Oxford Blood (25 page)

It had been raining slightly, and Adelaide had revelled in
the way she didn’t feel the cold, the way the rain didn’t touch her hair and
makeup, how well she could see in the dark. Kate on the other hand was soaked
and starting to shiver. It was clear where the balance of power laid and
Adelaide had expected her to readily agree.

“Oh, you’ll go away and I’ll never see you again. I’ll even
manage not to tell the police, I know they’d only think I was mad. But if you
seriously think I’m letting my brother’s daughter be taken away by a monster
like you then you must be stupider than you look.”

With that, she’d began to run, turning the corner and
throwing herself into a taxi that had sped away. Adelaide was about to give
chase (she hadn’t pushed her powers yet, but was sure she could keep up with a
car if she needed to), when she felt a firm grip on her shoulder.

“Of course I could pursue them with ease. I could catch the
car and kill the bitch and bring you your baby,” Augustine said, slowly and
firmly. Adelaide wondered how long he’d been there.

“But strangely enough, I think she’s right in her way. I
would love a stepdaughter, but our world is no place for a baby. She needs to
grow in the sunlight; she needs the company of humans and a proper education.
Let the aunt bring her up. We will arrange visiting rights, and when she is
older we can claim her back.”

She’d cried then, in a way she hadn’t cried at Sam’s death
or at the shock of the change. Gus had held her, and gradually she’d understood
that he was right, but it hadn’t made letting her daughter go any easier.

PART THREE - FIRST YEAR, TRINITY
TERM

Chapter Thirteen

T
he
Easter Vacation was less restful than Christmas, as most of it was spent
working at the Union - planning debates, inviting speakers and arranging
sponsorship deals for the following term. Despite the stress, Harriet loved it.
She was especially pleased that Tom had also decided to stay in Oxford for the
Vac and they were able to spend every night together. Even more conveniently,
George seemed to have left for the holidays, and Harriet was able to push him
out of her mind. She spent the final week back at home, relaxing with her aunt,
uncle and cousins.

Trinity term began in late April, and from the beginning, it
was everything that Harriet had hoped for. The first week back was unseasonably
warm and it was difficult to focus on revision for collections.

“Don’t worry,” Caroline told her. “Summer doesn’t really get
going until May Eve. There’s an all night party, then in the morning the choir
sing from the tower and we’re finally allowed to sit on the grass and use the
punts. Plus there’s the ball at the end of term.”

“Of course that means that revision for prelims is going to
be hell,” Josh added with a shrug, “but you win some, you lose some I guess.”

Harriet shuddered at the thought of prelims, the end of
exams, but they were still weeks away.

Ben was smug. As a law student, he’d taken his first year
exams at the end of the previous term so didn’t have to put up with collections
or prelims. He was however already firmly back in training for Summer Eights,
that term’s rowing competition.

Tom was sulking even more than the rest of them. In winter,
he hadn’t missed out on much by only being able to come out at night, but he
talked longingly of sunny days. Despite her horror at his revelations at the
end of last term, Harriet felt herself growing closer to him than ever. They
didn’t talk much about their intention to stop the summer party, but concern
about it hung over them. They were still no closer to coming up with a viable
solution.

Harriet also wondered about Joe, the Cavaliers candidate who
had lost Torpids. She hadn’t seen him since and the rumour was that he’d
dropped out of Oxford. Whether he’d heeded Ben’s warning and fled, or whether
the Cavaliers had killed him first, she didn’t know. She wished she could find out
who they were going to reject next so she could help them.

Collections came and went without any real crisis. The night
that they were over, Tom came to her room just before midnight and insisted
that they were going to have a proper Trinity experience. He led her down to
the river. At first, Harriet walked slowly and unsteadily, picking her way
along the dark path, terrified of falling in. In the end, Tom, who could see
perfectly, simply picked her up and carried her the rest of the way.

“What are we doing?” Harriet asked, laughing nervously.

