Faustine (2 page)

I looked out the limo window with sadness at the altered Manhattan skyline as we approached the Lincoln tunnel. I had heard all about it, of course, but actually taking in the changed skyline was unreal. Mom took my hand and squeezed it.

There’s nothing like exiting the Lincoln tunnel on the Manhattan side–home at last. I slid down the window to breathe in the city air. Yuck. My nose was still used to the fresh mountain air of St. Moritz. But the pleasant familiarity was a relief, as were the stores and skyscrapers along Madison Avenue. Our limo stopped right outside our building. I jumped out and rushed in through the door held ajar by an unfamiliar doorman.

“Good afternoon, Miss Faustine and Lady Annabel,” he said, as I half smiled at him.

“Hold on, Faustine,” Mom instructed. I turned back impatiently. “This is Bill, one of our doormen.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill,” I said as I shook his hand. He must have thought me awfully rude. I wasn’t; I just needed to use the facilities rather badly, which I rushed to do as soon as we entered the apartment.

“Mom,” I said, returning to the kitchen where Mom was making some tea. “Would it be okay if I went to my room for a bit? I’m wiped out.”

“Of course. You must be tired after that long flight. I’ll come and wake you for dinner. I had Manuel–he’s my personal shopper–select a wardrobe for you. I was told that you’d need a whole new wardrobe. We’ll obviously go shopping, but at least you’ll have something in the meantime. Dinner will be informal tonight; just Tessa and Neave will be joining us.”

I was glad to hear that. I wasn’t the least bit opposed to dressing up and meeting new people, but it would be nice to have some time to unwind and catch up with Neave.

Once I was in my bedroom, I rushed to my closet to retrieve my old scrapbook. I was relieved to see it sitting in its usual place surrounded by a substantial collection of new handbags. Manuel was definitely not handbag-shy. I slumped down on my new king-size bed and leafed through the pages of the scrapbook, stopping when I found the page with the locks of hair, Neave’s and mine. Underneath,
Forever Friends
was scrawled in red marker; we had decided that blood was a bit over the top. 

I had been so envious of Neave’s beauty when we were younger. Her blonde curls and deep violet-blue eyes were striking, so much so that people would stare at her rather than me, despite my red eyes. I’d be thankful for it now. The last thing I wanted was attention, and if Neave could pry some of it away from me, that would be great.

I lay back on my pillow remembering some of the great times Neave and I had spent together. I used to be able to tell her everything, but now I was restrained by the rules set by the Academy. I wouldn’t be able to share everything with her anymore. I closed my eyes, recalling the rules from the Academy. They needed to be followed at all times.

The Academy had three
Golden
rules. The first rule of the Academy was the same as the rule from the movie,
Fight Club
: Y
ou do not talk about the Academy
. This one would be a major challenge. It would definitely be difficult not blabbing to Neave. I would have to be totally upfront with her about this rule. There was probably witchy stuff that she wouldn’t be able to share with me, either.  Thankfully, this rule didn’t cover those of us who had attended the Academy together. So, I’d be free to talk to the vamp twins, Audrey and Viola, for instance, which was a huge relief. The last three years had been very intense, but also fun in many ways. I had made some close connections, which was another point of attending the school, and it was important to be able to nurture these.

The second Golden rule of the Academy was:
Trust no one.
You’d think that I should be able to trust my mom completely. And I did, as much as one can trust any other being. However, people, and other beings, could be tricked. The Academy had instilled in us how easy it was to be manipulated.  Beings could be drugged or subjected to pain, magic, and all kinds of external forces that could render them helpless and in a position where they would impart information they shouldn’t.  So yeah, trust no one.

The third and final Golden rule of the Academy:
Never miss a meal
. Yeah, strange, I know. One would have thought that this final rule would be a grave blah-di-blah about not using one’s powers unless absolutely necessary. I guess it was assumed that we knew this after our years of training, and it didn’t have to be written down as a Golden rule. However, regular feeding was something that was a challenge for all of us. It’s so easy to miss a meal when busy, and the repercussions to paranormals could be scary. Vampires, for instance, would just end up snacking on the first human they encountered when hungry, certainly not something one would want to witness halfway through math class. No, keep those vampires fed! The effect of my skipping or delaying a meal was less drastic. The first thing that would happen would be that my eyes would shine a brighter red. It was probably best to avoid that. When hungry, I also became restless, impatient, and easily angered, but so did Mom, so that probably had nothing to do with being a demon. Unlike Mom, my anger manifested in unexpected ways, ways that I had learned to control, but regular eating made it all easier. Yeah. So, no missing any meals.

I looked up at my new chandelier and watched the crystals shower the walls with beams of light. This was all so princessy. I had become used to the strip lighting that illuminated the rooms and hallways of Bonfire Academy. This attention to creating an ambient aura was something at which my mother excelled, though a decorator had probably helped. I closed my eyes and settled into the luxurious feather pillow and yawned. My mind floated back to my graduation. Three years of intense training had culminated in a grand, but weird, event.

My dad had been there, in his human form, thank goodness; he was much easier on the eyes as a human. I could see why Mom had been attracted to him; although, she must have been a bit tipsy not to have noticed his red eyes. His human form would be the envy of most Hollywood stars. Think a young George Clooney, from his
ER
days. However–rule two,
trust no one
–behind that disarming smile lived a demon, a demon king, to be precise,
the
Demon King of London.

Much like vampire politics, demon politics is conducted territorially. Dad had been in New York on some royal protocol blah-di-blah when he bumped into Mom and her friends. She has always been very vague about what happened, probably because she can’t remember half of it.

Of course, Dad came to visit over the years; although he never stayed too long–just long enough for my mother to stay completely head-over-heels. She has never dated anyone else.

