Disclaimer: I do not own Demonata, Darren Shan does. The only things I own here are Esther, her family and anyone who doesn't appear in the books. I also own the non-canon creatures that will feature in this fic, and one of them appears in this chapter. The description is a little brief, but more will be explained of this kind-I promise!
One foot forward, one in front of the other, the other will swiftly swing round and in time my steps carry me forward as I make my way down the corridor. I get the odd glance from the occasional student but they mainly treat me like a piece of the furniture, or a ghost. An embodiment of invisible, non-existent air gliding her way through the atmosphere. And the ones who do give me a glance quickly look away as if I'm not worth their 'oh so precious' time. Life's a bitch, right? I don't bump into people, I don't try and talk to people, I just ghost my way throughout the building, mindin' my own business like a good little girl.
Gently patting down my hair as I hurriedly walk, I root through my bag and check out my brand new shiny timetable. When I first arrived at the Vale's high school after a half-hour walk from my own house; it was a pleasant walk. The sun shone through the trees like it was kissing the very roots of the earth, and the leaves echoed a soft green hue that made me feel like I was walking through some faerie woodland. I'd decided that I'd let my dad drive me here and back in the winters or on particularly cold days, but when the weather was nice, walking would be pleasant for certain.
The school's receptionist had been the youngest receptionist I'd ever met; well for one who worked with adolescents. She must've been only about eight years older than me, only about twenty-two, and she'd been far too pretty to be allowed to work with a load of horny teenage boys with their raging hormones! Nice slender figure; short, bouncy light brown curls about chin-length; cute, beady light green eyes and dressed in a simplistic light brown dress that matched her hair a little.
She'd been helpful, sweet and kindly, good skills for a receptionist to have if they're working with children as young as eleven. After handing me a timetable, she wished me a good day and I went on my way. I never got a name but I figured I eventually would; she worked at the school I was attending and so the name would eventually pop up somewhere. I'd seen several of the boys, some of my age, some older, hanging around the reception, staring adoringly at the pretty receptionist with obvious lust. I'd looked at them, smiled and shook my head a little, before carrying on my way to my first class.
First period is Music, so I'm not too fussed. I'm no singer, and I suck at all instruments except one-flute. My father, a painter, loves creativity and practically forced me to take up an instrument when I was peaking six. I'd chosen a flute, because my mum's friend used to play one and I'd loved the sound. I'm a flute pro according to my former teacher, Laney. I've done a few proper concerts, usually with my dad who plays the piano, but most secondary schools don't teach flute, so I knew it'd be likely that I'd have to look elsewhere for my musical hobby to continue.
It took me about four minutes to find my classroom and it was good I'd have arrived early, or I had the possibility of being late to my first class. The bell sounded harsh and shrilly, so I gently turned the handle and open the door slowly. The teacher was standing in the centre of the classroom; she was tall, with tanned skin and a whirl of curly, dark hair around her head. Loose fitting white pants and a cream sweater made her look almost ethereal in the lightness of the tinged yellow classroom walls. The desks were spread out, in single file-probably to stop students from talking and not paying attention. She turns around, almost slowly and smiles kindly at me, her face looking younger when she does that.
"You must be Esther," she says with a short, curt nod which I nod back at. "I'm Mrs Lyndholme, your music teacher." Well no shit, I think but don't say anything, that'd get me in trouble and unlike most, I don't want to achieve the 'badass' title on my first day. "Now, we have a spare seat next to the window, right over there," she gestures to the seat and I nod to confirm that I know where she's pointing. As Mrs Lyndholme is explaining that the class is currently looking at the 'Romantic Period' of music. She tells me my father rang in to tell her that I do flute and she says that she could arrange lessons for me; I thank her and take my seat in a ghost like way.
The class is still pretty much ignoring me; again, I only get the odd glance and although interest flickers on the rarest of occasions, no-one comes up to me when we're copying work from text books about the people who prospered in the time and what their most famous pieces were. One or two people look like they want to get up and talk to me, but the telling glance from their friends clearly states one message: 'Leave it, she isn't worth our precious time'.
