The Eternal Kiss: Vampire Tales of Blood and Desire

Sword Point by Maria V. Snyder

AVA GLANCED AT the grimy alley. This can’t be right, she thought. Crushed newspapers, bags of garbage, and pools of muck lined the narrow street. But a faded sign with Accadamia della Spada hung above the door.

Odd. A famous establishment located in the armpit of Iron City.

She hitched her equipment bag higher on her aching shoulder and headed toward the building. Since she lived in the suburbs across town, it had taken her over an hour to reach this place by bus. Ava pulled her coat’s hood over her head as cold raindrops dripped from the night sky.

An unsettled feeling rolled in her stomach. She should be ecstatic and thrilled. This was a dream come true. Perhaps the combination of the location and the rainy Monday had doused her excitement.

A prickle of unease raised the hairs on her arms. She paused, certain someone was watching her, but the teenager lounging on a stoop across the street had his hoodie pulled down over his face as if asleep.

When she spotted two large blue eyes staring at her, she smiled in relief. A young boy peered at her through the dirty window of the building next to the Academy. He hid behind his mother when Ava drew closer.

Through the window, Ava recognized a karate dojo. Parents sat in folding chairs as their children, clad in oversized uniforms with bright colored belts, kicked in unison. A young man with a black belt wove between them, correcting postures or giving praise. His shoulder-length hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a tattoo on his neck. The two black marks resembled Chinese calligraphy.

Ava lingered by the window, observing the lesson. I’m not procrastinating. I’m learning. That shuffle-kick is very similar to fencing footwork.

The teacher paired the children, and they practiced kicking into a pad. Ava caught the teacher’s attention, and he scowled at her. She jerked away as if she’d been slapped and continued on to the Academy.

The Academy’s elaborate stone entrance was marred with graffiti. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of urine and pressed the buzzer.

“Name?” The intercom squawked.

“Ava Vaughn.”

The ornate door clicked open. The depressed inner-city exterior hid a modern fencing studio. Amazed, Ava stared. In the wide open space, students in white fencing gear sparred on long thin red strips. Others practiced lunges and attacks in front of mirrors. The ring of metal, the hum of voices, and the mechanical chug of fitness equipment filled the air.

An instructor carrying a clipboard approached. “Ms. Vaughn?”

She nodded.

He eyed her, clearly not impressed. “Change and warm up. Then we’ll evaluate you.”

Before he could shoo her away, she said, “But Bossemi—”

“Invited you, I know. Doesn’t mean you’ll train with him. You have to impress us first.” He poked his pencil toward the locker rooms in the back.

As Ava changed clothes, she thought about the Three Rivers Regional Competition. She had fought well and won all her bouts, gaining the notice of Sandro Bossemi, a three-time Olympic champion from Italy.

Fencers from around the world re-located just to train at the Accadamia della Spada, which translated to the Academy of the Sword. Admittance to the school was by invitation only. Ava dreamed about being asked to train here.

However, reality proved to be another matter. Even though she had out-fenced all her opponents at the competition, the students at the Academy countered her efforts to spar them with ease. She couldn’t even claim her youth as an excuse. A few fourteen-and fifteen-year-olds trained here, making her feel old at seventeen. After her first night of practice, Ava doubted she would be asked back.

A moment of panic engulfed her. What will I do? She steadied her hyperactive heart. I’ll train even harder and Bossemi will invite me again.

When she lost her last bout, Mr. Clipboard joined her. He had been evaluating her all evening. She braced for the dismissal.

“Tomorrow you’ll work with Signore Salvatori,” he said. He flipped a paper. “We’ll arrange a practice time with your tutor. I’ll need contact information.”

It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. “I go to James Edward High.”

“Oh.” Scanning the page, he marked it. “Then you can have Salvatori’s seven to ten p.m. slot. Do you speak Italian?”

“No, but I’m fluent in French.” Since fencing bouts were officiated in French, she had been determined to learn it.

“Salvatori only teaches in Italian so you may want to learn a few words for your lessons each evening.”

“Each?” Ava tried to keep up with the information.

“If we are to teach you anything, you’re to be here every night, and from two to five on Saturday. You have Sunday off; Sandro Bossemi is a devout Catholic.”

Dazed, Ava walked to the locker room. Conflicting emotions warred in her. She was thrilled to not be dismissed, but daunted by the training schedule.

By the time she changed, the room was empty. She would have loved to leave her heavy gear bag here, but she had school practice tomorrow afternoon. Guess I’ll be doing my homework on the bus. When she calculated her travel time, she realized she would also be eating her dinner on the bus. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a side order of diesel fumes. Wonderful.

Pulling out her cell phone, she called her mother.

“Donny’s 24-Hour Diner, can I help you?”

“I’d like an extra large banana split to go please,” Ava said.

Mom laughed. “Ava, sweetie! How was practice?”

“Like a Pirates of the Caribbean movie, Mom. I pillaged and burned.”

