2. New Job

(Mikhail POV)

I watched closely as the novices went through their paces, calling out instructions and correcting technique when required. The sounds of combat echoed off the walls and ceiling of the gym as pairs of students sparred, completing a series of combinations before the victor moved on to challenge a new partner.

Dhampirs were born and bred tougher than their moroi classmates and used their extra physical strength and stamina to great advantage. To an outsider, a training session where children as young as ten beat the crap out of one-another might have looked strange, even irresponsible, but in our culture this was life. One day these novices would be fully-trained guardians like me, assigned to protect a moroi charge or perhaps operating in a team to guard some noble moroi household from the threat of a strigoi attack. We had to teach the basic principles of defence early or our society would not survive.

As novice guardians it was instilled in us from a very early age that 'they come first.' When I was a young novice studying at the leading academy in Romania I dared to question the status-quo and suggested to my trainer that we should just let the moroi take care of themselves. Over the following week of extra training sessions, early curfews and limited rations it was made very clear to me why this was a bad attitude; the moroi needed us to protect them from the threat of strigoi, but we needed the moroi to survive too. The only way dhampirs could have children was with a moroi partner, and so we found ourselves dependent upon one-another, an alliance that was readily accepted by most. The few that disagreed with the strict laws of service were ostracised from our society, forced to lead their own path away from the support systems we had built up around us.

There was a yell of triumph from one of the students and I snapped back into the present, watching on with faint amusement as a fifteen year old girl crouched over her opponent who lay decimated on the floor beneath her.

'Got you again, Ashford!' Rosemarie Hathaway cried exultantly, her blunt wooden stake pressed against his throat as she held a fistful of his red hair in her other hand.

The boy's expression quickly flickered from shock to annoyance but finally settled on a mask of worshipful infatuation. 'Claim your prize, Hathaway,' he joked smoothly. 'I knew you always wanted to get me on my back.'

The female novice dug her knee harder into her opponent's chest and I saw her eyes flash as she contemplated her options.

'Okay boys and girls,' I intervened, stepping forward to separate the pair. 'Excellent work Novice Hathaway, a clear win. Novice Ashford – your footing is giving too much away. You need to move more lightly and practice your feinting technique or your enemy will see your attacks coming from a mile off.'

'Yes Guardian Tanner,' he replied as I helped him to his feet. The boy rubbed gingerly at the spot where the stake had dug in against his skin and it was clear from Novice Ashford's expression that he planned to spend extra time on the techniques I had identified, if only to avoid being beaten by his rival for a third time.

I looked around at the twenty or so students who had gathered to watch the final fight. 'Well done everybody. It's been a tough session – you've earned a five minute break before your next lesson. Class dismissed.'

The novices immediately broke off into small groups and exited the building, some demonstrating dramatic action replays of their best moves for their friends, while a few who hadn't fared so well in their matches grumbled and rubbed at their bruises.

When the gym was finally empty, I did a quick scan of the training area to make sure no lost property had been left behind then headed over to my bag to check my timetable. A spare period then lunch. Excellent. Ignoring the faint hungry feeling in my stomach, I grabbed my water bottle and towel from my bag and made my way to the back of the gym. It had been a fairly intensive morning and I was looking forward to some personal time with the punching bag.

I was still relatively new to the teaching staff at St. Vladimir's Academy, on temporary assignment from my regular position as a guardian at the Royal Court. Joining The Academy had been a big adjustment from my usual routine and even though I found the teaching side of things interesting I missed my old job; my friends and colleagues, my familiar apartment and that feeling of confidence I'd built up after years of being in the same role - knowing my job inside and out.

So why did I leave it all behind? I wondered for the third time that day.

I guess I had a sort of mid-life crisis. I was nearly thirty years old and I'd been serving as a guardian for over ten years. My first assignment was guarding a noble family in Romania, fresh from my studies at St. Cassian's Academy, but soon I wanted a change of pace - something to give me more of a challenge. When a job came up at the Royal Court in Pennsylvania, USA I jumped at the chance to advance my career, but over the last few years I'd become too settled, too stuck in my ways. I needed a shake up or I was going to end up shuffling papers in some guardian administration building for the rest of my working life, or worse, become strigoi fodder because I was too sloppy to react to danger.

