Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1) (3 page)

“And, Aldo Lescinka is your uncle?” she
prods, not the least discouraged by my lack of enthusiasm. I’ll
have to work on that. The last thing I want to do is recount my
path to Crossroads with everyone I meet.

“Great uncle,” I respond absently, as she
stares at me with a look of exasperation. I’m reminded of the look
my mother gave me as child when I was ornery. At least I won’t be
the only one here with wayward manners.

“Is that weird? I mean, a few years ago you
didn’t even know him, right?”

“Excuse me?” I can’t believe her lack of
subtlety. I just met this girl five minutes ago, and she’s already
digging around in my personal life?

“It’s just that he’s a very prominent figure.
And, an estranged heir is a big deal. He wasn’t going to be able to
keep something like that under wraps for long. People are curious.
Sorry.” She shrugs unapologetically. Though she tries to keep her
face expressionless, I can tell by her eyes that she’s pleased to
have finally elicited an interesting response from me.

As I stare at her incredulously, I quickly
count to ten in my head before responding. Even if I am desperate
for a drink, I can’t very well take it from this girl. I’m pretty
sure that it’s against school rules and far be it from me to get
kicked out before classes even start.

“I’m not really sure that it’s anyone’s
business,” I reply tersely, my anger thinly veiled.

“Oh, I completely understand. Especially with
your tragic circumstances,” she sympathizes, eager to assuage my
temper. “Anyway, this place runs deep with gossip. You’ll get used
to it, I suppose.”

“Mmm…” I reply noncommittally, wondering how
many other people know my story and if any of them will be bold
enough to ask me about it directly. If this conversation is any
indication, I guess it’s inevitable.

“Almost there.” She smiles at me in what I
can only assume is supposed to be a consoling way and turns left at
the end of the hall. “If you’re interested, I’d be happy to show
you the ropes, introduce you to the right people. Crossroads can be
pretty intimidating at first. ” She stops in front of 139, my room,
and hands me an electronic keycard. “This key will allow you access
to your room and all common areas open to students. Don’t lose it.”
She pauses briefly, allowing the importance of her words to sink
in. “Dinner’s at six. I’ll meet you outside of the dining
hall.”

I know this is Lexie’s way of trying to
extend the proverbial olive branch and smooth things over. What I’m
not sure about is her motive. Does she feel bad for being
insensitive or is she simply worried about offending someone so
well connected? Probably she just wants to pump me for more
information. But for what purpose? Gossip? Leverage? Whatever her
reason, I seriously doubt it’s in my best interest.

“Thanks, Lexie. I may just unpack and
meditate for a while,” I lie, dodging her offer. I’m not really
interested in making friends, but I don’t need enemies either.
Besides, who knows? She could prove useful later.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be there either way,”
Lexie responds, her words dripping with saccharine undertones.
She’s laying it on so thick I’d probably go into sugar shock if I
weren’t so irritated. I take a deep breath and will my racing heart
to slow as I watch Lexie retreat down the hall, leaving me to enjoy
my solitude for the first time all day.

“Why am
I not surprised?” I grumble aloud, dragging my bags into the room
and kicking the door shut. I’m not exactly disappointed; just the
opposite really. The room is another debt to be tacked on to my
‘How can I possibly ever repay Aldo?’ list. The room is amazing,
which suggests that Lissette, Aldo’s wife, probably made all of the
arrangements. She has impeccable taste, and I know that each piece
will be functional and comfortable, in addition to being exquisite.
Apparently she is also well tuned to the cravings of teenage
girls.

I cross the room in a flurry and yank the
fridge door open, relieved by what I see. Blood, blood, and more
blood. I grab a pouch from the top shelf while reaching for a mug
with my free hand. Once I’ve emptied the contents into the
oversized mug, I drop it on the warmer that sits above the
mini-fridge and set it on high. I figure I’ll give it a minute to
heat up and turn to survey the room, while I wait for my pre-dinner
snack.

