Infinite Days Read online

  It seemed as though an invisible hand pressed on every inch of my being. My shoulders and my arms were tensed like hard stone. I waited…and waited for the relief. I sighed, out of habit, and looked down at the unmoving palm of the young woman under my feet. It will always be this way, I thought, and kicked her hand out of spite. Even if she were still alive, the maniacal pain rushing through my veins would never calm—there would always be this tempest, never a breeze.

  The curtain rose, and I closed my eyes, waiting to be engulfed by blackness and sound. It would be safe there in the darkness of my mind. The only place I knew I could go to forget even just for a moment what I had become. The orchestra began to play, and I let the violins make colors of peace—whites, blues, and a whole symphony of color. Violins swirled in my head. I could see the ivory fibers of the bows as they crossed the strings, over and back again.

  The woman’s operatic soprano filled the room from the stage. She began her aria, “Se pietà.” She hit a surprisingly high note, though I had no physical reaction to its beauty. The collective reaction of the crowd told me that she was no common opera singer—she was able to move people through their bodies, through their souls. For me, the aria put out the light. It dimmed the spark so I could sink into the sound.

  I gripped the chair when I sensed a shift in the air and a pair of hands gently caressed my shoulders. Then Rhode’s lips were close to my ear. He sat down behind me. “Have you learned Italian yet?” he whispered.

  I shook my head, my lips parting.

  “Too bad,” he said. His chin almost rested on my shoulder.

  “What is she saying?” I whispered.

  “That she is Cleopatra…and her grand plan is collapsing around her.”

  The love Rhode felt for me coursed through my shoulders, down to my feet, and I wished I could shiver. The vampire emotion of love works in just this manner, as a reaction—a fulfillment—relief. Murdering my victims for their blood wasn’t working anymore. The love Rhode and I shared was all I had left.

  “She thinks her love is dead,” he said.

  I opened my eyes to Rhode’s stare—that rugged face whose features softened only for me. He had sat down next to me. The singer, dressed in an Egyptian costume, raised her hands from her sides and knelt before the stage bed.

  “The game has lost its sport,” I said.

  Around Rhode and me, the singer’s voice crescendoed with the orchestra—it was a deafening beauty. I felt the crowd’s swelling emotion, the union of their happiness. I ached.

  “The music calms me. But I know I will forget myself again. The savagery prevails, the pain returns, and the longing to hurt takes over…it always does. How do you bear it?” I asked. “I’m on the brink.”

  “You,” he said calmly, plainly. He took my hand into his and brought my fingers to his mouth. Under my nails was some leftover blood—he licked it away. “I think about you, and it’s enough.”

  “How?”

  “We are allowed very little, Lenah. I focus my energies not on the pain but on what I can do to avoid it.”

  “So I am your distraction?”

  “You,” he said, his face coming within inches of mine, “are my only hope.”

  I surveyed Rhode’s beautiful features. His eyes probed mine for a reaction. I placed a hand on his cheek.

  “I’m unraveling. I know now. No amount of blood or violence will alleviate the loss I experience every day. I want to run my fingers along skin and feel it. I want to sleep, wake, laugh with a crowd. This”—I pointed to the dead couple—“is no longer enough.”

  Rhode brought my fingertips back to his lips. He closed his eyes as the aria swelled around us.

  “Let’s go,” he said, opening his eyes and then standing up.

  “To where?” I asked.

  “Anywhere,” he said. His eyes set into mine and bore deeply into what would have been my soul, if I had one. “Anywhere you go, I will go,” he said. We turned from the balcony, the only indication of our presence…the carnage.

  “This way, Lenah,” Tony said, and I shook my head, focusing back on the doorway into the auditorium.

  Once we entered, I could see why Rhode had sent me to Wickham. It was easily the most elegant school I had ever seen. The auditorium rivaled some of the more beautiful homes I had experienced over the last five centuries. The walls and ceilings were modern. Nothing in my home in Hathersage was made from metal, just stone and wood. Wickham was different. It was the kind of place where lights were encased in stained glass and they brightened with the easy push of a finger. The seats rose up and away from a single podium in the center of the room. The stairs leading up to the many rows of seats were lined with a red carpet and track lighting.