The temporary job at St. Vladimir's would be the perfect opportunity for me. I could practice and refresh my skills as I sparred with the novices, and update my guarding experience to include a new range of responsibilities and situations. Best of all, after a few months I could return to my old job and share my expertise with the other guardians serving at the Royal Court. Maybe it would even be enough to get me a promotion.

So here I was.

I began with a few upper-body stretches then approached the heavy leather bag that was suspended from the ceiling to commence my workout. Normally physical exercise helped my mind relax but today it simply refused to let go and I found myself obsessing over the unusual encounter I had with that moroi teacher just yesterday.

Miss Karp. What was her first name? Sarah?... Sonya?... That's right. Sonya Karp.

I didn't see her very often as my duty roster rarely matched up with her teaching schedule but the few times I had been on guard duty in her class I found myself intrigued by her. Being a guardian could be hard work at times but it did have its perks – standing silently at the back of the classroom gave me the perfect vantage point to observe the moroi teacher without being noticed.

She was undeniably attractive. Moroi were typically tall and graceful, and I couldn't help notice the way that her thick auburn hair contrasted so beautifully with her deep blue eyes and pale skin. It wasn't just her looks that appealed to me, though. There was something about the way she moved that set her apart from the rest. There was a distracted air about her, her eyes always flashing indecisively from one thing to the next like she might change her mind at any moment. She reminded me of a butterfly, beautiful but fragile, hovering for a moment then flitting off unexpectedly.

Maybe her unpredictable nature fascinated me because it was so different to the structured, controlled life I experienced as a guardian - whatever the reason was I wanted to know more about her. That didn't seem very likely though, considering our conflicting schedules and the fact that she never seemed to attend after-hours functions, or go to church, or even spend break-times in the staff lounge. Beyond her teaching responsibilities she was practically a ghost.

One day when I was on duty patrolling the grounds I'd overheard a couple of students referring to her as Crazy Karp. I wondered what they were talking about but when I approached Alberta Petrov, the Captain of the School Guard, and asked her about it she told me to grow up and stop listening to teenagers' gossip.

'She's a little eccentric, that's all,' Alberta told me in her no-nonsense way. 'She has been with The Academy for several years and is very a fine teacher. I don't have a lot to do with her personally, but from what I can tell she is absolutely harmless.'

I wasn't worried about the rumours – if anything they made me more curious about her. Every day I was surrounded by people conforming to a stereotype; moroi, royal, dhampir, guardian. Even the students had their own hierarchy with each person in their place. In a world of two dimensional people Sonya Karp was the one thing that seemed real. She had light and shade. She could be professional or humorous, passionate and animated or quiet and detached, and I could tell she had secrets just under the surface fighting to get out. God I wanted a chance to get to know her.

As my frustration increased, I intensified my assault on the punching bag, landing a particularly brutal flurry of blows that would have knocked a fully-trained guardian to the floor.

Why did I always fall for unavailable women?

Fraternising between staff wasn't forbidden exactly, but it was strongly discouraged. And even if I were to pursue a friendship with her after I returned to my old position at the Royal Court it couldn't lead to anything more. While casual affairs between moroi males and dhampir females were common (and necessary for the continuation of our species), it was social suicide for a moroi female to be involved with a dhampir in the long-term. I didn't think Sonya was the type to bow to social convention, but I also didn't want her to sacrifice her reputation for my sake – a school was a microcosm of the broader society, and once certain parents found out their precious child was being taught by an undesirable there would be trouble. Then there was the problem of finding time to even see her, and the possibility that she might not be interested in me anyway.

Thinking about it logically, it was never going to work.

But the second I tried to dismiss her from my mind a stubborn part of me instantly resisted. After another fifteen minutes on the punching bag I wiped the sweat from my face and neck with my towel and left the gym. As I stepped out into the fresh night air, I breathed deeply and smiled to myself as I came to my final decision.

To hell with convention. I would find a way to talk to the haunting woman with the butterfly eyes, and nobody was going to stop me.

Author's Note:

When I read the VA books I never quite understood how Mikhail & Sonya would have met, considering her... issues.

This chapter sets up how it might have happened, while introducing some of the lore behind guardian training, and Dhampir/moroi relationships.