NEWBORN: Book One of the Newborn Trilogy (17 page)

“Come on!” I interrupt loudly. “Let’s go for
a walk!”

Getting up from the wrought iron table, we
walk around the outskirts of Red Square. The day is flying by. Soon
I’ll have to run off to History 145. I’d rather walk around Red
Square with Wolfgang.

“What’s it like?” I ask him. “Being a
werewolf?”

“Voice down,” he says, but he’s grinning.
“It’s – uh –
stressful
in this part of the country. The
Olympic Peninsula is infested with vampires. There’s always a worry
of humans being attacked. If a vampire slays a human in western
Washington it’s personal for us werewolves. We are the sworn
protectors in these parts.”

I brush my hair over my ear. “Must be
hard.”

“You humans are very delicate creatures,”
Wolf remarks. “Trying to save you from a vampire is like trying to
save grass from a rhino. But we try. No werewolf alive swore an
oath to protect humans. It was done many hundreds of years ago.
Point is it was done. So this is the life I lead. I would have no
other.”

“I think it’s noble,” I tell him, smiling
into dark eyes. “Selfless!”

He smiles crookedly at me. “I like that.
Selfless
. We are selfless creatures, we werewolves. There
aren’t many selfless races out there. Not among superhumans. Some
are terrible. Guess which is the most selfish?”

“Of superhumans?” I can’t give away how much
I know. “Zombies,” I answer. “They want to bite you.”

“So do vampires,” Wolf says. “Not zombies.
Wizards! They are the worst! The most powerful superhumans.
Unfortunately they know it. They make a point of terrorizing all
others, including my kind.”

I’m taken aback by this. I can’t see Gabriel
terrorizing… hold that thought. Yes I can. I can totally see him
terrorizing lesser superhumans. I wonder if his sadistic will to
destroy is more inclusive than I previously thought. Maybe it’s not
just vampires. The thought brings me no joy.

“So wizards exist?” I’m getting pretty good
at playing stupid.

Trouble is you aren’t playing
, points
out my alter ego.

Shut up
, I tell her.
Fucking
bitch.

Wolf scowls at me. “Yes, sadly. They don’t
like werewolves. They think we’re clumsy, stupid beasts!”

I open my mouth to refute this but then I
remember Gabriel expressing that exact opinion. “That’s terrible,”
I say instead. “They sound like a bunch of ignoramuses. Why don’t
the werewolves rise up and slay the wizards?”

It’s fun playing devil’s advocate.

Wolf breathes his frustration. “If only we
could! They are stronger than us! If we could somehow steal their
wands away it would be easy. A wizard is useless without his wand,
whereas we wolves have our weapons built in. But that’s probably a
wizard’s only weakness. They are formidable.”

“What would you do if you met one?”

You sly thing
, says my alter ego.

Look who’s talking!
I respond.

“Kill it!” Wolf growls. “I’d bite and claw
its face until it died!” For a moment he looks fearsome, his
crooked smile housing sharp, jagged teeth.

Oh geez! Best keep Gabriel away.

“Good thing none of them are around here,” I
remark. Am I being too obvious? Probably. “You’d make a huge
mess!”

He nods.

A revelation. “I get it!” I exclaim. “I get
why your mom has a sense of humor now! Wolfgang! Oh wow, I – I feel
dumb!” I exhale, an enormous smile breaking across my face as I
look up at him.

Wolf roars with laughter, making people
around Red Square look over from their unconformable, wrought iron
tables. “That’s the joke,” he says, black eyes twinkling warmly.
“I’m not German. I’m a wolf!”

“What’s your last name?”

“Ronfaro,” he says.

I swipe my brown hair over my ear. “Wolfgang
Ronfaro – I like it! Well, I’ve got to go learn about the American
Revolution. When should we meet again, Wolfgang Ronfaro? Sooner or
later?”

“Sooner.” Full, maroon lips are carving the
words into me. “Much,
much
sooner, if I get my way.”

* * *

I arrive on time to History 145: The American
Revolution. I already don’t care. My thoughts are too preoccupied
with muscular, russet arms and full, maroon lips to worry about
schoolwork. Taking my seat, I watch the final stragglers enter.

