by A C Bell
“What about the scarf?” I’d always assumed that he just liked to wear scarves. Given that we lived in a somewhat chilly climate, it wasn’t that odd, but suddenly I wondered if they were a convenient way to hide marks. Peter didn’t move and glanced to the side. “Please?” I stared up at him.
He made the mistake of meeting my glance and, with a sigh, he pulled me into the room and shut the door. Brandon was already gone, I realized. I should have checked for him first, but I guess Peter would have said if he was still here. Peter set his book bag down and reluctantly took off the scarf. Three lacerations peeked out from under the collar of his shirt. This was probably why he was favoring his right shoulder.
“This isn't why I normally wear them.” He met my gaze earnestly, apparently having gained the ability to read minds.
“What about your leg? Shouldn’t you go to the hospital to get checked out? If you don’t need stitches then you should at least get everything bandaged and disinfected—”
“Adeline, I’m fine.” He started to laugh. Thinking that it might be better not to meet my frantic worrying with humor, he thought better of it and restrained himself. I tried not to glare. “I’ve already disinfected and wrapped them. They’ll be all but gone in a few days, I promise.” Superhuman healing. So it actually was a werewolf trait.
I sighed with relief. “I’m sorry.”
“For caring? You should be,” he teased.
I couldn’t help but grin. I glanced at the second bed in the room. “Didn't Brandon notice your injuries?”
“Yeah, but I played it off. Stuff like this has happened before. He thinks I just really suck at skateboarding.”
“I don’t remember you ever being hurt,” I said guiltily.
Peter smirked. “You’ll just have to accept that I hid this from you with my awesome ninja skills.”
I grinned. “Oh, you're a ninja now, too? What a busy life you lead.”
He shrugged. “I make it work.”
“With your awesome ninja skills?”
“Exactly.” He grinned, but the smile faltered.
“What’s wrong?”
He tried to mask a look of embarrassment. “It’s just, after what you saw last night I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk to me or if you would think of me differently.”
“Pete, you could sprout horns and a horse butt—”
“There’s an image.”
“And call yourself a centaur, and you would still be the guy who dumped a cooler of lemonade on Kyle Frazer at a football game in tenth grade because he almost knocked me over the railing of the bleachers trying to catch a football. I will always be your friend,” I said. Peter laughed at the memory, relief flooding his face and he stepped forward to hug me again. “And what about me?” I continued. “Is there a rule that says you have to hate me now that you know I’m part vampire or whatever?”
Peter pulled back and looked down awkwardly. “No. I’ve actually known that you’re a dhampir since we met.”
“What? How?” I looked down at myself as if I would be able to see whatever made me different.
“Because you don’t have a smell,” he said. “I can smell your shampoo and everything, but you don’t have an actual scent like everyone else does.”
I blinked a few times, mouth slightly ajar while this processed. “Wait, is that why I don’t smell when I sweat?” I asked.
Peter nodded. “I bet that comes in handy.”
“It’s not unhandy, I admit.”
“Oh yeah,” Peter’s grin vanished and his mouth formed a silent ‘oh’, his eyes slightly wide as he thought of something. He retreated to the dresser behind him and opened one of the little drawers at the top. “I’m glad you stopped by, I wanted to give you something.”
“Is it Pandora’s Box? As flattered as I am, I’m not sure I should have that much power. I’d probably release it on the next person who says ‘anyways’ instead of ‘anyway’,” I ranted.
Peter chuckled and extended a pocket knife to me. It was different than the one he’d lent me for my confrontation with Justin. That one was forever lost to police inventory. How many did he have?
I widened my eyes in mock horror and held up my hands. “I know it’s a dumb pet peeve, but you don’t have to kill me. We can work this out.”
Peter’s shoulders slumped a little as he tried not to laugh, indicating he was trying to be serious. “Just take it. The cynephi got away and if, heaven forbid, you end up in another situation like last night, I want you to have something to defend yourself.”
“Okay.” I accepted the blade and deposited it into the pocket of my hoodie. “Anyway, I just needed to see that you were okay, but I should let you get to class.”
Peter waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, I have the highest grade in class. It won’t kill me to miss one more day.” He slumped comfortably onto his bed, leaning against the wall. “You know, I think there’s a supernatural club in Boston called ‘Pandora’s Box’.”
“Of course, there is. I bet there’s also a ‘Bermuda Triangle’ and an ‘Arcana Cabana’, right?”
He grinned. “Well, not in Boston. Alright, ask me anything you want.”
I waited a moment to see if he was serious and when he didn’t move I sat beside him. “How long have known Raiden and Slade?”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t really know them, but when two vampires rolled into school, I decided to introduce myself.”
“A dog protecting his territory?” I teased. Peter rolled his eyes and I laughed. “So, when did you first find out about…all of this?” I asked.
He shrugged. “My dad is a canisapian, too. It’s genetic. So, I grew up knowing. The Change didn’t start happening until I was thirteen, though.”
“Thirteen?”
“Yep. It always starts sometime during puberty.”
“So, it takes an already confusing time in someone’s life and smacks it around?”
