She pressed her mouth into the eyelet-covered pillow and screamed with all her might, but the tears still came. Juliette pounded her fists next to her head.
The cell phone on her nightstand beeped. Nervous, Juliette checked the new message.
Behave.
"You jerk!" The audacity of the man she called her boyfriend disgusted and confused her.
A quivering smile crossed her lips. She had two weeks before he returned, a vacation from fear. The mirror on her dresser reflected her pale face with its unsightly decoration. What would her new friend say? Tristan Larocque hadn’t shown the reverence toward Nathaniel that the others had when her boyfriend’s name had been brought up.
But Tristan could not see her eye. He’d know the truth. Thursday’s class would have to happen without her. Her only other friend, Libby Collins, had never seen her injuries before, and couldn’t visit now. Fearful of Nathaniel's wrath if he were to find out she went to school before her bruise healed, Juliette sniffled and tossed her European history text onto the floor. She lay face down again and screamed desperately. The shriek only helped let loose a stream of tears until she forgot about her class and started wishing she could bring her misery to an end, before Nathaniel did it for her.
2. Tristan
In his darkened bedroom, Tristan tapped his fingers on the large oak desk in front of him and sighed.
"What's wrong now?" His adopted sister, Emma Shah, stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.
"Haven't you ever thought of knocking instead of just standing around watching people?"
Emma strolled to the window and opened the heavy green curtains. "I would knock if the door was closed. Are you familiar with this thing called smiling or letting some sun into this cave? Darkness and you're listening to 'Moonlight Sonata'? Is your goal to depress yourself, Kid?"
The bright sunlight blinded Tristan for a moment. He shielded his eyes against the glare. "No. I'm checking up on our stocks. One just tanked."
"Big loss?"
Tristan shrugged. "Not the end of the world. What do you want, Em?"
Emma grabbed his blankets and tossed them over his bed. "For you to stop moping. This funk has been going on for a week solid now. Your moods and behavior are so erratic. Happy one minute, completely depressed the next, then back to okay. I’m worried about you."
"Don't you have a husband to annoy?"
"He already left for university. So I'm all yours!" Emma smiled and opened her arms.
Their older sister, Gabrielle Caldecott, lightly rapped on the open door. "Lunch has been ready for a while and is already cold. Breakfast food. Come on downstairs."
Emma's eyes twinkled a challenge to her brother. Tristan raised an eyebrow and jumped from his leather chair. Shouldering each other aside, they raced down the dark wooden stairs.
"What's the occasion for fine china, Gab?" Tristan sat down at the head of the elegantly-set table, appreciating the contrast between the white dishes with their elegant platinum scroll patterns atop blue silk place mats set against the deep cherry tone of the wood beneath. Gabrielle had placed an expertly-arranged basket of flowers in the middle. Beautifully formal, just like his beloved, auburn-haired sister.
"Where are the others?" Emma scooped eggs onto her china plate.
"Do I need a reason to use good dishes, Tristan? And, Emma, if your husband wouldn’t teach early classes, perhaps your brothers would stick around too. They ran off to their band practice." Gabrielle sniffed disapprovingly as she always did when the band was mentioned.
Tristan, forever a gentleman in the presence of the two ladies of his family, waited until Gabrielle and Emma had finished serving themselves to begin filling his own plate with scrambled eggs and bacon.
"I heard from that old cougar Jane Underwood late last night," Gabrielle started. "She rambles on so sometimes. The Canadians’ number is now supposedly around a thousand. I wish she’d stay here with us and retire."
"If she’s right about this and we could find them, is there a chance we may be able to assimilate?" Tristan asked, trying to hide his eagerness.
Emma smiled slightly and shook her head. "I doubt they’ll be receptive to newcomers if they've had no outside contact."
Gabrielle reached out to Tristan and squeezed his hand. "I know what you're thinking. It's not fair that finding someone to love should be so hard for those like us."
“It’s not so much that,” Tristan lied. “I just want to escape this lie of a life.”
