Sup, ya'll? So here's the first chapter of what I'm going to name Frostbite: Dimitri's Story. If anyone else has a good name for it, let me know.
But before you read, I want to give a shout-out to Maggie. Happy 13th Birthday!
So please Read and Review!
~Rose
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Chapter 1
I waited beside the Honda Pilot for my mentee, Rose Hathaway. We were going on a surprise field trip to one of the most respected guardian's house.
And she was late.
Would she never change? She acted irresponsible and childish all the time. Would she never learn that the worlds didn't revolve around her?
"I know, I know," she said. "Sorry."
I just stood there. The massive brick building cast long shadows over us, looming like some great beast in the dusky pre-dawn light. Around us, snow was just beginning to fall. I watched the light, crystalline flakes drift gently down. Several landed and promptly melted in her dark hair.
I couldn't stop myself from remembering what it felt like to run my fingers through her hair. Thankfully, she spoke and it distracted me.
"Who all's going?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Just you and me."
She looked like her mood shot up. I wasn't exactly sad about being alone with her. I should have, but I wasn't. It was, however, dangerous.
"How far away is it?"
"Five hours."
"Oh."
That little word gave me more information than anything else. She was disappointed. Was it because she was hoping it was farther away? Or maybe that was just me.
The dim, snowy roads would have been difficult for humans to see, but they proved no problem for our dhampir eyes. I stared ahead, almost afraid to look at Rose. I could tell she was thinking about the Qualifier.
It wasn't the kind of thing you could study for. You either knew it or you didn't. High-up guardians visited novices during their junior year and met individually to discuss students' commitment to being a guardian. The older guardians assessed character and dedication, and some novices had been deemed unfit to continue down the guardian path.
"Don't they usually come to the Academy?" she asked me. "I mean, I don't mind the field trip, but why are we going to them?"
I was all for the field trip too.
"Actually, you're just going to a him, not a them." A light Russian accent laced my words, the only indication of where I'd grown up. "Since this is a special case and he's doing us the favor, we're the ones making the trip."
"Who is he?"
"Arthur Schoenberg."
She jerked her gaze from the road to me.
"What?" she squeaked.
Arthur Schoenberg was a legend. He was one of the greatest Strigoi slayers in living guardian history and used to be the head of the Guardians Council—the group of people who assigned guardians to Moroi and made decisions for all of us. He'd eventually retired and gone back to protecting one of the royal families, the Badicas. Even retired, everyone knew he was still lethal.
"Wasn't…wasn't there anyone else available?" she asked in a small voice.
I tried to hide a smile. "You'll be fine. Besides, if Art approves of you, that's a great recommendation to have on your record."
Silence fell in the car. She bit her lip, probably wondering if she'd be able to meet Arthur Schoenberg's standards. Her grades were good, but things like running away and getting into fights at school might cast a shadow on how serious she was about her future career.
"You'll be fine," I repeated. "The good in your record outweighs the bad."
She smiled a little and peeked at me.
"Thanks, coach," she teased, snuggling back into the seat.
"I'm here to help," I replied.
"You know what would really help?" she asked, not meeting my eyes.
"Hmm?"
"If you turned off this crap music and put on something that came out after the Berlin Wall went down."
I laughed. "Your worst class is History, yet somehow, you know everything about Eastern Europe."
"Hey, gotta have material for my jokes, Comrade."
If she didn't call me by my first name, Dimitri, it was Comrade. It was like her own nickname for me. Mine for her was her name in Russian: Roza. Still smiling, I turned the radio dial. To a country station.
"Hey! This isn't what I had in mind," she exclaimed.
I was about to laugh again. "Pick. It's one or the other."
She sighed. "Go back to the 1980s stuff."
I flipped the dial, and she crossed her arms over her chest.