“Showing off on the first night isn’t a good way to make friends.” Her mother kept her tone light, but Ava knew the little dig was aimed directly at her.

For Ava, fencing had always come first. She didn’t have time for friends she didn’t need. Her mother disagreed.

Ava drew in a calming breath. “How soon can you pick me up?”

Silence. Her mother worked full-time and attended college classes at night, but to pay for Ava’s training at the Academy, she scaled back her course load to one class so she could take another job as the night manager of Donny’s.

You don’t reach the Olympics without sacrifice.

“You can come during your dinner break,” Ava prompted.

“Ava, I can’t. I only get thirty minutes to eat. Can you get a ride? It could be a good ice breaker for making a friend.”

Her fingers tightened on the phone. Her mother just wouldn’t quit. Perhaps if she had an imaginary friend her mother would get off her back.

“I already made a friend,” Ava said.

“Already?” Doubt laced her mom’s voice.

“Yeah. Her name’s Tammy, she lives in Copperstown. Her parents own the Copper Tea Kettle.”

“Oh! The place with all those fancy teas?”

“Yeah. They’re big tea drinkers. Look, Mom, I’ve gotta go. I’ll get a ride with her. Bye.” Ava closed her phone, and checked the time. Ten minutes until the next bus.

She left the locker room and almost ran into a group of fencing coaches, including Mr. Clipboard talking with the karate instructor. They all jumped back when they spotted her, and conversation ceased.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you,” she said into the silence. No response. As she passed them, her back burned with their stares.

That was creepy. If the Karate Dude doesn’t want people to watch through his window, he should buy curtains.

When she reached the bus stop, she dropped her heavy bag on the sidewalk in relief.

“You lied to your mother,” a man said behind her.

She spun. The Karate Dude stood five feet away, peering at her with loathing. “Tammy isn’t one of the Academy students.”

Anger flared. “You perv. You shouldn’t be hanging around the girls’ locker room.”

“And you shouldn’t have come here alone.” His intent gaze pierced her body like the point of a sword. “Your kind is always overconfident,” he said.

“My kind? Fencers?” Fear brushed her stomach. Perhaps this was one of those situations her mother warned her about.

“You can quit with the charade. I know what you are.”

And he was a dangerous wacko. Should she scream or call the police? He put his hand in the pocket of his black leather jacket. Ava grabbed her phone, searching the street for help. No one.

The Karate Dude yanked out a bottle. In one fluid motion, he flipped the lid off and flung the contents into her face.

She yelped and swiped at her cheeks. Acid? Wiping her eyes in panic, she steeled herself for the pain. Nothing. A few drops of the liquid dripped into her mouth. Water?

Karate Dude’s satisfied smirk faded.

“What the hell was that for?” she demanded. Ava dried her face on the sleeve of her coat, and smoothed her—now wet—blonde hair from her eyes.

“You’re not … I thought …” He sputtered and seemed shocked. “But you’re so pale …”

Ava spotted the bus. “Stay away from me, you sicko freak, or the next time I’ll call the police.”

The bus squealed to a stop and the door hissed open. She grabbed her bag, sprinted up the steps, and dropped into the seat behind the driver. Glaring at the freak, she didn’t relax until the doors shut and the bus drove away.

Ava dreaded returning to the Academy. All because of that Karate Freak. But it wouldn’t stop her from going. Oh no. She loved fencing, and hoped to join gold medalist Mariel Zagunis in the record books. Mariel was a goddess! She was the first American woman in a century to win fencing gold with a saber. A century! Ava dreamed of doing the same with the foil.

She had competed with all three weapons, but a foil’s bout with its feints, ducks and sudden attacks appealed to Ava more than the épée or saber. The sport fed her competitive streak, while the rhythm and cadence of the moves made her feel elegant and graceful. She even enjoyed researching the long history of the sport, which surprised her mother since anything not involving a foil in her hand tended to be done under protest and as quickly as possible.

Holding her cell phone—with 911 already dialed—in one hand, and her bag in the other, Ava stepped from the bus. With her thumb ready to push the send button, she scanned the street. A few parents hustled their kids to karate class, and two Academy students walked toward school.

Ava sprinted to catch up with the fencers. She trailed behind them despite their annoyed looks. When she spotted the Karate Freak teaching his class, she remembered to breathe. Once inside the Academy, she should be safe.

Mr. Clipboard seemed surprised to see her. Ava debated. Should she ask him about last night or not? He had been in the group talking to Karate Freak. He tapped his watch when she approached. She didn’t have time. I’ll ask him later.

By the time the session ended, Ava no longer cared about the Karate Freak. All she wanted to do was crawl inside a locker and hide. Salvatori hadn’t spoken any of the Italian words she learned. Eventually, he stopped talking and used gestures for most of the session, adjusting her stance by touch.

He corrected everything she had learned from Coach Phillips. When she thought she had mastered a move, he proved her wrong. Frustrated and humiliated, Ava felt like a beginner again. Coach Phillips treated her like a professional, while Salvatori acted like he worked with an amateur. Perhaps she should ask for another coach.