Emma perked up. "Tristan, you're not considering searching for them, are you? They could be anywhere. There are tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of square miles they might be, if they exist as more than just some senile woman's fantasy. We all know Jane would love to find them."
"Can you blame her though? How hard and tiring must it be for her to keep up with technological advances and societal changes for so long? Why would she want to stay here if she had the option to settle in peace? What do I know though? I am thoroughly convinced she’s keeping something from me." Gabrielle set her fork down and reached for the milk. "Emma, never forget how much we owe her. We'd all be lost without her finding us and bringing us together."
Emma nodded and glanced down at her clasped hands. "I forgot. You're right, Gab. We are definitely in her debt."
"I would love to not live this charade." Tristan smashed some eggs between the tines of his fork. Simultaneous flares of hope and despair for his heart’s desire coursed through him.
"Tristan, you know we must," Gabrielle reminded him, "and as long as this is so, we should make the best of it. Did something happen to bring this on, Tristan? Usually you're not like this, not wound up about things. It's been a week with hardly a smile."
"What does it take for us to get to settle down? I'm tired of moving, and if there's a group of our kind somewhere, I want to check them out and learn anything possible. It would be amazing to set roots and get married, to have what you have, Em."
Emma sighed. "I'm sorry, Tristan. I understand this is hard for you. Are you sure you don't want to keep, uh, 'sampling the local cuisine,' as William calls it, until we can stay somewhere semi-permanently?"
"When the notches on the bedpost start looking like some deliberate pattern, I think it's time to give that up." Tristan stared down at his plate, rearranging the food without eating any.
Emma shook her head. "What happened? You were all smiles one night, and the next, aloof and bummed. Please tell us what cause this change in you.”
"Remember the group I had here last week for that report? I met someone-”
“A girlfriend?” Emma interrupted.
Tristan slapped his hands onto the table. “No, Em! You know I won’t date someone like her.”
“But-”
"Emma, drop it." Gabrielle scraped the last of the eggs onto her own plate.
Emma turned back to her brother. “And? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Her name is Juliette. The other people weren’t so kind to her. The girls wanted to talk about her boyfriend. The guys shunned her. Her boyfriend expected her to be ready by five and we were by the door, though she wasn’t outside. He honked and she freaked. I spied through the window and the sheer curtain, and she was scared. Grades are important to her, but she missed our last two history classes. She also wasn’t in our lit class. This whole thing isn’t sitting right with me.”
“Oh, Tristan,” Emma sighed. “You’re probably worried about nothing and didn’t see correctly through the curtain. Cheer up.”
Gabrielle studied Tristan for a moment, her lips in a hard line. She turned to Emma. “So do you want to go get some of that new matte foundation?”
The voices of his family faded to a background hum. Tristan's appetite had disappeared before even his first bite. Jane Underwood was flighty, but she would refuse to say a word if she was confused. He had no reason to think she might be mistaken. Of bigger concern, where was Juliette?
* * *
Tristan
sprinted around the property, keeping under the shade of the massive pine trees framing the expanse of the finely manicured lawn. The racing of his heart reminded him that, at that moment in time, he was no more dead than the ones he loved. Near his home, he dropped and did a long series of push-ups. His own weight was no longer a challenge, but the exercise let him feel the cool, gritty earth beneath his palms. With each upward thrust he inhaled the ground's clean earthen scent.
As quickly as he could move his legs, he raced back into the manor that would be their home for a little longer yet. Not pausing to realize Emma had already taken her leave for the morning, he sauntered into his exercise room. His fists sinking into the firm punching bags alleviated some of his deep-seated bitterness better than a mere run. With a final punch, he managed to break the internal support beam of one with a loud snap.
The long, hot shower following his workout rinsed away all traces of the exercise until he finally felt in control. The pressure of guarding himself so closely and having to retreat at the first sign of any emotional connection proved to be difficult. Tristan was sure he'd left many women broken-hearted, though he tried never to. He indulged in his own fantasy until the previous spring, when he lost all interest in casual relationships.