“Going punting,” Tom replied with a smile. “Who says you can
only have summer fun during the day?”

He placed her softly down by the riverbank and then she saw
it. Tom had taken one of the college’s punts and covered it with fairy lights
and a bright lantern. Peering closer, she saw that he’d also filled it with
brightly patterned blankets and cushions, and placed a Fortnum and Mason’s
hamper and his gramophone inside.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. Harriet had already been punting a few
times with her friends on the hotter days. She couldn’t steer the boat herself
at all, despite several attempts, but had enjoyed sitting there whilst someone
else used the long pole to push it along. The fun had always been tinged with
sadness whenever she’d seen a punt with a couple go past, knowing that she
couldn’t do that with Tom. She hadn’t considered the possibility of a nighttime
trip. It was strictly not allowed, but the college never seemed to apply the
normal rules to Tom, though whether through an unspoken agreement or as a
result of his mind control powers she was never sure.

Tom helped her into the boat and she settled down amongst
the cushions. It had been an unusually hot day, and some warmth remained in the
air despite the late hour.

“Do you like this?” Tom asked. “I thought it would be fun.
Can you see alright?”

Harriet smiled. “It’s amazing. And yes, I probably can’t see
as well as you, but the lights certainly help.”

“I’m glad you approve. Open the hamper.”

Harriet did so, and found an entire picnic.

“We’ll have that when we reach the meadow,” Tom explained.
“For now why don’t you open the champagne and raspberries?”

Harriet eagerly did so, admiring the Laurent Perrier art
deco style champagne bottle decorated with little flowers. She wondered whether
Tom had liked that style when he was human.

Tom jumped onto the pointed end of the punt and began to
push it through the dark water. His movements were fluid and firm and he moved
the punt faster than Harriet had ever seen a human manage. Harriet looked
around her at the overhanging trees and the swans on the river and felt
something approaching absolute happiness.

“We don’t need the sun,” she said. “This way is much more
magical.”

She took another sip of champagne and lay down, looking up
at Tom with total love. Harriet lost all track of time, but eventually Tom
moored the punt and helped her out. Carrying the hamper and lantern, they
walked through the dark meadow until they found the perfect spot, under an
overhanging tree. They spread out a rug. Harriet poured herself and Tom another
glass of champagne, dropped a raspberry into each glass, and investigated the
other contents of the hamper. There was crusty bread and various things to dip
it into. There was salami and Parma ham and smoked salmon and different kinds
of olives. She ate hungrily, feeding Tom particularly delicious morsels and
hoping that he was able to appreciate them. When she’d eaten her fill, she lay
back on the blanket and drew Tom’s mouth to her neck, reasoning that he
probably deserved to have his favourite food too.

He used just enough mind control that it was astonishingly
pleasant rather than painful, but not so much that she wasn’t aware what he was
doing. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the air and the contrasting
cool of Tom’s body even through his pink and white striped cotton shirt. He
only drank for a few moments before he licked her neck to close the wound and
began to kiss her passionately. She ran one hand up and down his back and cradled
his head with the other, drawing him ever closer. After a while, she drew her
red polka dot dress up around her waist and guided one of his hands down.

The romance of the occasion had seized her and Tom’s cool
fingertips had only been stroking her for a few moments before she was
overcome. She took a few more sips of champagne to recover her composure then
opened the fly of Tom’s jeans and on her knees on the soft blanket, got to
work.

They lay on the rug for a while in their dishevelled clothes
amidst the remains of the picnic, cuddled up to each other in blissful silence.
Harriet felt that she could quite happily stay there forever but somehow
managed to pull herself to her feet and they returned to the punt. She felt
utterly relaxed on the return ride, slipping in and out of sleep as she looked
at the stars and at Tom’s beautiful face. She wished it could always be this
simple and that she could forget the objections to their relationship and the
evil at the heart of the Cavaliers.

