Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) (4 page)

The night passes quickly as I devour the
text, drinking in every last detail as though the words can nourish
the brain the way blood nourishes the body. Turns out I can’t get
enough of it. I can’t put it down until I’ve sapped the last bits
of information from its pages.

“So many questions, so few answers,” I muse,
reverently laying the book on the desk and sliding my feet to the
floor. “Typical.”

I glance out the window above the desk and
admire the full moon, which hangs low in the night sky. Its beams
illuminate the rolling mountains surrounding the school and provide
the only light in the room, aside from the dull glow of the alarm
clock on the nightstand. Its putrid green numbers remind me of the
late hour.

I smile in the dark. Not too long ago I’d
have been unnerved by this scenario, but now I can rest assured
there’s nothing more fearsome in this inky blackness than myself.
I’ve fallen into the habit of reading by moonlight over the last
year and rarely rely on traditional fluorescent lights anymore. I
don’t need to. My eyesight is sharp, and I require little light to
make out the words on the page. Like tonight, I have a tendency to
get absorbed in the text, losing track of the time and my
surroundings.

I contemplate a quick stroll around the
grounds to burn off a little energy and decide that it’s not worth
the risk. Recalling Anya’s warning about the Pazitor, I figure they
don’t take kindly to students wandering the campus after curfew.
How would they react to such a blatant violation of the rules? I
fleetingly wonder if the stoic guards ever show emotion or if their
control has infinite limits.

Choosing the path of least resistance and
self-preservation, I settle for exploring the interior of the
school. I rummage through the file Anya gave me and grab the school
map. Since I missed dinner and my opportunity to get a better lay
of the land I figure it can’t hurt to take an unauthorized,
self-guided tour and track down all of my classes. It sure beats
the alternative of wandering around tomorrow with a map in my hand
when the halls are bustling with students who are better acquainted
with Crossroads.

**********

I slip into the hall quietly, glancing both
left and right, straining my ears for any telltale sign of
movement. After a few seconds I decide the coast is clear and
gently close the door to my room behind me. It clicks softly into
place, and I come to the realization that most of my classmates are
probably at rest by now preparing for what promises to be an
interesting, if not eventful, day tomorrow. Still, I know it’s best
not to take chances when surrounded by a community of creatures
with heightened senses.

I give silent thanks for the thick rugs which
mask my footfalls and allow me to move though the halls undetected.
A quick study of my map reveals that the dining hall and most of my
classrooms can be reached from the main foyer where Lexie and I
entered the school earlier today. The hall has three offshoots and
provides access to the stairwells that lead up into the recesses of
the school. Although I’m no stranger to the dark, I’m surprised by
the lack of natural light and wish fleetingly for the moon to
illuminate my path as its beams had lit my room just moments ago.
It’s then that I remember the heavily tinted windows, which had
provided such comfort while the suns rays were shining brightly
today. Apparently they are even more effective at night. Oh, well.
C’est la vie.

I pad silently into the main hall and ignore
the common rooms which had captured my attention earlier,
immediately deciding to explore the west wing of the school first.
Although I won’t have my MMA class until Wednesday, the training
center housed there is the area of most interest to me. I pause
briefly, listening again for any sign of company. Just as I decide
that I am alone, I notice something I’d missed earlier in the
day.

I shouldn’t be surprised by the presence of
the portrait. It’s certainly not anything I haven’t seen before,
but Aldo’s eyes staring out intently from the wall freeze me in
place. The portrait looks a little older than the one in his office
at home, but I recognize the other members of the Consiliul de
Batrani immediately.

Their twelve cold faces, along with Aldo,
represent the most powerful covens in the world and our ruling
class. I’ve been caught and even though it’s not rational I feel a
tremor of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I had promised Aldo I’d
be an exemplary student, and here I am sneaking around on my first
night breaking the rules.

I contemplate turning back, but decide that,
since I’ve already taken the risk, it would be a shame not to reap
the reward. I turn on my heel and march into the new wing,
determined to see what I’ve come for and ignoring the nagging
feeling that those thirteen pairs of eyes are watching me,
judging.

