by Lucy Lyons
Peter felt sick. He hated vampires like Landon and wanted to get away from him as soon as he could. As Peter weighed his escape options, he happened to notice the girl with amber hair and black t-shirt from Professor Sharp’s office walking towards the library. She had on a pair of large headphones and was looking down at the ground as she walked, seeming to be lost inside her own private world. She was going to pass the unfinished wing and head straight for them. If he could catch her attention again, maybe by returning the pen he had borrowed from her on a whim, he might be able to get her name. But to do that, first he had to get rid of Landon.
“I should get to class,” Peter said.
“Not so fast.” Landon’s grip on Peter tightened. Peter didn’t want to draw attention to the two of them, so he went along.
Landon was steering Peter in the direction of the library. Peter dreaded the thought of Landon setting his sights on the girl. The sounds of hammers banging on metal and the buzz of an electric saw filled Peter’s ears. He had a hard time hearing Landon over the noise.
“What is it you want, anyway?” Landon said into Peter’s ear. “Why’d you come to the city?
Peter raised his voice, “Our blood supplier moved out here. That’s the only reason our family moved. We’re not looking for trouble with your clan.”
Landon let go of Peter and looked at him with curiosity. “Blood supplier? What are his rates?”
Vampires that procured blood for others, through either stealing from blood banks or more nefarious means, were more valuable than gold to the clans they served. But the nature of their work meant that clans had to move from place to place as people started to get suspicious. There was no way Peter was going to let Landon’s family try and take their supplier from them.
He shouted at Landon over the din of construction, “He’s ours. You’ll have to find your own.”
They had just stopped in front of the metal scaffolding covering the face of the new wing of the library. The girl was not far away; though Landon; watching the construction, blocked Peter’s view of her.
Peter followed Landon’s gaze to the workers guiding a crossbeam down from a crane perched above. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked.
Landon gave him a mean smile. “No reason, except that crane’s about to give way.”
Peter had no time to ask Landon what he meant by his words, because already their meaning had become frighteningly clear. Peter heard the loud groan of metal and the snap of thick wires as the crane came free of its moorings. He leapt out of the way, nearly tripping as he cleared the sidewalk and made it a safe distance from the machinery. Landon was nowhere to be seen. Peter knew that he had used his weak precognition gift to lure Peter into a trap.
The beam that the crane had been lowering pitched wildly to the side as the workers shouted for everyone to get out of the way. As Peter looked down the sidewalk, he noticed the girl standing as if frozen to the very spot the crane was about to fall. Her lips were parted in a gasp as she looked up at the swinging beam, but her body seemed unable to obey her mind, which was undoubtedly screaming for her to run.
The crane lurched another few feet towards the sidewalk and Peter dashed towards her without thinking. He grabbed her up in his arms and carried her out of the way. There was a huge crash behind him, the violence of the impact of metal on concrete sending vibrations up Peter’s legs as he lowered the girl back down on a much safer part of the sidewalk. She looked up at him with those amber eyes, their corners glistening as if she were about to cry.
“Th—thank you,” she stuttered.
Peter ran a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry I had to grab you like that. You’re not hurt or anything, are you?” He was glad his fast reflexes had been able to get to her in time.
“No,” the girl shook her head. She was breathing hard, but she looked otherwise unharmed.
“Good. That’s good.”
The girl was looking away from him, instead watching the construction workers as they dealt with the aftermath of the accident. Angry voices drifted their way, but Peter could only think of the girl and the way she had felt in his arms.
“Hey, I still have your pen.” He reached into his back pocket and held it out to her. She took it back with a slight frown. “You remember me, right? From earlier today?” he felt the need to ask.
“Yeah, outside Professor Sharp’s office. Peter,” the girl replied. Peter hadn’t thought she’d been listening to his conversation with the professor, but apparently she had: enough, at least, to remember his name.
Peter replied, “Yeah, but I never got your name.”
“Ashe,” the girl replied.
Peter was worried about the way her arms were shaking. She rubbed them absentmindedly as she watched a passing bicycle. He said, “You’ve had a shock. You should probably sit down somewhere for a while.”
“I’m fine.” The way her eyes kept wandering everywhere but towards him was driving him crazy.
“There’s a café down the street—”
“Thanks for saving me, really, but I’m fine. You don’t owe me anything.”
Peter knew when he was being snubbed. Though the accident had felt almost like fate bringing them together, he did not want to tempt it by pursuing her. After all, she was a human and human blood was his vice. He let her go, for now.
Ashe swept her hair to one side and straightened the headphones around her neck. She seemed to have shaken off the shock of the accident.
“Maybe I’ll see you around then, Ashe,” he called as she turned to walk away from the library.
She made no reply as she left.
Peter watched her go, trying his hardest to figure out just why that girl kept such an impenetrable wall around herself. It was almost like a challenge to him to try and break it, and Peter always liked a good challenge.
