Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1)

by J. J. Bonds

  “The Pazitor,” Anya notes, as I stare at the looming guard. “Loosely translated, it means guardians. You’ll recognize them throughout the campus by their black suits and stern dispositions. Their role here is two-fold: they protect the students from stronger predators on the outside and also from themselves. Don’t cross them,” she warns. “You won’t like the results.”

  **********

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathe, catching sight of the school, as we turn the corner and approach the circular driveway. The place is freaking awesome. “The pictures don’t do it justice.”

  “No, they certainly do not.” Anya smiles smugly. I suspect she’s seen this reaction from first timers once or twice before.

  In many ways, the school reminds me of an old European church. The façade is comprised of worn gray stone and houses long sweeping windows which give way to pitched roofs and soaring steeples.

  “The detail is amazing,” I comment, squinting a little bit to better admire the intricate designs embedded in the flying buttresses that connect the towers to the main building. Although imposing the school somehow manages to look warm and inviting, perhaps due to the lush landscaping.

  Even with the car windows sealed, I can smell the intoxicating aroma of the rose bushes that line the lengthy drive. Like everything else I see before me, they are flawless and appear to be cared for by a very diligent maintenance crew. We pass one perfectly pruned bush after another, and I note that they are all the same size and variety, each blossom large and healthy with a deep blood red hue. I wonder if this is someone’s idea of a perverse joke but know without a doubt that the people who run this school don’t deal in humor. Like Crossroads the roses are about prestige, perfection, and entitlement.

  As I glance around, taking in the colorful scenery, I half expect to see birds chortling and splashing in the fountain like something out of a Walt Disney movie. A far cry from the dark, dank crypts most people associate with vampires, I think ruefully. I wonder if it will look so inviting once winter sets in, leaving the campus bleak, gray, and covered in snow.

  “Most of our first timers are taken aback. Don’t worry though. The school is far more modern than it appears at first glance.” She points through the windshield. “The front, which you see here, was the original school and home to our founder. As we’ve grown the building has acquired several additions, including dormitories, which you will find quite comfortable.”

  “Great.” I grit my teeth and bite back the urge to tell her I could care less about posh accommodations. My childhood didn’t include butler service and designer clothes, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be comfortable anywhere. Instead, I pull on my sunglasses, yet another gift from Aldo, to protect my eyes from the piercing rays of the sun.

  Experience has taught me that the early afternoon rays will begin to sap my energy as soon as I step foot outside of the vehicle and the protection of its deeply tinted windows. I tolerate the sun well, but prolonged exposure to its direct rays will leave me rashy and uncomfortable. For many the rashes become openly burning sores that rage across the skin unable to heal, as the light eats away at the flesh. The condition can be fatal, leaving nothing put a pile of ash and bone if sun exposure is prolonged for an extended period of time. I’m told it’s an excruciating way to die—one that is reserved for the vilest of vampires.

  “Well, Katia, this is where we part ways,” Anya states, breaking my train of thought. She releases the trunk hatch as I climb out of the car. “I’ve arranged for one of your peers to show you to your room, and I have no doubt Lexie will be along momentarily. I need to get this vehicle back to the garage before dinner. Which reminds me…” she trails off excitedly, delving into her purse in search of what I can only imagine.

  “Ha!” she cries triumphantly, fishing a shiny silver key ring from her bag. “A final gift from Aldo. It’s in the East Garage. He said you’ll know which one it is,” she finishes impishly, thrusting the key into my open palm. The key is cool and hard against my skin. I do my best to appear unmoved by yet another reminder of Aldo’s over-the-top generosity. In truth though, it’s not something to which I’ll ever truly grow accustomed.

  I drop the key ring into my bag without glancing at the insignia and thank Anya for the ride, reminding myself that I’ll be seeing her again in just a few days for our first counseling session. As I watch her pull away, I note that the campus is eerily quiet and contemplate the merits of a fast getaway in my new car.

