Best,
Mercedes
“We’re at Harvard Lane now,” Daniel alerted me.
“Thanks,” I said and stepped out, backpack in tow.
I never took the limo all the way to school. For one thing, walking down Harvard Lane was an experience in and of itself. If I made a right on the first intersection, I could cross a stone bridge that curved over a lake with water that was the shade of polished turquoise. The bank was dotted with wildflowers of every color you could imagine. There were also several ancient oak that made me think of the Ents in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.
For another, I hated the thought of showing up to school in a limo. It just seemed so…so…
“Mercedes!”
I hadn’t realized I had been lost in my own thoughts when the sound of my name being called jerked me back to reality. I looked up ahead and saw a tall boy of seventeen standing in the middle of the bridge. He ran up to meet me, grinning.
“Good morning!” His voice was enthusiastic.
I grinned back, unable to help myself.
“Good morning, Sam.” My smile faded a little. “Were you waiting for me for long?”
“Nah, just a few minutes.” He smiled again, and there was more than just friendliness in it. “You look really great today.”
“Thanks,” I said. My voice was sincere, but I didn’t blush at the compliment. Mostly because I felt inwardly sad.
Sam Kimball was one of my closest friends. He had a very sweet, caring disposition. He was the kind of guy who would do anything for anyone he considered a friend and wouldn’t expect so much as a thank you in return. This coupled with the fact that he was undeniably cute made him irresistible to several girls at my school.
Except I wasn’t one of them. I saw him as a friend, but I felt no attraction to him. But it was painfully obvious that he felt something for me. I knew I should have told him I didn’t feel the same way a while ago, but I dreaded the sleepless nights I would face, wracked with guilt as his hurt gaze stabbed my conscience over and over again.
“You look good too,” I added almost pathetically. It was true, though. His attire was casual, but it flattered his lean frame. His new haircut also brought out the angular lines of his face and kind gray eyes.
I knew he looked a lot better than me today. Remembering what my mother had told me about my shadowed eyes, I felt even more embarrassed at the compliment he just paid me.
You always look good in his eyes, my inner voice whispered.
To me, that was an incredibly vain thought. I tried avoiding those as best I could. Even if no one could hear my thoughts, I was still ashamed at my own presumption.
***
Shadow
I walked down an alley concealed in shadows that shielded me from mortal eyes. Though I possessed an arsenal of other stealth techniques I could use to keep hidden, it was uncommon for mortals to walk these streets at night. Rumors of dangerous things kept them at bay and for that, I was grateful. I did not wish to silence anyone tonight. Though silencing did not mean killing, it took up time. And I would not be late.
My burden lay atop my shoulder; broken, bound, and helpless. He had put up a fight, but I emerged the victor. His many cuts and broken bones were already beginning to heal, but the shot of concentrated garlic I injected him with would keep him unconscious for the next twenty-four hours. When he awoke, he would be interrogated. When found guilty, he would either be put to death or erased from existence.
I did not pity him in the slightest.
When I got to the end of the alley, I reached out with my senses to make certain I was utterly alone, save for my prisoner. Upon being satisfied that I was, my bloodstained hand reached out to gingerly touch the wall. Solid cement. Very strong. It would do. Reaching into my pocket, I retracted my Chaos wand while my fangs extended. I pricked my thumb and smeared the blood on the tip of the wand. I slashed the wall twice with the wand and opened a portal. Stepping through, I walked down another alley.
This one was very different, however. No mortal could ever hope to navigate through here due to the darkness. Also, the surrounding sensors would be able to detect an incessantly beating heart. If any vampire currently residing here did not kill the intruder, the laser cannons would.
An electronic voice stopped me when I neared the end of my journey.
“Welcome home.”
Knowing I was being watched, I kept my face utterly blank, showing none of the loathing churning in my stomach. The wall in front of me opened horizontally. I paid no attention to the guards, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. None of the surrounding vampires welcomed me. They had far more hateful ways of acknowledging my existence.
“Outcast…”
“Heretic.”
“Traitor.”
