7. Sammie

CHAPTER 7

SAMMIE

S o, every fact I have found about vampires matches Mr. Sullivan. And it doesn't scare me one bit. He's not what I would call your typical professor. For starters, he is way too young to have that job, which points to him being much older than he looks—trait of a vampire, check. The way he shows up or is in places long before he should have gotten there. Vampire trait, check. He's always put together, check. I have only seen him eat like once, check.

Serena is at her part-time job today, so I have the entire house to myself until around lunchtime. I sit up on the bed and fling Grandma's grimoire open to the dog-eared page on vampires. She has written out in her elegant cursive facts about vampires, their origins, lives, food, interactions with witches. Turning the page, I find an envelope, sealed with dark-red wax. I slip it from its nestled spot between the pages and turn it over in my hand. The wax seal is intact. There is smudged writing on the front.

Sammie.

I slide a finger under the flap of the envelope and still. What would Grandma have needed to hide in her grimoire for my eyes only?

A thought flies into my head. Did she intend this for when I came of age? Witch powers come to their true capabilities when females turn twenty, males twenty-five. Twenty is just over a month away for me. I drop the envelope back into the book and slam it shut.

If I am supposed to come into my full power in a few short weeks, I should be honing my skills, not ignoring them. Images of my little brother lying burned in my mother's lap make my stomach twist. I walk into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the back door. The grassy backyard is lined with old trees that pre-date the house itself. I comb through the knowledge of the basics my grandma taught me years ago as I sink onto the grass.

My phone pings. Serena.

Be home in a bit for lunch. Your special chicken sound good?

I ignore the text and lie on the grass. The sunlight pierces the canopy of ancient gnarled evergreen trees and I raise a hand and play with the light that dances over my fingers. Closing my eyes, I imagine light, then fire spinning in my hands. It's been years since I wanted to try my magic properly. I sit up, eyes still closed.

Something tugs inside me every time I think of Anjelica's words. What does she want me for? Nothing about what happened the other night feels good. Despite what happened with Jackson, I at least need to be able to defend myself.

Heat burns my palms, and I snap my eyes open. A flicker of amber fire sways over my palm before snuffing out.

Holy crap.

Examining my palms one at a time, I sit up. Turning over my hands, I pull in a long breath and rub them together. I hold them out over my lap again, and this time, keep my eyes open and imagine fire dancing above my hands.

Nothing.

Willing it harder, I slam my eyes shut and try again.

Nothing, again.

My heart sinks.

Still broken.

Just like I thought. I have no idea where to start. Knowing that rips a hole in my chest. The dream about Lewis runs through my mind, the mist, the knife at his throat, that woman Anjelica standing behind him as he kneels at the edge of the jagged rocky cliff. My hands tremble.

Why am I having this dream at all? I have no connection to Mr. Sullivan, apart from the student-teacher relationship we have. Most of the time, he only tolerates my existence in his classroom. The only time he's been more than uncivil was the time in the library. That was something else.

Something intense.

With him so close to me, I couldn't think straight. But he offered up information on vampires. Heat rushes my neck as I remember the fact that I shared a personal project with him. And he is the reason I decided to delve into the existence of species other than my own.

His too-fast movements. Being in one place at one moment, another a second later. The fact that he heard me call him an ass in the corridor that day outside the Chancellor's office.

I shake my head and return my focus to the powers I have neglected for years.

Sitting on the grass, legs crossed, I place my hands on my knees and exhale. I send my mind deep into my center, willing the energy from the earth under me to rise at the same time. Tingling washes from the tips of my fingers, into my palms, and past my wrists.

Fire, earth, water, and air.

I bring you release.

Bend to my form,

Meet me here.

Warmth speeds over my palms. I keep my eyes closed, imagining a lick of flame coiling around itself above my upturned hands. Heat hits my face. I open my eyes. Two identical flames dance above my palms, no heat touching my palms. I smile and chuckle. It snuffs out.

Crap.

The front door slams. Serena. I curl my palms and rise from the grass, making my way inside. She wanders down the hall toward the kitchen, dumping her satchel on the sofa as she passes the living room on the left and plops onto a stool at the kitchen counter.