  Before I can make a break for it, the massive wooden door at the front of the school opens, and a lithe redhead sashays forward, appearing weightless. She’s a little shorter than I am, with a mass of fiery red curls that hang past her shoulders and somehow manage to look stylish despite being totally unruly. Her hazel eyes, though wide set, compliment her pixie-like features and high cheekbones.

  They don’t get much perkier than that I think, giving a mental eye roll. I instantly wish Anya had found someone a little more down to earth to act as my guide, the getaway sounding even more appealing than it had just minutes ago.

  “You must be Katia,” she drawls, extending both of her hands to shake mine delicately. Her accent is a dead giveaway for an American-born, southern upbringing. I take quick note of her clothing, recognize more than one designer label, and come to the disappointing realization that this school will be no different than any other I’ve attended in the past. It will be a breeding ground for social climbers, where good genes and wealthy parents determine who is in and who is out and where my classmates will step on one another to get ahead without thinking twice. “Alexandra Worthington. Everyone calls me Lexie, though. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  I nod politely in acknowledgement but don’t bother to return the sentiment. She takes the hint and forges ahead with what I suspect is a carefully thought-out script.

  “Anya’s asked me to see you to your room. I can also give you a quick tour if you’d like?” she suggests eagerly, the sincerity of her offer obviously genuine.

  “Just my room will be fine. I don’t want to impose, and it has been a really long day already,” I tell her feigning regret.

  “Very well,” Lexie nods, doing her best to hide the disappointment. Too bad it’s written all over her face. Oh, well. I never was a very convincing liar. “It’s just that this place can be a little confusing for newbies. If you change your mind…” she trails off, turning to head back indoors with me close on her heels.

  “So this is your first year at Crossroads, right?” she asks, slowing her pace to match mine. We both know the answer to this question. There are only a couple hundred vamps at Crossroads, and I’m certain she knows them all, so I decide no answer is necessary and remain silent.

  “Kind of a late start,” Lexie tries again. Apparently she’s not one to give up easily.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I reply halfheartedly, glancing around and committing the route to memory. I continue to be surprised by the feeling of warmth within the school. It’s not at all what I’d imagined. It’s way better.

  The highly polished wooden floors are protected with plush oriental rugs that, like the hallways, seem to go on forever. The paneled walls are tastefully adorned with estate portraits of prior students and faculty, and, though tinted, the windows provide a fair amount of sunlight, illuminating even the farthest corners. I smile happily, as I note wood burning fireplaces in several of the common rooms we pass. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.

  “And, Aldo Lescinka is your uncle?” she prods, not the least discouraged by my lack of enthusiasm. I’ll have to work on that. The last thing I want to do is recount my path to Crossroads with everyone I meet.

  “Great uncle,” I respond absently, as she stares at me with a look of exasperation. I’m reminded of the look my mother gave me as child when I was ornery. At least I won’t be the only one here with wayward manners.

  “Is that weird? I mean, a few years ago you didn’t even know him, right?”

  “Excuse me?”
I can’t believe her lack of subtlety. I just met this girl five minutes ago, and she’s already digging around in my personal life?

  “It’s just that he’s a very prominent figure. And, an estranged heir is a big deal. He wasn’t going to be able to keep something like that under wraps for long. People are curious. Sorry.” She shrugs unapologetically. Though she tries to keep her face expressionless, I can tell by her eyes that she’s pleased to have finally elicited an interesting response from me.

  As I stare at her incredulously, I quickly count to ten in my head before responding. Even if I am desperate for a drink, I can’t very well take it from this girl. I’m pretty sure that it’s against school rules and far be it from me to get kicked out before classes even start.

  “I’m not really sure that it’s anyone’s business,” I reply tersely, my anger thinly veiled.

  “Oh, I completely understand. Especially with your tragic circumstances,” she sympathizes, eager to assuage my temper. “Anyway, this place runs deep with gossip. You’ll get used to it, I suppose.”

  “Mmm…” I reply noncommittally, wondering how many other people know my story and if any of them will be bold enough to ask me about it directly. If this conversation is any indication, I guess it’s inevitable.