  “Just the upper school has an assembly here,” Tony explained as we walked up the stairs. Many of the students congregated in tight groups. “Sit over here,” Tony said, and showed me to a few rows of seats to the far left. All the kids already seated there were dressed like Tony. Some had interesting shades of hair, and one older boy had his mouth and eyebrow pierced. Gavin, a vampire in my coven, loved stakes and knives. He would have enjoyed piercing himself. Perhaps he had by now.

  I didn’t see Justin. I have to admit, I hoped to. Though I did see his horrible girlfriend, Tracy Sutton, and her two friends sitting across the aisle. The self-proclaimed Three-Piece were sitting together, heads close, whispering. Tracy looked up and caught my eye. I looked away. When I sat down, I removed my backpack and placed it at my feet.

  I couldn’t help it. I turned back to look at her and watched her mouth move. She leaned to the smallest of the blond girls and said, “That new girl is sitting with the art kids.”

  The small blond girl turned her head, and I looked away just quick enough.

  “She’s pretty,” she said.

  Tracy scoffed. “Whatever. She’s paler than me in mid-November, and what’s up with that tattoo on her left shoulder? Can you say weird?”

  It was a “needle scratch on a record” moment. The palm to the forehead, stupid things I had completely forgotten about. I was so stupid. I had completely forgotten about my tattoo. An expression is tattooed on the back of my left shoulder. Only those in my coven had these words tattooed on their skin:

  EVIL BE HE WHO THINKETH EVIL.

  I pressed my lips together and I looked about the room. What was I going to do? How would I explain that phrase to everyone who saw it? Especially the girls in the Three-Piece. I pressed my back into the seat so no one else would be able to see the tattoo. I let my hair down though I knew when I walked or moved anyone would be able to see it. The straps of the tank top were extremely thin. It was a poor fashion choice, but I had no time to run across campus and change.

  I hated that I could read lips. I hated my vampire sight. I wished I had worn a sweater.

  Tony must have noticed I was staring at them because he leaned over to me. “Bunch of bitches.”

  “Why do they call themselves ‘the Three-Piece’ again?”

  “Because they are always together. The three of them. Tracy Sutton, Claudia Hawthorne, and Kate Pierson. Rich, popular, and dangerous. Kate is a weekday student. She lives with her family in Chatham.”

  “How can those three girls possibly be dangerous?”

  Almost as I was saying the words, I understood what Rhode meant that day in the fields as well as what Tony meant. These girls were effortlessly beautiful. They flipped their hair with ease and a carefree swipe of their hand. They were dangerous because in their beauty they believed they held all their power.

  Ms. Williams spoke and ruined my examination of the Three-Piece. “Students and faculty, please take your seats,” she said over a microphone.

  The chatter slowed, there was a bustling of bodies, and after a few moments everyone sat down. I still didn’t see Justin anywhere.

  “Welcome back. It is my privilege this morning, as it is each year, to welcome you to another academic year at Wickham. What is my wish? For you t
o achieve the highest level of education available. For you to grow not only academically but as young adults. Here at Wickham you are the best example of this country’s future. And as the upper school, you are the example for the rest of Wickham Boarding School.”

  “Blah blah blah,” Tony whispered in my right ear, and my chest warmed. I was grateful to have him by my side.

  “Before we dive into the highly anticipated schedule changes there is some preliminary news. We have accepted only four new students to join the upper school this year. Can you all come down to the podium, please? Lenah Beaudonte, Elizabeth McKiernan, Monika Wilcox, and Lois Raiken.”

  My stomach dropped. This was not going to be good.

  To my left, three students stood up and began the walk down the long aisles toward Ms. Williams. I looked to Tony, my eyes wide and my mouth dropped. He held his hand over his mouth. His big shoulders bounced up and down. Even though his mouth was covered, I could see the apples of his cheeks were red with glee. If only he knew what my tattoo meant…once I stood up, everyone would see it. Everyone would ask.

