Read Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) Online
Authors: J.J. Bonds
Tags: #young adult, #Romance, #vampires, #paranormal, #crossroads academy
Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1)
J.J. Bonds
Crossroads
J.J. Bonds
Smashwords edition published by J.J. Bonds October
2011.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, businesses, organizations, events, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales
is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by J.J. Bonds
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and
retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in
writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote
brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in
a magazine, blog, website, newspaper, or broadcast.
The author does not have any control over and does
not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their
content.
For my
father who gave me the courage to chase my dream. And, for my
mother who fostered my love of books from a young age. Your
continued love and support has truly been a blessing.
I
smell the smoke first. It always starts this way. First the smoke;
then the flames. I have to get to the clinic. Maybe this time will
be different. Maybe this time the building will be empty. I begin
to run. I run as hard as I can, my sneakers pounding over the
pavement, my arms pumping in unison with my feet. I ignore the
painful burning in my lungs as they protest the assault of icy cold
air flowing in and out with my labored breath. The familiar city
blocks pass in a blur. Still, I have to be faster. I push myself
harder. I’m not going to make it. I know it. I never make it. But I
have to try.
As I round the corner, a wall of blistering
heat strikes me bringing the sheen of sweat to my face. The squat
brick building is fully engulfed in flames. Oily black smoke twists
and snakes around the clinic, suffocating and smothering. There’s
no one else around. In this neighborhood people don’t venture out
after dark. It’s not safe for them. Only the terminally stupid and
the criminally motivated come out at this hour. These people are so
accustomed to violence that I know no one has called 911. They
don’t want trouble, or the police, knocking at their door.
I rush to the clinic hoping to find a door or
a window that will permit entry, perhaps rescue. The flames leap
out at me as I approach. They lick at the sky and burst from the
windows. The glass shatters with a deafening explosion and I’m
showered with the displaced shards. The glass cuts my face as I
stare helplessly through the barred windows. I hardly notice. It
doesn’t matter.
I know what they will find inside. The smell
of burning flesh is overpowering from where I stand. The stench is
unmistakable and nauseating. I’m too late. Like always. My stomach
heaves, and I begin to wretch, convulsing violently where I stand.
I vomit blood all over the side walk, all over myself, and black
out.
As I
push through the revolving door from baggage claim, I’m struck by
the last humid dregs of summer. It won’t be long now until fall
descends on Vermont, not that I’m an expert by any means. Although
I’ve never set foot in the state before, it will be home now. Or,
as close to home as any place can be.
It doesn’t take long to spot my escort. Anya
would be hard to miss even if the airport was busy; but, this lazy
Sunday afternoon, she stands out like a beacon. It’s not her
clothes as they’re pretty casual: flowing black linen pants and a
loose white cotton blouse thoughtfully selected, no doubt, to blend
in. And, although she is attractive with a milky complexion and
perfectly portioned features that hint at her European descent,
there is something less tangible that the casual observer would
have difficulty articulating. Everything about her slender frame
suggests grace and confidence.
I watch as her luminous blue eyes scan the
thin crowd searching for me. It occurs to me that those eyes are
sharp. Behind them I sense a clear and calculating mind. It makes
me wonder if Anya’s short dark curls are purposely styled to make
her appear younger and less formidable, each lock bouncing gently
as she moves.
Having spent so much time in isolation during
the last year, I’ve forgotten the striking presence of our kind. I
note that several of the passersby steal a shameless second glance
at Anya as they hurry past. I can’t say I blame them. She’s
definitely easy on the eyes. I briefly wonder how they perceive me,
banishing the thought quickly, as I feel Anya’s gaze lock on
me.
“Miss Petrova?” I call out, chastising myself
immediately for the questioning tone. It’s not really my style to
be coy or unsure, to show weakness. I’d promised myself a long time
ago that I’d never be that girl again.
As she strides across the shaded pavement,
her gaze sweeps me over almost imperceptibly, no doubt sizing up
her newest charge. I don’t need a mirror to know what she sees, and
I know that I have no reason to be insecure, despite my wrinkled
attire. I push out my chin defiantly and square my shoulders,
standing up a bit straighter.
Not only have I been blessed with my mother’s
height, but also I’ve inherited her good looks and athletic build,
every inch of my sinewy frame sculpted to near perfection. More
than one teenage boy has fallen for the ivory skin, long chestnut
tendrils, and pouty lips in the past. The emerald green eyes are
just an added bonus. Not that it matters since I have no interest
in dating ever again.
“Katia! So good to finally meet you.” She
smiles, embracing me as I stand there awkwardly, arms pinned to my
sides by her crushing strength. “Aldo has told me so much about
you, I feel like I know you already.”
“Nice to meet you as well, Miss Petrova,” I
return formally. The words sound clipped and insincere even to my
own ears. Seriously lame.
