Darkling (5 page)

I was stricken by this story. So much misery and unhappiness in the bonds between women and vampires. The fact that they stayed with the one they love, no matter what, was utterly romantic—especially considering all the multiple marriages and lack of love and devotion so prevalent in modern human society. Something inside of me softened.

“Clearly, not all vampire creations were out of love. Sometimes a young lone vampire will uncontrollably turn his victims, in his search for food. However, the majority of the turned vampires were done so by Rogues whose ethics were never anywhere near as developed as our own.”

“Because their blood was diluted by human blood.” My misanthropic response surprised me.

“Could be. That is one of many theories.”

Mr. Matthews continued on for some time and then stopped abruptly. “I believe you have a name list for me.”

Oh, right.

“I’m sorry. I completely forgot about that.” I took a paper from my back pocket. It was the one I had found on my night table the night before. There were only seven names on it, including parents. People that were part of my recent life, ones in my direct surroundings. And, of course, Kyle and Selene were named.

“Can I rewrite it? My schedule is on this paper.”

“Take your time,” he answered politely.

I took a piece of paper from the notebook and rewrote the list. First I wrote the name, then the address. Afterwards I indicated the person’s role in my life, for example: Kyle Sanders—ex-boyfriend, colleague; Selene Adams—ex-friend, etc.

Thinking of my pathetic love life, I wondered how long it took a vampire to heal his heart after the death of a wife, and how many loves they knew throughout their
eternity
.

“How many children do vampires usually have?”

“That depends on their age I guess, but for most the number is two or three.”

“Do you have children?” My forthrightness surprised me, but he didn’t seem to mind it.

“Times have changed.”

And that was the answer. One that revealed nothing of the matter. That’s what you get when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.

He stood and walked to the bookcase. After a few seconds, he fished out a hardback and passed it to me.

“The Vampire History 101 edition specially adapted for humans.”

I assumed that was the euphemism for censorship.

“You can read it to yourself here and discuss your questions with me, or I can teach it directly to you, chapter by chapter. The little experience I have in this matter tells me that human curiosity always wins over patience, so they choose the former.”

“I agree. Why would you repeat the same thing that I can read from this?” I tapped the cover lightly with my fingers. It was a thin book.

He sat, looking at me calmly. His look turned into gaze. I didn’t move and suddenly glanced at the clock on the wall. Noon. I was late!

“Oh, I’m late for my next class.”

“Don’t worry.” He scanned my schedule on the table. “Psychology is three rooms down the hall. Same side.”

“Alright. Um, thank you.” A little giddy, I collected my stuff.

“See you tomorrow.” His smile followed me to the door.

I couldn’t lie, that class was actually okay. It reminded me of how much I missed my real classes at Berkeley. It had only been a week since I had left the dorm. And this vampire, François Matthews, was a very nice
person
, or at least he seemed to be. I forgot to ask him how enraged a vampire could become, in light of their apparently famous peaceful
tempers
. I frowned at the memory of Baldur in his office.

I knocked twice at the door. No one answered. I gathered my courage and turned the doorknob. The room was empty. It was similar Mr. Matthews’ office, except a slim monitor was sitting on the table instead of a person. On its face was printed the message: Welcome, Nika. I took the chair in front of it and clicked enter—more messages telling me that I would be spending that day doing personality tests, IQ test, etc. Okay, these tests were usually fun, so I started enthusiastically. For an hour and a half I clicked through similar shapes, Fibonacci series, relational forms, this and that with letters and numbers. Then, of course, there were some ink blot images—which I’d always thought were amazingly stupid.

Lena was outside waiting to show me to the dining room. I thought meals were served in the hall where we had eaten the night before, but she said that was only for special occasions and that everybody took meals in the building where we were, on the third floor.

“I left the catalogues in your room.”

“What catalogues?”

“Of clothes. Unless you’re just planning to wear the jeans you came in.”

I laughed. After all the stuff I’d been through, clothes were the last things on my mind.