***
Arthur and the family he protected lived in a small town along I-90, not far from Billings. The general Moroi opinion was split on places to live. Some argued big cities were the best since they allowed vampires to be lost in the crowds; nocturnal activities didn't raise so much attention. Other Moroi, like this family apparently, opted for less populated towns, believing that if there were fewer people to notice you, then you were less likely to be noticed.
Rose convinced me to stop for food at a 24-hour diner along the way, and between that and stopping to buy gas, it was around noon when we arrived. The house was built in a rambler style, all one level with gray-stained wood siding and big bay windows—tinted to block sunlight, of course.
I got out of the Honda and walked with Rose toward the house, our boots sinking through an inch of smooth snow and crunching on the gravel of the driveway. The day was still and silent, save for the occasional breath of wind.
Rose's foot slipped on the ice covered sidewalk, and I instantly reached out to steady her. I had a weird moment of déjà vu to the first night we'd met, back when I'd also caught her before falling in a similar way.
"You okay?" I released my hold when she was stable.
"Yeah," she said, casting accusing eyes to the icy sidewalk. "Haven't these people ever heard of salt?"
She meant it jokingly, but I suddenly stopped walking. I turned my head, eyes searching the broad, white plains surrounding us before settling back on the house. Something was wrong. Very wrong. I studied the building for almost a full minute, looked down at the icy sidewalk, then glanced back at the driveway, covered in a sheet of snow broken only by our footprints.
Cautiously, I approached the front door, and Rose followed. I stopped again, this time to study the door. It wasn't open, but it wasn't entirely shut either. It looked like it had been closed in haste, not sealing. Further examination showed scuffs along the door's edge, as though it had been forced at some point. The slightest nudge would open it. I lightly ran my fingers along where the door met its frame, my breath making small clouds in the air. When I touched the door's handle it jiggled a little, like it had been broken.
Finally, I said quietly, "Rose, go wait in the car."
"But wh—"
"Go."
She backed up, walking on the snow covered lawn rather than risk the sidewalk. I stood where I was, not moving until she'd slipped back into the car, closing the door as softly as possible. I pushed on the barely held door and disappeared inside.
I walked in and stopped. There were bodies all over the place. All ripped at the throat. I walked through the house. I heard the glass door slide open. Silently I walked back to the back of the house to find…Rose.
She looked ready to scream. I wrapped my hand around her mouth from behind.
"Why," I asked, a little annoyed, "don't you ever listen? You'd be dead if they were still here."
She turned toward me. "It's daytime," she whispered. "Bad things don't happen in the day." I heard the desperation in her voice.
"Bad things can happen anytime," I told her. "And this didn't happen during the day. This probably happened a couple nights ago."
I saw her eyes scan the room and come to the still form of Art.
"Arthur Schoenberg," I said.
She stared at Arthur's bloody throat. "He's dead," she said, as though it wasn't perfectly obvious. "How can he be dead? How could a Strigoi kill Arthur Schoenberg?"
I didn't answer. Instead my hand moved down and closed around where her hand held a stake. She flinched.
"Where did you get this?" I asked. She loosened her grip and let my take it.
"Outside. In the ground."
I held up the stake, studying its surface as it shone in the sunlight. "It broke the ward."
Wards were magic rings cast by Moroi. Like the stakes, they were made using magic from all four of the elements. They required strong Moroi magic-users, often a couple for each element. The wards could block Strigoi because magic was charged with life, and the Strigoi had none. But wards faded quickly and took a lot of maintenance. Most Moroi didn't use them, but certain places kept them up. St. Vladimir's Academy was ringed with several.
There had been a ward here, but it had been shattered when someone drove the stake through it. Their magic conflicted with each other; the stake had won.
"Strigoi can't touch stakes," she said. "And no Moroi or dhampir would do it."
"A human might."
She met my eyes. "Humans don't help Strigoi—" she stopped.
She shouldn't have to see this. Not yet. I felt so terrible that she had seen this magnitude of death. And here she was, struggling to come to terms with it; trying to be brave.
"This changes everything, doesn't it?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. "It does."