Haven (15 page)

“Now turn around and leave, Violet. Run. And no matter what happens, promise me you won’t come back here tonight.”

I nodded mutely, unable to speak a single syllable. And then I turned and fled.

I
fidgeted in my seat as Dr. Blackwell sat down opposite me, steepling his hands beneath his chin as he watched me from across his desk.

I’d been summoned to the headmaster’s office, probably for skipping my history and anthropology classes—the classes I shared with Aidan. Whatever punishment Dr. Blackwell handed down, it was worth it. I couldn’t face Aidan, not yet. He was . . . crazy. Dangerous, maybe. But a . . . a
vampire
? I mean, c’mon. There’s no such thing; it’s all myth, legend—

Talk to me, Violet. Please?
Aidan’s voice in my head. He was somewhere, reaching out to me telepathically. Damn it.

Go away!
I silently yelled.
Leave me alone.

He’d been trying since Sunday morning—and I’d been ignoring him, over and over again, trying to shut out the weird electrical buzz in my head that accompanied the telepathy.

“Miss McKenna?” Dr. Blackwell asked, leaning forward in his chair. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “Are you unwell?”

“No, I’m . . . it’s just a headache,” I murmured, feeling like an idiot. “A migraine. Off and on, all day. I had to miss a couple of classes.”

He nodded, mercifully accepting my explanation—just like that. “You’ve settled in well here at Winterhaven, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice sounding strangely wobbly.

“Good, good. I’m always pleased to see a new student flourish in this nurturing environment. All your teachers are reporting that you are not only fully caught up but excelling at your studies.” He smiled at me then, his silvery eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “Have you considered what subject you might study in college?”

I shook my head, glad for the change of subject. “Not really. I’m only a junior.”

“It’s never too early to plan for your future. Have you considered any careers that might be aided by your special talents?”

“I can’t really think of anything.” I shook my head. “I mean,
my visions are always about people that I know, that I”— I swallowed hard—“care about.”

“Perhaps your visions could be better trained,” Blackwell suggested. “You know, broadened to include larger segments of the population. Are you working with a trainer?”

“Yes, but she’s just a general trainer. They’re trying to find me a precog whose visions work similar to mine. But, I don’t know . . .” I trailed off. “I guess mine are a little unusual.”

“Perhaps.” Dr. Blackwell nodded, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Girard about it, see what we can do.” He scribbled something down, then laid aside the pen and removed his glasses. “Your anthropology essay was excellent, by the way. You’ll receive it back in class tomorrow, but you should know you received one of the highest marks. Very impressive. Have you a particular interest in folklore?”

I wasn’t quite sure how to answer that one. Truthfully, I’d never really thought much about it. “Maybe. Your class is interesting.”

He leaned back in his chair with a smile. “Precisely what every instructor hopes to hear. You’ll find I have a very extensive library on such topics, here in my office. Feel free to take anything that catches your fancy.” He gestured toward the bookshelves to my right, row after row of books that nearly reached the ceiling.

“Thanks,” I murmured, wondering if he had any books about vampires. Or crazy people who
thought
they were vampires.

“Very well, I suppose that’s all for now, then. I do hope you’ll find yourself well enough to attend your classes tomorrow, Miss McKenna.
All
of your classes,” he added sternly.

“I hope so too,” I answered. What I really needed was to get away for a while, to have some time to myself, away from Cece and the rest of them. Just to think, to get my head together.

Suddenly, I had an idea. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Miss McKenna. Anything.”

“I’ve been feeling a little homesick lately, and I was wondering if it was possible . . . I mean, I know it’s kind of last-minute and all, but could I get a pass to go home for the weekend? After fencing practice on Friday night?”

“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll let Mrs. Girard know that I’ve given you permission, and you may go ahead and make the arrangements. You can take the seven forty-six train.”

Relief washed over me. “Thanks. I . . . I really appreciate it.”

“Now go on, before you miss dinner.”

With a nod, I rose and made my way out of his office, moving slowly thanks to the cut on my foot, which hadn’t yet had time to heal.

Just like my stupid heart.