She left me at the entrance. Being alone cut me to the spine. The large dining hall consisted of two adjoined rooms full of four-seat tables, with huge tables of food in the middle of the space. I sort of hid myself behind table that held the drinking glasses, and gathered the courage to join all those vampires. I probably would’ve stayed put if I hadn’t been noticed. A blond porcelain doll caught my wary gaze and smiled politely. I was busted, no point in hiding anymore. I ventured forth to the buffet, filled my plate with pretty much unnecessary stuff and stared at the food so as not to see the rest of the room. It didn’t help. Panic hit me hard and my hands started to shake. The fork on my plate was beating out the rhythm of my shivers. It was almost impossible to calm my thoughts. I looked to the exit but a group of them was standing and kind of blocking the way out. I couldn’t run.
God! I’m in the room full of vampires!
How could I possibly calm myself down?!

Then the worst thought hit me—where to sit? I edged toward the end of room looking for an empty space. A lot of empty space. My eyes were desperate, my body tense. I could see some room far away, next to the windows. Clasping my little bit of relief, I focused on the floor pattern as I hurried toward the gap.

I didn’t feel many eyes on me. I’d been noticed and they returned to their talks. Good. Hopefully now, I was yesterday’s news.

Passing the tables, I went through the middle of the room—as far as I could from the each side. There was the sound of spoon hitting the floor, the screeching of a chair, and a soft, “Hey.” Then a bit stronger.

“Hey, Nika.”

I slowly turned and there was Blake waving me over to his table.

“Hey,” I said.

Sitting with Blake were Tibor and Max. I collapsed into the empty chair. I was among people—humans.

“If you behave like a scared lamb, someone will eventually eat you.”

I might just have turned green.

“C’mon man, don’t freak her out any more than she already is.” Blake smiled.

“I’m Tibor, sorry about that.”

“Nika,” I replied quietly, lowering my head.

“So, how was your first day?” Max asked.

I shrugged moving a bean to the opposite side of my plate. “Could be worse, I guess. If I’d bleated any louder, someone could’ve heard me.”

They all laughed, which wasn’t my intention. But it did ease me a bit.

“I see you didn’t pay much attention to the food,” Blake said looking at the hodgepodge on my plate.

“Look who’s talking! His first meal here, Blake put stuff on his plate that even I couldn’t digest. And he stared around like a scared little girl. I won’t ever forget those pretty eyes.”

“It’s true. I was so grateful Tibor caught me by the food table.”

They all laughed again.

“Where are the others?” I actually meant Julia.

“Probably at the cells. Lunch lasts for two more hours.”

“Cells?” I remembered Lena mentioning them.

“Our work office, sort to speak. It’s where the Vocati are.”

“Just like that?”

Tibor grinned. “Not really. They are heavily chained with enough silver to make all the silverware in this place.”

Baldur had mentioned silver.

“Why silver?”

“It drains their energy. Not like they are full of life force in the first place; but still, it renders them completely powerless. It doesn’t harm them, but keeps them at a level of constant fatigue.” The suffering face from the hotel lobby popped into my mind. My fork hit the table.

“How do the Vocati look? Like they’re suffering maybe?”

They exchanged looks and Max spoke.

“I believe that each Vocati appears differently to each Inquirer.”

“Why? What does that beast that Oswald found look like?” Tibor asked.

“Like he’s in agony, or worse.” I refused to think of him as a beast.

“At what point in your life did you meet him?”

I stared at Blake in shock. I hadn’t even been thinking in that direction, not by a long shot.

“Who’s your trainer?” Tibor was unaware of my little inner drama.

“I don’t know they didn’t put it on the schedule.”

“Well, who’s your team leader? That’s your trainer.”

Something crumpled in my gut.

“So?” Tibor was waiting.

“Andrei Belun.”

They looked at me, startled, which definitely didn’t ease my discomfort.

“Well, you did meet one of the Originals, after all.” Tibor said. “Maybe that’s why he accepted.”

Max shook his head.

“I’m not so sure, it’s probably because of the Council. Baldur wants him near and not out in the field.”

“I don’t get that.” Blake shook his head. “I mean most of his projects, like this one, wouldn’t get the vote from Belun. And from what I’d heard, Belun’s father had differences with Baldur as well. Why would he try to keep him close?”