At the end of the lesson, Salvatori dismissed her with a curt wave. Exhausted, she aimed for the locker room and stopped.

Karate Freak leaned against a side wall, watching her. No one seemed bothered by his presence, and Ava didn’t have the energy to care. She changed in a hurry, wanting to leave before the Academy emptied.

Once again she armed herself with her pre-dialed phone. She was halfway to the door before Karate Freak caught up to her. At least this time a few people milled nearby.

“Go away,” she said, brandishing the phone.

“Look, Ava, I’m sorry about last night,” he said.

He knew her name. She stepped back. Wait a minute. Did he just apologize? According to her mother, the male species was incapable of apologizing.

“I thought you were someone else.” He pulled his hair away from his face, attempting to look sincere.

If he wasn’t a freak, he’d be hot—grayish blue eyes, hawk nose and a slight Asian cut to his features. But he overdid the whole karate warrior look with his tight black T-shirt and black jeans. Maybe she should call him the Ninja Freak. Either way, his explanation was lame. She remained unconvinced.

“I know it sounds weird. We’ve been having trouble with … another school. And I thought you were one of them, spying on us.”

“So you threw water on me? That’s weak. Get lost.” She walked around him. But he trailed her.

“It’s a long story, and you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Fine. Whatever. Apology accepted, now go away.” She pushed through the door, hoping to leave him behind.

He kept pace with her. “At least let me make it up to you. How about a free lesson?”

“On how to be a jerk? No, thanks.”

Unfazed, he gestured toward the school. “No. Isshinryu karate. You know, martial arts? All fencers should cross-train. Karate is great for improving your reflexes and footwork.”

“No.” She didn’t trust him.

“If this is about last—”

“Look, I don’t even know you, and frankly, I don’t have any interest.” She continued to the bus stop.

He walked with her. “I can rectify one of those.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jarett White, owner of the White Hawks Isshinryu Club.”

Owner? He didn’t look old enough, but she shook his warm hand. He held hers a moment past awkward.

“Your hand is ice cold.” He studied her face as if that was a bad thing.

She pulled away. “It’s November.”

“How about a free session on self defense? It could help you around here.”

“I really don’t have time.” Except Sunday, but that was her day to get everything else done. And her “to do” list spanned pages.

He considered. “Yeah. I guess Salvatori has you on the novice training schedule. That’s brutal.”

Despite her irritation, she was intrigued. “How do you know?”

“I trained with Sal for two years before Sandro took me on.” His gaze grew distant. “Sandro helped me qualify for the Junior Olympic Fencing Championships.”

Impressive. He must have been recruited by the best universities. “Where did you go to college?”

“I’m taking business classes at the community college.”

She gaped at him in pure astonishment. With a fencing scholarship, he could have gone anywhere.

Jarett noticed. “I earned my black belt at age twelve, and I enjoy teaching karate. Plus I’m my own boss. How many twenty-year-olds can say that?”

Weak excuses. Ava felt sorry for him. Teaching a bunch of snot-nosed kids instead of competing at the Cadet level. He must have burnt out. Before she could remark, the familiar roar of the bus signaled its approach.

“You really shouldn’t be taking the bus this late,” Jarett said. “Besides lying to your mother about getting a ride home, there’s dangerous people downtown.”

She hefted her bag. “I didn’t lie to my mother.” The bus’s door opened, revealing the smiling red-haired driver. “Jarett, meet my friend Tammy.” Ava gestured to the bus driver.

He gave her a wry grin. “Let me guess, her parents own the Copper Tea Kettle.”

“Yep. And the most dangerous person I met so far … is you.” She stepped onto the bus.

Jarett saluted her with an imaginary sword. “Touché.”

Much to Ava’s annoyance, Jarett insisted on walking her to the bus stop every night. He’d talk about karate and fencing, but he always kept watch, scanning the area as if expecting an ambush.

After a few nights she actually looked forward to his company. And he agreed with her about Mariel being a goddess.

“She was added to the 2004 Olympic team as a replacement, then goes on to win the gold. How sweet is that?” He stabbed a hand in the air.

“Pretty sweet. To be at the Olympics has to be …” Ava searched for the word, but couldn’t find the perfect one.

“Awesome.”

She thought about Jarett’s many talents. “Does your community college have a fencing program?”

“No. But I went to Penn State University for a year. Their coaches are excellent.”

“Why didn’t you stay?” The question just popped from her mouth. She wished she could erase it as his smile faded.

“I needed to be home. Some things are more important than fencing.”

Ava found that hard to believe. Nothing was more important than fencing. Nothing.

Jarett was extra jumpy. He spooked at any noise, and stared at everyone who walked by them as they waited for the bus. There were more people out tonight than Ava had seen before. Friday night.

When he glanced around for the fourth time in a minute, she asked, “Why do you do that?”

“Habit. You should always know who is around you so you’re not surprised.”