  I stood up. Don’t fall, I prayed. Don’t you dare fall. I stepped down, one sandaled foot at a time. I ripped off the floppy hat so the brim squished in my right hand. Slowly, but surely, I made my way to Ms. Williams. I was careful not to look anywhere but at the stairs in front of me. I could already hear some whispering. The tattoo was small. No larger than average textbook print, but the scrawling cursive was specific. It was Rhode’s handwriting etched into my skin with ink, blood, candle flame, and a small needle.

  Ms. Williams stepped to the left of the podium to allow room for us. The other three students faced the audience, I did the same. Then I felt a hand on my left shoulder.

  “Why don’t you go first, Lenah? Just tell them a little about yourself,” she whispered. I stepped up to the microphone. I could only assume I was supposed to talk into it, as I had seen Ms. Williams do. It exaggerated her voice, and I already had an even, smooth cadence.

  The student body stared. Hundreds of mortal eyes looked at me and waited for me to say something that would define me within their world.

  “I’m Lenah Beaudonte, and this is thoroughly mortifying.”

  Laughter erupted. I could feel that they were laughing with me and not at me. My hands gripped the side of the podium. I searched for Tony, who gave me a thumbs-up. It was then that I noticed Justin Enos sat in the seat directly behind mine. My heart thumped in my chest, and I had to look away. He had also seen the tattoo. He must have. Either way, he looked unbelievable. Delicious, even. His skin was bronzed, a golden color that one could only achieve from being in the direct line of the sun. I wondered for an instant if I touched him how warm he would be.

  “I’m from a small town in England, if you couldn’t tell from the accent. I’m sixteen, and…well, I guess that’s it for now.”

  I walked back to my seat, this time exposing my tattoo to the teachers who were seated behind me. The whole time I stepped up the stairs I locked eyes with Justin. His lips made it clear what he was thinking. I felt like a hybrid: half beast, half human, because it was easy for me to read him. He looked straight at me, with a smirk. One where his lips just rested on the edge of a smile. He didn’t have to speak to me in the rain. He didn’t have to say anything out loud because he said it all with his eyes.

  I want you.

  Chapter Seven

  As soon as assembly was over, everyone started to move toward the exits. I didn’t want to seem eager to Justin, so when Tony and I finally stood up to make our way to class, I turned around casually. But Justin had gone. I didn’t like this position. Wasn’t he supposed to be following me? I wasn’t supposed to be wondering about him, hoping he was behind me. How frustrating.

  Once we were in the hallway, I pulled my backpack close to my body so that my tattoo was covered.

  “That tattoo is really cool,” Tony said, confirming my fears. We walked out of the auditorium down the main hallway of Hopper.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I replied. “Nothing? That tattoo is not nothing. When did you get it done? Who did it? That’s some serious ink.”

  “An artist in London,” I said, though my mind flashed to a memory. I was in Hathersage, stomach down on the floor of the living room. Underneath me was a scarlet red, Persian rug Rhode brought back from India sometime in the sixteenth century. A fire roared in the oversized fireplace. I was topless, but only my back was exposed. Rhode was on his knees working the scripture into my back.

  Around Tony and me, students wandered the halls, most with Wickham folders in their hands. There must have been a hundred middle schoolers wandering through Hopper building. The moment reminded me of a castle in Venice during carnevale. Hundreds of costumed Venetians held masks over their faces. Lions, feathers, sparkling gems, and flowing goblets spilled onto the floor. Just like this moment, it was disarming to be surrounded by so many strangers. There was no face I recognized, just eyes catching my gaze. Though, in 1605, in my confusion, I murdered the great Doge Marino when he refused to stop following me throughout the castle. I ripped his neck out and was quite “full” before dawn crept over the canals of Venice. I greatly regretted it all that next day, as I had no idea I had murdered my host. What was a girl to do? He kept following me around telling me how beautiful I was. Also, I was so bored.