Scalding water beat down from the two shower heads, turning his tanned skin red. Compared to his heart's aching, the intense heat soothed and relaxed his muscles. His hands lingered on his scalp after thoroughly scrubbing away sweat and stress of the day with the imported French coconut shampoo that calmed him.
Dried and re-dressed, he snatched up his favorite pocket watch. It was only noon. Another five hours left to waste until his one class of the day. Not for the first time, he cursed at the University for canceling the morning photography class. Mentally he went through the names of his “temps,” as he called his friends, in anticipation of leaving one day, trying to figure out if anyone would be free that afternoon. Each one was checked off. Class, class, date…. Only Charlie Noble would likely be free, but his crush on Gabrielle made him insufferable to be around. No good movies were showing. There was always the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. He ran his hands through his hair one more time, annoyed at his abundance of never-ending free time, checked his pocket for his wallet, and headed out the door.
* * *
The face in the painting was eerie in its familiarity though the artist had died long before Juliette had existed. "George Laurence Nelson, born 1887, died 1978," he read to himself. "Painting of Woman with Blond Hair."
He stood back, still stunned to recognize her face, but she couldn't be Juliette. The painted woman had the same plump pink lips and straight nose. Her corn silk locks were only slightly straighter than Juliette's. The look in those crystal blue eyes, the permanent sadness, had been immortalized in watercolor. He wondered if Nelson had seen into the future and painted her many years before her birth. Tristan crammed his hands in his pockets and finally closed his slackened jaw. So realistic was the painting to him that those eyes, even in paint, were like a window to Juliette's soul. He stared intently into the painting's eyes. It was too easy to believe he was looking at the young human he had quickly developed a soft spot for. The coincidence of seeing her, but not, at the same time, jarred him.
"Sir? Excuse me, sir?" A curator attempted to get his attention. "The museum will be closing in ten minutes."
Tristan glanced down at the short woman, and gave her a quick smile, reluctant to leave. He returned to studying the painting, committing its every detail to memory until the curator ushered him out.
He'd be early for his class if he went straight there. But facing Gabrielle was less appealing. The last look she gave him revealed she had more to say on the subject of Juliette’s disappearance. If her concerns were as he feared, he didn’t want to hear them. They just couldn’t be true.
Besides, maybe Juliette would show up that night. The bright young junior cared almost too much about her grades and approval. In their one short conversation he had noticed her subtle desperation for a friend and acceptance of Nathaniel’s sense of ownership. That bothered Tristan for reasons he did not want to think about.
3. Worth
"Stereotypes of Mythical Characters in Popular Literature" had been scrawled on the board. A harsh fluorescent light cast a depressing glow over the dilapidated hall. Several rows of students slumped and slouched in their seats. A couple of jocks engaged in a pen-clicking war while two girls played rock-paper-scissors.
Tristan, in a stark contrast to his classmates, leaned forward, chin on his fist, with an eager anticipation for class to start. He didn't care for university English classes, books studied over and over again with little difference in the conversation, but this topic was personal for him.
Perched on the edge of his desk, the bespectacled and balding middle-aged substitute professor spoke in an unexpectedly high pitch. "I am Mr. Marsh and I'm taking over for Mrs. Coleman. She has taken a personal leave of absence. This month we're going to discuss stereotypes of mythical characters, and what are some ways in which they may be wrong. We will debate why the same traits tend to turn up time and again. You, Miss..."
"Collins, Alexandra Collins," replied the cocoa-skinned trendsetter in the front row, her Jimmie Choo-shod foot idly swinging beneath the desk.
"Miss Collins," Mr. Marsh continued. "Pick your favorite mythical character or creature and tell us some of the stereotypical characteristics of your choice."
Alexandra’s mouth opened to answer, but the door creaked open, diverting the class’s attention.