***

Harriet’s first essay of term was on the changing
perceptions of women over time. Harriet intended to focus on the eighteenth
century, but started with a book on women in ancient Rome. The book was
surprisingly absorbing and she read quickly, letting her mind wander to
daydream about what it must have been like to live then.

When Olamide came to meet her for lunch, they discussed
their work on the essay. Olamide had been focussing on medieval women, both
those who’d been lauded as saints and those who’d been killed as witches.

“I’m not sure which was worse when you look at what the
saintly ones put themselves through,” she said. “Starvation, flagellation,
praying for hours a day on bended knee. Catherine of Sienna was like a modern
problem teenager. She was basically a self-harming, anorexic attention seeker.”

Harriet laughed. “I might have to have a quick read of your
books. That sounds interesting.”

“So how was life for the women of Rome? I’m going to go out
on a limb and guess grim. That seems to be the answer for practically every
period of history.”

Harriet started to explain. “Not particularly great. A fight
for survival if you were poor, like being trapped in a gilded cage if you were
a noble woman.”

Suddenly her voice changed. “It was awful,” she said
passionately. “Being married off to a much older man with no say in it myself.
Being left alone for years on end whilst he was off fighting, never knowing if
he’d make it back at all. Having no rights. I knew I risked both of our lives,
but is it any wonder I had the affair?”

Olamide stared at her in astonishment. “Sorry who are you
talking about now?”

“I don’t know,” Harriet said quietly. “I’m feeling a little
odd. It was like I was there, looking out on Rome from someone’s eyes.”

“Let’s go and get lunch,” Ola said with concern in her
voice. “That’ll make you feel better.”

They walked in silence. Olamide was awkward, clearly trying
to find the right words. “I’m not trying to make a big deal of this, but Callum
told me that you did something similar in a tute with him. Started talking
about the Civil War as though you were there, taking things really personally.”

Harriet remembered it well, though she’d been hoping that
Callum and her tutor had forgotten.
I know exactly why that was though.
George’s blood gave me his human memories and reading about the Civil War
prompted them. But whose memories were those? I’ve never taken blood from
anyone else. Besides, the only vampire old enough is Augustine and he’s
definitely not a woman.

“All I’m trying to say is that maybe you’re overworking
yourself,” Olamide continued. “Maybe you should try and see a counsellor.”

Great, she thinks I’m going mad. I wonder what she’d say
if I claimed my boyfriend and half the government are vampires?

She was almost tempted to do it, but held her tongue. The
others were in the bar for lunch, so Ola quickly dropped the issue, although
she continued to look at Harriet with marked concern.

***

The following weekend was May Eve. The evening was going to
begin with a pirate bop. Harriet fastened herself into the corset top she’d
bought for the occasion and looked forward to the fun that would be occurring.
She accompanied the top with a short, floaty black skirt and the fishnet tights
that were an almost inevitable part of all the women’s bop costumes and half of
the men’s. She threaded a ribbon printed with skull and crossbones through the
laces of the corset and finished it all off with a pirate hat and sword she’d
bought from the fancy dress shop. Having forced her hair into wild
pre-Raphaelite curls and put on a ton of black eyeliner, she glanced in the
mirror and was pleased with the result. She only wished she still had her
necklace, both to complete the look and keep her protected.

She met Tom briefly when the sun first went down. He was
spending the evening with the Cavaliers, who were holding a members’ only
dinner in college. Since he’d defied George and the senior vampire hierarchy to
be with her he’d been keeping his distance from the other Cavaliers, but in
recent weeks appeared to have been drifting back into the fold.

“The May Eve Dinner is one of the most important events of
the year,” he explained, “and there’s always fantastic food and drink.”

“And people to drink from,” Harriet added.

“Well yes, that. But I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Harriet shook her head and mumbled something about it being
okay. The thought of Tom drinking the blood of other people disturbed her from
both a squeamish and a jealous perspective, but she didn’t want him looking
weak in front of the others. Besides, although she allowed him to feed from her
regularly, she alone couldn’t provide him with enough blood without seriously
endangering herself.