Peter laughed, his cheeks and the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, pretty much. For a while, usually a few months, your body doesn’t finish, though. It starts as a series of ‘test runs’ I guess you could say, to prepare you for the real thing.”
“So, the other guy was a cynocephalus.”
Peter nodded. “They have a nasty reputation and the brute force to back it up. Cynephi retain humanoid features like the hands and basic build, but canisapians just turn into wolves. Canisapians don’t change their body mass, it just reshapes. An average sized woman probably wouldn't be too noticeable as a wolf, but men are.”
“What’s it like?”
This time, he twitched his lips to the side, hesitating a moment as if debating how much to tell me. “Excruciating. Our enhanced healing is speediest while we change to repair the damage of morphing. You have to keep at it, too. When I go for too long without changing, my body starts to ache. The easiest way I can explain it is like hunger pains. And just like hunger, I can put it off if I need to, but eventually I can’t ignore it. Once changed, though…” A peaceful look crossed his features.
“You mentioned missing classes. Is that why?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Sometimes it just can’t wait.”
An image of Peter stripping in the middle the school hallway flashed in my mind and I couldn’t help laughing.
“What?” Peter grinned.
“Well, if the biology thing doesn’t work out, at least you have a backup career as a stripper,” I said.
We laughed and spent a few minutes trying to come up with a stripper name for him, ranging from silly names like Pete Peabody to more ridiculous ones like Hunter Silver-Buns. After an unexpected turn of events, I ended up being Sonny Sizzle, to play on the dhampir thing.
As my mind relaxed, it began working calmly in the background and something occurred to me about the wolf from last night, with its grey hair and the slight limp in its back leg. “That was your dad, wasn't it?”
“Yeah.” Peter nodded and scrutinized my dour expression. “
Why? What's wrong.”
“I kicked him in the face.”
He laughed heartily. “I know, he's so proud!”
“What?” I gaped in horror.
“You kicked a werewolf.” Peter continued to laugh at the horror on my face. “In the face!”
His laughter became contagious and I joined him until I couldn’t breathe. The supernatural world couldn’t be all bad. Peter was proof of that. Would the good be worth the bad? I was reminded of the time we’d had a school fair back in High School. One of the booths was this guy with a little wooden box and a banner that asked “Who’s brave enough to look inside?” Anyone who took the chance won five tickets, but they’d all had this horrified look on their faces. Most people hadn’t even looked, including me. The dilemma I’d struggled with then echoed the one I faced now; If I opened the box to see what was inside, would it haunt me?
“You okay?” Peter asked.
“What should I do?”
His eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “About what?”
“Raiden and Slade want to teach me about your world. Should I learn?”
Peter paused to think. “Honestly, I don’t know. Of all people, I think you could handle it. But, being a dhampir is tricky. A lot of supernaturals don’t trust them.”
“Why?” Was there something wrong with me?
“Dhampirs are unpredictable. They each have a particular talent, or ability.”
I gaped at him. “You mean I have a superpower?” Perhaps “Sonny Sizzle” could be my vigilante name instead, I mused.
“Raiden didn’t mention that?”
“I think he was a bit preoccupied keeping me from having another panic attack.” However, this did throw a monkey wrench into my decision. If I decided not to learn about this dhampir stuff, what would happen if my ability turned out to be something I needed help understanding or couldn’t control? That wouldn’t be responsible.
“Do you have any idea what it could be?” he asked. I shook my head but he grinned. “We’ll find it. Knowing you, it’ll be something awesome.”
I smiled warmly. “Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, it is.”
13 Renenet’s Estate
I’d been standing in the hall for about ten minutes, staring indecisively at the door to Slade and Raiden’s off-campus apartment. The slight flaking in the red paint on the doorframe had occupied my mind for much longer than rationally made sense, but I’d been ogling it as if doing so would make it burst open into a portal that would take me back to when things had been normal. A deep breath went a long way in calming my nerves. For about five seconds.
With an irritated grunt at myself, I forced my hand up and rapped on the red wood. No response came. I knocked again, but still no answer. I waited another thirty seconds before trying again, then decided they weren’t home. Maybe Slade had given me the wrong time by mistake. I’d resigned—in secret relief—to come back later, but then I heard a voice inside.
“Coming! I’m coming,” A gravelly voice called. Moments later, Slade opened the door. Droplets of water dripped from his hair and seeped into his shirt, suggesting he’d rushed to get dressed after a shower.
“Sorry, I should have called first.”
A broad grin showed off his pearly-whites. “Don’t be ridiculous. I asked you to come, remember? Your training begins now, young Padawan.” He stood to the side and gestured for me to enter. More cautiously than was called for, I stepped past him into the room.
Certain aspects of their place were contemporary. The kitchen and living room were connected in an open-concept layout, but the floor that housed the kitchen was elevated to set it apart from the living room. Dark stained sleek wooden floors and a grey and white theme for furnishings gave the room a modern feel, but on further inspection, I noticed there was something strange about nearly every piece of furniture.