Dr. Blakely is looking more aged than usual
today. His tufty gray hair is disheveled. But he seems in high
spirits. “Welcome back to class,” he says to everyone. “I trust you
had a good weekend. How is everybody liking
1776
? It’s a
good book, isn’t it? Wasn’t I right? Come on now!”

Nobody answers.

I check my weightless backpack. I didn’t
bring the book to class, let alone read it! Hastily, I grab a pen
and notepad and set them on the desk. I can pretend I’m taking
notes. Sometimes the entire goal is to avoid looking like a
moron.

You’re failing
, my alter ego
comments.

“Let’s get the class involved,” Dr. Blakely
says.

Shitballs!
Not this again!

“I will take volunteers,” Dr. Blakely tells
the class. “Anyone find anything interesting about the book they’d
like to share? This is – I must say – a recent depiction of those
early years of the war. Came out five years ago or so. Anyone?” he
asks, looking around. “We haven’t got all day!”

Trying to avoid eye contact.

“Very well,” Dr. Blakely says. “I will get us
started. I was fascinated to see McCullough treat one of his
subjects with more care than history has shown this individual in
the past. Does anyone know who I’m referring to?”

A girl raises her hand. “George
Washington?”

“No, no, no!” Dr. Blakely answers, looking
harassed. “Think now! History has always painted a glowing portrait
of our first president. No – I’m referring to King George III of
England, the reigning monarch during the revolution. Only 22 when
ascending to the throne and only 37 when the revolution began, King
George has often been portrayed as a mad failure. The king who lost
the colonies! McCullough is gentle and treats him as a person with
intricacies and tastes in art and music. We are able to see him as
a human being rather than just a tyrant. Another point I found
interesting was –”

My eyelids are drooping. This class needs to
end…

* * *

Walking back to my dorm, I realize something.
I’ve lost a lot of weight. I’m not surprised. I haven’t been
eating. My appetite has completely dried up. It used to be I’d pass
the dining hall and feelings of guilt would assault me. Now the
thought of food disgusts me. I’m happy to keep walking.

Alcohol, though… I still have a taste for
that.

This morning I felt sick. Not because of my
anxiety syndrome or whatever, but because of heavy drinking last
night. My hangover is past and I feel fit and fresh. I’m not
anxious. I’m not hungry. I feel great. It’s all so strange.

What about Wolf? Geez, I love his name.
Wolfgang Ronfaro. It’s so – so
hot
. I do find him cute. But
somehow I feel he’ll always be a friend to me. Nothing more.
There’s a quality about him that forbids romance.

What’s that, exactly?
my alter ego
asks.
That body of muscle? Those russet cheeks?

I’m growing hot.
Shut up
, I tell her.
Stay out of this!

Reaching dorm building C, I climb the stairs.
My thoughts are still buzzing with werewolves and wizards as I
enter my room and toss my weightless backpack on the bed. I love
coming back to my dorm – a world of calm settles over me every
time.

Going to the hanging mirror on my closet
door, I gaze into my eyes. They are dulled by my contacts. They
tend to be too bright. I feel self-conscious going out without
dulling them. Bizarre. It’s something I first noticed a week or two
before moving to Evergreen. A symptom of anxiety.

Yet I appear healthy. My skin radiates
vitality and strength even though I’ve lost weight. My hair is full
and healthy on my scalp. I feel alert and able. Despite my recent
foray into anorexia I don’t feel weak. On the contrary, I feel
strong. Stronger – in fact – than I’ve ever felt in my life.

I douse myself in perfume. This is a normal
ritual for me – it makes me feel at home. Soaked in the smell, I
breathe in contentment and sit down at my desk. Picking up my iPad,
I scroll through the book titles. I already finished
The Great
Gatsby
. I should buy
Sordello
on here, too. I make a
half hearted attempt to find it. Truth is I don’t want to find it.
It’s a terribly long poem.

I don’t find
Sordello
.

Sighing, I gaze at Kiri’s and my shared mini
fridge. Kiri may have a spare bottle of champagne in there. I’ve
got nothing better to do. Maybe I should have a drink? Going to the
fridge I find a bottle of white wine. I pop the cork and find one
of Kiri’s stemmed glasses. Pouring myself a glass, I sit down.

Feeling contented, I take a long sip of wine
before smacking my lips. An extremely loud popping sound emanates.
Startled, I freeze.

What the fuck?