“Sounds paranoid.”

“Consider the first night I met you. You were completely oblivious to the fact I was right behind you all the way to the bus stop. I could have grabbed your bag and been gone before you even reacted.”

“I have fast reflexes,” she said.

“Consider how much faster you’d be if you knew a few seconds sooner?”

She conceded the point. All too soon, the bus arrived. Ava mounted the steps with reluctance. She almost laughed out loud. Five days ago, she ran up these steps to get away from Jarett. Now she didn’t want to leave. The door hissed shut behind her. Tammy gave her a distracted hello as Ava sat in her usual seat.

“Full bus tonight,” she said to Tammy.

“Yeah. All the college kids from the burbs are headed downtown.” She tilted her head to look into the big mirror above her and checked out the passengers.

Ava looked back. Groups of friends hung together, laughing and talking loudly. A few high school kids tried to look cool in front of the college kids. One kid sat alone, staring out the window. He wore a black hoodie with a grinning skull on it. When the bus pulled away from the curb, he waved to someone outside.

Settling in for a long ride, she pulled out her history book to study. It remained unopened in her lap. She was distracted by thoughts of Jarett and by Tammy glancing in her mirror every few seconds. Ava finally asked her why.

“There’s a punk in a black hoodie. I think he’s on drugs so I’m keeping an eye on him,” Tammy said.

As Tammy slowed for the next stop, Ava turned around. The punk stared at her. Pale skin clung to his skeletal face. He grinned, displaying crooked teeth and black gums. Yikes.

“Got a runner,” Tammy said with delight. Her hand hovered over the door switch. As soon as a runner reached the point that they might actually catch the bus, Tammy would shut the door and pull away.

“You’re evil,” Ava said.

“Everyone needs a hobby. He’s getting closer … Wait for it … Wait for it … Ah, hell.” She slumped back in her seat. “It’s your friend.”

Jarett bounded up the steps and dropped a token into the fare collector. “Thanks,” he said, not even out of breath. He didn’t acknowledge Ava, but she recognized his hard expression—the sword point. The same cold fury had burned in his eyes when he had thrown the water on her. But this time, he focused it on the grinning skull punk.

As the bus accelerated, Jarett knelt on the seat next to her, facing backward. “I thought I should make sure the bus was safe,” he said. He kept his right hand inside his jacket pocket and his gaze never left Grinning Skull.

Ava suspected he knew the kid. When the bus reached the trendy downtown area, it emptied of students, leaving her, Jarett and the punk. They rode for a while in silence. Tension radiated, filling the air. Ava startled when the kid dinged the signal for the next stop. Jarett jumped to his feet. Grinning Skull stood in the aisle, facing him.

Tammy opened the exit door in the middle of the bus.

“Next time,” Grinning Skull said, waggling boney fingers at Jarett. In a blink, he was gone.

“I told you that guy was on drugs,” Tammy said. “Did you see how fast he moved?”

Jarett relaxed into his seat as the bus drove away.

“A friend of yours?” Ava asked.

“No. He’s a troublemaker in my neighborhood. When I saw him on your bus, I just wanted to make sure he didn’t bother you.”

Conflicting emotions fought in her chest. She was pleased at his concern but annoyed he thought she couldn’t defend herself. “Don’t you have other things to do? It’s Friday night. Won’t your girlfriend be mad?” So lame!

By his sly smile, Ava knew he saw right through her.

“No worries, my harem will wait for me,” he teased. Then he sobered. “I wish. Between training, classes and work, there’s no time for fun. I’m guessing it’s the same with you. Although I’m sure the guys at your school must be lined up three-deep trying to get your attention.”

“Of course.” She flicked her long ponytail dramatically. “There’s a daily fight over me in the hallways.”

He laughed. The rich sound buzzed through her. She decided it didn’t matter why he was here, she would just enjoy his company. For Ava, the ride home flew by.

Ava used the access code Mr. Clipboard had given her to enter the now-empty Academy. Her mother followed, exclaiming over the equipment. Ava had two hours until her lesson with Salvatori, but a ride downtown from her mother was worth the wait. Plus her mother wanted a tour of the school.

“I’ll pick you up after my economics class.” Her mom left.

The silent studio gave Ava the creeps. She should warm up and practice before the others arrived, but she hesitated outside the dark locker rooms. Instead of changing, she explored the Academy. A few of the coaches’ offices lined the far left wall. Bulletin boards with flyers decorated the space between them.

Ava discovered a hallway in the far left corner of the building. Here the modern renovations ended and the original wood floor and arched windows remained. Half-moon-shaped stained glass transoms sat atop thick ornate doors. Curious to see what lurked behind this double wide entrance, Ava found Sandro Bossemi’s private studio and office.

She entered. The office held the typical furniture and clutter. Foils, épées and sabers rested in the corners. A large, almost life-sized crucifix hung on the far wall with a realistic Jesus nailed to it. The poor guy was frozen with his face creased in agony and wounds bleeding. Yikes.