Instead of floor lamps, two adjustable lamps emerged from the shoulders of a modernized grey cabriole sofa that could fit three people with room to spare. If it were green, it would probably look a little like an alien frog. The glass coffee table was supported by a tangle of jagged metal that I would hate to trip on, for fear of losing a toe. A flat screen tv was hooked up to the wall above the coffee table four grotesque little troll figurines were positioned as if holding it up. One was flipping the bird as if in outrage for being forced to hold it. Beside a door to my right sat a strange bookcase with shelves that slanted different directions. It was packed with books, quite a few of which were not in English and most of which looked like antiques. Another troll figure sat in the corner, leaning against the side with a hand on its hip winking and smooching at me. Behind it, a feminine troll was brandishing a bat, ready to swat the unsuspecting nitwit.
I hadn’t really put thought into what I thought his and Raiden’s apartment would look like, but this definitely wasn’t it. Maybe I was expecting more cliché black and red furnishings. Slade stood beside me, looking at the dumbstruck expression on my face with amusement.
“Um, nice place,” I said.
Slade chuckled. “Have a seat,” he insisted. A little awkwardly, I eased myself onto the couch while Slade jogged over to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?”
“Do you have coffee?” I asked. Sitting between the lamps of the sofa, I suddenly felt like I was being watched. My nerves tensed and my breathing became a little more difficult. Paranoia was common after what I’d gone through. I’d been reading up about it. I resigned not to look at the lamps that stared at me and instead focused on the mangled mess of metal under the table.
“Sure. Do you mind decaf? It’s hazelnut flavored.”
“Decaf is fine, thanks,” I said. Slade grinned over his shoulder as he worked with a fancy coffee maker. “So, where’s Raiden?”
“He’s in class for at least another half hour. I thought you and I could use this time to talk a bit.”
“Okay.”
I shifted awkwardly and winced when pain stung my shoulder. I readjusted my sling which only made it sting more. Feeling restless, I stood and walked around the couch and over to the bookcase. If anything could calm me, it was books. It was a little disconcerting trying to read titles at such unusual angles, but I recognized a lot of classic literature. At least, of the titles that were in English. A few of the oldest books even appeared to be in Latin.
After a few minutes the coffee had finished brewing and Slade set a mug on a stone coaster on the coffee table for me. The clay mug was artistically painted with swirls in a variety of greens and a pinched lip on the side made it look like a little pitcher. Even their cups were artsy, I mused.
“Where do you want to start?” I asked.
“Best to let it cool.” He waved dismissively at the coffee as he stepped to my side by the bookcase. “And we can talk about whatever you want. We could talk about the weather if you so choose.”
I smiled appreciatorily and turned back to the books. “My dad had a copy of this. It was one of his favorites.” I pointed to a tattered copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. “The first time I started reading it, I thought it was about an enormous underwater dragon. It was actually pretty disappointing when I found out it was just a submarine.”
Slade laughed. “Were you too disappointed to finish it?”
“No, I read it. It wasn’t one of my favorites, but I still have my dad’s copy.”
“I noticed you were reading Jekyll and Hyde. Is that your favorite?”
“Both that one and Frankenstein. I love how Shelley and Stevenson explored that people create their own demons.”
“About how they keep their personal monsters a secret until they inevitably break out and then they have to live with the consequences of what they did.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. A lot of classic authors had explored the monsters people hide in their own closets, for fear that the world will see them and judge them. I didn’t want to do the same, hide who I was in a dark room and never look at her. I didn’t want to be afraid o
f her. Or at least, I didn’t want to let that fear stop me.
After a calming breath, I returned to the couch. Slade didn’t miss a beat. He flipped his legs over the back and sat at the other end and we sat sideways to face each other.
“The first thing I want to know is, what does it really mean to be a dhampir? Peter mentioned that I don’t have a scent and that I get a superpower of sorts.” I lifted the coffee mug from the table and took a big swig to distract myself. It was still fairly hot but years of practice had probably seared most of the feeling from my tongue.
“Well, for all intents and purposes, you’re human,” Slade began. He flashed me a reassuring smile before continuing. “You’ll grow old and wrinkly and lose control of your bowels just like everyone else.”
I grimaced at the graphic image. “Thanks for that.”
Slade’s prankster grin showed all of his teeth, none of which, I noted, looked like spikes. “Peter is right on both accounts, though. The lack of a smell keeps you off the radar of predatory types like cynocephali or even other vampires. These days, few resort to killing people, but it does still happen more than we would like. As for the ‘superpower’, in our world we call it a ‘splinter skill’.”
“Isn’t that a term used for autistic kids who are really good at certain things?”
Slade shrugged. “Not only. It refers to a skill that someone has a natural and heightened capacity for. It’s generally only used for autistic people because they tend to be especially gifted at certain things. In your case, it refers to a supernatural ability. Do you have any idea what it could be?”
I took another large gulp, relishing in the rich hazelnut flavor. I’d been thinking about this ever since Peter asked, but I hadn’t come up with anything. “I don’t know. How do we find out?”
Slade propped a socked foot onto the cushion and leaned his head back, thinking. “Aside from putting you in high stress situations—which we’re not going to do, by the way—the only way to find out would be to pay special attention to anything odd that keeps happening around you. So far, I haven’t actually noticed anything, though.”