As I move through the west wing of the
school, which is decidedly creepy at night, I take note of several
advanced laboratories, a dance studio easily identified by the
parade of mirrors on its far side and what I’m certain is a music
studio designed for both instrumental and choral instruction. I
briefly stop to study the rooms as I go. I’m surprised that each
room has a wall of windows lining the hall which afford the
inhabitants little privacy. While it seems Crossroads caters to a
wide array of interests, it is also very open about showcasing the
talents of its students. Or, perhaps I’m being naïve and it’s
simply a means of monitoring the inner workings of the school and
preventing any impropriety since adolescent vamps are notorious for
their raging hormones. The one thing I am certain of is that Anya
was right. The school is far more modern on the interior than it
appears from the outside. Where I come from facilities like this
simply don’t exist for students.

I feel a rush of adrenaline, wondering what
the training center has to offer and quicken my pace, realizing
that I’ve lingered too long already. I can hardly believe my eyes
when I reach the end of the hall. The training center is wicked
awesome. Like the other rooms I’ve passed, it’s showcased by a wall
of glass, allowing its occupants to be observed and monitored from
the outside. Unlike the other rooms, the training center is three
stories high and significantly larger. I assume this is due to the
fact that all students must complete physical training, while the
other areas of study would draw fewer dedicated pupils.

I quickly discover that, while I’m standing
on the first floor of the school, the training center’s primary
entrance is in the basement. Secondary access is possible from
floors one and two where the doors open directly onto an exposed
metal staircase that descends to the floor. I reach for the door
and am loathe to discover that my keycard is required for entry.
Figures. While tempting, I have no doubt that swiping the card will
bring the Pazitor and unwelcome trouble.

Since I can’t enter the room freely, I settle
for scanning its contents and admire the open spaces devoted to
martial arts and hand-to-hand training. Aldo had allowed me Jujutsu
arts instruction back in Romania, but it was nothing like this. The
Jujutsu was for self defense and discipline. This is something else
altogether.

If I didn’t know better I’d think the school
was training its own army. Laid out below there are obstacle
courses designed for agility and combat training as well as areas
dedicated to target practice, where the student can choose from a
variety of weapons both modern and those more Renaissance. It’s
like I’ve died and gone to heaven as I stand there taking in the
expansive room below. Not really wanting to know the time but
accepting that my tour is likely over for the night, I glance
reluctantly at my watch. It’s after four in the morning, and I know
the school will be coming to life soon. I take one final longing
look at the training center and begin to retrace my steps back to
the comfort of my own room.

Spent and distracted I don’t realize how
careless I’m being until it’s too late. As I enter the main foyer,
I’m rocked off my feet and dragged backward into the hall by unseen
hands. Strong arms clamp over my midsection and mouth
simultaneously, preventing any sound from escaping. Panic washes
over me, and I start to struggle instinctively. What the hell am I
up against? And how can this be happening within the well-guarded
school?

Determined to free myself, I draw my knees up
to my chest and jerk them downward, kicking my attacker in the left
thigh. I feel his body tense, but he doesn’t make a sound.
Apparently I’m no match for his muscular legs. As I continue to
writhe in his arms, he whispers almost inaudibly in my ear:
“Guardians.”

He doesn’t need to say any more. This single
word is enough to make me realize that my captor has just helped me
avoid detection when I was being so sloppy on my own. I force my
body to relax and feel his steel grip loosen on my waist,
acknowledging a silent understanding. Neither of us wants to be
caught breaking curfew.

We press ourselves flat to the wall, standing
like statues in the dark, willing the wide set doorjamb to hide us
from the Pazitor. The air around us stirs as the guards breeze
past, and I catch his scent. It’s a comforting mix of lavender and
sweet yet spicy cologne. It’s a distinctly masculine smell, despite
the floral undertones. Although curious, I don’t dare look at him,
afraid any movement will reveal our presence to the pair of guards
who stride past without a backward glance.