Until the unthinkable happens: someone approaches me. And not your usual type of approaching person; the stereotypical person who approaches you on your first day is of your gender, with a pleasant smile, and an even more pleasant attitude and demeanour. They include you in their social life, invite you out with them, and all their friends will eventually come round to love you and you'll be accepted, have a happy, good life, bleuch. Sadly fairytale's like that don't exist yet, so I've always assumed I will never have that person approach me on my first day. And to add to my weird life, this person is not your typical type to approach the new girl on her first day.
He towered imposingly above me, built like a comic book superhero, but he looked like he was trying to seem less frightening. Obviously, freaking out the new kid-not cool. Messy hair, not quite red but not quite ginger, a nice mix if you ask me; although I'd look ugly with red hair. My pale skin would yet again make me look like an ill, flame-haired corpse. Freckled skin which I liked; being freckly myself, anyone with freckles was immediately in my good books.
My first crush had had freckles; he'd been slightly built, with tanned skin, blue eyes even deeper than mine and curly hair, but his freckles stood out and made him look incredibly cute and sweet. He'd lived across the street from us, and had been about two years older than me. I'd never picked up the courage to speak to him of course; I'd just silently admired him from my front garden. On the day we moved I planned to go over to his house and tell him how much genuine attraction I felt towards him, but I'd never picked up the courage. Our mothers were good friends though, and I prayed she'd invite them over to see our new home one holiday on a whim so I could possibly pluck up the courage to confess my attraction for him.
Shaking off my thoughts of old crushes; I look up at the superhero boy and swallow back any possible fears that are lurking beneath the surface. "Yes?" I say, my voice coming out in a mouse's' squeak but he luckily must have sharp hearing as the edges of his mouth tug a little, as if he wants to smile at me.
"Hi," he says a little stiffly. Unlike everyone else I'd met today, his accent wasn't Irish. He was British like me, and it felt incredibly reassuring that I wasn't 'that quiet British girl sitting at the back of the classroom'. "I'm Grubbs Grady, Dervish's nephew." So this was the prestigious nephew of my mother's possible ex-boyfriend. He's…Interesting looking. He holds out his hand politely. "You must be…"
"Esther," I prompted. "Esther Blake, Serena's daughter." I look back at Mrs Lyndholme suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be getting on with your work?"
"Finished it," he says breezily. "I asked Miss if I could come and speak to you, y'know, be like your guide for the day. Invite you to sit with me and my friend's at lunch, show you where all your classes are, that sort of thing?"
"Look," I say with a little sigh and my teeth begin to nibble my lip gently. "I don't want to be your personal dead weight; I don't want you and your friends to feel forced to carry the burden of the new girl like a constant omen. People often go off you the second you start taking in the new kids, I know that first hand, and your friends will probably get sick to death of me quickly." He grins at me and his eyes flash as if he knows he has the answer to all of my pessimism.
"It was actually my friend Mary who sent me over here," he confesses, laughing quietly. "She's the only main girl in our gang and I think the chance of having you, another girl around, was all too appealing to her. Most the girls here find my build a little…Imposing, and seeing as you're not screaming and running away, I think I'm not going to piss her off monumentally."
I laugh dryly and take hold of his hand, shaking it. Fuck he has a strong grip! "Well, Grubbs, I don't think I'm going to let Mary kill you just yet." He laughs a little louder and turns around, making a single at a girl who must be Mary. She's average height, medium build, gorgeous face, but her hair's that mousy brown most people hate which explains why men aren't fighting over her and she's drably dressed too. Simplistic lavender top, pale jeans, greeny-blue sneakers.
"Look, I have a question for you." Grubbs asked.
"Shoot." I say, letting my usual guard down for this boy. He's clearly not taking the piss or my indifferent demeanour would have scared him off.
"Did Dervish and your mum…Y'know?" I know what he's inferring too immediately and I laugh at that, he joins in, the two of us getting some weird looks from the rest of the class in the process but neither of us cares too much.
"I have no clue," I admit, gasping for air. "I think she implied it, but I never asked. Didn't want to really; bringing up my mother's old list of boyfriend's is a subject I doubt most teenage girls wish to venture down, a very slippery slope indeed, and besides, I doubt I'll get a sex life. Hearing about my mother's obvious fabulous one will just be another kick to the self-esteem. I look like Alice on Wonderland if she was fucked up."
