I slip into the hall quietly, glancing both left and right, straining my ears for any telltale sign of movement. After a few seconds I decide the coast is clear and gently close the door to my room behind me. It clicks softly into place, and I come to the realization that most of my classmates are probably at rest by now preparing for what promises to be an interesting, if not eventful, day tomorrow. Still, I know it’s best not to take chances when surrounded by a community of creatures with heightened senses.
I give silent thanks for the thick rugs which mask my footfalls and allow me to move through the halls undetected. A quick study of my map reveals that the dining hall and most of my classrooms can be reached from the main foyer where Lexie and I entered the school earlier today. The hall has three offshoots and provides access to the stairwells that lead up into the recesses of the school. Although I’m no stranger to the dark, I’m surprised by the lack of natural light and wish fleetingly for the moon to illuminate my path as its beams had lit my room just moments ago. It’s then that I remember the heavily tinted windows, which had provided such comfort while the suns rays were shining brightly today. Apparently they are even more effective at night. Oh, well. C’est la vie.
I pad silently into the main hall and ignore the common rooms which had captured my attention earlier, immediately deciding to explore the west wing of the school first. Although I won’t have my MMA class until Wednesday, the training center housed there is the area of most interest to me. I pause briefly, listening again for any sign of company. Just as I decide that I am alone, I notice something I’d missed earlier in the day.
I shouldn’t be surprised by the presence of the portrait. It’s certainly not anything I haven’t seen before, but Aldo’s eyes staring out intently from the wall freeze me in place. The portrait looks a little older than the one in his office at home, but I recognize the other members of the Consiliul de Batrani immediately.
Their twelve cold faces, along with Aldo, represent the most powerful covens in the world and our ruling class. I’ve been caught and even though it’s not rational I feel a tremor of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I had promised Aldo I’d be an exemplary student, and here I am sneaking around on my first night breaking the rules.
I contemplate turning back, but decide that, since I’ve already taken the risk, it would be a shame not to reap the reward. I turn on my heel and march into the new wing, determined to see what I’ve come for and ignoring the nagging feeling that those thirteen pairs of eyes are watching me, judging.
As I move through the west wing of the school, which is totally creepy at night, I take note of several advanced laboratories, a dance studio easily identified by the parade of mirrors on its far side and what I’m certain is a music studio designed for both instrumental and choral instruction. I briefly stop to study the rooms as I go. I’m surprised that each room has a wall of windows lining the hall which afford the inhabitants little privacy. While it seems Crossroads caters to a wide array of interests, it is also very open about showcasing the talents of its students. Or, perhaps I’m being naïve and it’s simply a means of monitoring the inner workings of the school and preventing any impropriety since adolescent vamps are notorious for their raging hormones. The one thing I am certain of is that Anya was right. The school is far more modern on the interior than it appears from the outside. Where I come from facilities like this simply don’t exist for students.
I feel a rush of adrenaline, wondering what the training center has to offer and quicken my pace, realizing that I’ve lingered too long already. I can hardly believe my eyes when I reach the end of the hall. The training center is wicked awesome. Like the other rooms I’ve passed, it’s showcased by a wall of glass, allowing its occupants to be observed and monitored from the outside. Unlike the other rooms, the training center is three stories high and significantly larger. I assume this is due to the fact that all students must complete physical training, while the other areas of study would draw fewer dedicated pupils.
I quickly discover that, while I’m standing on the first floor of the school, the training center’s primary entrance is in the basement. Secondary access is possible from floors one and two where the doors open directly onto an exposed metal staircase that descends to the floor. I reach for the door and am loathe to discover that my keycard is required for entry. Figures. While tempting, I have no doubt that swiping the card will bring the Pazitor and unwelcome trouble.
Since I can’t enter the room freely, I settle for scanning its contents and admire the open spaces devoted to martial arts and hand-to-hand training. Aldo had allowed me Jujutsu arts instruction back in Romania, but it was nothing like this. The Jujutsu was for self-defense and discipline. This is something else altogether.
If I didn’t know better I’d think the school was training its own army. Laid out below there are obstacle courses designed for agility and combat training as well as areas dedicated to target practice, where the student can choose from a variety of weapons both modern and those more Renaissance. It’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven as I stand there taking in the expansive room below. Not really wanting to know the time but accepting that my tour is likely over for the night, I glance reluctantly at my watch. It’s after four in the morning, and I know the school will be coming to life soon. I take one final longing look at the training center and begin to retrace my steps back to the comfort of my own room.
Spent and distracted I don’t realize how careless I’m being until it’s too late. As I enter the main foyer, I’m rocked off my feet and dragged backward into the hall by unseen hands. Strong arms clamp over my midsection and mouth simultaneously, preventing any sound from escaping. Panic washes over me, and I start to struggle instinctively. What the hell am I up against? And how can this be happening within the well-guarded school?
Determined to free myself, I draw my knees up to my chest and jerk them downward, kicking my attacker in the left thigh. I feel his body tense, but he doesn’t make a sound. Apparently I’m no match for his muscular legs. As I continue to writhe in his arms, he whispers almost inaudibly in my ear: “Guardians.”
He doesn’t need to say any more. This single word is enough to make me realize that my captor has just helped me avoid detection when I was being so sloppy on my own. I force my body to relax and feel his steel grip loosen on my waist, acknowledging a silent understanding. Neither of us wants to be caught breaking curfew.
We press ourselves flat to the wall, standing like statues in the dark, willing the wide set doorjamb to hide us from the Pazitor. The air around us stirs as the guards breeze past, and I catch his scent. It’s a comforting mix of lavender and sweet yet spicy cologne. It’s a distinctly masculine smell, despite the floral undertones. Although curious, I don’t dare look at him, afraid any movement will reveal our presence to the pair of guards who stride past without a backward glance.
I give myself a mental head slap and wonder why it hadn’t occurred to me that the rugs presented as much danger as protection. My footfalls were not the only ones muffled in these halls. I wonder how I could be so stupid and have the sense to be embarrassed that this guy felt compelled to come to my rescue. It’s with a combination of shame and gratitude that I mumble thanks and dart into the hall once I’ve determined that the coast is clear. Like the guards, I don’t even consider a backward glance. What else is there to say?