Dad always arrived in his human form, so I never noticed anything strange about him. That is, not until the Demon King of New York tapped on our front door one winter evening. Mom told me to wait in my room, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I strained to hear what was going on between them and heard faint sounds of whispering, which gradually turned to aggravated hissing and strange, animalistic growling.

I couldn't help myself; I had to peer out of my room. I did so, just in time to catch a glimpse of my dad’s arm, which had transformed into a fork-like appendage. Before I could even process what I had seen, Tessa appeared in the hallway, and gently pushed me back into my bedroom telling me to shush.

Dad had left in a hurry. I asked my mom what had just happened. That’s when she told me. I was only five. I still believed in Santa, so I had no problem buying into this demon revelation about my dad. It was slightly more difficult for me to buy into the idea that I was half demon, myself. I felt much better when Mom told me that I was, in fact, a demon
princess
and handed me a tiara.

Mom and Tessa spent an endless amount of time teaching me the importance of not sharing my lineage with anyone. Like anyone would have believed me, anyway. The revelation didn’t make any difference to my life at that time. I hadn’t yet displayed any demon qualities–apart from my reddish eyes. I think Mom hoped that I never would.

Unfortunately, that changed around my tenth birthday. I began to have bad moods that sometimes resulted in rages. At first, we thought it was just pre-pubescent hormones. However, once the rages showed signs of physical transformation, my mom called Dad. The transformations weren’t drastic–no horns or forked tail–mostly, it was a burning sensation in my hands accompanied by a red glow. When it first happened, I was taken back to what I had noticed that night with Dad and worried that my arm would transform completely. Once Dad arrived, they decided to send me to the Academy. I wasn’t overjoyed, but how bad could school in Switzerland be? As it turned out, it wasn’t too bad at all.

I didn’t know that, however, when I first arrived there with my dad. I was very anxious. It helped that we were greeted at the door by the headmistress, who practically trembled in Dad’s presence, as she led us to the left wing. Once I was settled, Dad left. I felt somewhat comforted knowing that he scared the living bejeezus out of the headmistress, so my chances of having a pleasant time were practically guaranteed. I smiled as I remembered the look of relief on Frau Smelt’s face as Dad disappeared from the halls.

“Faustine! Hon, wake up, it’s time for dinner,” Mom whispered as she gently shook me back into consciousness. Demons sleep like they are dead.

“Hey, Mom. What time is it?”

“It’s almost six thirty. Tessa and Neave will be here in about half an hour. Could you get dressed and come through when you’re ready?”

“Sure, Mom,” I said sleepily, as she turned to walk back out. “Hold up, Mom.”

She stopped as I clambered out of bed and went over to give her a hug. It was so nice to be home again.

I
felt strangely shy walking into the dining room. After all, it was just Mom, Neave and Tessa. I guess I felt a bit self-conscious in the pretty, purple dress I had put on for the occasion. The purple dress was simple enough–cut to just above my knees with a full skirt and three-quarter length sleeves. I pulled the look together by adding a grey belt. It wasn’t the least bit fancy, not even a hint of sparkle. It was just that I was so unused to wearing anything other than my school uniform that I felt awkward. I slipped on a pair of ballet flats to help keep me grounded, and then walked through to greet Tessa and Neave.

“Hey, Faustine!” Neave exclaimed as she practically knocked her chair over in her rush to get to me. She was at my side in what seemed less than a heartbeat, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Nice to see you, too,” I laughed when she loosened her grip. I looked her over, shocked to see that the blonde-haired knockout had gone Goth! Dark hair, heavy makeup, dark lips. Don’t get me wrong, Neave was still a knockout, but in an Avril Lavigne sort of way.

Neave did a turn and half bow. “Like it?” she asked, pouting her ruby-stained lips. “I though I’d buy into the witch thing completely,” she explained.

I was too shocked to speak. No, I didn’t like it, even though she looked okay. It was just... not
her
. Not one little bit. She looked at me gravely, waiting for a response.

“Well?”

I shrugged. “I guess it’s
good
. It’s just really different. It’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Neave, honestly! Give Faustine a break,” Tessa laughed, coming up behind her. She put her hand to Neave’s hair and yanked it really hard. Really hard. As Tessa pulled the long strands, Neave’s dark hair fell away, revealing golden curls to the eruption of full-blown guffaws.

“You little w...” I started, but then laughed.

“Be right back. Got to take this Goth gunk off my face,” Neave said, and then walked off toward the bathroom.

“Sorry about that,” Tessa smiled. “She insisted.”

I sighed. Yes, there was no stopping Neave once she got fixated on playing a practical joke. It was her
thing
. I should have remembered and expected something.

“Come sit down,” Tessa said, taking my hand and pulling me toward the dining table where Mom was looking at me bemusedly.

I looked down at the offerings–sushi. Not my favorite.

Mom smiled. “Not to worry, dear. I’ve got a steak ready for you. I’ll go get it.”

“So?” Tessa asked, smiling at me. “Did you accomplish everything you had to at the Academy?”

“I did,” I replied vaguely.

“I know you can’t tell me anything, and that’s okay. The main thing is that you’re home. It’s really good to see you. Both Neave and I have missed you terribly.”

I squeezed her hands. “I’ve missed you, too–a lot. I’m glad to be back. So, tell me about you. I heard you got married!” I said, pointing to the silver band around her finger.

“I did,” she nodded.

I never noticed before how similar she was to Neave, right down to her mannerisms. In response to my question, Tessa gave a slightly crooked smile and her cheeks flushed as though she was embarrassed. It occurred to me that Neave looked exactly the same when she got embarrassed.  “Oh, that’s funny, Tessa,” I teased. “I don’t mean you getting married, but that you’re so bashful about it.”