The Waif's Tale

by C. L. Stegall

  CHAPTER 4

  PRESENT

  T he City Beautiful." That's what Orlando was called on all the travel brochures and, as far as I could tell, it had been dubbed so a long time ago. Things change, of course.

  I knew, though, that with the bright lights of downtown and the nightlife that accompanied such a tourist destination, I'd be able to fit right in. I figured I'd stand out a bit at first but, thanks to my youthful appearance, I'd still be accepted in spite of my new unnatural dye-job of crimson-red hair. I'd let that work to my advantage as much as possible. After all, I had to use any and every edge in my arsenal if I intended to stay a couple—or preferably more—steps ahead of the Protector.

  I left the Cadillac by Lake Ivanhoe and caught the late bus to International Drive. It was my first time on a bus, so I took it all in for the experience it was: the sights of passengers in all shapes and sizes, the pungent aroma of cigarettes and sweat and alcohol and the feel of the cracked, worn vinyl seats against my skin. This new life might actually have some potential, if I could just keep my wits about me and stay clear of whatever assassin he might have sent. I needed to lay low for a while. I hoped Orlando would be somewhere they would never look.

  If my research proved correct, the area around International Drive would be the perfect place for me to melt into society and do all the things I needed to do without drawing too much attention. As long as I didn't do anything stupid. The first thing on that agenda was finding a hotel room so I could get out of sight for a few days until I figured determined my next move.

  There were quite a few hotels to choose from in that tourist trap. I was searching for a smaller venue, one where I could do my thing and be safe for a little while. I found my temporary solace on Universal Boulevard, not far from "I-Drive," as the locals called it.

  As I entered the hotel lobby, I scanned the area and found that it was relatively quiet, due to the late hour. Time zones had shifted with great significance since I'd left the Citadel. While it may have been early for me, it was late for the local population. I paused by the brochure stand and quickly let my mind explore the vicinity. I sneaked into the thoughts and emotions of the few scattered patrons and staff, a neat little trick I'd picked up from the one person I hated most in the world. Imagine that.

  Having gleaned the information I required, I strolled up to the counter and asked for the manager. The clerk couldn't have been more than twenty years old. Cute and just a little pudgy, she appeared bored—an expression that didn't change even when I wanted to go over her head. Like most kids these days, she was only there for a paycheck, either to get her through school or to just pay the bills until she found something better, something worthy of her imagined talents.

  Liam Burkholder, the hotel manager, strolled out of some small office hidden from customer view and paused slightly upon seeing me. I could feel the heat swelling in him, particularly in his pants, as he fought to contain his urges. This is going be easier than I thought.

  "Hello, miss. How can I be of service?" He laced his fingers together, keeping his hands in front of his crotch.

  I let my smile smolder just long enough that he looked like he was going to choke. I turned slightly, beckoning with my tempting body for him to follow me, which he did without question. Like a fucking puppy on a string, I thought. "I was wondering," I said, leaning into his arm as we moseyed into the open lobby area, "if you might do me an itsy-bitsy favor."

  "A favor, miss?" he said, already pathetically smitten.

  "Paris," I replied.

  "Paris?"

  "My name. You can call me Paris." I looked into his eyes with a fount of false promises as I added, "You know, like The City of Love."

  "Ah, yes," Liam replied in a breath. "And this favor is?"

  "I need a room for a few nights and I'm more than willing to pay." I let the smoke ease into my last few words. I almost wanted to laugh at his predicament as his desire began to rise. "The only problem is, I don't have any identification. See, I lost my driver's license and they've yet to send me a new one. I was hoping you might be able to help a girl out. My parents are planning to meet me here in two days. They'll be able to vouch for me. but, in the meantime," I continued, throwing another look of possibility into Liam's reddening face, "I'm all by my lonesome—a little girl on her own in the big city," I said, tempting him further.

