Eternal (10 page)

Chaos ensued as girls in leotards surrounded her, looking terrified. An older woman—the dance teacher, maybe—knelt by her side, checking her pulse. “Is she breathing?” someone asked.

“Yes, but it’s shallow. Someone call 911!”

One girl nodded and ran toward the door.

“Does anyone know if she’s eaten anything today?” the older woman asked.

“I . . . I don’t think so,” a tall, dark-haired girl answered. “She just had some coffee at lunch.”

And then, just like that, I was back in the café. Tyler was standing beside me, a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Hey, that’s one way to get my attention,” he said. “You okay? I thought you were going to fall out of your chair.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, I’m . . . I just had vision, that’s all.”

“How bad?” Cece asked.

“Pretty bad,” I muttered.

Cece stood up, pushing aside her empty mug. “Let’s get you back to the dorm, then. You look really pale.”

I started to protest, but decided against it. I really did feel queasy. Instead, I nodded, reaching for my bag as Tyler helped me to my feet.

“Who’s walking back with us?” Cece asked, glancing around the table.

Every single one of my friends clambered to their feet, pushing aside plates and mugs and gathering their belongings. Suddenly, I didn’t feel alone at all. I wasn’t, and I never would be.

Not at Winterhaven.

*  *  *

“Want to try this one more time?” Matthew asked.

I nodded, wiping the sweat from my brow with the hem of my T-shirt. “Yeah, once more. Tyler, you okay?”

“Couldn’t be better,” he said, rising from the chapel’s pew.

I had to admit he was being a good sport, allowing me to wale on him repeatedly as he played the role of vampire in today’s training session. “You sure?” I asked, noticing that he was moving much more slowly now.

He raised his shirt, exposing the broad expanse of his chest—which now sported a faint purplish blue bruise over his heart. “Hey, I look hot in purple, right?”

“Sorry about that,” I said with a wince. I wasn’t using my stake—just my closed fist, and a little too much brute force by the looks of it. “I’ll take it easy on you this time.”

“Nah, you gotta stake ’em hard, remember?”

“I remember.” Did I ever.

“Okay, back to our starting positions,” Matthew ordered. He had precisely choreographed our every move, and it was Tyler’s job to respond differently each time, changing up the variables. Of course, considering the fact that Matthew couldn’t really throw his dagger into Tyler’s eye any more than I could stake him, we just had to hope that our practiced movements would create the desired effect—namely, a destroyed vampire.

Once Matthew gave the signal, we went through the motions again—Tyler turned, ducked this time, and then wheeled around, coming up behind us. Matthew made a quick half turn on the
balls of his feet, lifted one arm, and mimed throwing the baselard at its target. As soon as Tyler reacted, Matthew caught him in a headlock, holding him upright and immobilized while I executed the deathblow to his heart.

It was over in a matter of seconds, effectively illustrating that, in a real-life situation, there’d be no time to think, only to react. I would have to rely on my ability to breach a vampire’s mind, to know his intentions—and then make a snap judgment.

Over the past several Saturdays, we’d pretty much come to an agreement on what would earn a vampire’s death sentence. Any intent to kill or inflict serious harm—any malicious intent whatsoever—and they were toast, as was any vampire who posed a threat to us, both real or imagined. We couldn’t afford to take any chances. But beyond that? It was going to be my call.

Matthew and I had also worked on devising a series of hand signals so that we could communicate nonverbally. It all seemed so surreal—I hoped we’d never have to put any of this training to use. But if we did, well . . . at least I was starting to feel prepared.

I glanced down at Tyler, who was lying on the ground clutching his chest. “Sorry about that. I tried to take it easy on you this time.”

“Yeah, sure you did.” He groaned as he dragged himself to a sitting position. “Oh, man. How did I let y’all talk me into this?”

I just shrugged and lowered myself to the ground beside him.

“Feel free to kiss it and make it better,” he offered, smiling wickedly now. “You know, if it’ll help ease your conscience and all.”

I rolled my eyes. “In your dreams, Bennett. Are we done?” I asked Matthew.

“Yeah, that’s it for today.” He was already reaching for his jacket. “I’ve got to run to a dorm masters’ meeting. I’ll see you both later, okay?”

