typically seeks to pair students and instructors based on known or familial talents. Talent Development has been an integral part of the curriculum since Crossroads opened its doors, but this is my first year participating as an instructor.”

  “If it’s part of the regular curriculum, why doesn’t Shaye have it on her schedule?” I’m probably being salty, but I don’t care. Considering what I overheard in Aldo’s office, I feel like I’m being singled out again. It wasn’t just dumb luck that got me paired with Anya.

  “Not every student requires it. If a student has a relatively simple talent that’s already been mastered and no indication of dormant abilities, then the credits would be waived.”

  Damn! Why can’t I be in that group? “So how does this work exactly?”

  “Good question.” Anya purses her lips. So not a good sign. There’s a very good chance I’m not going to like what comes next. “Learning to control your abilities takes practice and patience.”

  “Well, that settles it,” I say, jumping up from my chair. “I’m screwed.”

  Anya ignores my sarcasm and points at the chair I’ve just evacuated. I sigh loudly and make a big show of sitting down again. It was worth a shot. Anya does her best to not encourage my obnoxious behavior, but I can tell she’s amused. She tries to hide it, but the corners of her mouth twitch giving her away.

  “In your case, we’ll start with the blood visions,” she tells me.

  “Wait. What? Why?” I protest sitting up straighter in my chair. I’ve done my best to avoid those wretched visions since I was transfigured. They hardly seem like a useful talent that needs sharpening and I have less than zero interest in subjecting myself to that kind of trauma willingly or regularly. “Out of the question!”

  “Katia, think about it. It’s a logical place to start.” Her voice is calm and soothing. Neat little therapist trick, but it’s not going to work.

  “Easy for you to say.” I might think the visions are a great place to start too if I wasn’t the one being exposed to the abject horror they usually bring.

  “The blood visions were the first to manifest and since they’ve proven to be most problematic, it’s important that you learn to control them. Then we’ll work to identify other latent abilities. Aldo has indicated it’s likely you’ll have quite a few.”

  I don’t bother suppressing a groan. Bloody hell. I’m not going to be able to argue my way out of this one. No wonder Aldo didn’t want me to know about this in advance. Clearly Aldo and I need to work on our communication skills.

  “Relax, Katia. We’ll take it slow. You can set the pace,” she tells me reaching across the desk to grasp my hand. Her grip is firm and reassuring. I know Anya is sincere. She’ll do her best to keep me from having a total freak attack. Still, it might not be enough. The visions that assault my mind when I drink fresh blood are exhausting and usually overwhelming. There’s not much I can do to control the onslaught of memories and emotions the life-force leaves on the blood.

  “Trust me.”

  “I really don’t have a choice, do I?”

  Anya nods her head, confirming what I already know: there isn’t going to be any negotiation in Talent Development. I throw up my hands in frustration. I hate giving up control. This totally sucks.

  “Alright,” I concede gravely. “Since this is not optional, we might as well get started.”

  “If you’re ready,” she replies dropping my hand. I watch as Anya spins her chair around and opens the mini fridge behind her desk. From where I sit, I can see that the fridge is fully stocked with packets of blood. It appears to be human and was probably brought in from the local blood bank. After reviewing several labels, Anya carefully selects a pouch and twists off the freshness seal. The scent of blood fills the air, invading my nostrils and awakening my hunger. Despite my reservations about this exercise, I crave the blood. I feel my fangs drop as she pours the smooth crimson fluid into a crystal glass. I’m curious as to what it was Anya was looking for on the label.

  It’s not as if I care about blood type. Perhaps she was checking dates. The fresher the blood, the more impact the life-force will have left and the better the chance the vision will be intense. Knowing this, I hope Anya has chosen something older from her stash. Forced to choose between stale blood and the hellish visions, I’ll take the former any day.

  I sit quietly as Anya slides the glass across the desk. It’s difficult not to cast a wary eye on it as I contemplate my next move. Although I long for the blood, the price of consumption is unknown. Maybe the vision will be brief. Maybe not.

  “You need to relax,” Anya coaxes. Despite the look of consternation on her face, her tone is calm and soothing.