  "Only a couple days?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

  I let my eyes drop to the area his hands were shielding, noticing that his fingers were turning white from redirected stress. This is really kind of fun, I admitted to myself. London was right. We women of the world truly do hold all of the power. Either men like this dimwit didn't know it, or they simply chose to ignore it to make them feel better about themselves. "Yes. I'd be forever in your debt, really." I pulled it back a little to look him in the eyes once again, showing him that I was placing my trust in him. It was a mistake, no doubt but my own perceived innocence was as false as his grandmother's teeth.

  "Let me see what I can do," he said. "Please follow me, Miss Paris."

  Like a trooper, he lied to the pudgy and disinterested clerk, who appeared to only care that the interruption gave her time to take a smoke break. Liam then took my application information and handed me two keycards. "Here you are, Miss Paris," he said with a lecherous grin that even a pro like he could barely contain. "There's an extra one there, too, in case you want to have a visitor at some point. It's merely for your convenience, of course."

  I thanked him with a sly wink and headed for the elevators. I knew I'd have to deal with the sick little puppy eventually but, for the time being, I was hungry and it was time to hit the clubs.

  CHAPTER 5

  1886, The Citadel– Age 9

  I watched the nurse with a wary eye and not once did she smile or anything remotely close to it. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in an angry bun and her face was smooth and free of laugh lines or crow's feet. The needle entered my skin with a sharp, momentary pain, yet I did not flinch. I did not know any of those people and I had no idea where I was or why. In fact, I didn't even know if I were alive or if I had slipped through death's door and arrived at a very sterile Heaven.

  "You're at the Citadel," the nurse stated, as if she could somehow read my questioning mind.

  "What's that?" I asked, my voice stronger than I expected it to be.

  "Your new home." She had extracted her sample of blood from me and, placing a small bit of cotton over the hole in my skin, wrapped it with white tape. "Best get used to it," she mumbled as she placed the vial of blood on a thick white towel. "Also, a word of warning... don't be stupid enough to think you can just up and run away. You won't be leaving here anytime soon." She looked me in the eye and her brow furrowed as she added, "Hopefully, you'll be strong enough."

  I wasn't sure what she meant but, as she left me strapped to the chair in which I was sitting, I knew I had little choice but to pay heed to her advice. Still, regardless of the strange predicament, I felt better and stronger than I had in a long time. Especially since I should have been dead.

  A while later, the nurse returned, unstrapped me and sent me with another person, who locked me in a room with three other kids close to my own age.

  "Great," said one boy, perhaps a year older than I. "Another one? This is getting weirder by the minute." He had a strange accent and I realized he had to be an American. He stalked over to a small cot in the corner and dropped down onto it, folding his arms and staring at the rest of us as if we were bugs that barely held his curiosity.

  "Hi," said the only other girl in the room. "I'm Sarah."

  I took her offered hand and glanced at the other boy, who appeared more confused than I was, lost in his own silence. "Paris," I replied.

  The girl smiled and led me to a small table with a couple of chairs. She was just a touch taller than me, with straight black hair, almond eyes and skin the color of sand. "Where are you from?" she asked. Although she spoke with a Bri
tish accent, it appeared strange coming from her Oriental face.

  I hesitated, uncertain of what was going on and not willing to impart too much information. "Gloucester," I lied.

  "Oh. I'm from London." She paused for a moment and then asked, "Do you know why we're here?"

  "No. I only just arrived."

  "We're here to learn," the sullen boy said, from his place on the cot. "I overheard someone outside the door earlier. They were talking about some school and it sounded like they were betting on which of us will make it through to the end." His narrowed eyes scanned each of us in turn. "It's a weird thing to gamble on, but I know who I'd bet on if I were them."

  "Who?" the other boy said, finally speaking up.

  "Me, of course." The sullen boy spoke with such arrogance that I took an immediate disliking to him. He seemed so full of himself, which didn't make much sense, all things considered. We'd all been taken from wherever we were and brought to this place without any real explanations. It was impossible not to feel the sense of foreboding. We were prisoners, even if none of us knew why. Either the American boy was hiding his fear behind his ridiculous bravado or, he was as dumb as a bag of hammers.