Grubbs looks like he wants to pat my shoulder but doesn't, unsure of my response. "I'm sure there are some guys who crave Alice in Wonderland types." His tone is half-jokey but half-serious as well, and I know he's genuinely trying to cheer me up. "Like some bizarre…Cosplay fetish." We both burst into a fresh set of laughter at him hinting some guys would desire having cosplay sex with me.
"You find me one of these men Grady," I smile slightly and slap him gently on the arm. "I'll pay you so much money you'll make Bill Gates look like a homeless man on the corner." Another round of laughter. Well, I think this is the beginning of what could turn into a beautiful friendship!
The rest of the day breezes by surprisingly smoothly; I go to my classes and hang out with the rest of Grubbs Grady's friends at lunch. They accept me into their group and I tell them about my life in England before I moved her. They seem genuinely interested in what I got up to before I came here, which feels great of course. To my absolute delight, I finally feel like I'm fitting in with a group of people; and the feeling of a group is enjoyable, something I've never had before.
The wind sweeps by peacefully as I walk down the pavement, and make my way towards the hill which leads to the woods. The woods are like my shortcut; I spent my first few days in the Vale walking through them, practicing the route to school till I knew it off by heart. It would've been pretty frightening, as well as embarrassing, if on my very first day at my new school, I'd stumbled around the woods like an imbecile and eventually give up, go home, and be driven there by my dad, arriving late. Lateness is one of my big issues, and I hate the way people stare at you when you walk into the class, head bowed, ashamed. On your very first day, it feels even worse.
The woods are silent, almost eerily so. The occasional bird dips throughout the trees like a kite, gliding and swooping gracefully; the odd patch of light spills onto the earth below, igniting the dust spores in the air like pale grains of sand; roots stick out, but I step over them, like twisted arms. It's one of the prettiest woods I've ever walked in. Back in Newcastle, I lived in a suburb-so obviously vegetation wasn't too plentiful. And the landscape was extremely bleak. It's sort of like a culture shock to see all of this, but I slowly accustomed to it all.
I used to hate woods, when I was a child. They scared me, that feeling of the unknown, the shadows, the trees hiding people, the bushes providing someone with violent thoughts protection. It all just seemed eerie, now it's beautiful to me. My entire outlook has changed entirely on the natural world.
So lost in my own thoughts of the difference of my homes, I don't notice a figure standing next to a tree, and only look up when I hear a short, sharp whistle. I hate whistling like that, it's so rude and shrill, as if the person whose lips pursed to create the whistle thinks they're so much better than you. Whistling can be cute, it can be sweet, it can even be seductive, but most of the time-its arrogance. And this whistle was fucking ignorance defined.
I spin sharply on my heels, an unimpressed glower set on my facial features, only for the annoyance to quickly shift into one of confusion. A person, I place his age between sixteen and nineteen, is leaning against the tree like a typical film hitman or villain. He's impossibly pale skinned, making me look tanned. Tall and slender, dressed expensively but like a riverboat gambler from Venice. Rich, blood red coat, black lace at the neck and down the front, matching, straight black pants and boots. A straight-brimmed, matching crimson hat shades his face, and a gold mask covers everything but his chin and eyes. Dark eyes stared at me through the mask.
His tongue danced over his lips and teeth; fangs? What the hell?
"It's a mighty good job you came this way, or I'd have been sitting here for two hours and a half for just about nothin'." His voice had a Southern accent, clashing with his Venetian style outfit. He laughs at this, as if it was some private joke. His laugh is crisp, clear, bitter and rich; like dark chocolate. "You do look like Alice in Wonderland, the boss wasn't wrong now, was she? She promised me I'd get an Alice type, but you just take the biscuit, don't ya'll."
"Um…" Is my beautifully witty response to the strange, fanged boys' big introduction. "Not to sound rude, but who are you?"
Another laugh, and this time it's a little less pretty. It's smugger, more arrogant, as if he's so sure he's the superior in this argument. "You can call me San Valentino." The name doesn't match the accent, but underneath the thick Southern US accent, I can hear the smallest of hints of a European one. Spanish or Italian maybe. "And you are, miss? The boss never gave me a name, just a description."