“Have fun,” I called out, then collapsed onto my back, staring up at the chapel’s ceiling.

Tyler flopped onto his back beside me. “Later, Dr. B.”

Matthew’s footsteps receded, and then the heavy door slammed shut.

“You should probably ice that,” I said to Tyler. “You know, to keep the bruising down.”

“Nah. I’ll wear it as a badge of honor. If anyone asks me what happened, I’ll just say that you got a little rough with me. Make ’em wonder.”

I turned my head to glare at him, but he just grinned back at me. “You wouldn’t dare,” I said.

“You know me better than that, Vi. Course I would.”

“You want to get Kate mad at me?”

“Aw, you don’t have to worry about Kate. I’m pretty sure she’s
moved on to greener pastures. Of the ex-boyfriend kind.”

“Speaking of that, what happened last weekend at the dance? With you and Kate, I mean. I thought you two were going together.”

“Nah. She needs time to sort stuff out. You know how it goes.”

“I guess,” I said with a shrug.

“Anyway, Max’s band was playing a set, so I helped them out with equipment and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah? You’re one of his roadies now?” I teased.

“Hey, I’m his best roadie. His
only
roadie.” He reached for my ponytail and gave it tug. “How are you holding up? Seriously, I’m worried about you.”

I sighed heavily. “I’m okay. I feel better since I talked to Whitney. Did I tell you that she’s agreed to enter some sort of program?”

“An eating disorder thing?”

“Yeah. It’s just an outpatient program, but it’s better than nothing. I think she’s taking it pretty seriously.”

“It’s a good thing you can tell her about your visions.”

“Yeah. I think this one really freaked her out. I had to tell her, though. I’m glad I did.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

“Just so you know,” he said at last, “I actually miss the boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

“Yeah. Art history just isn’t the same without him sitting there glowering at me, you know?”

I laughed, careful that it didn’t turn into a sob. “Yeah, I know.”

“Sophie tells me you got kind of a shock over the weekend.”

I sat up sharply. “What did she tell you?”

“Just that, and nothing else, the secretive little wench.” With a groan, he rose to a sitting position. “I assume it has something to do with that new ring I’ve seen you sporting?”

I glanced down at my finger, bare now. I kept the ring tucked safely away in my room during my training sessions, but otherwise I wore it everywhere I went. But I didn’t want to talk about the ring—not now, and not with Tyler.

“He left me his house,” I said instead. “And everything in it. It’s all held in trust for me till my birthday next month.”

Tyler’s eyes widened with genuine surprise—meaning that Sophie hadn’t spilled the beans. “Seriously? That’s gotta be worth millions.”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “But what am I supposed to do with it? I mean, if he doesn’t come back?”

He took a deep breath, looking as if he were carefully considering his words. “Byrne thinks he will.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my heart pounding furiously now.

“He’s never come out and said it, not in so many words. But I
can tell he thinks it. And he wants to have the cure ready for him when he does.”

God, I hoped he was right. Was it possible that Matthew had seen something in a vision—something that he wasn’t telling me about? But if that were true, why would he keep it from me?

Supposedly we shared some sort of psychic bond, which, for now, seemed limited to Matthew’s visions. Maybe there was more to it, something still untapped. Maybe there was a way I could get inside his head. I vowed to work on it, to test it out.

“You ready to bust this joint?” Tyler asked, rising and reaching a hand down to help me up.

“I’m ready.” I took his proffered hand and hopped to my feet.

He released me, readjusting his colorful string bracelets. “So . . . early movie tonight—whaddya say? I’ll buy the popcorn and Coke.”

I somehow had a feeling I was going to regret what I was about to say. “Sure, but I’m buying. I owe it to you after all the abuse you took today.”

He raked a hand through his damp, shaggy hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions. “Did I ever tell you that I like a girl who can kick ass?”

“Yeah, like a million times. Now shut up and go take a shower.”

“Deal. It’s a date.” With that, he turned and jogged toward the door.

“It’s not a date, Tyler,” I called out after him. “It’s
not
a date. Seriously, I’m asking Sophie to come too!”