  My time on the streets had forced me to take stock of my surroundings as quickly as possible. Otherwise, I knew bad things could happen. These new surroundings led me to believe there was not going to be an easy way out, if there was any way out at all.

  All of us, except for the sullen boy, whirled around at the sound of a key turning in the lock of our cell. The door slid open and a woman of authoritative nature strode in, only to stand and peer at us, inspecting us. Her eyes immediately left the quiet boy and she smirked at the sullen one. She lifted an eyebrow at Sarah but, then, her gaze lingered on me. I met her eyes with little expression, examining her just as she was examining me. Neither of us broke eye contact until the American boy cleared his throat and spoke.

  "So, lady, what's the deal?" he asked, his arms still folded across his chest. His impertinence did not go over well.

  We could almost see the woman making mental notes of his insolence. Faster than my eyes could follow, the woman flowed across the room, whipped out her hand and smacked him hard across the face. The red imprint of her fingers had already begun to show by the time he got his own hand up to cover his cheek. Towering over him, she pursed her lips, glanced around at the rest of us and cleared her throat. "You will address me as 'Mistress Redmond,' 'Headmistress,' or 'ma'am.' You will not address me as anything else—not ever. Is that understood?"

  We all nodded immediately, not wanting to earn a handprint of our own.

  "I run The School, which you will be attending for the duration of the next four to six years. We will become very well acquainted throughout that time. You were chosen for some specific reason. I do not care what this reason was or is, nor shall I ever care. I only care to educate you. This and only this, is my goal, my job, my mission in life. As you've already seen here today," she said, glaring coldly at the American, "I will not tolerate impertinence, disrespect, or disobedience. You will receive a warning the first time you fail to follow my rules. The second time, you will be punished." She let the rest of her threat hang in the air . "There will not be a third time. Are we clear?" she said, turning to catch the American boy's eyes.

  Again, we all nodded.

  She turned to leave the room, then added, "Classes will begin next Monday. Until then, Rupert will be your guardian and escort you around the Citadel. Obey him as you would me. If you do not, there will be consequences that I can promise none of you will wish to face. Eat, rest and prepare however you wish. Enjoy all that the Citadel has to offer. Hopefully one day, you will roam these halls with pride." The last few words faded as she continued on her way out the door and down the hall.

  Rupert, a man of long and lean appearance, stepped inside. "Anyone hungry?" he said. He had a broadening smile and none of us failed to notice the two long canine teeth that extended unnaturally past his others.

  CHAPTER 6

  PRESENT

  P rior to heading out for the night's activities, I fluffed up my hair, applied some makeup to add a couple years to myself, dabbed on sufficient perfume—an expensive brand that the average teen wouldn't be able to afford. I figured if I played my cards right, I'd attract an appropriate suitor and the evening would end on a high note.

  A quick look in the mirror displayed the image I wanted to project and I was pleased to say I looked at least a few years older than my usual sixteen or seventeen. Upon arrival in Daytona, I'd immediately shifted my appearance once again, knowing that anyone they sent after me would be able to pick me out of a crowd. Thus, I opted for the deepest, most ridiculous shade of red hair dye I could find.

  Now, staring at the results in the proper light, I had to admit it fit me perfectly, absurd and eccentric as it was. It was very much the color of fresh blood, the stray strands dripping down my cheeks like the aftermath of a serious head wound and I loved everything about it. Those ruby locks would be the first thing people noticed about me, just as Liam had in the lobby and they would set the stage for the rest of my appearance: the blood-red nails and matching lipstick, the smoky eye shadow and the dark eyeliner. I knew it would get me into any nightclub of my choice, without as much as a second thought by the bouncers and guards at the door.