"Hey, how was your shift?" I ask.

"Killer. My feet are aching."

I pull the fridge door open and take out the leftover special chicken from the night before and turn back, placing it on the counter. She scrolls on her phone, not looking up. Grabbing ingredients for a garden salad, I place them next to the chicken before hunting for a chopping board. Every downward slice of the knife in my hand is heavy. I toss the sliced tomato into the lettuce and pluck an avocado from the wooden bowl in the center of the kitchen island.

Memories of my magic swirl in my mind. But every thought I have of trying again ends with the image of my little brother, burned. The tang of his burning hair and skin.

A knot forms in my stomach and my hand stills on the knife as I reassure myself. He is okay. He is okay now. I finish the salad and place it on the table as Serena looks up and leans on the island, opposite where I am working.

"Hungry?" I ask.

I turn my back to her and pull the fridge door open. I lean down, reaching to the back of the cold space, feeling for glass bottles. The cool square bottle that holds Mom's homemade dressing touches my fingers. I pull it out and make my way to the table.

"Yep, starving," she says, moving to her seat at the wooden dining table, next to mine. I pile salad onto her plate. She grabs the chicken and serves us each a generous portion.

"What have you been up to this morning?" Serena stares at me, fork loaded.

I grind my teeth and release a breath, trying for nonchalant and failing. She doesn't need to know about any of this. My suspicions about Mr. Sullivan, my connection to the supernatural world, or the fact that I have been pining away for my lecturer since the first day on campus.

"Nothing. Study and research for an upcoming assignment. You have started yours, haven't you?"

"Ah, no, not likely. That one will be a last-minute job," she says. Her eyes narrow at me, but she goes back to her lunch.

Serena shovels salad and chicken in like it's her last meal, and I chuckle.

"What?" she says around a mouthful, surprise written over her face.

"Nothing. Glad you enjoy my cooking. But you should try to chew a little before you inhale your entire plate." I scrunch my nose up at her playfully.

After finishing lunch, she brings the plates and cutlery to the sink while I pack away the leftovers. Serena retires to the couch while I wash up. My mind slips back to the fire that danced over my palm only hours ago. Elemental witches have control over all elements, including water. Water can't hurt, right?

I wave my hand above the sink, watching as the water sloshes side to side. I wonder. Hovering my hand over it, I concentrate on an upward movement. Inhale. The stretch of air in my lungs steadies my mind. Exhale...

Water hits my overturned palm, and I crack one eye open. A small stream rises from the sink to meet my hand. I hold my breath and turn my hand over and open both eyes. A sphere of water floats above my palm for a second before bursting over my hand and returning to the sink.

I glance over my shoulder. Serena is cuddled up on the couch on the furthest end, engrossed in whatever regency show she's found to stream. Turning back, I hold two hands over the sink. This time, I keep my eyes open, suck in a deep breath, and will the water upward. It bobs in place for moment, and I set my shoulders back, forcing breath out fast. A torrent shoots past my hands like a tornado, rising almost to the ceiling. I gasp and pull my hands back, hiding them behind my back.

Crap.

The water plummets, spilling over the sink, countertop, and floor.

Dammit.

I grab a towel and clean up the mess.

"You okay over there?" Serena says. Her brows lowered, she peers over the back of the sofa at the mess over the counter and floor.

"All good, just dropped a plate in the sink and it splashed everywhere," I lie.

That was close.

T he internet put up a good fight, but I have found a home address for Mr. Sullivan. It's about twenty minutes from here. Gathering Grandma's book and my phone, I shove them into my satchel. I call out to Serena, telling her I'll be back in an hour.

I fly out the front door before she can offer to ride along and hit the unlock button on the keys. The car beeps and the blinkers flash. I pull the driver's door open and am down the road heading for Main Street before I have a chance to change my mind.

He lives north of town. I turn onto his road and slow down as it disintegrates into twist and turns. The afternoon light splinters through the trees to my left, casting shadows across my path. The tall evergreen pines that flank the road tower ominously above. A dead-end sign creeps past on my right. He must be the only house up here. My hands sweat under a tight grip on the wheel, and a cool chill runs down my spine.