Part of me desperately wants to lie to boot; I want to either give him a false name like 'Lucy Smith' or downright refuse to tell him. But part of my common sense warns me this will be a bad decision, as if he could sense when I was lying or something unimaginable like that. "I'm Esther Baker. Now, not to sound too rude, but you haven't exactly been Mr Polite with me, what do you want Mr Valentino?"
Yet again, San Valentino laughs and it's really beginning to piss me off. He raises a hand, which is covered in a matching red glove, to his head and takes off the hat, revealing short hair a few shades to dark to be auburn, but too light to be properly brown; and tips it at me. "I've been sent to deliver a message, or should that be a warning?" Uh-oh, I am not liking the way this conversation is going. San Valentino looks at me like he needs conformation to continue; I nod, although I don't really want to. "We need to speak to your daddy."
We? Who the hell is we? San Valentino seems to be all alone but you can never be too careful…And dad? What does he want with my dad? "I can smell your confusion." He says, making me jump, then shiver and he flashes me another fangy grin.
I swallow slowly; massaging my temples as I do so, but my eyes never leave the mysterious, continental mix dressed San Valentino. His eyes never leave me either and I don't like the way he's looking at me one bit. Like a lion eyeing up a cute little lamb it's about to eat; I have a feeling San Valentino would like to get up close and personal with me, and it made me feel even more uncomfortable in the strange boy's presence.
"I'd love to taste your essence." I bet you would, I think but keep my mouth buttoned shut until I feel like I've thought of a suitable question.
"Why do you need to see my dad?" I ask him, my voice coming out stronger than I thought it would, which pleases me. I'm positive that if my 'daddy' knew a lunatic who dressed like a riverboat Venetian, his name would have come up in at least one conversation. "Does…" I faltered before finding my voice again. "Does my mum know?"
"Nope," San Valentino says breezily. "She never knew, he couldn't let her even hear about his visits to our club." Club? My dad never goes clubbing…Or at least, I think he doesn't. "Or he'd have to explain his little secrets to her." Secrets? What the fuck is this lunatic talking about? "Ever wondered how daddy makes enough money to keep ya'll comfortable?" He asks smugly, so assured of his own knowledge. Part of me wants to scream at him, jump on him, pull his hair, slap him, kick him, bite him; but I know he isn't lying…San Valentino may be arrogant and malicious, but he isn't a liar.
"I…I don't understand…" I mumble meekly. I feel my head spinning and place one hand on a tree to stop myself from fainting down dead.
"I'm not asking ya to, sugar," within a split second he's standing above me. I'm shoulder height with him and partially collapse against him. He wraps two slender, surprisingly strong arms around me but removes one to stroke my hair. I didn't feel comfortable, but I didn't want to let this onto him. "Such a pretty little thing, aren't ya," he laughs to himself; that bitter chocolate laugh making me wriggle against his body which is cool as the Antarctic.
I should be asking how he moved so quickly; am I just dizzy, or did he truly move that fast? A deep dread in the bottom of my stomach tells me the boy hugging me to his chest isn't human, but I have no clue what he is. The fangs make me think 'vampire' but…He's walking around in the daylight. I suck up my fears and lean my head back, staring up at his mask covered face. "What are you?" I sounded strangled.
He laughs again, but this time it sounds like he's amused that I'm asking the obvious question. "Part of me wants to lie to you, say I am human and your delusional, but I figure you're a little too bright for that. So I'm gonna be honest with ya." Goodie goodie, the sarcastic part of my mind chimes. "I'm a vampoari."
"A what-"
"A vampoari," he interrupts me. "Basis of the storybook vampires," I feel his gloved hands swish through my pale blonde hair, tugging the tips slightly. "But not one of those soppy, pathetic, 'fall in love' with human types." He spits on the ground, very attractive. "I could give you the details, but I'll let you figure them out yaself. I have the typical traits-I drink blood, but I can live on animal blood, and humans are a rare treat for me; I'm super strong, super quick-as you've just seen, and have heightened senses; I'm immortal, but I can die via stake, fire, silver to the heart, or having my head cut off; I can heal, and my blood can heal yours; and if I bit ya, I could make you like me. But," he pauses, clearly for flair. "I can do things others can't."