Ashe pounded her fist against her pillow. She couldn’t believe her mom was pulling a stunt like this and on a day when things already felt like they were crashing down around her. She looked around her childhood bedroom and its four pink walls that she had not been able to escape even after going to college. Polaroids were pinned to her walls with Ashe’s twelve-year-old smiling face beaming down at her, unaware of the dark times that were to come. She turned her back to them and curled up on her bed, hugging her pillow close to her chest.
She hated that her mom didn’t have the money to allow her to get a place on campus, and that the paychecks from her part-time job ended up paying utilities and gas for her mom’s car. She also hated her flowery comforter and the matching lace curtains and the cream-white antique dresser where she still kept all her clothes. It was almost if her mom had punished her for being born a girl, by making her drown in everything pretty and delicate.
“You were supposed to be our son and you were supposed to go into business. Since you already messed up one of those, the least you can do for me is change your major.”
Her mom was talking to her through the door, but Ashe was in no mood to open it. At least she wasn’t in a yelling mood today.
“It’s too late, mom,” she called back through the door. “I’ve only got two semesters left. I’d never get all the credits in on time.”
Her mom let out a frustrated sigh, loud enough to penetrate the wooden door. “I mean, what are you going to do with a degree in English literature? You’re wasting your time, and my money, and if your father was here he would make you see reason.”
Ashe felt a ball of anger tighten in her chest. She had saved up money all through high school, working every summer since she was sixteen so she could go to college. Ashe wondered just how much of that money her mom supposed was hers.
“Open the door, Ashe. I want us to talk like adults.”
There was never a mature talk when her mother was involved.
“Please, just consider it. For my sake and for yours. You may love those dusty old books of yours now but in the future, they’re not going to do you any good. You’ll be burning the
pages for warmth. I’m not going to be able to support you forever, you know.”
Ashe lurched off the bed and opened the door. Her mom stood there with her hands on her hips, the overhead light from the hallway making her red hair look ablaze.
“Are we talking like adults now?” Ashe asked in a biting tone.
Her mom refused to acknowledge her daughter’s sarcasm. “Yes, we are.”
“Since I’m such an adult, wouldn’t you think I’d be able to take responsibility for my own life?”
“Well yes, but—”
Ashe crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her mom withered under her glare, her words fading away into a frustrated silence.
Ashe took the opportunity to get a couple words in. “Maybe I want to go to graduate school, you know? Or maybe I’m planning to work at a publishing company. But how would you know, because all you do is lecture at me about things I should be doing instead. I’m going to be moving out in less than a year. You can’t keep trying to micromanage me for the rest of my life.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t lived enough life to know what’s best for you. You can’t just go off into the world and expect things to work out. You can’t leave me here all alone, you just can’t.”
Ashe stepped back from the door and closed it with her mom still lecturing her from the other side. There was no reasoning with her when she got like this and Ashe knew if she waited long enough her mom would tire out and leave.
Eventually the hallway was quiet again and Ashe was left with some peace and quiet to study. If her mom had wanted her to go into business so badly, why hadn’t she mentioned it three years ago? It was only now that Ashe was getting ready to graduate that she suddenly felt the need to interfere. Ashe could tell that her mother’s issue was not with Ashe’s college major. The issue was that she didn’t want Ashe to move out. She didn’t want to be alone again, not after what had happened.
Ashe flopped back on the bed and reached for her backpack lying against the headboard. She pulled books out until she found the one she was looking for and flipped to an earmarked page, running her finger along the notes written in the margin. She tried to let her mind calm around the words, to escape into the world of literature that she had wrapped around herself like a cocoon to keep out the rest of the world. Her mom’s word’s kept ringing in her head as Ashe twisted and turned on the bed trying to make herself comfortable enough to focus on the words in front of her.
She dug in her backpack for a pen and pulled out the one she had lent to Peter. It jumped from her hand as if alive and rolled along her comforter until it rested against the side of her leg.
Peter.
The name needled her brain like a burr in her sock. She had never seen him on campus before, but today she had run into him twice. Part of her wished she would never see him again, as the feelings his presence awoke in her were foreign to her and more than a little uncomfortable. She knew nothing of him, apart from the few minutes they had spent together, but his hold over her was already too strong. Just the memory of those hands pulling her to safety brought goosebumps to her skin. Not to mention his eyes like storm clouds full of concern for her safety.
He had saved her and that should have counted for something. But Ashe could not bring herself to give him even that much credit. It wasn’t a problem with him so much as that there was a part inside of Ashe that was broken. Years ago, she had told herself she would never trust anyone again. People were the root of the pain of the world. They lied, took advantage of your love, and ultimately left. There was no one for Ashe to trust except herself. She was the only one who would always be there, for better or worse.
Even as she told herself this, a small place in the back of her mind rebelled strongly against the distrust. That was the part that wanted to see Peter again. She picked up the pen and twirled it in her fingers. She wanted to know which of Professor Sharp’s classes Peter was taking and why he had been lent the text for her class. She also wanted to know why, when she hadn’t been able to open her heart to even a friend in the past few years, Peter had suddenly re-awakened the part of her that yearned for the chance to connect to someone again. These feelings fighting in Ashe’s chest were all at once lovely and terrifying. She didn’t know if she should trust them.
