Eternal

6 ~ Mischief Managed

I was still sweaty from fencing practice when I knocked on Matthew’s office door later that day. I had no idea why he wanted to see me, but it was good timing, actually. I wanted to ask him about Tyler, Max, and Joshua—and how much I could tell them.

“Come on in,” he called out.

When I stepped inside, I found him leaning against the bookshelf behind his desk, talking on his cell. “I’ll be off in two seconds,” he whispered as I slid into the seat across from his desk. He turned his back toward me, but I could still make out what he was saying. “Okay, no problem. I’ll call you when I’m done. Yeah, you too.”

Turning back toward me, he ended the call and put the phone in its charger, looking slightly embarrassed. As if I’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t. Which could only mean . . . Charlie.

“How’s Patsy doing?” he asked, coming around to the front of his desk and leaning against it.

“She’s fine. Much better, actually. Believe it or not, she made a show of pretending like she wanted to drive me back to school herself. Said she could rent a car. Luckily, Paul talked her out of it.” The last thing I wanted was Patsy here at Winterhaven. She would ask about Aidan, want to say “hi” or something. And what could I possibly tell her? “Anyway, how’s Charlie?”

The sudden rise of color in his cheeks told me that I was right in assuming that he had been talking to her when I’d walked in.

He took a deep breath before responding. “Annoyed with me. As always.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound good. Care to elaborate?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, it’s probably not appropriate for us to talk about Charlie.”

“You’re kidding, right? I mean, we’ve spent the past couple of weeks talking about how I’m supposedly your predestined ‘mate,’ and now you’re telling me that it’s not appropriate for us to talk about your girlfriend?”

I saw him wince as my words hit their mark. “Well, we probably should be a little more”—he shook his head—“I don’t know . . . formal . . . now that we’re back at school. And besides, Charlie’s not my girlfriend.”

“Really? That’s your answer? That she’s not your girlfriend? Because honestly, I’m not buying it.”

He rubbed one cheek with the palm of his hand, watching me closely—studying me. “Would it matter to you if she was?” he said at last, catching me completely off guard. “Seriously, dig down inside your psyche. Find the powerful Sâbbat residing there. What does she think about it?”

For a moment, I just sat there goggling at him. And then I did what he asked. I turned off my mind and searched my instincts instead. It took only a moment to find the answer. There was a heavy, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t really explain it, but the very idea of Matthew with a girlfriend just seemed wrong. Really, really wrong.

“It matters,” I blurted out before I thought about what I was saying. “I know it shouldn’t. Ugh, can I take it back?”

“Nope,” he said with a tight smile. “Sorry for pushing you like that, but I was just trying to show you what we’re up against. Natural instincts are powerful things, Violet. And that’s why Charlie isn’t my girlfriend—not really—and why she never will be.”

Catching his meaning, I exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, Matthew. Seriously.”

He shrugged. “Like I said before, it is what it is.”

“But . . . wait. Your dad is part of the Megvédio too, right? Second son of a second son.”

Matthew just nodded.

“But he’s married to your mom. What if he’d found a Sâbbat after marrying her—his Sâbbat? What then?” I was picturing all kinds of messy scenarios.

“There’s a very small window—just a decade. Sixteen to twenty-six. He married my mom when he was thirty-one.”

“You never told me that! Wow, so we just barely made it.”

“I’ll be twenty-six next week,” he said quietly.

“That sucks, doesn’t it?” I shook my head. “If you’d just been one year older.”

By the look on his face, I knew that we were headed toward the old argument again—the one where I went on about how awful and awkward our situation was, while he insisted it wasn’t that bad, really.

“Well, I’m glad that I wasn’t,” he said, confirming my hunch. “You don’t have to do this alone, Violet. You’ve got your stake, I’ve got my baselard, and we’ve got each other.”

“Baselard?” I asked. “That’s your dagger, right? You’ve never shown me. Did you have it that day in Central Park?”

He nodded. “Since I met you, I’m never without it.”

“Show me,” I demanded, but I wasn’t expecting what came next.

Without a word, Matthew started unbuttoning his plaid shirt.