I suspect the room is large by dormitory
standards and am relieved to see that it also has an attached
bathroom. Although it’s a bit institutional with its cramped layout
and overly white subway tiles (it kind of reminds me of a horror
movie I saw once), it’s functional. Better still, it’s private so I
won’t be forced to share. Thank God. The idea of crowding into a
communal bathroom with a bunch of Lexie-like girls makes my brain
hurt. I return my attention to the bedroom. The oversized bed is
covered with an ivory down comforter and is accented by sage green
pillows that perfectly match the throw rugs. All of the colors are
very earthy, very me. I smile at the thought of Lissette
restraining herself, rejecting the pinks and purples that most
teenage girls would select and that she herself would have thought
appropriate.

I notice that the desk appears to be well
stocked with supplies, including a new laptop and several crisp
textbooks that look as though they’ve never been opened. Perhaps
Crossroads doesn’t believe in used books. Another first for me.

I turn back to the warmer and grab my mug,
carrying it over to the desk so that I can investigate further. I
don’t dare look in the closet yet, knowing I’ll more than likely
find an unsettling and expensive new wardrobe. I opt instead to
check out the books.

As I drop down on the desk chair tucking my
legs beneath me, I take a long pull from the mug, eagerly
anticipating its contents. I manage to get through three long
satisfying gulps and am nearly to the bottom when the vision shakes
me. It’s brief, but intense. The shock causes me to slam the mug
down on the desk breaking off the handle and splattering the
remainder of its contents on the desktop.

“Damn it!” I curse, jumping from my seat and
fishing the discarded pouch from the wastebasket. How could I be so
careless? I quickly scan the package, confirming what I already
know to be true. The blood is fresh. It was drawn just a few days
ago.

I’d gotten so accustomed to the staff at the
manor screening all of the dates that I hadn’t thought twice before
downing it. I generally try not to consume anything under a week
old, especially human, due to my unique condition.

With the thirst, I’d developed a sixth sense
allowing me to see the donors’ memories and feel their emotions as
I drink. The images are always scattered and the intensity depends
on whether I am drinking direct from the source and the age of the
blood. It’s a lot like watching a movie in fast-forward where both
the images and the emotions are extreme. Since I don’t have a Ph.D.
and can’t really explain it in scientific terms, I liken it to
sucking the life out physically and psychically. Needless to say,
it’s not a feeling I particularly enjoy. It’s an extremely draining
sensation and one that I try to avoid whenever possible. I’ve
noticed that the more time the blood is separated from the body,
the less impact the life-force has left. As the tie to the body is
severed, the blood loses its imprint. Some vamps say harvested
blood is less fulfilling, but I personally find that it makes my
dining experience much more enjoyable.

In this case, I’m unnerved by the fear this
girl had felt at donating. She’d been downright terrified, and yet
she’d given by choice at a local blood bank. She must’ve had good
reason to overcome her phobia, and I respect that. She’d have been
disappointed to know her donation had gone to a bloodsucker like me
and not to save the life of another human being.

Pushing the vision aside I remind myself that
others, humans even, are burdened with more inconvenient and
troublesome gifts, and that some are not so fortunate to be blessed
at all. Returning to the fridge, I carefully select another pouch,
eager to satisfy my hunger and the pains that have been working
their way into my stomach. The cramps can be unbearable and
debilitating if the hunger is not sated. It’s not a pleasant
feeling and one I have no intention of experiencing this
evening.

I use a fresh mug this time and sip slowly,
letting the blood coat the inside of my mouth and warm my throat,
its coppery taste a welcome pleasure. I’d be lying if I said it
didn’t give me a heady feeling, but it isn’t quite the ecstasy
described by groupie whores and wannabes. Although the truth of our
existence is a heavily guarded secret, there are humans who’ve
wormed their way into the outer rings of vampirism, freely offering
their bodies as sustenance in exchange for the opportunity to be
seduced or even transfigured. They’re freaks. Maybe I’m a prude,
but for me the hunger is a fact of life. Feeding is a means to an
end, and I work hard to keep it that way. Like most civilized
vamps, I get my blood the new-fashioned way. I buy it from vamp-run
blood banks and butcher shops.