CHAPTER 2
The blank face of the mirror stared back at Peter. The useless relic had been left in the old, dusty house by the previous owners and didn’t have any real use for those of his kind. He wished he could have lived on campus like a normal student, but his clan had moved at an odd time in the semester and there were no vacancies available for him in the dorms until next fall. For now, he had to live with his family in a foreclosed house they had bought cheaply from the state. He washed his face in the wide marble basin, but the chill of the water did nothing to make him feel better. The heat he felt was deep within, in a place that had been cold for centuries.
Peter turned off the tap and wiped his face on a towel. He closed the bathroom door behind him before leaving down the hallway. The sight of the empty mirror still unnerved him after all this time and he didn’t want to catch any glimpses of it when passing the open bathroom door. He had thought to remove it, but it was stuck fast to the tile and could not be pried free. Like most of the furniture in the house it had likely been there since the place had been built.
Stacks of moving boxes teetered in the hallway. Though they moved often and had few possessions, there always seemed to be a mess of boxes in the house whenever they moved. What they contained Peter could not say and he feared what he would find if he were to go snooping through them. His older sisters knew more of the family secrets, but Peter was content to let the skeletons stay in the closet. No matter how hard they tried to respect the mortal lives around them, clans as old as his left a trail of bodies behind them. That was why Peter had to be careful not to get too close to Ashe.
He knew that he would only endanger her in the end. If he really came to care for this girl, it would be all the more wrenching were he to slip up and give in to his bloodlust. He had been taught at a young age not only the responsibilities but also the dangers of his condition. He never wanted to hurt someone because of what he was. That was why his clan’s blood supply came from donors. Stolen, of course, but donated nonetheless. Their supplier never harmed a living person in the pursuit of blood. At least, that is what he told them, and Peter had no reason to doubt the man.
He turned from the hallway into the kitchen. The polished wood floor was smooth under his bare feet. He opened one of the dark oak cabinets above the sink and took out a tall glass. There was a dry smudge of red along the rim, which he wiped off on a towel. He opened the refrigerator and took out a pint-bag of blood from the stacks piled on top of the shelves. The label had the blood type in large bold letters, with red print below it: Volunteer Donor. If only they knew what they had been donating for.
The congealed liquid sloshed as Peter held it the bag to the light. It was a bright ruby red, still fresh. He would only need a pint to get him through the day. Older blood took larger doses to get his fill, and the oldest could be deadly. Animal blood could do in a pinch, but more as an emergency measure than a sustainable food source. Although it had been inconvenient to have to move here, Peter was glad his family had a blood supplier they could count on.
Peter pulled the cap off one of the tubes leading out of the bag and let it empty into the glass. He drained the glass in one go, refusing to savor the taste as the liquid slid past his tongue, though it tempted him more than he could describe. He was strong enough to resist the allure of blood, he told himself, and his consumption of it was only for survival. He put the glass in the sink and let the water run over it, washing the evidence of his unwholesome meal down the drain so he wouldn’t have to look at it any longer. He tossed the empty bag in the trashcan. It would go in the incinerator later.
A grandfather clock chimed in the hallway, telling Peter it was time to get to class. It did
n’t really matter whether he attended classes or not, but it was important for him to keep up appearances as a normal student until his clan moved on to the next place. The house was silent but for the chiming of the clock. Most of his clan— the elder members including his parents and sisters— would not wake until evening. They slept in the basement where no light would disturb their slumber. Peter grabbed his wool coat from the hook by the door and headed out of the house. The cold never bothered him, but the sun did, and he would get a nasty burn if he were not careful. Luckily the day was overcast and he did not run a high risk of exposure. Still, he wrapped the dark fabric close around himself as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Landon was waiting for Peter at the curb, leaning against Peter’s car like he owned it. His pitch-black hair was slicked back almost as if he were trying to emulate the stereotypes his kind suffered at the hands of popular culture. The only difference was that the sides of his head were shaved close and he had on a light sweater instead of a cape.
Peter wondered how long it would be before Landon tired of his games.
“It’s good to see you... alive,” Landon smiled as Peter approached. He moved off the car to let Peter get to the driver’s side door, but Peter had no intention of driving to school. He liked the brisk fifteen-minute walk into the city as a way to clear his head before entering the human world. It was all too easy to get caught up in the old-world ways of thinking when everyone around you was a vampire. Landon noticed Peter’s change of direction and jogged to keep up.
“Not talking today?” Landon asked.
Peter ignored him.
“I heard about you being a hero. Saved some girl from being crushed into the sidewalk. Does she mean something to you, or was it just a random act of kindness?”
Peter didn’t like Landon talking about Ashe, not even in passing.
“I’m going to take that silence as a confession.”