None of Bossemi’s gold medals were on display. Disappointed, she returned to the corridor. Two other doors remained. One connected to Jarrett’s office, which explained how he’d magically appeared in the studio. The room led to his dojo.

Through the open office door, she watched him teach a few adults. They failed to look as impressive in their white uniforms as Jarett did. His flexibility and speed was striking compared to their awkward attempts. How could she have thought he was a perverted jerk?

She returned to the Academy. The last door had Vietato L’ingresso written on it. More Italian words I don’t know. Probably an equipment room. Ava turned the knob. Despite the strong smell of garlic, her guess seemed right, but the row of swords didn’t glint in the weak light. She picked one up. The heavy weapon was made of wood and the tip had been sharpened to a nasty point. I could stab someone with this.

Bottles of water lined the shelves, matching the one Jarett had used when he threw water on her. Crossbows with wooden bolts hung on the wall. Even the points of the arrows were made of wood. Her queasiness turned into apprehension when she found crosses and wooden stakes. This is beyond weird. It’s bordering on serious mental illness. Did Bossemi believe in—

“What are you doing in here?” Jarrett demanded.

Ava jumped. Her heart lunged in her chest.

Before she could reply, he gestured to the door, “Can’t you read?”

“Not Italian.”

He tapped the words with his index finger. “Vietato L’ingresso. No admittance.”

Ignoring her heart’s antics, she shrugged. “If you really wanted to keep people out, you should lock the door.”

He motioned her from the room, then shut the door when she joined him in the hallway. “We need to be able to get in there quickly.”

“Why? What’re all those weapons for?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Sandro decides who is ready or not.”

She wanted to protest, but he changed the subject.

“I’m done with my class and you still have time before training. How about that self-defense lesson?”

Ava considered the incident last night. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so protective if she agreed. Odd. The thought of walking to the bus alone didn’t produce the relief she expected.

“Okay, but you have to answer one question.”

Wariness touched his eyes. “What’s the question?”

She had a million to ask, but knew he’d probably dodge most of them. Ava pointed to the left side of his neck. “What do your tattoos mean?”

He relaxed. “It’s Okinawan for hawk. Isshinryu is an Okinawan marital art.” Jarett guided her through the door and into his office. Framed pictures decorated the walls. He pointed to a photo of a red-tailed hawk. “Hawks are a symbol of victory. My sensei tattooed the characters onto his neck when he earned his black belt, starting a tradition.”

“Your sensei?”

“Okinawan for teacher.” He huffed in amusement. “Hang around here long enough and you’ll learn Okinawan and Italian.” He stopped before the mats and gestured to her feet. “No shoes.”

She kicked off her street shoes and stepped onto the thin black foam. The mats interlocked like a jigsaw puzzle. Next to the main entrance, the window spanned the whole front of the dojo.

Jarett faced Ava and grabbed her wrist. His thumb overlapped his fingers. “Holy chicken wings, Batman. Don’t you eat?”

She tried to jerk her arm free, but he held on.

“When we work on self-defense techniques, I’m not going to let you go unless you force me. Now, to break my grip, pull through my thumb. It’s the weakest part of the hold.” Jarett demonstrated.

Ava tried again and managed to free herself. They practiced a variety of wrist and arm holds for a while.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he said. “And quick to learn. Some of my students just don’t get it.”

He taught her how to break a bear hold and other body locks. Ava liked being held by him. He smelled of Polo Sport. When she managed to roll him off of her, she paused as a brief surge of pride followed an “ah ha” moment.

Jarett met her gaze and beamed. “If you know what to do, you can escape from anyone, no matter how big.”

“What if they have a knife or a gun?”

“That’s a whole other lesson. I’ll show you next week.”

The prospect thrilled her. When it was time for her fencing lesson, she cut through Jarett’s office and noticed a framed photo propped on his desk. In the picture, Jarett stood next to an older Asian man. Both wore karate uniforms with black belts. Both had matching tattoos and the same shaped face.

“Is that your sensei or your father?” she asked.

Jarett plopped into his chair. “He was both.” Sadness tainted his voice.

She frowned and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

“Looking for the perfect Hallmark words of comfort?” He gave her a wry grin. “They don’t exist in this case. My father was murdered.”

She thought she felt bad before. “That’s horrible. Did the police arrest anyone?”

Jarett’s expression hardened. “The killer was taken care of. We made sure of that.”

A thousand questions lodged in her throat. Afraid of the answers, she swallowed them and retreated to the Academy.

The Saturday afternoon practice included a welcome change in routine. During the last hour, the coaches staged a mock tournament. Ava endured being embarrassed, but not because of her fencing skills. With just a week of training, her attacks and parries had vastly improved, surprising her. Signore Salvatori even gave her a “buono.” High praise indeed.

No. The embarrassment came from her mother. She arrived in time to watch the bouts. Bad enough to have her mother there, but then the woman compounds Ava’s mortification by cheering and hooting for her. Good thing the fencing mask hid her red face.