Uh-oh.

“Wait,” I called out, half rising from my seat. I stopped myself when I saw the form-fitting heather-gray T-shirt he wore beneath the more conservative button-down.

“What?” he asked. “You didn’t really think I was going to strip shirtless right here in my office, did you?” There was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes, mocking me.

He shrugged out of the shirt, revealing a shoulder-harness sheath over his left pecs, worn over the T-shirt. From the sheath, he removed the most beautiful weapon I’d ever seen. The handle was dark gray, H-shaped, the narrow, silver double-edge blade sharpened to a deadly tip. My breath caught at the sight of it. I rose, inexplicably drawn to it.

He held it out to me, and I took it with trembling hands, tracing a finger down the length of the blade and back up again. I paused just above the hilt, where an intricately scripted M was engraved into the metal. I glanced over at his right biceps, where the dagger was depicted in ink, and then back to the weapon itself, amazed at the likeness.

“It looks so old,” I said, my voice full of awe. “So fragile.”

“This one is old. Probably late fifteenth century or so, forged in Switzerland specifically for the Megvédio. But don’t be fooled by its age or fragility. I’ve been assured that it can still do its job as long as I hit my mark. And I promise you I can. I’ve been training with it since I was twelve.”

I shook my head in confusion. “But I don’t understand. I didn’t think you could kill a vampire.”

“I can’t. That’s your job. It’s my job to strike the vampire’s eye with the baselard. That disables it long enough for you to get a clean shot at the heart.”

“But . . . but the blade’s so short,” I stammered. “Wouldn’t you have to get awfully close to a vampire’s fangs to reach its eyes?”

He cocked an eyebrow, looking somewhat amused. “Not if I throw it.”

“Ah, I see.” Goose bumps rippled across my skin as I imagined it, trying to picture a scene where Matthew and I worked in tandem to take out a vampire. Would it come to that?

Of course it would. There was no hiding from destiny.

“I’ve already killed three vampires,” I said, my voice shaky now. “All by myself.”

“I know,” was all he said, but the pride in his voice spoke volumes more.

I swallowed hard. “You better put your shirt back on.”

“That’s what she said,” he quipped, slipping the dagger back into its sheath. “It’s a joke,” he added, looking suddenly embarrassed as he reached for his shirt and slipped it back on.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen the show.”

In seconds, he’d buttoned up. Only now . . . now I was hyperaware of what the plaid shirt concealed. I wondered briefly if it was as uncomfortable as the makeshift sheath I’d worn to carry my stake back when Julius had been threatening us.

Suddenly, it was as if my right side started to hum. Vibrations pulsed down my arm, concentrating in my palm. “Wow,” I said as unfamiliar sensations washed over me. I extended my arm, flexing my hand several times in an attempt shake it off. “It’s like I feel its absence now. My stake. It’s like . . . like it belongs with your baselard.”

I dropped my head into my hands, my cheeks flaming with mortification as I realized how dirty that sounded. “Please pretend I didn’t just say that,” I muttered.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice sharp. “It’s just going to get stronger, these feelings, the closer we get to your eighteenth birthday. We’ve got to”—he shook his head—“I don’t know, find a way to get comfortable with it, okay? I mean, obviously we have to respect the boundaries, but for safety’s sake, we’ve got to learn to trust each other. I’m talking one hundred percent, absolute trust. And yeah, it’s going to get awkward sometimes. But I’ve got your back. Always, every moment of every day.”

I just nodded, unable to speak. Conflicting emotions overwhelmed me, warring against one another. A part of me wanted to pledge equal devotion to him, an ‘every moment, every day’ declaration to match his. But another part of me . . .

Aidan. Oh, Aidan. “Here’s the thing, though,” I said cautiously. “I still have to find him. Find him and get him out of there.”

“Aidan, you mean?”

I just nodded.

He let out a sigh, looking frustrated—defeated, even. “I’m sure you’re going to try.”