If they wanted my attention, much less a fight, they would be sorely disappointed. I continued walking, and spared no one a glance. None of my allies resided in this nest, so there was no reason for me to direct my eyes other than right in front of me.
Unless someone wanted to start a fight. If they did, I would smell it. And they would be dealt with.
A guard let me into the inner sanctum after I showed him my ID. His gaze flickered to my prisoner.
“Someday, that’ll be you,” he hissed.
“Get out of my way.” My voice was barely above a whisper, but my tone was enough to let the guard know he was dealing with a vampire who far surpassed him in age and skill. He stepped aside and let me in, staring after me with a mixture of loathing and terror.
Being used to routine, I wasted no time in following it. I dropped my prisoner at the feet of the vampire sitting in a luxurious chair. Then I knelt.
Fifteen minutes later, a coldly amused voice spoke.
“Stand up, Harijan.”
I am not Harijan. I am Kshatriya.
But I did not say so out loud. Instead, I obeyed, rising to my feet in a single, fluid motion. My eyes remained locked on the head vampire, Xavier. He was a very tall man, even taller than me. His dark, old world clothing was impeccably clean and tailored; the exact opposite of my battle-worn garments. His long blonde hair cascaded down his back. I could see why females, both vampire and human threw themselves at his feet whenever he so much as entered their line of vision. His features could have been carved from marble, and his skin shone like a full moon. His black eyes clashed with his hair, but they radiated the ancient power of an elite.
If you injected me with a thousand grams of silver before locking me in a room filled with garlic gas, I would never confess to envying him. I did envy him, but not for his beauty or his station. I envied him for his near unlimited freedom.
He laughed. “What, you won’t fight for your true title this time, Outcast?”
Outcast. It meant the same thing as Harijan, but for some reason it enraged me even more. Not that I would ever give Xavier the satisfaction.
I gestured to the bound prisoner. “The Wasp at your mercy, as you requested.”
“Yes,” Xavier mused. He stood up and approached the prize I caught for him. “Wasp,” he murmured almost gently, but the sadistic satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable. “You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? You thought you could just go about your merry life after staking one of my beloveds. How very, very wrong you were.”
Beloveds. Hearing Xavier say that word nearly made me laugh. I quickly glanced at the two female attendants flanking their master: beautiful and half-naked. They wore no make-up. They didn’t have to. To Xavier, their subservient, adoring expressions made them more appealing than the most expensive in existence.
Beloveds. They were whores, pure and simple. And I knew that for all the personality they revealed to Xavier, they may as well be robots.
“My Harijan has brought you to justice,” Xavier continued, circling the Wasp like a vulture. “What kind of reward do you think he should get?”
Your head, you miserable bastard, I thought.
However, I was anything but naïve. Xavier’s death would not give me the freedom I wanted. But the satisfaction of seeing his head on a pike would suffice. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.
“Oh, what’s that?” Xavier knelt on his knees, leaning his right ear toward the Wasp’s prone form. “You think I should give him a Bloodless card?” He gasped dramatically, putting his hand to his mouth. “But that…that would be heresy! How could any sane person suggest such a thing?!”
My jaw tightened. A Bloodless card was a passport to the most extravagant areas in vampire society. Only the most prominent elites like Xavier were allowed privileges like that. It was every Untouchable’s dream to explore such places.
Untouchable. That was a title I preferred greatly over Harijan or Outcast. It suited me.
“That’s right, Wasp.” A chilling whisper. “You were never sane.”
Xavier rose to his feet and regarded me.
“Then again…you have served me well. I do not believe anyone could have brought Wasp to justice as quickly and efficiently as you did. And it is not uncommon for any member of the elite to allow their poor, overworked servants a little vacation every now and then, even if it involves allowing them get their filthy hands on a Bloodless card for a day.”
“I am not your servant,” I hissed. “I serve the royal family.”
Before I could blink. Xavier was right in front of me, hand gripping my throat.
“My, aren’t we getting pretentious,” he drawled.