  “Almost there.” She smiles at me in what I can only assume is supposed to be a consoling way and turns left at the end of the hall. “If you’re interested, I’d be happy to show you the ropes, introduce you to the right people. Crossroads can be pretty intimidating at first. ” She stops in front of 139, my room, and hands me an electronic keycard. “This key will allow you access to your room and all common areas open to students. Don’t lose it.” She pauses briefly, allowing the importance of her words to sink in. “Dinner’s at six. I’ll meet you outside of the dining hall.”

  I know this is Lexie’s way of trying to extend the proverbial olive branch and smooth things over. What I’m not sure about is her motive. Does she feel bad for being insensitive or is she simply worried about offending someone so well connected? Probably she just wants to pump me for more information. But for what purpose? Gossip? Leverage? Whatever her reason, I seriously doubt it’s in my best interest.

  “Thanks, Lexie. I may just unpack and meditate for a while,” I lie, dodging her offer. I’m not really interested in making friends, but I don’t need enemies either. Besides, who knows? She could prove useful later.

  “Suit yourself. I’ll be there either way,” Lexie responds, her words dripping with saccharine undertones. She’s laying it on so thick I’d probably go into sugar shock if I weren’t so irritated. I take a deep breath and will my racing heart to slow as I watch Lexie retreat down the hall, leaving me to enjoy my solitude for the first time all day.

  Chapter Two

  “Why am I not surprised?” I grumble aloud, dragging my bags into the room and kicking the door shut. I’m not exactly disappointed; just the opposite really. The room is another debt to be tacked on to my ‘How can I possibly ever repay Aldo?’ list. The room is amazing, which suggests that Lissette, Aldo’s wife, probably made all of the arrangements. She has impeccable taste, and I know that each piece will be functional and comfortable, in addition to being exquisite. Apparently she is also well tuned to the cravings of teenage girls.

  I cross the room in a flurry and yank the fridge door open, relieved by what I see. Blood, blood, and more blood. I grab a pouch from the top shelf while reaching for a mug with my free hand. Once I’ve emptied the contents into the oversized mug, I drop it on the warmer that sits above the mini-fridge and set it on high. I figure I’ll give it a minute to heat up and turn to survey the room, while I wait for my pre-dinner snack.

  I suspect the room is large by dormitory standards and am relieved to see that it also has an attached bathroom. Although it’s a bit institutional with its cramped layout and overly white subway tiles (it kind of reminds me of a horror movie I saw once), it’s functional. Better still, it’s private so I won’t be forced to share. Thank God. The idea of crowding into a communal bathroom with a bunch of Lexie-like girls makes my brain hurt. I return my attention to the bedroom. The oversized bed is covered with an ivory down comforter and is accented by sage green pillows that perfectly match the throw rugs. All of the colors are very earthy, very me. I smile at the thought of Lissette restraining herself, rejecting the pinks and purples that most teenage girls would select and that she herself would have thought appropriate.

  I notice that the desk appears to be well stocked with supplies, including a new laptop and several crisp textbooks that look as though they’ve never been opened. Perhaps Crossroads doesn’t believe in used books. Another first for me.

  I turn back to the warmer and grab my mug, carrying it over to the desk so that I can investigate further. I don’t dare look in the closet yet, knowing I’ll more than likely find an unsettling and expensive new wardrobe. I opt instead to check out the books.

  As I drop down on the desk chair tucking my legs beneath me, I take a long pull from the mug, eagerly anticipating its contents. I manage to get through three long satisfying gulps and am nearly to the bottom when the vision shakes me. It’s brief, but intense. The shock causes me to slam the mug down on the desk breaking off the handle and splattering the remainder of its contents on the desktop.

  “Damn it!” I curse, jumping from my seat and fishing the discarded pouch from the wastebasket. How could I be so careless? I quickly scan the package, confirming what I already know to be true. The blood is fresh. It was drawn just a few days ago.