“Who knows? Vampire politics.” Max shrugged.

I had no idea what they were talking about, but time was passing, making me nervous. Four o’clock: training time. Oh, no.

Tibor and Blake accompanied me down to the training area door.

“Good luck with Belun. Story is he’s the best Warrior.” Tibor grinned and Blake nodded. They lingered, probably sensing my fear. I didn’t have any choice but to walk through the door.

From the hallway, I could see several small rooms with glass walls. They all had empty tatami mats on the floor. At the end of the hallway, to the right, were the shower rooms and two more doors. I entered the closest one— an empty gym with a basketball court. Then through the next one—argh, too many doors for my taste—that gym was smaller and it had gymnastics equipment in one corner, as well as mats and a punching bag.

Bam! Something hit the floor.

I jumped.

One of the mats was on the ground and Belun was standing behind it. Oh, God. My whole being went numb with fear.

“You’re late.” His voice was stern.

I couldn’t move a muscle when he started to stride towards me. I wanted to burst headlong back through the door. He passed me and reached for a black sport bag. I had become a statue. All numb and cold.

“Change into these clothes.” He gave me the bag and I stared at him like an idiot.

“Change your clothes,” he repeated.

Baldur’s fangs flashed before me—fangs that showed, as I recalled, as a result of irritation and annoyance. I was instantly sobered by a blinding fear.

“Where?” I could barely speak.

He turned his back.

What, here?!

“Here?”

He didn’t reply but continued standing with his back to me. I was confused. Do I really have to undress in here? My embarrassment overtook my fear.

The bag held navy blue tracksuit pants and a white t-shirt, both two sizes too big, and gym shoes.

“You done?”

“Yes.” I put my clothes on the bench.

“Come. Give me twenty squats, hands in front.” He motioned me onto the mat.

Argh, I had never liked gym classes. This was going to be a very long two hours. Wait a minute, the schedule didn’t say when the class was supposed to finish. And of course I didn’t have a tidbit of courage to ask him.

When I was a child, my parents had me play various sports: gymnastic, swimming, athletics, tennis—but I wasn’t a physical child so I didn’t like them much. Luckily, my body wasn’t as lazy as it used to be.

“Now, bend as far forward as you can. Knees straight.”

At least my body was flexible.

“Five push-ups.”

I managed three with a serious arm tremor.

“Twenty sit-ups.”

I did fifteen.

“Okay. Stand up.”

He went toward the punching bag, a frown on his face. I didn’t know if should follow him so I took only a couple of steps. He grabbed the boxing gloves and threw them to me. Of course I dropped one. I put them on quietly.

“Take a stance and hit the bag, first with the right, then the left hand.”

My hits were really miserable, and he clearly noticed. He demonstrated the stance and showed me how to punch—but I was pathetic.

“C’mon do it again. Again . . .  again . . .  again . . . !”

It just kept getting worse.

“Have you ever hit something?”

I didn’t know whether the question was rhetorical or not, but I shook my head anyway. I come from a democratic part of the world, why would I want to hit something? However, I saw the irony.

“Hit it harder, and take the stance I showed you.”

It was easy for him to say—I was hitting as hard as I could but the damn bag wouldn’t move!

“Wait. I’ll show you how to kick the bag.”

Like that was going to be any better. I was punching and kicking until I thought I was going to die. Gasping, I fell down.

“Why did you stop?”

Unable to breathe let alone speak, I made a man-leave-me-alone-I-can’t-breathe gesture. I was all wet, my hair was plastered to my face. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. My heart was crashing into my ribs. I was done. My whole body was pulsing, my head from the blood, my legs and arms from hitting. I lay down.

“Get up.”

“Can’t.”

“Get up. You won’t feel better laying around. Walk.”

I looked at him like he had to be kidding, but he just barked—“Up!”

I got up, but I could’ve definitely used some help—which, of course, would never come, not from him. He made me walk three times around the gym while he stood next to the punching bag. I felt like a caged animal, which wasn’t far from the truth. When I felt my pulse stabilizing, he spoke.