I can't even turn around, the road has narrowed so much, with no room on the sides to maneuver a vehicle around. My only option at this point is to keep going until I reach his house or a place to make a U-turn. My clock on the dash flicks over—almost twenty minutes have passed. I'm going to end up at his house. I slow the car, hoping I haven't made a huge mistake. Apart from stalking a member of the faculty, I am potentially walking into a vampire's lair.

Okay, that is a little dramatic. Mr. Sullivan doesn't exactly scream ‘I live in a sordid lair of darkness and death.' But I would be stupid to be unafraid. I round a turn, and an enormous home comes into view on the opposite side of a small lake. The tires crush over gravel around the lake until I roll to a stop short of the front of the house.

A lump tightens my airway, making each breath forced as I pluck out my phone. As if that will save me now. I check—no missed calls, no messages. No requests for me to return to safety. I let the car idle but shift it into park.

The home is large and sprawling. Like something you would find in one of those luxury-home magazines where the house is been handed down from generation to generation. Or, maybe in this case, one generation has lived here that long.

I open the notes app on my phone and scroll the few notes I made about vampires. Somehow, I neglected to add defenses against them, should one find themselves in a position of wanting. Ahhh. What the hell am I thinking? I should leave...

BANG!

Something hits the roof of my car. I yelp and clutch my phone to my chest. A shadow moves across my window, clearing to what looks like flannel and khaki. A man leans down, peering in through the window. His features are similar to Mr. Sullivan's, but his face is longer, older. His hair is slightly darker but the same. He motions for me to roll down the window. I keep my eyes on his, trying to assess whether that would be a good idea.

"You lost?" His words are muffled against the glass.

A smile pulls up on his face, lighting up his eyes. Not a serial-killing vampire then? I press a finger on the window button and it lowers with a whir. I force the breath from my chest and try to plaster a smile on my face. I'm pretty sure he can smell fear. Ugh.

"No, I'm not lost."

His eyebrows shoot up and he steps back, letting me open the door. I grab my bag and step out of the car. "I am looking for Mr. Sullivan."

He tilts his head. "You one of his students?"

I nod.

Something like recognition blooms over his face and he turns, walking toward the house, looking back to wave me on. I follow a few paces behind, taking in the huge house. The windows, the multi-peaked roof, the pillars that adorn the front porch like something out of Gone with the Wind . He opens the door and nods for me to follow. I climb the stairs but hesitate before the threshold.

"Come on in, we don't bite," he says. The kindness in his eyes is deceptive, I am sure of it.

"Okay, thanks."

The moment I cross the threshold, I am struck by the grandeur of the home. Wood panel and ornate trim, arches over doors, a hearth the size of my car in the living room, visible from the foyer. The floor is marble, polished. Brass hooks hold coats and scarves. Paintings hang from the walls, and the back of the large living room is flanked with dark shelves, packed with books. Twin sofas hug an expensive looking rug.

Movement stirs in the room to the left.

"Lewis, visitor," the man says softly, waving as if to say he's done his part and I'm on my own and walks toward the sofas. I wait in the foyer, still in awe of the old-world charm of the wood-paneled interior of the grand home.

"Who is it, Den?" Mr. Sullivan says, but his brother's voice was too quiet for a human to be able to hear from another room.

Another trait, check.

I shift on my feet. Maybe this is a bad idea. My far-too-young professor appears from the room that I now realize is an office, papers in hand. He looks up and stops in his tracks.

The rattle of ice in a glass echoes from by the hearth. I glance to where the man sits on the sofa, curiosity plastered over his face, his focus solely on Mr. Sullivan. He tilts his glass toward me and says, "Samantha."

Mr. Sullivan's mouth opens and doesn't close. The door moves wider with the breeze.

I grip the strap of my bag, forgetting what I came for. "Hi."

His pupils dilate as he steps back, going rigid. A chuckle drifts from the living room. Mr. Sullivan collects the papers into one hand, his jaw feathering.

"What are you doing here?"