  Luckily, I was also in the midst of forming the body that most men would drool over—not too curvy but not too thin either. I still remembered my waif years, spent wallowing in a bit of forlorn curiosity at what genetics might provide. As the decades passed, I was pleasantly surprised with the burgeoning results, as well as Garrett's reactions.

  The thought of Garrett caught me off guard. I paused before reaching for my small black purse, remembering how difficult this must all be for him. The stone on my chest dissipated as I shook off the memories. I grabbed my purse and made for the exit, hoping to avoid any interaction with Liam. There'd be time enough for that later.

  Out in the warm, humid night my hearts soared as if I were more alive and free than I had ever been. The future was finally an open book, unwritten. It was far past time for me to see what kind of trouble I could scrounge up. My stomach rumbled as I made my way over to International Drive. My hair wafted in the warm breeze and I bathed in the possibilities of the night.

  As I strolled down the streets, some passersby attempted to hide their glances, while others just outright stared. The looks of envy from the women and the unhidden gazes of desire from the men made me feel like a million bucks, a far cry from where I'd started out. Those days of fear and hunger seemed so far behind me, as if they were from a different lifetime altogether; I suppose, in some way, they were. Once I'd been taken from the streets, the world grew into a much smaller, much grander place. I had made it a point to thank Ophelia and Alldred for their faith in me. They could have left me to die and I was glad they hadn't.

  The lights of the Drive were brilliant, harsh and wonderful. I'd spent too much time in the Citadel, cooped up like a fucking prized chicken. Looking around, breathing in the electric atmosphere of an unlimited future, it was as if I were in Heaven; yet, no one had told me I'd died. I wanted to kick up my heels, to scream out in joy. Instead, I picked up on a trio of young men heading across the parking lot toward a nightclub. And, thus began my dance with death.

  CHAPTER 7

  1886, The Citadel, Age 9

  S o we'll have two hearts?" London asked Ms. Dolores, the biology teacher. Sarah spoke with a thick British accent and the other kids had taken quickly to calling her "London," as if in contrast to me being called "Paris." At first, it was just a game; even the sullen American boy, whose real name was Jonathan, was now being called "Salem," instead.

  The first week of classes was spent trying to understand the motives behind us being snatched away—some from their homes and others from the streets, like me. We discovered that we would be inducted into their clan or cult or whatever they wanted to call it. I picked up quickly
that it was better to listen than to question. Though, this was a difficult concept for others to grasp.

  "No," the teacher replied, displaying amazing patience with all the questions the group lobbed at her, one after another. It was my favorite class and I found it absolutely fascinating how those people, who called themselves the Valensi, viewed themselves as almost super humans. "Due to the thickness and viscosity of our blood, which comes from its lack of hemes, our hearts must be extra strong to pump it through our system. Therefore, our hearts are nearly twice as large as a regular human's heart. The Valensi tend to romanticize much in their lives, as you will learn in the coming years. We say hearts, as if there are two, though that is technically not the case."

  "This is weird," Salem stated. "I'm confused. We were brought here to become part of the Vallenzee society and—"

  "Valensi," Ms. Dolores corrected for what seemed like the twelfth time. "Say it with emphasis on the second syllable, Salem." Even the teacher had taken to calling him by his nickname.

  "Fine." He sighed, rolled his eyes and began again. "Valensi society. but why do we have to learn all of this stuff just to become members? Wouldn't it be better the other way around?"

  I held my tongue. Ms. Dolores tended to shy away from the facts that I'd picked up on in the first few weeks of classes. They did not bring just anyone into their ranks. I could see her eyes narrowing at Salem, who was impertinent but also a strong influence and a fast learner. In my opinion, he chose to learn the hard way.

  "So be it," Ms. Dolores said, crossing her arms and scanning the eyes of each of the thirty-one students in her class. "Let's get this out of the way so there will be no further confusion about it. You will be taught quite a lot in a relatively short period of time. You will learn all you can, as quickly as you can and you will prove yourselves worthy of becoming Valensi. If you fail, there will be no second chances. Only the strongest survive. Are we clear?"