Author's Note: So, nothing new has been added.. yet. But the beginning of the story was rewritten, hopefully an improvement.
Thank you for reading!
I can hear it everywhere across the room, the beats are different, but the meanings are all the same. Not a single individual is enjoying the long, monotonous lecture being spewed at us from the elderly man at the chalkboard. Even his eyes are half closed, lips barely parting with each softly uttered word. The pencil tapping grows louder and I drop mine, sinking lower in to my seat, glaring at the aged man ahead. I have met people who have lived through the wars he speaks of, even fought in them. I have spoken with beings who were centuries of years old, danced with those who watched the invention of music, and sat with those who inspired the first teachers. And because I was near this individuals, I have lived the history they lived, watched the scenes through their eyes. I could give a first hand account that would bring the cut and dry pages to life. I could fill in so many blanks.
But I can't share that information.
There would be too many questions.
A normal person wouldn't know those things, and I am not even human. I'm a creature of the Night World. The Night World isn't a place. It's all around us. It's a secret society of vampires, werewolves, witches, and other creatures of darkness that live among us. They are beautiful. They are deadly and irresistible to humans. Your high school teacher could be one, not that the man before me was likely. Even your boyfriend. Anyone. But there are rules.
The Night World laws say it's okay to hunt humans; it's even okay to kill them. There are only two things you can't do with them:
Never let them find out the Night World exists.
Never fall in love with one of them.
I have hunted humans, I have even killed them. But never have I broken the laws of the Night World, which make it hard to share my vast knowledge of history. If I were to let these things sleep and the council were to find out, I would be killed. No trial, no reasons. Breaking the laws of the Night World were punishable by death in all cases. You're probably wondering how a human could be hunted and live without spilling the secrets of the monster that attacked them. The beings of the Night World are gifted, in many ways, but they all share something in common: Power. A measurement of their mental abilities. Telepathic powers in a sense. They can manipulate the thoughts of humans, wiping away memories or altering basic thoughts. They can even attack using their Power, sending out a mental wave to cripple their opponents. Most can't do this, they aren't strong enough, but they all have Power, in various degrees.
Me.. I'm special.
I can control the memories of others.
It's nearly impossible to stop this attack unless you know exactly what it is, which most Night Worlders don't. I can create a new memory or watch old ones, warping them to my desire. It's easier for me then most of my kind. But unlike others, I don't see humans as beneath me and toying with them isn't amusing to me. So, when I do enter their memories, I don't dig too deep. I don't make it personal.
This view is far different from others of my kind, from vampires. Humans are nothing but livestock, a storage for the essential blood we depend on. Vampires come in two types. There are lamia, who are born vampires, and made vampires. A lamia can age, change, and this process only stops when they choose for it to. A made vampire, like me, we stay the same forever. Once the change has occurred, we become breathtakingly beautiful, as well as unbelievably fast and strong. We're the perfect predators.
And I hate it.
I let my mind drift through the thoughts of my classmates, searching for an interesting bit of gossip, an exciting memory, to take my attention from the boring man attempting to teach us. But as I move from mind to mind, I notice something strange. None of them are thinking of anything, their attention is focused on the door, on a boy. I don't understand the infatuation until I let my eyes follow their gaze.
There's a boy standing in the doorway, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He's tall, at least six feet, and has darkly tanned skin. His hair is nearly black brown and falls in loose waves cross his broad forehead. A tight t-shirt hugs his chest, which is lined with well-defined muscles, and he's wearing white wash jeans with a worn leather jacket. His eyes are a nearly white, piercing blue and they watch the teacher absently. After a moment, the corners of his lips curl in to an amused grin.
When his stare meets mine I don't look away like the others, I just gaze back with a cocky confidence most people have begun to hate about me. Though, the cockiness is perfectly placed.
I'm like all of my kind, beautiful. I have porcelain skin shaded a milky white. My hair is black and falls loosely across my shoulders, the waves looking even darker against my pale skin. My cheekbones are high and sharp and my eyes are angled, a burning black that is somehow mysterious, alluring. I am very petite, but the curves are still evident. The boys want me, the girls want to be me, as much as they both deny it.
You can't hide when your thoughts are common knowledge.
"Well, class," Our teacher calls, pulling her detention from the chalkboard as I swing my head to look forward. "This is Steven." As the name slips from his lips a sudden wave slams into me, the familiar touch of memories far stronger than ever before as I'm hurtled into someone else's past.
There's a little boy, black hair, dark blue eyes. He has a fishing pole in hand, the large object nearly falling from his grasp as he flings the rope into the water.
"Not so hard, son. We don't want to scare away the fish." An elderly man chuckles, but the scold is kind and loving. The boy turns towards him, head dipped down so his hair makes a curtain in front of his eyes before he looks forward through the black strands and flips them back onto the top of his head. They spill down the sides, earning a laugh from the elderly man as he ruffles the boy's hair.
"How much longer?" The boy questions, once again throwing the line of his fishing pole out.
"Till your done." The man answers before the scene begins to blur...
I fall back into the present, looking forward again, only to see the new kid making his way towards me. He flashes a wide grin and I turn away, suddenly jumpy. I've never been pulled into someone's memories before, the pull has never been that strong. It's not right. I have always controlled my power, it has never controlled me. The feeling is unsettling.