“You’ve got to understand, I—”

“I get it, Violet.” He held out a hand to silence me. “I do. And for the record, it’s not your relationship with Aidan in theory that I disapprove of. If he were mortal . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But he’s not. He’s the enemy, no matter how nice and decent and smart he might be. I’m not saying you should destroy him—or any of them, for that matter, if they’re not a threat. I’m just saying that it’s against your nature, and it’s only going to lead to heartbreak. I mean, from the looks of it, it already has.”

I digested that in silence, annoyed that he’d resort to such a low blow. Anyway, it didn’t matter what Matthew thought. I was unwilling to accept the idea of failure. I would find him.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. We simply sat, watching each other warily. As the seconds passed, I became aware of the ticktock of the clock on his desk, the one we used for coaching. “Why did you want to see me, anyway?”

“To talk about our Saturday-morning sessions.” He walked around his desk and took his seat opposite me, all official-like now. “I’d like to get back to them, but it’s up to you.”

“Is there anything more you can teach me about the visions?” Because I’d already perfected the replay. I’d gone over the three remaining unfulfilled visions—Cece getting expelled, a short-haired me in an antique-looking bed with a lustful and possibly bloodthirsty Aidan, and one that seemed to indicate I would attempt to slay Aidan again. I shuddered at the memory of that last one. “Any new tricks to learn?”

“Not really. I was thinking that we should take our sessions in a different direction. You know, talk about situations we might encounter, share what we know about vampires and what threats might be lurking out there. And then start on some combat training.”

“Combat training?”

“Yeah, I think we need to get the mechanics down—learn how to work as a team. That kind of stuff.”

“I guess,” I agreed. I couldn’t help but remember those training sessions with Aidan, where he’d taught me how to use my stake. I remembered the mental and physical exhaustion, the strain it had put on our relationship. I wondered if this would be easier, more natural. After all, there was nothing natural about learning how to kill a vampire . . . from a vampire. But this—at least this made sense.

“Maybe one of your friends could help us out now and then,” he suggested. “You know, play the role of the vampire.”

“Yeah, sure.” That’d be easy. I had no doubt they’d be falling all over each other to volunteer. “And speaking of my friends, I wanted to ask about telling the guys—Joshua, Tyler, and Max—about our situation. I mean, they know so much already. It just feels sort of weird keeping it from them. Especially since all the girls know.”

“Do you trust these guys?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I do. They’re with us now—a part of our group.” Besides, Winterhaven students by nature were good at keeping secrets. For most of us, it was just a part of who we were.

“Well, I’ll let you make that call. Though with Tyler’s fencing training, he’d probably be pretty handy for us, training-wise. I wish I could think of somewhere other than my office to meet, though.” He glanced around the space, looking thoughtful. “There’s really not enough room in here for what I want to do. I guess I could reserve one of the studios in the gym, but I’m afraid people will start to wonder—”

“I know a place,” I interrupted. “The chapel. It’ll be empty on Saturday mornings—it’s pretty much always empty.” Especially now, with Aidan gone.

“Good idea. Want to make it a little earlier, though? Say, ten, so we have a couple of hours to work before lunch?”

“Sure, why not?” Cece was up early for tennis practice anyway.

“Okay, then—Saturdays at ten. But if you have any sort of problem in the meantime—anything at all—don’t wait till Saturday, okay? You’ve got my number. Call me, text me, whatever. Whenever. Got it?”

“Got it,” I replied, standing and reaching for my bag. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

He nodded, and my gaze was involuntarily drawn toward his left pecs, to the spot where I now knew his silver dagger—his baselard, I corrected myself—rested in its sheath. I reached for my right wrist, rubbing it with my thumb, picturing it inked with the tattoo that would mark me as a full-fledged Sâbbat.

Just a little more than two months from now.

I turned to leave, but suddenly remembered something he’d said earlier. “Wait,” I said, turning back to face him. “What day next week?”

He already had his cell back in his hand. “What day what?”

“Your birthday,” I clarified. “You said it was next week.”

“Oh, right. Thursday. Why?”

“Just curious.” With a wave, I sauntered out, already plotting a surprise as I left him to his phone call.

To Charlie, no doubt.

“Wow, student council went really late tonight,” I said, glancing at the clock by my bed when Cece strolled in later that night.

