Jealousy (14 page)

“What are
you
doing here?” Mom sounded . . . angry. And a little surprised, like she hadn’t expected whoever it was. I could almost
see
her cocking her head a little, blue eyes turned cool and considering. She sometimes looked at people that way, especially when they wanted something out of her. Grocery store checkers or salesmen paled under that look, especially if they were trying what Dad called “funny business.”

Your mom
, he sometimes said, when he’d had some Jim Beam and could be coaxed to talk about the past.
She didn’t stand for no funny business
.

“You’re not welcome here.” Mommy’s voice was sharp and angry, a warning all its own. “I left the Schola Prima, the entire Order
,
to you. What more do you want?”

“You know where he is.” Sharp and accusing. “You
know.
He’d run to you.”

And I didn’t want that. I would
never
want that.

“I have a life. One that doesn’t include him
or
you and your petty little games. Don’t darken my doorstep again.”

“Sleep well, then.” A smirk even I could hear, upstairs in my room. “Don’t let the
nosferatu
bite.” A cruel, chilling little laugh, and the front door slammed.

Next I would fall asleep. And when I woke up in the dark, I knew what would happen. It will be that dream again, the worst of all dreams.

Then the buzzing pours through me, and the prickling like steel needles in my flesh. I struggle against the dream. I don’t want to remember this. I never want to remember this, and each time is more painful because I know—

“Come on, Dru.” She puts her hands down and picks me up, with a slight
oof!
as if she can’t believe how much I’ve grown. I’m a big girl now, and I don’t need her to carry me, but I don’t protest. I cuddle into her warmth and feel the hummingbird beat of her heart. “I love you, baby,” she whispers into my hair. She smells of fresh cookies and warm perfume, and it is here the dream starts to fray. Because I hear something like footsteps, or a pulse. It is quiet at first, but it gets louder and more rapid with each beat. “I love you so much.”

 

“—don’t want to
see stop it I don’t want to see!
” I fought, blindly, screaming and sweating and shaking. Struck out with fists and feet, starfishing. Hit nothing but empty air.

“It’s just a dream!” Graves said urgently. “Just a dream!”

No, it’s not,
I wanted to scream.
It’s real. It happened; it keeps happening.

Someone was pounding at the door. I choked, stared up at Graves. Blinked furiously. I must’ve been crying in my sleep; my cheeks were wet and my nose was full. The scream died in my throat. I gulped in a breath. My T-shirt was twisted all around, and my new boxers were all bunched up, too. They get that way when you thrash.

Dusk was filling the window with purple. It was my first day of actual classes. And someone was hammering at the door, yelling my name.

“Dru.” Graves had my shoulders. “It’s just a dream, okay? Okay? You’re here, I’m here, everything’s okay. You’re safe, I promise.”

I wiped at my cheeks with shaking hands. It was Benjamin at the door. “Oh,” I whispered. “Jesus. I . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Green eyes burning, Graves was almost nose-to-nose with me. I could see the fine golden threads in his irises, and a little crusty from sleep caught in his right eye. It was enough to make me cry with relief, because he was safe and real. His sleeping bag lay wadded up on the floor. “You were moving around a lot, and then you started screaming. Really yelling, like you were . . .”

“Sorry.” My heart pounded, I sniffed cry-snot back up. The door was actually shivering against the bar. “That’s Benjamin.”

“I better let him in. Guess we’re going to class.” But he still held my shoulders, his long callused fingers gentle. As if he had all the time in the world to half-kneel on my bed and study my face. His T-shirt had a hole in one shoulder, and it made my chest feel kind of weird to see that. “You okay?”

I grabbed myself with both hands, as Gran would say, and nodded. “I think . . . yeah. Sorry. That was . . . pretty intense.”

“Okay. I’ll deal with Benjamin. You’re safe, okay? Nothing’s gonna happen.” His mouth pulled tight against itself. And now I was having some sort of heart attack. Because when he looked at me like that, my chest started to feel like it was turned inside out. “Promise.”

And that—the promise, the way he said it with utter certainty—was enough to make me tear up again. He let go of me and stalked for the door, skinny kid in boxers and a holey T-shirt. His legs had bulked up, too. He wasn’t so bird-thin as he was back in the Dakotas. And he was starting to move like the werwulfen, graceful and assured.