I can’t have been
that
loud. Maybe…
no! I’m being paranoid. It can’t have been. Taking the bottle of
wine, I top myself off. I’m lifting the glass to my lips when I
feel a cool breath on the back of my neck.

It’s then I realize I’m not alone.

“Early for a
drink, isn’t it?” Gabriel’s voice is soothing and mocking at the
same time. “Or were you expecting company?”

Freezing in shock, I tighten my hold on the
wine glass, refusing to look around.

He’s here! How did he get in?

I breathe before answering. “I knew you were
coming, Gabriel. So I decided to fortify myself with alcohol.”

“I see,” he murmurs in my ear. “I’m
sure
you will share.”

Turning around, I gaze into turquoise eyes.
“Why,” I begin, my tone antagonizing, “Should I be hospitable to
somebody who breaks into my room? I will have to look in the
college rulebook. This has to be a misdemeanor of some sort. You’ll
be expelled! I suggest you start packing!”

“You’re a naughty one, Nora,” Gabriel says,
wagging a finger at me. “Expulsion? I’d like to see them try – no –
I’d
love
to see them try!” Finding the pocket of his
cordovan robes, he pulls out his wand. “I don’t like attacking
humans,” he says, twirling his wand expertly. “Unlike vampires and
werewolves, you humans are almost defenseless. But I
will
if
I have to,” he adds dangerously.

I’m trying to appear unimpressed. Turning
around in my chair, I sip my wine daintily. “Well,” I begin, “if
you wouldn’t mind leaving. I’d like to finish my alcoholic beverage
in peace. Good day, Gabriel!” I can hardly keep the glee from my
voice. Here’s something he’s not used to: being ignored.

He isn’t going anywhere. I knew he wouldn’t.
Swiping a spare glass from Kiri’s desk, Gabriel pours himself white
wine. I can feel his eyes on me. The nerve of him! How dare he
waltz in here!

Stop lying to yourself!
my alter ego
quips.
You know you like it.

Hush
, I tell her.
I’m in no mood
for the truth!

Silence between us. I hear him behind me on
Kiri’s bed. He’s refusing to speak first. How childish! What kind
of a grown man behaves this way – sneaking into peoples’ rooms? Oh
right – I correct myself – he’s
not
a grown man. He’s
seventeen.

“How did you get in?”

A wine glass is set on Kiri’s desk. “I
translocated. I’m a wizard, Nora,” he reminds me unnecessarily.
“Most wizards can do it.
Translocation
is the process of
disappearing from one place and appearing in another. In the
magical word, wizards and witches aren’t allowed to translocate
until they are fifteen. I started at thirteen,” he adds, his tone
thick with steaming pride.

Geez, he’s so fucking full of himself!

“Fascinating,” I say sarcastically. I am
fascinated, actually. “One question: Why did you take a cab here on
the first day? Why didn’t you translocate into your dorm? Surely it
would have been easier,” I tell him, heightening my tone so as to
question his intelligence. I like baiting him. It’s fun.

“Good point,” he says. “I considered doing
that but figured I should act like an Immag now that I’m in your
world.
Temporarily
, thank god! I can’t tolerate your
numbskull ways for life! I’d rather be drawn and quartered!”

Now
he’s
the one baiting me. I deserve
it.

“Numbskull ways?” I repeat, turning around to
face him. “You must be mistaken. It’s
wizards
that are of
lower intelligence. Imagine being so useless you need magic to
survive! Immags are the geniuses!
Ingenious
. The word to
describe everything we’ve come up with to live without magic!”

Gabriel sips his wine and regards me over the
rim of the glass. Downing the remainder, he plops the glass on
Kiri’s desk. “Come with me,” he says, the turquoise of his eyes
finding the window. “I want to show you something.
Someone
,
rather. She will show you we, too, have ingenious ways.”

Who is he referring to?

“I have studying to do,” I say quickly.

I actually want to go. But more than that I
want
him
to want me to go. To plead with me to go. To tell
me nothing else can make his day complete. I want him to tell me
it’s been too long since we’ve seen each other and every moment
away has been painful. I want him to say these things and mean
them.

“Yeah, right!” Gabriel exclaims. “Homework.
That’s why you were polishing off a bottle of wine when I
translocated here. How’s studying coming?”

Holy bejesus shitballs!
He’s got me by
the shitballs.