Thirst satisfied, I return my attention to
the desk. As I scan the textbooks, I slide back into the chair I’d
so quickly vacated just moments before. I eagerly select the one
titled Historical Perspectives, curious about its contents.
Although the title is predictably lame, I know this book contains
answers to many of the questions I’ve had over the last year. Being
raised blissfully unaware of my heritage and the entire vamp world,
I know I have a lot of catching up to do if I want to be successful
at Crossroads. And I will be successful.

I peel the cover back slowly and prop my feet
up on the desk getting as comfortable as possible. I inhale deeply,
enjoying the scent of the fresh pages and the hint of glue that
binds them to the sturdy cover. I’ve always been a fast reader, but
I want to absorb every detail of the text, which means pacing
myself through all four hundred pages. “It’s going to be a long
night,” I murmur, scanning the Table of Contents and flipping
straight to the Preface.

Vampirism has deep roots which can be
traced back to the dawn of man and which predate the first written
word. Historical Perspectives makes no attempt to cover this
extensive history. Instead, we focus on the paramount events that
have shaped our world and brought order to the Vampir society.
Inside the pages of this book you will come to understand not only
your heritage but also the impact of our people on the modern
world. You will gain unparalleled insight into the sete de sange,
the foamea, and ultimately de sange vechi from which you were born.
Not every chapter will paint a pretty picture, as history is often
unkind and grotesque; but the Consiliul de Batrani has endorsed
this book as a key component of your education. The Council
recognizes that, in order to reach your full potential, it will be
necessary for you to accept the harsh realities of the world in
which we live and the dangers presented by the otrava de sange and
de sange amestecat. Your studies will provide the foundation for a
deeper understanding of the Councils’ defining values—values that
you, too, will come to embrace and to which you will swear
allegiance upon graduation
.

I quickly flip to the back of the book
looking for old world translations. I picked up some Romanian
living with Aldo but only enough to get by and there are several
words I don’t understand in this one short paragraph. “Ugh,” I
groan aloud. This book is going to be a bigger challenge than I’d
originally thought. I commit the translations to memory and reread
the passage, substituting the English words with which I am more
familiar.

Vampirism has deep roots which can be
traced back to the dawn of man and which predate the first written
word. Historical Perspectives makes no attempt to cover this
extensive history. Instead, we focus on the paramount events that
have shaped our world and brought order to the Vampire society.
Inside the pages of this book you will come to understand not only
your heritage but also the impact of our people on the modern
world. You will gain unparalleled insight into the blood lust, the
hunger, and ultimately the old blood from which you were born. Not
every chapter will paint a pretty picture, as history is often
unkind and grotesque; but the Consiliul de Batrani has endorsed
this book as a key component of your education. The Council
recognizes that in order to reach your full potential, it will be
necessary for you to accept the harsh realities of the world in
which we live and the dangers presented by the blood poison and the
mixed-bloods. Your studies will provide the foundation for a deeper
understanding of the Councils’ defining values—values that you,
too, will come to embrace and to which you will swear allegiance
upon graduation
.

“Interesting,” I whisper to the empty room.
Aldo hadn’t mentioned the oath in our talks. I’m curious about its
implied meaning and its implication in my studies at Crossroads. I
should ask Aldo about it when we talk next. By nature I’m not a fan
of surprises, and the oath’s notable mention in the preface of my
history book suggests that it is of great importance, even if I
have yet to understand its significance.

Curiosity piqued, I surge ahead delving into
the first chapter. I pause briefly to take a deep breath and exhale
slowly. I repeat the exercise a few more times for good measure. As
usual, this act of meditation calms my nerves and allows me to tamp
down the excitement I’m feeling. It’s a silly little relaxation
trick designed for humans, but it always works for me. I know I
shouldn’t be so energized by a textbook, but it seems beyond my
control. There’s just so much I still don’t know.