  I am anything but relaxed right now. My nerves are wound so tight I’ve got a death grip on the glass. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t shattered into a million pieces already. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, practicing one of the relaxation techniques professor Edwards taught us last year.

  “You need to be in complete control of your emotions before we can start,” Anya warns. So not happening. Anya’s completely deluded if she thinks I’ll actually be able to do this. “Empty your mind and let go of the fear.”

  “Working on it,” I grumble as I continue performing the breathing patterns. Anya’s coaching isn’t exactly helpful. I’m sure it’s meant to be constructive, but it just sort of seems like common sense.

  “When you drink the blood, you’ll want to pace yourself. Take small, even sips. It’s nearly a week old so the impact of the lingering life-force should be mild.” That’s good news at least. It means the vision will be brief. “The donor was a housewife who gives regularly, so I doubt there will be anything too overwhelming imprinted on her blood.”

  “How reassuring,” I say as I roll my eyes. I take one final look at the glass before deciding that I’m as calm as I’m going to get. “Cheers.”

  I try to do as Anya’s instructed, taking small sips, but by the fifth one I’m ready to quit. My mind is flooded with this anonymous woman’s life. Unwanted memories and conflicting emotions burst into my mind scattered and meaningless, impossible to sort out. Soccer game, funeral, graduation, spaghetti dinner, child birth, wedding, sailing on the lake. Flashes of her life just keep coming, swirling around inside my head as if they were my own. Only they’re not mine. I feel my calm slipping away as my mind rejects the visions and fights back against this cranial invasion. Even these menial events, with their emotional highs and lows, are too much for me to handle. My own emotions are somersaulting. They burn through me like brush fire seeking an outlet for release. There’s a small whimper and it takes me a minute to realize that the sound came from my own lips.

  “I’m done. I can’t do it.” I push the nearly full glass back toward Anya and drop my hands into my lap. I try to still my shaking knees before Anya notices. I’ve shown enough weakness for one day and though I hate to admit defeat, I cannot drink from that glass again. I won’t.

  “Alright. That’s enough for today then.” We study one another silently. I can only imagine what she’s thinking. I doubt it’s anything good. “We’ll try again next week.”

  “Do we have to?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Given the opportunity I’d trade this talent for just about anything else. I can’t think of a single practical use for these visions and they certainly don’t agree wit
h me. No amount of practice is going to change that fact.

  “Yes. But for the rest of today’s session we can work on something simpler. How do you feel about compulsion?”

  “Mind control?” I reply smiling wickedly. “I’m there.”

  Chapter Four

  I inhale deeply as I enter the gym. The day is humid and the scent of sweat and blood hangs in the air mixing sweetly with lemon cleaner. It’s a welcoming smell. For the first time since returning to Crossroads I truly feel at home. Here, in the gym, everything is just as it should be. Mats, sparring dummies, lots and lots of weapons. What more could a girl ask for? As I soak in the energy of the training center, I note that Garcia’s been busy. He’s added a new obstacle course. It looks wicked tough and I can’t wait to give it a try. It’s almost enough to make me forget why I’m here. Almost. Truth is, I’m not sure there’s anything that could erase the violent churning in my stomach.

  I have mixed feelings about resuming training with Nik. I was thrilled when he first messaged me with the offer. I wasn’t sure if he’d have the time since it’s his last year at Crossroads and there’s still a lot I can learn from him. On the other hand, I’m in the dark on the status of our possibly nonexistent relationship. It’s occupying my mind far more than it should. Damn raging hormones! I really need to get myself under control.

  Shaking off my lusty thoughts, I swing my gym bag over my shoulder and head for the blood cooler where Nik’s standing with his back to me. I can’t help but notice the way his hair curls over the collar of his t-shirt. It’s been a while since he’s had a haircut. It suits him.

  “Hey slacker,” he teases, turning as I approach.

  “Right back at you.”

  “Hardly. I’ve already loosened up.” He gives me ‘the smile’; the one that says he knows just how good he looks in his fitted workout gear and he’s not above using it to his advantage. “As always, I’m ready to go.”