I give myself a mental head slap and wonder
why it hadn’t occurred to me that the rugs presented as much danger
as protection. My footfalls were not the only ones muffled in these
halls. I wonder how I could be so stupid and have the sense to be
embarrassed that this guy felt compelled to come to my rescue. It’s
with a combination of shame and gratitude that I mumble thanks and
dart into the hall once I’ve determined that the coast is clear.
Like the guards, I don’t even consider a backward glance. What else
is there to say?

FML!
This is my first coherent thought when I roll over in the morning
to discover that while I’d intended to sleep only briefly, I’ve
dozed for a few hours. “Great way to start your first day, Katia.
Late.” I mumble grouchily, dragging myself into an upright
position. I’m told that with age I will require less sleep, but at
seventeen, with all of the physical and emotional changes taking
place, my body requires a constant stream of blood and rest to stay
fully charged. Right now I feel like I could sleep for days.
Probably I shouldn’t have stayed up all night. It’s not like I
don’t know better.

Since I only have about 20 minutes to get
myself to class, I jump out of bed and head straight for the
fridge. I’m starving again and know that there won’t be time to
stop in the dining hall for blood or food. I don’t eat much human
food, as it carries virtually no nutritional value for me, but I
still eat on occasion as an indulgence. After all, who doesn’t like
a decadent slice of chocolate cake to celebrate a special occasion
or a nice juicy steak once in a while?

I decide that if I hurry I can squeeze in a
quick shower while the blood warms. I scan the date on the package
and hastily tear the bag open with my teeth, moving next to pour
the contents into the last clean mug. Wasting no time I haul ass
into the bathroom and set the shower to scalding knowing that my
enjoyment of the steamy spray is more mental than physical. Sure
it’s practical to be clean, but it’s not like the jets will do
anything to relax my muscles or alleviate tension. That’s the
upside to being a vampire: with a few exceptions, all physical
ailments are immediately self-correcting.

After scrubbing myself from head to toe with
my favorite pomegranate-mango body wash, I dance quickly from the
shower to the hot plate, my naked body leaving a trail of water
drops behind. I grab my breakfast, knowing I’m going to need every
bit of strength it offers for my next endeavor: the closet. I’d
avoided looking at its contents yesterday knowing full well that it
would be stuffed with piles of beautiful and expensive things about
which I care nothing. Lissette fails to grasp that I’d be just as
happy with a sweater from Old Navy as I would be with one from YSL.
I find the functional aspects of clothing more attractive and
practical than worrying about fashion, which I deem next to
worthless. But it makes Lissette happy, so I acquiesce to her
indulgences and accept the gifts without complaint.

As I step up to the closet I brace myself and
yank open the door forcefully. I don’t have time to delay, so it’s
best to just get it over with quickly. I sigh with relief realizing
that although it’s a walk in, this closet is smaller than the one
back at the manor. I scan the contents quickly noting that jeans
are stacked neatly on the shelves to my left with a variety of
skirts hanging beside them. Dresses, sweaters, and tops are to the
right, and the back wall is lined with racks of shoes and
accessories. Apparently Lissette has stocked my closet for all
possibilities.

I reach blindly to the left grabbing the
first pair of jeans in the pile while my right arm extends to
snatch a long sleeved black t-shirt from the rack on the right. It
doesn’t really matter what I wear, only that I’m not late. I enter
the closet and grab a pair of soft, flat leather boots and make my
retreat. I throw the ball of clothing on top of the dresser and
begin searching its drawers for undergarments. Belts, socks,
pajamas. On my fourth try I hit pay dirt and pause only briefly to
take in the rainbow of lacy garments Lissette has picked out for
me. Apparently her attempts to make me more fashionable and
feminine know no limits. I shake my head in amusement and grab what
I think will be a pair of lacy black boy shorts and the matching
bra so delicately placed alongside of them. As I tug the panties up
over my thighs, I try to imagine the poor soul who had unpacked
this stuff, undoubtedly following Lissette’s exacting instructions
on how things should be laid out to make it as easy for me as
possible. Yes, there was a time when I would have been overjoyed at
such a sick wardrobe, but that time has passed. There are more
important things in life than clothes. It’s a lesson I had to learn
the hard way.