* * *

Turns out I needn’t have worried about avoiding Aidan the rest of the week. He wasn’t in history or anthropology class, or anywhere else on campus, as far as I could tell. Even his voice in my head was silent. Which was fine by me.

On Friday afternoon, Cece and Sophie sat on the bed, watching me pack.

“I still can’t believe Dr. B. gave you permission to go,” Cece said. “He’s usually pretty strict about weekend passes. Two-week notice, and all that.”

Sophie frowned. “You look pale. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

I tossed a pair of jeans into my bag. “Yeah, I’m fine. Still a bit of a headache, that’s all.”

“Would you mind if I . . . you know.” Sophie shrugged. “Just let me check, okay? I’m worried that the cut on your foot might have gotten infected.” She rose and moved to stand beside me, reaching for my hand.

I let her take it, a shiver working its way down my spine. My foot was fine. If I looked pale and haggard it was because I’d barely slept in days.

Sophie’s brows drew together, her lips pursed as she held my cold hand in her warm one. “Your foot’s okay,” she said at last. “Everything seems fine, actually.”

“Told you.” I forced myself to smile. “I’m just tired, is all.”

“Does Aidan know you’re going into the city for the weekend?” Cece asked.

“No. Aidan and I—” I broke off, swallowing hard. How could I possibly explain it? “We’re not, you know . . . it’s none of his business. It’s not like he’ll even notice, besides.”

Cece’s dark brows drew together. “You’re not going to tell us what really happened, are you?”

“I . . . I
did
tell you,” I stuttered. I’d told them about finding him in the chem lab, everything smashed to bits. About cutting my foot. That was enough, as far as I was concerned. “I just . . . don’t think it’s going to work out between us. You know, too different and all that.”

I could tell from their expressions that they weren’t buying it, and who could blame them? Nothing had ever been that simple between Aidan and me. We’d always been too different; that was nothing new. But before now, I’d at least thought we were both
mortals
. I reached up and fingered the silver crucifix Lupe had given me.

Vampire.
I forced myself to think the word, to at least consider the possibility, as whacked out as it seemed. No, I just couldn’t buy it. It was too out there, too crazy to believe. Vampires were just make-believe; horror-movie stuff like demons and zombies. Aidan was either seriously deluded or seriously
messing with my head. There had to be a more rational explanation, something psychic-related.

“Hey, earth to Violet.”

I realized Sophie and Cece were staring at me, and I snapped my attention back to packing.

“God, you just mention his name and she’s off in la-la land,” Sophie said, shaking her head. “I don’t care what you say, you’ve got it bad.”

Cece nodded. “Yeah. Or maybe there’s an Aidan effect by proxy. You know, where you don’t have to see him, just think about him.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” I tried to smile, but I don’t think it worked. None of this was funny, not one bit. I zipped up my overnight bag and hefted it onto my shoulder. “I better go or I’ll miss my train. Tell Kate and Marissa I said bye, will you?”

“Sure,” Sophie answered.

For a moment I hesitated at the door. Then I hurried back, wrapping my arms around both Cece and Sophie at once.

“Hey, we’ll miss you too,” Cece said, her voice thick.

I knew I was being silly—it was only a weekend. Still, I had this feeling . . . I don’t know. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about this impromptu trip spelled “change” to me. Not that I’d had a vision or anything. Actually, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t had a vision in a while.
That’s a good
thing,
I told myself. Before I’d come to Winterhaven, they’d been few and far between, and I liked it much better that way.

Only now . . . now I somehow felt blind. I glanced down at my watch and frowned. I was supposed to meet Mrs. Girard at the admin building in five minutes—she was calling a cab to drive me to the station.

A half hour later I was settled into a scabbed blue vinyl seat on the Metro-North train, headed south. Only then did I realize that I’d never even called Patsy to tell her I was coming. I had no idea if she was busy or, for that matter, even in town.

I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and started to dial, but something stopped me—a gut feeling. Deciding to trust it, I flipped the phone shut and shoved it back into my bag. I’d call her once I got into the city. If she was out, I had a key, and the doorman knew me.