  I’d gotten so accustomed to the staff at the manor screening all of the dates that I hadn’t thought twice before downing it. I generally try not to consume anything under a week old, especially human, due to my unique condition.

  With the thirst, I’d developed a sixth sense allowing me to see the donors’ memories and feel their emotions as I drink. The images are always scattered and the intensity depends on whether I am drinking direct from the source and the age of the blood. It’s a lot like watching a movie in fast-forward where both the images and the emotions are extreme. Since I don’t have a Ph.D. and can’t really explain it in scientific terms, I liken it to sucking the life out physically and psychically. Needless to say, it’s not a feeling I particularly enjoy. It’s an extremely draining sensation and one that I try to avoid whenever possible. I’ve noticed that the more time the blood is separated from the body, the less impact the life-force has left. As the tie to the body is severed, the blood loses its imprint. Some vamps say harvested blood is less fulfilling, but I personally find that it makes my dining experience much more enjoyable.

  In this case, I’m unnerved by the fear this girl had felt at donating. She’d been downright terrified, and yet she’d given by choice at a local blood bank. She must’ve had good reason to overcome her phobia, and I respect that. She’d have been disappointed to know her donation had gone to a bloodsucker like me and not to save the life of another human being.

  Pushing the vision aside I remind myself that others, humans even, are burdened with more inconvenient and troublesome gifts, and that some are not so fortunate to be blessed at all. Returning to the fridge, I carefully select another pouch, eager to satisfy my hunger and the pains that have been working their way into my stomach. The cramps can be unbearable and debilitating if the hunger is not sated. It’s not a pleasant feeling and one I have no intention of experiencing this evening.

  I use a fresh mug this time and sip slowly, letting the blood coat the inside of my mouth and warm my throat, its coppery taste a welcome pleasure. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me a heady feeling, but it isn’t quite the ecstasy described by groupie whores and wannabes. Although the truth of our existence is a heavily guarded secret, there are humans who’ve wormed their way into the outer rings of vampirism, freely offering their bodies as sustenance in exchange for the opportunity to be seduced or even transfigured. They’re freaks. Maybe I’m a prude, but for me the hunger is
a fact of life. Feeding is a means to an end, and I work hard to keep it that way. Like most civilized vamps, I get my blood the new-fashioned way. I buy it from vamp-run blood banks and butcher shops.

  Thirst satisfied, I return my attention to the desk. As I scan the textbooks, I slide back into the chair I’d so quickly vacated just moments before. I eagerly select the one titled Historical Perspectives, curious about its contents. Although the title is predictably lame, I know this book contains answers to many of the questions I’ve had over the last year. Being raised blissfully unaware of my heritage and the entire vamp world, I know I have a lot of catching up to do if I want to be successful at Crossroads. And I will be successful.

  I peel the cover back slowly and prop my feet up on the desk getting as comfortable as possible. I inhale deeply, enjoying the scent of the fresh pages and the hint of glue that binds them to the sturdy cover. I’ve always been a fast reader, but I want to absorb every detail of the text, which means pacing myself through all four hundred pages. “It’s going to be a long night,” I murmur, scanning the Table of Contents and flipping straight to the Preface.

  Vampirism has deep roots which can be traced back to the dawn of man and which predate the first written word. Historical Perspectives makes no attempt to cover this extensive history. Instead, we focus on the paramount events that have shaped our world and brought order to the Vampir society. Inside the pages of this book you will come to understand not only your heritage but also the impact of our people on the modern world. You will gain unparalleled insight into the sete de sange, the foamea, and ultimately de sange vechi from which you were born. Not every chapter will paint a pretty picture, as history is often unkind and grotesque; but the Consiliul de Batrani has endorsed this book as a key component of your education. The Council recognizes that, in order to reach your full potential, it will be necessary for you to accept the harsh realities of the world in which we live and the dangers presented by the otrava de sange and de sange amestecat. Your studies will provide the foundation for a deeper understanding of the Councils’ defining values—values that you, too, will come to embrace and to which you will swear allegiance upon graduation.