5 | FAMILIAR TERRITORY

Much to my relief, Latin II is a lot like Latin I from last year. Ms. Jin follows the same structure of class, having each of us run through the refresher-drills before beginning her lecture on grammar and sentence structure. It’s enough familiarity to take the edge off the killer-headache I’ve still got going on from last period. Not enough to quell the pounding echoing in my teeth or the spikes of bloodlust flaring through my throat and lungs, but it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before. All through the second semester last year I was faced with times like this and learned the best way to kill off the urges was to just go with the flow. Eventually, my body will calm and the world will stop pulsing and the smell of blood will stop flooding my mouth with saliva.

My coffee and sin-a-cubes are gone by the end of Latin II and my headaches gone from zero-to-two-hundred. In my heart, I know I should excuse myself from next period, but the prospect of Choir and getting the chance to sing my problems away wins. Again, I’m out of the room almost as soon as the bell rings, taking the back stairway all the way down the five flights to the ground level. Each beat of my heart whooshing in my head and drowning out the beating of humans hearts around me.

“Whoa, Scarlett,” Darine’s suddenly in front of me, steadying me as I all but run into the Choir room. My human friend places her hands on my shoulders as I teeter to a stop - almost mowing her down in the process - but she’s surprisingly solid. “Hey, you okay?” Her eyebrows knit in concern, all-knowing blue-green eyes studying me.

“I’m fine.” I nod, wanting to hug her with the fresh relief that comes with seeing another familiar face. But I don’t. Not when all I can smell is the lingering blood in the air. I’d bet my life she was just blushing, not five seconds ago. “We should take our places.” I try to distract myself by ducking under her arms and pulling her after me up the risers.

“You shouldn’t be waiting for me to tell you where to go,” Mrs. Jones’ voice carries from the hall as she bustles in, baton in hand and raised like a wand. Students scurry around her like rats thrown from ships, scrambling to the risers like they’re the last sea-worthy vessel. Once Darine and I are in place, I drop my bag by my feet and dive to retrieve my Choir binder from last year. Mrs. Jones takes her position at the front of the arc-risers and taps her baton impatiently on her podium. “Let’s warm up.” She announces before diving into a preset list of scales and short hymns before launching us all through the All-State set from last year. “Didn’t any of you practice this summer?” Mrs. Jones scolds as we end the last song out of breath and almost fumbling with the last note. Her question is met with dead-silence as many of us struggle to breathe or grab a drink to soothe our aching throats.

I, for one, feel exhilarated by the much-needed outlet. The vast majority of my headache and bloodlust relieved by the use of my voice. Beside me, Darine falls into the category of those who’re struggling to breathe, a deep flush over her face. She wipes at the hint of sweat on her forehead, taking large gulps of air in between drinks of water from her backpack. The cloying scent of blood at the surface of human skin mixed with fresh sweat has the slight buzz in my head becoming a fizz of confusing and icy thoughts. It’s like the bubbles of joy have turned into blocks of ice and that all-too-familiar chilling calculation begins taking over my thoughts.

I find myself watching the pulse at the base of Darine’s throat jump against her skin, focusing on the galloping thump-thump-thump of her blood as it whooshes against the walls of her blood vessels, begging to be set free-

“Scarlett!” Mrs. Jones grating voice slices through the bloodlust-haze and just about curdles the blood in my own veins. “Give me a two-octave pitch glide.” She orders, the room becoming absolutely silent as heads turn in surprise to face me. I’m just as baffled as the rest of them, wondering why I’m the one being singled out for a solo warm up. Mrs. Jones has singled me out before - but only when I’ve been messing around or when I first transferred to Kiwina. And it’s not like I was doing anything just now - just thinking it. The thought has me back on edge, wondering - for the second time today - if this instructor is linked to or aware of the Azures and the supernatural world.

I perform the warm up without batting an eye, my mind quieting as the notes flow from my body and into the air. Mrs. Jones watches me the entire time, her eyes locked on mine and holding them captive until I’ve completed the exercise. By the time I’ve finished it, my head’s clear and the rest of the class has settled down.

“I can tell you’ve been practicing, Ms. Holland.” Mrs. Jones’ words almost sound like praise coming from her. I blink stupidly at her before the tiniest smile settles over my mouth. I’m too stunned to reply, and she doesn’t really give me the chance to as she then gives the longest and most exasperated lecture in the history of lectures.

No one dares to move or even breathe too loudly as she gripes about being an elite and well-trained choir. And though her tone is filled with annoyance, I can tell by her words that she’s actually not all that mad at us. But the way she says things is like a back-handed compliment, scathing and scorching against my nerves. And like most of her lectures, it’s how she ends the period.

Darine and I leave the room like the rest of the class, feeling we just ran over a liter of puppies, only to find out they’re all perfectly safe and not a hair on their coats has been harmed. We slump through the line in the cafeteria, collecting the normal human-portions without a word to each other. My mind’s so focused on getting through the stifling line that I forget myself and stumble over the metal bar while exiting the back door. While I’m able to right myself in time, I’ve completely ignored my surroundings, and send half of my weight into Darine - who was walking in front of me.

Time jumps into sharp focus as my human friend lets out a surprised yelp, loosing her balance and dropping her food- and falling with surprising velocity and speed. I reach out to catch her, her arms too busy with trying to right the tipped tray of food, that I know she won’t have the foresight to catch herself. I find myself diving for the cement with her, reaching to cradle the side of her skull before it can hit the sidewalk, but it’s hard to move against time.

Ever since the Blooming last year, pushing through the membrane of normal human time and diving through the chords that I feel suddenly springing up against my body is like wading through a pool of honey only to find it tensing around you the deeper you go. Everything slows to a crawl, even the beating of my heart, as I reach for Darine. Her eyes are wide with a mix of fear and surprise, locked on mine and so big that I can see the iridescent acid-green burning reflecting in them. I’m so shocked by the coloration distortion that I loose my grasp and concentration on the chords.

I’m literally slammed forward, my own face taking a complete nose-dive into the ground. There’s a second of burning, stinging on the left side of my face and exposed arm where I tried to catch Darine, before I hear a sickening crack.