When Ava finally slinked from the locker room, she stopped in horror. Jarett was talking to her mother. Just kill me now.

She rushed over, intent on hustling her mother out the door.

“… Did you see her feint-disengage attack? It was perfect,” her mother exclaimed.

Ava jumped into the conversation. “It wasn’t perfect, Mom. I didn’t win any bouts.”

Her mother swept her hand as if waving away a fly. “It’s just a matter of persistence, practice and experience.”

Ava rolled her eyes. Mom’s such a dork.

“I like that. Can I tell it to my students?” Jarett asked. He even managed to appear sincere.

Bonus points.

Her mother blinked at him for a few seconds. “Ah … sure.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I thought you trained here.”

“I do, but I teach karate, too.”

“Oh.”

“Did you have trouble parking?” Ava asked her mother, hoping the change in topic would get her moving away from him.

“Not at all, but, Ava … Do you think you can get a ride home with Tammy?”

“Why?”

“A few of my classmates invited me to dinner nearby.” Her mother practically bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement.

Ava was tired, hungry and had been looking forward to a quick ride home. She opened her mouth to complain, but stopped. Her mother had already read Ava’s disappointed expression. She no longer bounced.

If Ava said she couldn’t get a ride, her mother would skip dinner to take her home. She couldn’t even recall the last time her mother did something for herself. She had given up her social life for Ava, and her daughter had been too focused on fencing to notice.

So why did I realize this now? Jarett. Perhaps the water thrown in her face had woken her up. A good thing. Now the only other things she had to worry about were punks on the bus, and strange wooden stakes in Bossemi’s closet.

“Sure, Mom. I’ll get a ride.”

Delight flashed in her eyes. “Thanks, sweetie. See you at home!” She kissed Ava’s forehead and swept out the door.

“Sweetie?” Jarett smirked.

“Don’t start.”

“That was pretty clever. You told her you’d get a ride home, but didn’t say how, so technically you didn’t lie to her. Does Tammy work Saturdays?”

“No.” She dug in her bag for the bus schedule. She’d missed the five fifteen bus by ten minutes, and the next one wasn’t due until six thirty. Her stomach grumbled. She hunted for money, finding only a few bucks. “Is there a hot dog cart around here?”

He winced. “Hot dogs? No wonder you’re so thin. You should be eating healthy foods.”

She clamped down on a laugh. He’d probably have a fit over her daily diet of junk food.

Despite his protest over her food choices, he led her to a local food stand. The shoppers had gone home, and it was too early for the theater crowd, so the area was empty. Jarett set a quick pace, and Ava hustled to keep up.

On the way back to the bus stop, Jarett entertained her with stories about his karate students.

“… Little guy was so proud of his new move, he ran over to his father and kicked him right in the … Damn.” Jarett grabbed her upper arm. “Listen,” he said in a tight voice. “If I tell you to run, you run to the Academy. Understand?” He talked to her, but he watched three figures walking toward them.

“Yes, but—”

“Not now.” He squeezed once and let go. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a mini crossbow, loaded a small bolt and aimed it at them. “Don’t come any closer,” he said.

They stopped. A street light illuminated their pale and gaunt faces. Resembling half-starved street punks, they wore ripped baggy jeans that sagged around thin waists, exposing colorful boxers. A ton of bling hung from their necks on thick gold chains. Hoods had been pulled up.

Ava recognized Grinning Skull from the bus. His friend’s shirt had skeletons playing in a band on it, and a cobra design wrapped around the punk on the right’s sleeve.

“You can only shoot one of us before we move,” Grinning Skull said. “That leaves two and I doubt your girlfriend is armed.”

Ava’s stomach twisted as the small bit of confidence she had gained by learning a few self-defense moves fled.

“She knows nothing about this,” Jarett said. “Her bus will be here soon. Once she goes, we can … talk.”

Skeleton Band cackled. The sound scraped like glass against stone. “You didn’t tell her about us? What a naughty boy you’ve been, Jarett White Hawk. Tisk, tisk.”

“Irresponsible,” Cobra agreed. “Jarett will pay with his life. Like father like son.”

“And the girl?” Skeleton Band asked.

“Ours.” Grinning Skull looked at Ava with hunger.

Ice pumped through her veins yet she felt hot and sweaty.

The three advanced.

“Run,” Jarett ordered. He shot the crossbow, hitting Cobra in the stomach.

Before she even moved, the punks flickered. One second they stood fifteen feet away, the next they surrounded Jarett and Ava. Like a cartoon. Except this is like a badly-drawn horror cartoon.

Jarett dropped the crossbow, pulled a bottle from his pocket, and tossed water into Skeleton Band’s face. The punk shrieked as his skin melted and steamed.

Another flicker and Grinning Skull grabbed Ava in a steel grip. She couldn’t move. Panicked, she yelled for Jarett, but he was caught tight by Cobra. Grinning Skull opened his mouth. The putrid stench of decay gagged her. He bent close to her face. She cringed as his ice-cold cheek brushed hers.