If I were mortal, I would be choking. Unless Xavier decided to tear my head off, I was in no danger of suffering permanent injury. My hands reflexively grabbed his arm. He was centuries older than I, but I was far more skilled in combat. I feared him far less than I feared death, and I did not fear death in the slightest.
I continued to grip his arm, letting him see the depths of my contempt, my hatred. I bared my fangs and grinned.
“Kill me, bastard,” I whispered.
He threw me against the wall. Had Xavier not been older than me, I would have gotten my bearings in less than a second. Instead, I felt a hideous pain as liquid fire was splashed on my face. My hands clutched my eyes, but I only succeeded in injuring them, too.
“Kill you?” Xavier’s hateful voice rang in my ears. “Why would I kill such an amusing court jester?”
He roared with laughter along with his whores while I lay in a pitiful heap on the ground, fighting the screams. It was impossible not to groan, but as I said before, beggars could not be choosers.
“My opinion has not changed, Harijan. You don’t need to be killed. You need to be rewarded.”
My eyes were beginning to heal. The garlic had not been concentrated. I looked up and saw Xavier holding out a card through blurry, red vision.
“Take it, Harijan.”
I saw the insignia of the royal family on the card. It was not false. It was a genuine Bloodless card. And I knew Xavier had taken it off of Wasp.
“Take it,” he whispered.
I blinked at him, and then extended a trembling hand. Xavier’s eyes were hungry. Hungry for my need, for my humiliation. My burned fingertips grazed the edge of the card. With it, I could access everything like an elite. I could have all the freedom I wanted. No one would be able to take the card from me if Xavier gave it to me willingly. The consequences for stealing one were unthinkable. Many of my comrades had grown desperate enough to attempt such a feat and I never heard from them again.
He’s giving it willingly, my treacherous inner voice whispered. Live like an elite if only for a day. You deserve it far more than this miserable bastard ever will. Pride is such a small price to pay.
My fingers gripped the card. I was surprised Xavier did not yank it away and then extend it again. I pulled the card away, and it was in my hand.
“Enjoy, Harijan.” Xavier’s whisper grew so low and silky even my superior hearing had difficulty comprehending his words. “Enjoy as you—”
He never ended the sentence. A loud snap cut him off.
I opened my hand and turned it over. Two pieces of a Bloodless card fell to the floor at his feet. They made an almost dainty clank.
Slowly, I stood up, proud and tall. My face was still burning, but I barely felt it. Perhaps I was mad, but I found the sight before me highly amusing. Xavier’s whores were twice as pale as they normally were, and their expressions accurately conveyed the amount of brain matter they possessed: less than none.
And Xavier…I had never seen him more furious. I braced myself for a fight to the death. Had any of his underlings been present, such a battle would have been inevitable. A vampire of his position could never afford to show weakness else the royal family would not hesitate to strip him of his position.
The rage drained from his face until it was as blank as stone. A slight smile curled his mouth.
“Very well, Shadow.” His voice was almost pleasant. “You could have lived like an elite, but I was always an advocate for free will. If this is your decision, I will respect it.”
I just stared at him. He used my real name. He had never done that before. I did not know why, but hearing him call me by my name set nerves I did not know I possessed on red alert.
“You have served me well,” Xavier said. He tilted his head toward the door. “You may go. I will call you if I require your services again.”
I continued to stare at him. His face remained perfectly controlled. Almost pleasant. This was a ruse. He was planning a punishment. He would tear me apart the second I turned my back.
I stayed that way for nearly ten minutes. Xavier didn’t move a hair. I knew I would not win this battle of wills. No matter. It was my time. I was not afraid.
I walked away.
Five minutes later, I was standing on a human street, wondering why I was still alive. And I almost felt…disappointed.
***
Mercedes
My parents didn’t want me to go to Morgana High School after I left the eighth grade. They said it was too crowded, too dirty, and I wouldn’t get a proper education. It took me months to persuade them to let me go. Eventually, I had to resort to outright begging, but it was worth it. I had looked up Forks, the private school they wanted to send me too, and balked within the first five minutes of my research. Everyone who went there was a complete snob. They spoke of Forks as if it were God’s gift to humanity and anyone who didn’t go there was just a stupid, retarded plebe not fit to lick slime from their boots. Morgana on the other hand was a different story.