He paused briefly by the door, turning to smile innocently at me. “Hey, the more the merrier.”

With that, he took off without me.

O
kay, folks, don’t forget we’ve got our field trip to MoMA on Friday.” Dr. Andrulis was passing back our graded quizzes, his hands sheathed in tan gloves, as always. “We’ll meet by the bus at ten a.m. sharp. Make sure you have all your teachers sign the slip so they’ll know where you are. Nice job, Miss McKenna.” He handed me a paper with a ninety-eight written in red and circled at the top.

“Thanks,” I said, taking it with a smile.

Teacher’s pet
, Tyler mouthed beside me.

I stuck my tongue out at him. Truth be told, art history had quickly become my favorite class. It turns out I really enjoyed learning about art and artists, particularly the history behind the
different movements. I was even considering majoring in art history now, especially if I managed to get accepted at the American University of Paris. And AUP was now my top-choice school, since I assumed that Aidan was in Paris somewhere. Maybe our telepathy would work better at close range.

It wouldn’t be long before I found out if I got in or not—acceptance letters would start going out in mid-March, less than a month away. I made a mental note to check Aidan’s mail at his town house at some point in April, before the decision deadline. If we both got in, I’d send in his acceptance along with my own. I wasn’t giving up hope, not yet.

“Thanks for killing the curve,” Tyler grumbled, holding up his paper with an eighty-six scrawled at the top.

“How’d you do?” I asked Joshua, who sat on my other side in what had been Aidan’s seat.

“Ninety-two,” he answered, looking pleased with himself.

We mimed a high five.

“This will be similar to the Met trip,” Dr. Andrulis continued, back at the front of the classroom now. “You’ll break up into groups of three or four, and each group will take a checklist of pieces I want you see. At the end of the visit, you’ll narrow down your focus to two pieces—a painting, plus something from another medium—and prepare a full report on both, including
information about the artist, materials, context, and history.”

Dr. Andrulis kept talking, but I was distracted by a weird tickle in my brain. I sat up straight, shaking my head to clear away the cobwebs, but there it was again.

Please don’t let me have a vision right now,
I silently pleaded. I fidgeted in my seat, waiting for the telltale humming in my ears to begin, for the vertigo that followed.

Tyler prodded me with his pen. “Hey, you okay?” he whispered.

I just dropped my head into my hands, my elbows resting on my desk as I willed away the sensation.

“Dr. Andrulis!” Tyler called out beside me, his voice laced with alarm. “Something’s wrong with Violet. I think she needs to go to the nurse.”

No.
No, I was fine, just—

Violet?

Oh my God. It was Aidan’s voice, there in my head. Faint and muffled, but undoubtedly his. My heart began to race and I half rose from my seat.

“Aidan?” I didn’t even realize I’d said it aloud until a half dozen heads swiveled in my direction, eyes wide with surprise. “I’m . . . uh, sorry,” I mumbled, sitting back down again, my cheeks flushing hotly.

Aidan?
I tried again, silently this time.

Here.
That was it, a single syllable, nearly indistinguishable.

Just then, the phone on the wall behind Dr. Andrulis’s desk rang shrilly, startling me so badly that I knocked my notebook to the floor.

While Dr. Andrulis took the call, Tyler slipped out of his seat, kneeling to retrieve my notebook. “What the hell’s going on?” he asked me. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Joshua leaned toward me. “Did you have a vision or something?”

I shook my head, sure now that I had imagined hearing Aidan’s voice. I must have. Wishful thinking. Otherwise—

“Miss McKenna?” Dr. Andrulis had hung up the phone and was moving down the aisle toward me now. “You’re wanted in the headmistress’s office.”

The headmistress’s office? “Now?” I managed to croak.

“I’m afraid so,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tyler said, laying a steady hand on my shoulder. “I think I should walk her over there.”

Dr. Andrulis nodded, his brow knit with concern. “Yes, she does look rather pale. Go on. I’ll give you a late pass for sixth period.”

I gathered my things with shaking hands. Why the heck
was I being summoned, and more important, by whom? Dr. Ackerman? Or did this mean that Mrs. Girard was back? I had no clue what was going on, and I hated walking into a situation blindly.