When he bit her neck, she screamed. She never thought she’d be the kind of girl to scream, but terror and pure revulsion had built inside her to such a degree that screaming was the only way to release it.

Grinning Skull pushed against her as if slammed from behind. He grunted and went slack, knocking Ava to the ground. He landed on top of her. A dead weight. She stared at his face and nausea boiled up in her throat. The skin disintegrated before her eyes, peeling off the bone, which crumbled into powder.

Ava kicked the dusty clothes off of her. She wanted to puke, to scream and to faint, but she held it together and focused on Jarett and Bossemi. The master fencer held a wood sword. Two piles of clothes lay at his feet—the remains of Cobra and Skeleton Band.

Bossemi gestured to the clothes and shoes. Jarett swept them up.

“All’interno. Rapidamente!” he barked before running to the Academy.

Ava scrambled upright and followed him with Jarett fast on her heels. When the door shut behind them, they sagged with relief.

“Sandro, I’m—” Jarett started.

“Idiota.” Bossemi turned to Ava. “Prossimo … Come. We must clean your wound.”

In all the excitement, she had forgotten about the bite. Pain throbbed when she touched her neck. Blood coated her fingers. Her vision blurred, but a sharp order from Bossemi snapped her out of it. She didn’t even realize Jarett supported her until they reached his office.

She met Jarett’s gaze. He looked miserable. But she didn’t have time to question him. Bossemi instructed her to lie down flat on his couch. He put a towel under her neck.

“This will hurt,” he said.

When he brandished a spray bottle and metal hook-shaped tool, she closed her eyes. He might not have much of a couch-side manner, but he was honest. It hurt. By the time he had cleaned the bite and bandaged it, tears had puddled in her ears.

Jarett sat on the edge of the couch, holding her hand. Bossemi dumped the blood-soaked towel into a hamper.

“Tell her what she needs to know,” Bossemi said. “I’ll organize a watch.” He handed Jarett his wooden sword, then left.

Jarett stared at the weapon with resignation.

Ava pulled her hand away from his and struggled to a sitting position. She wanted answers. “Talk. Now.”

He sighed. “At least I don’t have to convince you they’re real.”

“The punks?”

His gaze focused on the life-sized crucifix. “Not punks. Vampiros.”

Vampiros. Italian for “vampire.” Instinctively, she wanted to protest—vampires populated horror novels, not real life. But she couldn’t explain how the punks disintegrated into powder. “Go on,” she said.

“They’ve been around since biblical times.” Jarett said.

Ava thought back to the attack. “They flickered and were so strong.” She shuddered.

“That’s why we use swords and crossbows. If they grab you, you’re almost as good as dead.”

“What about the stakes I saw in the closet?”

“We use those during the day. We hunt them while they sleep. Safer that way.”

“We?”

“The Hawks. Sandro taught us how to find and fight the vampiros. He recruits candidates from the fencers he invites to his school. Some join us. Others leave. And some won’t get recruited at all.”

“Would I have been recruited?”

He considered. “If I hadn’t messed it up, probably not.”

“How did you … Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is right. I thought you were a vampiro. You’re pale and thin. I wasn’t the only one.” He sounded defensive. “The other coaches suspected you, too. Plus we had just attacked one of their nests, and thought you were trying to get revenge.”

“A nest of them? How many vampiros are there?” she asked.

“There are nests in most of the major cities of the world. The Hawks are there too. It’s an on-going battle. Sometimes we manage to wipe out an entire cluster, and sometimes they get to us first.”

Ava remembered his sad story. “Did they kill your father?”

Jarett’s body tensed and his grip tightened on the sword. “Yes. They drained his blood, starving his brain of oxygen. Once the brain dies, a demon takes possession of the body. It’s not like in the movies. Police don’t find a bloodless corpse. There is no burial and no dramatic rising from the dead. The victim just changes. They lose weight, becoming pale, nocturnal creatures.”

She followed the logic. “Then your father is a …” She couldn’t say the word.

“Not anymore.” Anguish strained his voice. He closed his eyes. “He came to visit me at school. They go after their relatives and friends first. I knew as soon as I saw him.”

Ava waited. Despite the obvious outcome, Jarett needed to tell the story.

“My father had been a Hawk all my life. We moved from city to city, hunting vampiros. But I didn’t want to join the Hawks. I wanted to fence. I was selfish, and my father died.”

“You can’t blame—”

“Yes I can. I’m the one who flung the holy water on him. He dissolved before my eyes.”

She searched for the appropriate words. What did Jarett call them? Hallmark words. She didn’t think she would find a sorry-your-father-was-a-vampire sympathy card. Instead she asked him why the vampiros disintegrated.

“The demon keeps the body alive. Once the demon is killed, the body is destroyed. The older they are, the faster they go. If they’re very new, we use holy water to help them along.”