“Hey, Mercedes!”
Amidst the crowd, a pretty black girl with curly hair and perfect white teeth that I always envied came up to us.
“Hey, Nadine!” I smiled at her. Nadine Sanchez and I had been friends ever since our freshmen year. We had collaborated on a report for English class, and ended up bonding over our love for Robert Frost’s poems. It was amazing how literature could bring two people together. “How was the math homework last night?”
“Not as difficult as it was the night before,” she sighed.
“You could have called me and asked for help if you were stuck,” I pointed out.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Nadine said. “Besides, I always get B’s in math. It’s just meant to be. Like you always get A’s in every…freakin’…subject.”
“Mercedes.” Another girl stopped in front of us. She was black-haired and had a tan that looked rather fake. “Have you reconsidered? Will you join the cheerleading squad?”
I sighed. “Lindsey, I’ve told you countless times. Cheerleading’s just not for me.”
“Says the girl who always impressed the coach with her cartwheels and back flips in gym class!” Lindsey exclaimed.
“I stopped taking gymnastics lessons three years ago,” I protested. “If I auditioned, I would only end up crashing into everyone and making a total fool of myself. C’mon, Lindsey, you’re head of the cheerleader’s club. You know Catherine has been dying to try out for months.”
“Catherine?” Lindsey wrinkled her nose. “That shy little twat who can’t even make eye contact with the person she’s talking with?”
“She just needs a bit of encouragement. You know how good she is at gymnastics. Look, Lindsey, just talk to her, please. I promise she won’t let you down.”
Lindsey pouted, but then sighed. “All right, I’ll take your word for it,” she said and walked away.
Sam frowned at me. “I thought you still practiced gymnastics.”
“Only once a week,” I countered. “You have to be completely devoted if you want to get really good. I just do it in passing now because it’s still kind of fun.”
“Not so fun when those dippy cheerleaders keep salivating over you.” Nadine rolled her eyes.
“Hopefully, they’ll stop now,” I muttered.
Periods one and two passed by in a blur, thanks to my still-present fatigue. Third period was History, which I dreaded the most and not because I hated history. I loved it. And much as I liked Morgana, I would be lying through my teeth if I said it was a perfect school. Sometimes they hired really lousy teachers and Mr. Price was one of them. It was a shame, really. He had a vast knowledge of history, but he specialized in putting as many students down as he could, rather than trying to encourage them to do well. I hated teachers like that. Because of my tiredness today, I decided to just shut him out.
My eyes were halfway closed when a ruler slapped against my desk.
“Ms. Strand.” A sneer of contempt twisted his otherwise handsome features. He stared at me as if I were a worthless bug that needed crushing. “Perhaps you can tell the entire class the name of one of the radical Republicans who attempted to enforce change during the Reconstruction Period.”
Had I not been so tired, I would have glared at him. We weren’t due to study the Reconstruction Period for weeks, and everyone present knew it. Price was just trying to humiliate me.
I sighed deeply and bowed my head, as if I were embarrassed. Then I spoke.
“William G. Brownlow. He was considered one of the fiercest opponents of the Confederacy prior to the Civil War and the Reconstruction Period. Before he was elected Governor of Tennessee, he was a Methodist preacher and publisher of the anti-Confederate newspaper Knoxville Whig. He believed that the Confederates and anyone who sympathized with them were traitors who deserved no mercy even after the South surrendered. ‘Let them be punished—let them be impoverished—let them be slain—and after slain, let them be damned!’ he wrote in his newspaper. He ordered Confederate soldiers who tried to come home after the war to swear an oath to the United States, and then he had them assassinated. When a few Democratic State Legislators refused to vote for the Fourteenth Amendment, he had them arrested and threatened to shoot them if they didn’t change their minds. Both his ruthlessness and his actions earned him the nickname ‘Bloody Bill Brownlow.’ Then there was Daniel Phillips Upham who drove the Ku Klux Klan—”