"Steven." The boy extends one hand as he drops his bag to the floor, sinking gracefully into his chair.
"Aven." I mutter absently, not bothering to touch him. After a moment he drops his hand, a low chuckle sounding in his throat. "Oh?" I whisper, my voice pitched just beneath the teacher's hearing level. "Do I amuse you?"
"Yes, actually." He grins to himself as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and letting his long legs stretch out under the seat at the desk in front of ours. After a moment he tilts his head forward, dark brown hair falling into his eyes. Then he tosses his head back, hair flying back. After a moment the curls creep forward, drifting in to his eyes, and he shakes his head defeated. He begins tapping his finger on the table and my nerves seem to prick at every gentle tap.
"How much longer are you going to do that?" I snap sharply. He laughs, earning a few glances from his classmates, and leans towards me.
"Well, until I'm done, of course." He murmurs, shaking his head and turning his attention towards the front of the room. I stare at him in shock. Most people get nervous around me, they don't stare me down. But there's something familiar in the words, in his smile.. It takes me back to the flash of the past I had just a few moments ago.
The little boy in the memory, it was Steven.
This is going to be a very, very long year.
"So where are you from, Aven?" The boy asks, looking over at me through that mess of curls. My eyes narrow at him and I sniff, looking back at the teacher. I was being honest when I said that I don't think I'm better then humans, that doesn't mean I like them. I'm not a very social person, with them or my own kind, or any Night Worlder for that matter.
"Don't bother, man." The guy in front of us murmurs, giving me a fleeting glance. "She doesn't talk unless you matter, that puts out new guys."
"Hey." I say, leaning towards the boy. His eyes widen. It's the first time I've ever talked to him, and he's dreamed about this moment for weeks. I've seen them all. But I want to make a point: I don't ignore people, just Steven. I want him to stay as far away from me as possible. And I do need lunch. "Why don't you sit with me at lunch? I'll be in the back, same spot under the old oak tree. Ok?" He nods, eyes widened in complete and utter shock.
Humans are so predictable.
But, I must admit, the boy is right. I used to be the nice girl in high school, the one who listened to people and made them feel better. Then I went on a walk, at night, with a harmless stranger who needed someone to talk to. When I finally woke up, I was in a coffin. I screamed for hours, beating against the smooth wood, clawing at the edges. I was only greeted with silence and darkness. When my voice was gone, and my hope was long burned out, the digging began. When the coffin finally opened, it was the boy from before, and as he pulled me out, he began to explain to me what I had become.
I couldn't take the fact that I'd never see my family again, that I was a creature of the night, an abomination. So I ran. And I didn't look back.
That's when I began getting sucked in to quick spurts of visions, emotions. Becoming a vampire hadn't given me my gift, just enhanced it. As a child I had the same ability. Like intuition or a sudden feeling. I never thought anything of it, never noticed my 'gift'.
I guess it just wasn't strong enough while I was human.
When I enrolled in school, I expected a clean get away, that the visions had been a side affect of dying and becoming the undead. But it only got worse. I saw things. Not just small facts, but actual moments of their lives. At first it was overwhelming, I couldn't stop myself from collapsing back in to the past. But as time went on, I began to control it and to understand my power. With the understanding, I grew colder, more distant. But I managed to know anything and everything. These little bits of information managed to lift me in to the more elite world of high school, popularity. If someone isn't in this select group, I don't talk to them.
It's that simple. We rule the school, yet most of the students hate us. Except me. No matter how cruel I am, everyone always attends my parties, always attempts to talk to me, and every guy still adores me. Then again––unlike the others in my group––I will sometimes give people a chance to get in to our group, only when I get bored.
In this case, I'm bored and hungry. If I have to deal with this new guy for the rest of the day I'll need energy, which human blood provides.
"Apparantly, man," Steven's thoughts give off a humored vibe, his mind once again pulling me towards him. "She does talk to people." The boy flashes a grin my way, which I don't return as I raise my hand. The teacher slowly turns towards me, eyes dark.
"Yes Aven?"She sighs, voice annoyed.
"May I be excused? Mr. Mahondo wanted some help with the freshman drama club." I explain, fighting the urge to simply fall back in to Steven's memories. I can already feel my strength diminishing, I won't be able to resist for long.
"Aven," The teacher begins before I decide I can't take no for an answer. I collect the last of my energy, pushing in to his mind the memory of speaking with me earlier about it.. and him happily agreeing. Along with deciding to have the students read and answer questions the rest of the week because I can't stand another lecture. "Of course you may. I'm sorry I forgot." He finishes, voice suddenly kind. I feel Steven's memory growing on the edge of my mind so I grab my bag, scoop it over my shoulder, and walk gracefully out of the room.
At first I can keep my stride up, planning to go exactly where I said I would, before my step falters and I stumble in to the wall. Next my vision begins to swim, contorting the hallway in to a mass of swirling colors. I manage to stumble in to a close by classroom, pushing the door closed behind me. Then I drag up that reserve of energy, a strength deep inside my chest, and force my body across the room. I grab the phone, dialing the first number to come to mind..