Cece tossed her bag to the floor and collapsed onto her bed facing me. “Nah, we got done a couple hours ago. I ran into Joshua on the way back to the dorm, and we ended up going over to the café together. I have no idea how it got so late.”

I scooted over to the edge of the bed. “Just you and Josh?”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Yeah. We got to talking, and next thing I knew, the café was closing.”

“Um, okay.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I’d noticed the way Joshua was looking at Cece earlier in the dining hall, but I wasn’t quite sure if I should mention it. I didn’t want to jinx anything. If there was anything to jinx, that is.

“What?” Cece said, grinning now. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How am I looking at you?” I hedged.

She wrinkled her nose, making a face at me. “Okay, fine. So I’m kind of crushing on Josh. Just a little bit,” she added, holding up a finger and thumb to indicate about an inch. “But ho-ly crap! When did he get so cute? Seriously, the boy must’ve shot up a foot and a half since last year, and he filled out nicely. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

I was grinning now too. “I noticed. I just wasn’t sure that you did.”

“It’s just . . . you know, the whole shifter thing. I mean, I don’t care what anyone else thinks.” She waved one hand in dismissal. “But I dunno . . . it’s kind of out there, right? As far as abilities go.”

I shrugged. “My boyfriend is a vampire, remember?”

“He asked me to the early movie on Saturday.” She was literally bouncing on the bed now. “I said yes, so we’ll see.”

“This is an interesting development,” I said. “I like it.”

“I somehow figured you would. Anyway, we were talking about the whole Aidan situation, and we had an idea. There’s got to be something in Mrs. Girard’s office—a note, a book, maybe an e-mail—some sort of clue to help us figure out where she is. Or where the Tribunal is, at least. I’m going to project there in the morning, before Ackerman gets in, and take a look around.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if someone catches you?”

She looked almost insulted. “How’s someone going to catch my astral bad-boy self? My body’s going to be right here, in bed.”

I wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know. What about other projectors? Couldn’t they somehow see you?”

“Yeah, but there’s not that many of us here. I mean, what are the chances? I won’t take long—just do a little bit of snooping, and then I’ll come right back.”

I glanced over at the window. Outside, the ground was covered with the season’s first snowfall. Not much, just a few inches, but enough to remind me of my vision, the one where Cece had been expelled. “No,” I said resolutely. “You can’t risk it. I’m serious, Cece. It’s too much like the vision. You know how badly I want to find him, but there’s got to be another way. If you get expelled, I’ll never forgive myself. Just . . . promise me you won’t.”

“Okay, okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Sheesh. You and your visions.”

“My visions are going to save your butt,” I said. “Look, I’ve already lost Aidan. I can’t lose you, too.”

She leaned over and reached for my hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate the offer, though.” I gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Hold up. You’ve been at the café all this time and you didn’t bring me back anything? Where’s my decaf mocha?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I texted you three times asking if you wanted anything. Don’t you ever check your phone?”

“Crap, I turned the sound off and forgot about it.” I’d been talking to Whitney, and then I’d switched it off so I could read my English assignment—several poems by Wordsworth and Coleridge—in peace. Even though they should have been quick, painless reads, my brain had been stumbling over the words, and what should have taken an hour ended up taking two. “Are you going to bed now?”

“Nah, I’ve still got homework.” Cece stood, stretching her arms toward the ceiling before hurrying across the room to retrieve her bag. She tossed it to the bed, pulled off her shoes, and then sat back down with a groan. “It’s not fair—the first day back should be a homework-free zone.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to bed anytime soon. I’ve still got some history to do.” I was giving up on the poems. It was a losing battle—I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for romantic poets and their jibber jabber about sunsets and moonlight and the delicate curve of their beloved’s cheek.

Cece pulled a thick paperback from her bag. “Okay, I’ll read my English assignment, and then you want to go over the French homework together?”

“Sounds good,” I said, reaching for my history reader and turning to the first assignment. The British Peerage System, the title read. A quick scan of the first page made my heart sink. If it wasn’t love poems, it was barons and dukes and viscounts, oh my.

Why did everything have to remind me of what I’d lost?