I look into his dark eyes and immediately look away, having a feeling that looking directly at him might let him do something I would regret. I feel some sort of…Power wash over me like water; like long, thin, freezing fingers are ghosting over my skin, and I feel like his age is pounding against me, his age flooding through his power. I look up at him gingerly, shaking slightly and feel extremely bemused. "You're just over nine hundred years old," I say quickly.
The bittersweet chocolate laugh returns and I slip away from him when he spreads his arms to laugh. "You are a somethin' ain't you? Full of surprises. But the little girl of Michael Baker would be special, wouldn't she? Ah mean, he had the gall to do this to me!" He peels back his mask, fangs shooting out as he openly displays his fury and I gasp in horror.
The left side of his face is scarred with pinkish-white splash shapes, like someone chucked acid on his face; his healing's clearly done its best to cleanse the scars but nothing's going to make the last bits fade. Only his eye and it's lid remain unharmed. His face was pitted, and looked like at first it had tried not to melt; I felt a sickening amount of sympathy bubble for the vampoari boy and a horrified fury at my father. I know San Valentino is no lost little kitten for sure, but that must have been so painful.
"Holy Water," He says bitterly, his beautiful, scarred face twisting so it looks a little less beautiful. "Your daddy through Holy Water at me when I just went to receive my payment for all the favours I did for him. Glamouring your mama's parents into letting him marry her; getting that stupid curator to put his painting in the gallery; feeding him my blood so for a short period of time he seemed more attractive, so your mama would draw away from Dervish Grady, and gravitate to him. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't exist, little Esther."
"What was your payment?" I sound hushed, mortified, and I feel it. My dad lied to my mum? He forced her to marry him by getting a vampoari named San Valentino to enhance his life? My entire existence is thanked to the basis creature of vampires? I feel so betrayed. My entire life is based around my father's selfish need to feel wanted by my beautiful mother.
Valentino laughs and strokes my face with one gloved hand, before cupping it with both, forcing my eyes to meet his. "That I get to request any favour of any kind I want to him, and I chose my favour to be you." I jump and shudder all over, making him snicker again. "I told your father I wanted to marry his eldest daughter, and look, that's you. My boss agreed to the deal, and here we are. But then," his fangs extend and his face looks angry again. "He did something so human!" I'm guessing that means 'stupid' in vampoari speak. "He made that deal with Lord Daire, a filthy demon lord, to have another child for when I collected you when you were sixteen."
"Then he went back on his word," I reply.
"You just hit the nail on the head sugar, but yep. He'd grown attached to you, far too attached, and who can blame him? You look like a little Alice in Wonderland; pretty, intelligent, so much potential." I feel blood rush to my face, and his eyes flash like he wants to bite me right here and now. "No wonder he wanted you to stay. Evie just wouldn't replace you. And even with the upcoming baby, he can't let go." He replaces his hat on top of his rusty reddy-brown hair and bows. "Until next time, Esther." I feel the wind whoosh all around me and he's gone, silently as he came.
I turn on my heels and race home, unsure of what to do as I dash through woodland. Tell dad and have him have to explain the truth to mum, or let him be ignorant till I'm sixteen and disappear? And Lord Daire, the dream woman is real? This is too much. I feel like a computer whose owner is trying to download files I don't have enough memory for. I wish I had someone to tell. I can't tell Grubbs or my new friend circle-Mary, Loch, Leon, Frank, Charlie, Reni and Shannon, they'll think I'm a lunatic or have a way too overactive imagination. Parents are a definite no! Evie wouldn't' understand, she's far too little, and she'd probably tell mum, which would swing back round to the other problems I have. The only other person who comes to mind is Violet, it's a long shot, and she could have the same response as most others, but hopefully she'll understand.
Hopefully.
A/N: So, it's all kicking off now! Esther is engaged to a non-human creature thanks to her dad; the strange dream woman is real, and she has no-one to turn to! R&R please!