Tristan lifted his head at the sight of her. Juliette had arrived late, but at least she had come. Relief washed over him, though disappeared almost immediately. Her normally neat wavy blonde mane streamed unkempt in her face, and she had on a pair of large sunglasses. She bit her lip and rushed to the only available seat in the classroom. Tristan tried to see through her hair. His stomach twisted at the thought of what she may be hiding.
"Excuse me," an unfriendly tone squeaked. "I expect my students to be on time, no excuses."
"I'm sorry, Sir." Shuffling papers nearly drowned out her voice. Her hand brushed her locks over her shoulder. The large white sunglasses didn't hide the shadow of the yellow bruise under her eye.
The instructor gave a cursory look around the room. "You will only get out of this class what you are willing to put in, people. Continue, Miss Collins."
Tristan couldn't pay attention to Alexandra talking or Mr. Marsh writing her creature characteristics on the board. A knot developed in the pit of his stomach at this proof of Juliette’s life at home.
Tristan took a deep breath in and counted to five before exhaling and counting to seven. He did this several times, to calm himself, all the while holding a fist to his mouth. His gaze wandered to the clock as he tried to decide if he should ask her to stay with him so soon after meeting each other. He looked over at her. The outline of a bruise on her delicate face caused anger to swell up again. That bastard had better not cross my path alone!
"You, in the back. Hey, Curlytop!" Mr. Marsh's admonishment brought Tristan’s attention to the class. "You, Mr..."
"Tristan Larocque," he answered with steely irritation, his earlier anger flaring up stronger than before.
“La-what-a? What is that? German?” Mr. Marsh shook his head.
Tristan touched his fingertips to his forehead. “Just like I said. LA-roke. It’s French. I’m French. Anything else?”
"Mr. Larocque. Be so kind as to tell us how you imagine a vampire would be if they existed in our world. Refer to the stereotypes I listed on the board while you were busy in your little mental Neverland."
Tristan read over the untidy print. The same claims that vampires must be tall, graceful, and deathly pale, dissolving to dust or sparkling in sunlight, always looking for people to eat, intrigued him, unlike the elementary twist this whole course had taken.
"Well, how about this? Vampires look like everyone else and don't turn into b
ats, but rather into lions or tigers and hunt other animals for energy, not because they'll die if they don't have blood. They're not going to snap and eat people, at least not in the way you're thinking. Most mythical beings probably appear no different from anyone else," he finished with a smirk.
Mr. Marsh ignored his petulant student and turned to address the class. "Your homework is to pick any mythological character or creature with at least two representations in published literature and write a brief report, three pages and no more than four, standard formatting, comparing and contrasting them. You are dismissed."
Tristan rolled his eyes at the juvenile assignment and exceptionally short duration of the class. The unprofessional professor seemed to have mistaken university juniors for a group of high school freshmen too eager to escape the confines of a classroom without debating the topic. This course wasn't the caliber any of them had paid for.
Juliette hurried out of the classroom, not having had time to unpack her things. Tristan dumped his notebooks and pens back into his worn leather messenger bag, then rushed to catch up with her, knocking into Alexandra outside the door.
"Mr. Marsh sure isn't going to be popular, is he, Tristan?" Alexandra batted her lashes and gave him a familiar, coquettish smile.
Tristan shook his head and rolled his eyes as he stepped around her, looking for Juliette among the bustling students eager to get home for the evening. Just as he was about to give up, he spotted her with a black wool cloche hat pulled low over her hair.
Tristan pushed his way through the crowd to her side. His warm hand grabbed hers. Juliette gasped as she turned around.
"Tristan!"
"Where's Nate?" Rage bubbled up in him, feeding a desire to beat her abuser to a pulp.
"Oh! Well, he, uh, and the, uh, rest of the team, well they left for spring training, um, this af-afternoon and won't...they won't be back for a...for a week. If he heard som-someone was holding my hand, he'd..."
Without speaking, he let go of her and stepped back, motioning with his chin for her to follow. After scanning the faces around them, a wide-eyed Juliette followed him to his car.