They sat for a while in silence. Ava’s wound burned and pulsed. She touched the bandage.

“You better call your mom and tell you won’t be home tonight,” Jarett said.

“Why?”

He braced as if about to deliver bad news. “You need to stay here until the venom runs its course. Sandro cleaned your wound, but the vampiro’s saliva mixed with your blood.”

Her insides twisted. “Will I—”

“No. You’re not going to turn into a vampire. But they know you’ve been bitten, and they’ll come for you.”

That was truly horrifying. “Aren’t we protected?” Ava gestured toward the crucifix.

“No. The wood has to touch them.”

Bossemi burst into the room, panting and brandishing another wood sword. “The Accadamia … surrounded.”

Jarett shot to his feet. “The Hawks?”

“On the way.” He inclined his head toward Ava.

“She believes.”

“Buono.” Bossemi tossed Ava his sword. She caught it in mid-air. He thumped a finger on his chest. “Aim for … il Cuore.”

Her own heart increased its tempo, signaling its desire to retreat.

“She doesn’t know how—” Jarett began.

“Vampiros will break in before Hawks arrive. Prossimo!” Bossemi raced across the hall, stopping at the equipment room. Leaving the door unlocked now made horrifying sense. Jarett armed himself with holy water and Bossemi grabbed another sword.

The loud crackle of breaking glass cut through Ava. She clutched her weapon to her stomach which threatened to expel her dinner.

Bossemi and Jarett exchanged a surprised glance. They positioned themselves by the door to the dojo. Ava stayed behind them to protect their backs.

“They’re bold. What did you do?” Bossemi asked Jarett.

“Killed Vincent.”

“Idiota! I told you to wait. You can’t kill the leader without taking out the entire nest.”

“He murdered my father. I—” His argument was cut short by the arrival of the vampires.

Ava marveled at Bossemi’s lethal speed. Between him and Jarett, the doorway filled with dusty clothes. A splitting noise sounded behind Ava, she turned in time to see the boarded up windows of the Academy open and dark figures climb inside.

She yelled, “Vampiros!”

Jarett joined her at the end of the hallway as the two vampiros flickered. Bossemi remained by the dojo’s door. Ava held her weapon with the point down, backing up as a vampire stalked her.

“En garde, Ava. Attack!”

Jarett’s order broke through her fear. She raised the tip and lunged, stabbing the point into the vampire’s heart. But there was no time to reflect on her action, as another vampire sprinted toward her.

Time blurred. Her arms ached from wielding the heavy sword and her breath puffed. But she kept the sword’s point moving. If a vampiro grabbed her weapon, she would be done.

The three of them had found a good defensive position. The studio filled with other vampires. The Hawks had arrived, but even more vampiros poured into the room. The sheer number of vampires soon overpowered and disarmed the Hawks. The ones attacking Jarett and Ava stepped out of range. Bossemi stood behind her.

“We have seven of your members, Sandro. All we want is Jarett White Hawk and Ava. Two for seven. You can’t beat that.”

Ava glanced at the captured Hawks. She recognized Signore Salvatori and Mr. Clipboard. They both shook their heads “no” when she met their gaze. They were willing to give up their lives for her. Why?

“Leave Ava alone and I’ll come,” Jarett said. He dropped his sword.

“No.” The word burst from Ava’s mouth. She didn’t want to lose him. He was right, some things were more important than fencing. His life and the lives of all the Hawks.

“Tirez le signal d’incendie,” Bossemi whispered in a language Ava understood—French.

She tossed her weapon to the floor.

“Ava, you are not going with them,” Jarett said.

“Shut up! I’m tired of taking orders from you.” She pushed him, giving him a pointed look. “First you assume I’m one of them.” Push.

He caught on, and backed up.

“Then you nag me about taking the bus.” Push.

The vampiros watched them with amusement.

“And you don’t even warn me about these things!” She shoved him hard. He fell to the floor with a solid thump, and she had reached the fire alarm. She yanked the handle down.

Ear splitting bells pierced the air. Everyone hunched against the noise, but the vampires remained unharmed. Ava appealed to Bossemi. He held up a finger as if to say wait.

The sprinkler system switched on. Water sprayed and the vampires began to melt.

“I never thought they’d dare attack me in my Accadamia,” Bossemi said. “But having a priest bless the water in my fire system, just in case, seemed like a good idea.”

Jarett whooped and hugged Ava.

“You will now train with me,” Bossemi said to Ava.

“To be a Hawk?”

“Do you want to be one?”

Ava didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Maybe. Maybe Olympics first, then a Hawk. We’ll see.” He moved away, shouting orders in Italian.

Surprised by his comment, Ava pulled away from Jarett so she could see his face. “But you—”

“Would never have qualified for the Olympic team. Once I realized the truth, I decided to stay here and be a Hawk.”

“Does that mean Bossemi believes I might qualify?”

He smirked. “It’s just a matter of persistence, practice and experience, Sweetie.”

She groaned and punched him in the gut.