I clutched the blankets to my chest and shut my eyes again. Heard him taking the bar off its brackets. “Calm down!” he yelled. “She’s okay! Bad dream! It was just a bad dream.”

Except they’re never
just
bad dreams. But I had other things to occupy my mind. I was grateful, and my eyes snapped open. I fought my way out of the tangled covers and bolted for the bathroom. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, and I wanted to start getting ready to face the day. Night. Whatever.

But most of all, I didn’t want to think about what I’d just dreamed. I would do my best to forget it, I decided. It was already fading, retreating quietly into the space where dreams live while you’re walking in daylight.

I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Two weeks later,
dusk fell in purple bands across the city and the Schola Prima woke up. Here there was no bell for wake-up or between class periods. There wasn’t even a Restriction bell. I was nervous about what would happen if the suckers attacked, but Benjamin said it didn’t happen often.

Not like the reform Schola. And that was just the beginning of the differences. All in all, I liked this place better.

Sort of.

Graves shrugged back into his long black coat, ran his fingers through his hair again. It stood up in wild, vital springing curls, and he grimaced as he ripped through a tangle. He shoved his rolled-up sleeping bag up next to the bed. “Come
on
, you’re going to be late.”

“Shit.” I hurriedly wrote down the last two answers, slammed the book shut, and scooped it into my bag. Grabbed a piece of toast and a new red hoodie and was heading for the door when there was a rattling series of knocks. Graves swept the door open and Shanks poked his head in. He was on duty for the last hour before classes in the morning, and Benjamin seemed okay with a werwulf hanging out at my door so everyone could get ready for the night.

“Jesus,” the wulf said, swiping at the emo-swoosh of dark hair across his forehead. It was a popular style this year. “Are you going to be late
every day
?”

“Hey, Bobby. Girl just can’t get out the door on time.” Graves sounded relieved.

It’s not my fault.
“Shut up.” I hitched the new brown canvas messenger bag up on my shoulder and tried to stuff all the toast in my mouth at once. Graves and I piled out the door, Shanks gracefully avoiding me. He has the longest legs I’ve ever seen on a boy and moves with a kind of halting lope, waiting for the rest of the world to catch up to him.

Dibs was in the hallway, his golden hair disarranged. He looked like one of those cherubs you see painted on old-lady plates. All cheeks and curls. “Hi, Dru,” he mouthed, and immediately blushed and looked down.

Benjamin appeared out of thin air, handing me a sheaf of paper in a plastic report binder. “I got your paper printed. Leon will be with you until lunch; the others and I have a combat practical this morning. Have you eaten?”

I swallowed a huge mass of toast and almost choked, got it all down and nodded. Leon stepped out the room next to mine and swept the door shut. He was carrying—oh, thank God—two paper cups that stood a good chance of being coffee.

“I did.” I took the report binder, thought about jamming it in my bag, and decided just to carry it. “Jeez, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“My pleasure.” He grinned, and for a moment he looked very young. His dark eyes sparkled. “I’ll bring your Para Bio and chem books to lunch, okay? And George’ll get your gym bag before afternoon sparring.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” For once, I didn’t think about the irony of saying it to a
djamphir
. “Go on, go. I’ll be fine. I’ll just make it to class.”

“Not if you don’t hurry up, you won’t.” Graves grabbed my arm and pulled. He already had a cigarette lit. “See ya, Benjy.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake.
But Leon was already there, subtracting my hoodie and report, handing over the coffee, and giving my bag a hard look. I hitched it up higher on my shoulder and hurried to keep up with Graves. “Thanks.”

“
Nichts zu danken.
” Leon looked about ready to grab at my bag again. But Graves didn’t let go of me, and I kept a firm grip on it.

That was one of the weirdest things about the Schola—being expected
not
to carry anything. And another weird thing? Not a single vampire attack since I’d got here. Three whole weeks. I’d gotten so used to one every couple of days, it was like a vacation.

A vacation where I was actually going to classes and learning about the Real World, that is. And getting
some
sleep because Ash was up like clockwork between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m., just the time when everyone was winding down and going to bed. That took up all the time that I’d normally use for homework, which meant a couple hours of slogging after dawn and then falling into bed while Graves half-snored in the sleeping bag on the floor. We went round and round over working out some schedule for sharing the bed or getting a camp cot in here, but he was stubborn.
Like it this way. Good for my back. Go do your chem homework.