“Call me Anya. All of the students do, and
you will be no exception. Especially since we’ll be spending so
much time together this year,” she finishes warmly.
“Anya it is then,” I reply, pulling my bags
toward the waiting vehicle and dropping them swiftly into the open
trunk of her black sedan. I didn’t need to bring much since Aldo
had taken the liberty of shipping most of my things from his home
in Romania. I have no doubt they’ll be waiting at the dormitory
when I arrive. He’s nothing if not efficient.
“How was your flight?” Anya asks politely, as
we pull away from the curb and make our way toward the
interstate.
“Fine,” I reply brusquely. I’m not really one
for small talk. I shift in my seat so that I can better watch her
as we talk. “Perhaps we should get right to business? I’m told the
drive is pretty short?” Actually, I looked it up on the internet,
but she doesn’t need to know that. According to MapQuest it will
only take us about an hour to get from the airport to the school,
which is located further south, in an area of Vermont known as The
Crossroads. Guess it’s no mystery how Crossroads Academy came by
its name.
“You’re right,” she replies, glancing at me
sideways. I can almost see the wheels turning in her brain, as she
tries to reconcile the girl who sits next to her with whatever
Aldo’s told her about me. I suspect he’s been too generous in
describing my warm and sunny disposition. I smile inwardly. Typical
Aldo. He’s always too forgiving when it comes to me. Despite
whatever incongruent images Anya is wrestling with mentally, she
gives a curt nod indicating she’s made up her mind and forges
ahead.
“I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes version, and
you can stop me at any point with questions. I’m sure Aldo’s
already told you a great deal.”
“You might be surprised,” I reply
sardonically. What I know of Crossroads Academy is pretty basic and
could probably be gleaned from a recruiters’ brochure. “It goes
something like this if I recall correctly: Crossroads Academy is
the preeminent finishing school for society’s leading youth.
Nestled in the Green Mountains of Vermont, our sprawling 100 acre
campus provides the privacy and discretion required for the mature
student. At Crossroads, we pride ourselves not only on our esteemed
heritage but also on our ability to help the next generation master
the control and life skills required to compete and lead in an
ever-changing world. Our students have access to the foremost
educators, the finest facilities in the world, and are recipients
of an education that cannot be matched.”
“That’s it?” Anya asks quizzically, no doubt
recognizing the yawn-worthy spiel I recited as coming from the
schools cryptic website. I’d browsed it for countless hours as I
pined over my fate. Despite my dislike for all things vague and
pretentious, the words are pretty much seared into my brain at this
point.
“That’s it,” I reply, laughing. “Aldo’s
really more of a big picture thinker. He doesn’t like to get bogged
down in the details. That’s where you come in. I was sort of hoping
you could give me the insider’s view, since this is all pretty new
to me. Either way, don’t worry about being repetitive,” I assure
her. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Very well. Perhaps we should take the long
route.” Anya sighs, tapping her blinker and signaling a turnoff
from Route 7 to an unmarked country road up ahead. I can’t blame
her for being disappointed. She probably expected me to arrive
better prepared, with a more thorough understanding of the school.
Most students are probably aware of Crossroads long before their
names appear on the admissions list. Lucky me, I think rolling my
eyes. I’m an anomaly already.
“As you may know, Crossroads is not the only
school of its kind. There are academies like it all over the world.
Initially, the schools were chartered to keep young vampires
segregated from mainstream society during their pubescent years, as
this is when the foamea- thirst,” she clarifies, unsure if I’ll
recognize her use of the traditional Romanian term, “begins to
present itself. Due to the lack of control possessed by the young
during this transformational time, segregation is necessary to
maintain order and discretion.”
She glances at me quickly, veering from the
public relations version of history, “Frankly, we couldn’t allow
the young to continue feasting on every warm body with the
misfortune to cross their paths. We’re not monsters, after all. So,
in an effort to coexist more peacefully, the academies were
born.”
“Uh, huh,” I return, anxious for her to go on
and wondering what it was like before the existence of the boarding
schools. Whether or not it is accurate, I imagine streets lined
with blood and angry mobs seeking vengeance against those who
preyed on their villages.
“Upon graduation our students possess not
only a first rate education but the discipline to function in
society without being a slave to the thirst. Although Crossroads is
nearly 200 years old, we are actually one of the newer, more
progressive schools. Over time the school has evolved, and, while
we offer traditional coursework, you also can expect some very
specific training. You will rub elbows with the most elite de sange
pur — pureblood — families in the world,” she finishes
pointedly.
“I take it none of the academies accepts de
sange amestecat?” I question, already knowing the answer. No
mixed-blood students would be admitted, regardless of sponsorship.
During the last year with Aldo, I had become very aware of the
tenuous balance between the born pureblood vampires and the
transfigured.