With a sigh, I leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes. I was tired. Exhausted, really. All I needed was some rest and some time alone to figure everything out.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, the train was arriving at Grand Central station. I rubbed my eyes, my mouth all dry and cottony. Why hadn’t I thought to bring along a bottle of water?

Beside me, a couple dressed up for a night on the town stood and joined the loud, raucous crowd of teenagers milling
in the aisle as the train came to a stop. Outside the train’s windows, the station had a dull amber-yellow glow.

Something inside me felt weird, slightly off.
Please, oh please, don’t let me have a vision. Not now. Not in front of all these people.
My legs felt wobbly as I zipped up my coat and stepped out onto the platform, following the herd of people toward the exit.

For fifteen minutes I tried to catch a cab, with no luck. So I started walking instead. It was that gut instinct again, pulling me somewhere, toward . . .
something
. My heart began to race in anticipation while a nervous buzz in my ears reduced the city’s noises to a faint hum. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. I realized I had walked south instead of north, and too far east. And yet I kept walking, on and on, as if I were in a trance. A light fog had rolled in, giving the night an almost surreal feel to it, and still I walked on, entirely in the wrong direction.

On purpose.

A quarter hour or so later, I blinked hard, as if waking up from a dream, and looked around. This was an unfamiliar part of the city—an area I’d never been to before. The Lower East Side, maybe? Or somewhere near Battery Park? I wasn’t sure. Wherever I was, there wasn’t much besides some run-down-looking storefronts, everything-for-a-dollar stores and stuff like
that, mostly barred up for the night. Probably not safe, I told myself.

And then my vision began to tunnel, as if I were about to have one of my episodes. I swallowed hard, fully expecting the onslaught of the strange feelings that accompanied my visions. But they never came. Instead I simply began to walk, focused on a spot in the distance, maybe four or five blocks over.

My heart was pounding, keeping rhythm to the sound of my boots’ heels against the sidewalk. Faster, faster . . .

I was entirely aware of the fact that I was being drawn somewhere, against my will, and yet I made no move to stop, to shake it off. I was supposed to go wherever I was headed—I was sure of it. I began to jog, my overnight bag jostling against my hip. I heard footsteps, saw the barest hint of a figure up ahead. I was following them, the footsteps. Keeping pace.

Looking around, I noticed a flyer taped to a post beside me:
HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL IN A WEEK
, it promised. So familiar. Everything seemed so familiar, as if I’d been here and done this before. And yet I was sure I’d never before been on this particular street in this particular part of the city.

Except in the vision, I realized. The one I’d had when I first came to Winterhaven. Of course—I was following Aidan. I stopped midway down a deserted block. To my right was an
alley of some sort. He’d turned down the alley, and I was supposed to follow him.

Cupping my hands to my mouth, I called out his name.

“All alone, pretty girl?”

Startled, I spun toward the voice. There was a man standing beside the curb, leering at me in the moonlight, his clothing shabby and torn and reeking of smoke and beer and something sharp that I couldn’t identify.

No, this is wrong.
In the vision I’d been following Aidan, not some junkie.

“I got some good stuff, if you wanna share,” he said, holding up a small Baggie. I saw the glint of steel in his hand—a knife, maybe.

I was breathing way too fast to respond—short puffs through parted lips making clouds of smoke in the cool night air.

“Nah? Maybe you just want to have some fun, then?”

I swallowed convulsively, terrified. I knew I should run— scream and run, as loud and as fast as I could. But I was frozen, unable to move a single muscle.

He reached toward me, dirty fingers clutching at my coat’s sleeve. And that’s when the world turned upside down.

Something—or someone—slammed into the junkie, dragging him farther into the alley and pressing him up against the graffiti-covered bricks.

I screamed, but nothing came out. My lungs were burning, my throat so tight I could barely breathe as I tried to run, but my legs buckled beneath me and I fell to the sidewalk. I heard a grunt and looked up to see the junkie’s attacker dip his head toward the filthy man’s neck.

Still pressed against the alley’s wall, the junkie struggled, his feet dangling a foot off the ground while the attacker—my savior, I realized—held him by the throat. So help me God, the guy had his face buried in the junkie’s neck, as if he were
biting
him. I could only watch in horror, unable to believe what I was seeing.