  “So, she’s sitting there on her knees. Like, crying,” a voice said, tearing me out of my memory. Tracy stood in the hallway and flipped her hair over her shoulder. She talked to the members of the Three-Piece as well as Justin. They stood around her at the base of some stairs. There were a few other girls standing about I didn’t know. Tracy hit Justin casually on the shoulder. “Justin goes in there and says, like, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What did she say?” one of the girls I didn’t know asked while she sipped on a soda. Tracy looked to Justin, but he simply shrugged in response.

  “She lied. She said she’d never heard music on a stereo before.”

  Justin looked up from the group and when he locked eyes on me, his eyes were polite—surprised, even. My cheeks warmed, and I felt a stirring in my chest—I wanted to scream at Tracy and throw her to the ground. Instead, I sighed and turned to Tony, who smiled apologetically.

  “The English floor is up there,” he said, and pointed at a staircase. “I can go up with you, if you want.”

  The position I was in with Tracy was not to be taken lightly. I needed to go up alone. “No,” I said, though my tone was thankful. I looked back to the group, but they had started up the stairs. “I’ll be all right,” I said, grateful I wouldn’t have to pass by them after they had just talked about me in that manner.

  “I’ll see you tonight. Dinner?”

  I nodded and started to climb.

  “Don’t forget!” Tony said, calling after me. I turned around. “B-O-B,” he said, sounding out the letters. “Bunch o’ bitches.”

  I laughed and ascended the stairs.

  Advanced English. Apparently, when I took the placement test that Saturday morning, I had scored “higher than last year’s valedictorian.”

  On the second floor there were doors made out of mahogany with glass-plated windows and a shiny tiled floor. I walked down the hallway, past two or three glass doors, and looked down at my schedule. I pressed on a wooden door with the numbers 205 painted in black and entered AP English. This classroom had a semicircular shape, a chalkboard in the center of the room, and the teacher standing in the middle was a man named Professor Lynn. He was a short man, with a slight build and a receding hairline. His bald spot was the size of a half dollar.

  Most students were just taking their seats. I didn’t see anyone I knew except Tracy. I sat as far away from her as possible. As I walked, I noticed a familiar curve of a spine seated next to Tracy. The person had a wide, well-toned back that was hidden underneath a black button-down. It was Justin and he was seated next to Tracy. I sat down without glancing in their direction.


  Professor Lynn turned to the class from writing on the blackboard.

  “Kate Chopin. The Awakening—1899. Can someone tell me if this novel is a romance, a thriller? What genre is this?” Professor Lynn asked, catching my glance. So I guess we’re just going to jump right into this, I thought.

  I didn’t respond. Instead, I pulled the book from my bag. It was a brand-new, soft-cover copy that I had bought with Tony at the bookstore.

  “Anyone?” Professor Lynn pressed. Again, no one responded. “How about our new comedienne?” He referred to his class roster. I knew what was going to happen, luckily retaining my vampire ability to read people’s emotional intentions. I knew it, like an instinct, that Professor Lynn wanted to challenge me. He came toward my desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you read the first fifty pages? You should have received a letter and syllabus over the summer with instructions.”

  I nodded. Although I’d received no letter while I was hibernating six feet under the ground, I thought it best I didn’t mention that particular detail.

  “Why don’t you tell us what you think, Ms. Lenah”—he referred to his roster—“Ms. Lenah Beaudonte. What are your initial reactions to The Awakening?”

  “What would you like to know?” I asked without removing my eyes from Professor Lynn’s. He was using me as an example, setting the stage—a power struggle. After the incident by the stairs with Tracy, I was going to win. Our stares were resentful, his eyes unforgiving. If Professor Lynn had ever been made into a vampire, he would have been frightening.

  “I asked what you thought of The Awakening. The initial fifty pages. Any aspect of it,” Professor Lynn said. The smugness in his voice was sickening. Just another example of human nature, I thought.