John turned his head over his shoulder, still continuing down the winding stairs. “It’s been approved by our Alliance’s Council . . . you know how little stock we put in the High Council. You are our Professor here Mr. Winters, and you had a very principal undertaking in her creation, so you are charged with starting her training, but they’ve allowed an exception for me to continue it from where you leave off—after two weeks.”
John stopped on the last step and placed his hand on the large mahogany end post that was carved in the shape of a tree; he turned to look at William, victory gleaming from his face. “Of course, if you’re not up to the initial two weeks, I’m sure I could get them to make another exception . . .”
William’s rigid silence was all the answer he needed to give.
“Good, it’s settled then. Two weeks. You’d better get started—you’ve got a lot to cover.” John’s chuckle echoed through the foyer as he walked to the party in the foyer.
I'd remained frozen throughout the entire conversation, not trusting the words that would come out of my mouth. William was stone still in front of me, the tension ripping through him evident in every muscle. He turned to me, frustratingly slow for the speed I knew he possessed.
He'd recomposed himself; his expression relaxed, an unconvincing smile on his lips, and his hands had released their angry fists—but when his eyes met mine, they gave his faked composure away. They weren't right. They were anxious, and fury still screamed beneath the surface.
"William . . ." My voice wavered. I reached my hand out to him.
He looked at my hand purposefully, and then gave his head one quick shake.
Oh, yeah . . . darn it anyways. I was really going to get us in trouble if I didn't get my head in the game and keep my emotions in check.
My hand snapped back to my side.
"Sorry," I whispered, so quietly, I wasn't sure he'd heard me.
He ran his fingers through his hair and stepped towards me. "It's not your fault.” As he glided by me, his hand reached out and brushed softly over mine. I turned to follow him, electricity surging through my body from the forbidden touch of his skin. The absence from each other while we slept brought on an unexpected sensitivity.
"Come on." His smile was brighter now, and his eyes were almost right. "Time for Immortality 101."
We walked side-by-side down the hall, not saying anything else, but I couldn’t rid myself of the desire to reach over and touch him, to somehow be close to him. Even though I had enough clarity of mind to know we could not be together in this way in Townsend Manor; whatever punishment would be dealt out to us, I would have accepted without remorse . . . the desire was that strong.
As if reading my mind, he whispered through gritted teeth, “Will you calm yourself please? Before I do something we’ll both regret.”
Not knowing how else to calm the fire, I slowed my pace and allowed him to lead by several strides. The increased distance from one another didn’t help as much as I hoped it would.
“Welcome to your classroom, Miss Dawson,” he said, opening a door at the end of the long hall. He bowed and swept one hand in front of him, beckoning me into the room.
This was like no other library I’d ever seen; not at all like the libraries I’d visited as a child for story hour, nor did it even compare with Stanford’s noteworthy one. It was like something from a dream—or at least a dream of mine given my obsession for books.
We were on the third floor of the Manor, but in similar fashion to the foyer, the library rose up all three floors. Except for the two circular walkways that curved around the rounded room on the second and third floor, and the stairways connecting each floor to the next, the gigantic round room’s walls were covered by nothing else but the wood bookshelf inserts that were filled to capacity with every color, size, and shape of book imaginable.
The first floor spread out like a rich tapestry below us. It was adorned with oriental carpets laid over the dark wood floors, and there were rows of rectangular tables bordered with high-back chairs.
This library looked like no other, and it smelled like no other as well. The typical smell of aged pages resting between weathered bindings was absent, and a welcoming scent of cigar—the sweet smelling, expensive ones my dad would celebrate with after winning a big case—mixed with pine, drifted through the entirety of this room.
“This is amazing,” I muttered, sounding awed. “I can’t imagine a better classroom”—my eyes shifted to him, and the library was instantly forgotten—“or a better teacher.”
“Kissing up to the professor on the first day—are you hoping it will earn you an A?” He took a step towards me, and I took a step back, not trusting myself to handle the closeness.
“Something like that,” I said with implication, before turning to descend the staircase. He fell in beside me, but I soon lagged behind as my neck craned from side-to-side, taking in the enormity of the room and the hundreds of thousands of books that lined every square inch of wall. The domed ceiling was breathtaking; it was stained-glass and depicted an intricate mural of a lush garden flowering with exotic flora. When my exploratory eyes ceased their conquest, they shifted to the center of the room, where two figures stood.
“Good morning, Annabelle and Chris,” William said, remaining beside me. “This is Bryn Dawson—she will be starting with us today as well.” William stepped forward and I followed behind, eyeing over my two classmates.
“Master William.” The male, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, extended his hand as William approached. He was taller than William, but was so slight he couldn’t have weighed any more than I did. He reminded me of a palm tree—his entire body was rail thin, but his rust-orange hair shot out in wild branches.
William reached for his freckled hand. “Good to see you again, Chris.”
Chris didn’t reply or look William in the eye, but when William stepped around to greet the female, Chris’s eyes grabbed me. They narrowed, and although the shade of blue was the same as the one’s I loved most in this world, there was something very troubled beneath their colored surface. “So you’re the new girl?” His voice matched what lied beneath the surface of his eyes—troubled.
“I guess you could say that,” I answered, unsure how to reply.
Chris snorted, then slumped over to a leather high-back chair and crashed into it. “I guess it’s not too hard to figure out why she’s receiving special treatment,” he said, as if under his breath, but clearly loud enough for us all to hear.
“Excuse me?” William’s voice burst with authority, his eyes challenging Chris.
“Oh please, doesn’t it bust your chops that you’ve had to work hard and do your time to earn the privileges you have to live here, and as soon as some new, drop-dead gorgeous toy arrives, John’s rolling out the red carpet?” Chris’ nose was wrinkled with his detest. “I may be new to this, but I’m not an idiot.”
William hackled at Chris’s speech and glared at him in a way that would have crippled me.
“Ignore him,” the young female shouted over to me. “He’s always this cranky.”
After her quick reassurance, she trotted to William. She curtsied at the same time she flashed her pearly whites, and made a show-stopping performance with the flick of her honey and caramel streaked hair. “Master William, it’s wonderful to see you again,” she gushed, reminding me of the wax enclosed syrupy candies I’d get as a child and how they would burst with overtly sweet liquid when you bit through the soft layer of transparent wax.
This time it was my turn to hackle when she lifted her hand to place it on the outside of his arm. “I’ve been so excited to get started. I can’t wait.” Was I imagining her fingers curving deeper into the flesh of his arm?
William smiled formally, before taking a deliberate step to the side, separating his arm from the eager hand with cotton-candy-pink painted fingernails. “Thank you, Annabelle,” he replied, walking around the end of the table to what would serve as the front of our classroom. “Since you’ve been so eager to get started, why don’t we?”
He shifted his eyes to me. “Will you be joining us, Miss Dawson?”
Chris rolled his eyes, while Annabelle selected the seat directly in line with William’s present line of sight; seeming to feint with his eyes as he watched me come forward.
“I wouldn’t miss it for all the midnight swims in the world,” I replied, fighting the smile that wanted to erupt. I took the remaining seat, which was unfortunately smashed in between the other two, and turned my attention on the most captivating teacher I’d ever had.
“Excuse me for just a moment.”
As William loped across the room to a free standing shelf in the center, Annabelle leaned in, raising her hand to her mouth. “Isn’t he drop-dead? I think I could get used to this Immortal thing,” she whispered.
Before I could respond, William was jogging back with a couple of books in hand. I gave a quick nod to appease the cute, pep-squad-type girl beside me, before I turned my head back to the front of the room, trying to stifle the jealousy swirling in my stomach. Not that I could disagree with her—drop-dead didn’t even begin to describe him—but I didn’t like the way it sounded being spewed from another woman’s mouth.
A couple of thick, weathered books thudded over the wooden table, as William returned—looking more like Superman saving the day, than a professor who’d just retrieved a couple books to get class rolling.
“Alright everyone, let’s get started,” William began, trying to shift his eyes equally between the three of us, although it seemed his eyes rested a bit longer when they fell on me. “Chris and Annabelle, since you’ve resided here on the estate for a couple of weeks now, you’ve already gleaned certain knowledge we’ll be covering today—regardless, we’ll be starting our course of study with the rudimentary makings of Immortality, and making our way into the more intricate details in later weeks.”
“How many weeks will we be in class with you Master William?” Annabelle asked.
“The first phase of training runs ten weeks. From there, you will go onto strength and talent training.”
Annabelle’s face ignited like a bug zapper that’d just attracted a June bug.
“I hear Bryn here”—Chris pointed his thumb at me—“get’s out of purgatory after only two weeks, why do we have to stay for ten?”
William cleared his throat. “That’s correct. She’ll be with us only the first two weeks, but John will be continuing her training from there—”
“I’ll bet he’s going to continue her training,” Chris mumbled. “Will this training have anything to do with making a tiny adjustment in that lovely shade of pale—”
“That’s enough, Mr. Gustafson!” William interrupted, his voice fierce. “Unless you have something to say regarding Immortal history or theory, you will keep your mouth shut the remainder of our time today.”