Read Online Infinite Days by Rebecca Maizel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca Maizel
Tags: Fiction, Horror, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, supernatural, Vampires, Love & Romance, Girls & Women, School & Education, Schools, High schools, Boarding Schools
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them just to release the constant anger that afflicted me. For an instant, I imagined pressing my hands into the arms of the chair, standing up, and grabbing Ms. Williams’s head between my palms. It would take no more than a flick of my wrists and I could have snapped her head back, drained her blood, and murdered her. Instead, I looked up and smiled lamely.
“The library sounds excellent,” Ms. Williams confirmed, and she pulled some paperwork out of a drawer in her desk.
Library? That sounded reasonable. As my thoughts revolved around my days surrounded by books, something miraculous happened. My anger subsided. It ebbed away as the thoughts of books, pages, and comfort entered my head. As the two women continued to talk, I realized that what I was feeling was simultaneous emotions. Feeling joy, hope, and anger at the same time? That was enough to dissolve my anger instantaneously. I looked up at the stuffy administrator handing me a pen. On second thought, I wouldn’t have sucked them dry—even if I were a vampire. I hated the taste of anyone over thirty, anyway.
HATHERSAGE, ENGLAND
OCTOBER 31, 1602
The living room was empty. A leather couch faced a crackling, lively fire. On the walls were paintings, and some portraits of Christ—for fun. Chatter, voices, and incoherent sentences echoed from the hallway. I ran a long index fingernail along the top of the couch. My nail was pointed so sharp that it made the tiny fibers inside the soft cloth stick out at jagged angles. The flames roared. The fireplace was more than five feet high and four feet wide, with a mantel made of black onyx. I sauntered past it. The year was 1602, the dwindling years of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. I wore dresses made from the finest Persian silk and corsets that pushed my breasts so close together I was astonished a breathing human could survive the pressure.
I swung my hips as I turned and sauntered down a long hallway lit only by wall sconces in the shape of two palms facing up. In the hands were candles that had burned almost into nothing. The waxy drops fell in succulent globs onto the floor. The train of my dress spread them across the wood in luscious zigzags as I headed toward a doorway at the end of the hall. When I glanced behind me, the grand fireplace threw orange embers of light into the dark hallway and outlined me in a dark tangerine line. I stopped in front of the doorway and listened. I could hear orchestral music and laughter. I didn’t know it yet, but that night, October 31, 1602, was the last night of the very first Nuit Rouge celebration.
I grasped the handle, which was shaped like a dagger facing downward. I pulled it open. Ancient greetings such as “merry meet” and “grand tidings” met my ears. There on the floor, in the center of the room, was a portly woman sitting on her heels. She wore a white wool dress that covered her up to her breasts, and a white bonnet on her head. Her blond hair fell across her face as she muttered something in Dutch. It struck me that she was most likely someone’s servant, though I did not recognize her. She probably had no idea her master was a vampire, and now here she was, in my house.
The ballroom was lovely, I should mention. This servant’s plump behind was seated on the finest wood floor in England. Tall torches rested high on the four circular stone pillars that supported the room. Their flames busily illuminated the dance floor, musicians played in the corner, and two hundred vampires stood in a circle around the fat woman.
Rhode leaned against a pillar watching me, smiling. His arms were crossed over his chest. His ensemble was simple. He wore black leggings and solid black shoes with thin leather soles that were flat with no heels. The clothing at the time was very rich in texture, and wealthy vampires loved to show off. Rhode wore a black linen jacket fastened with a thick black ribbon. The muscles of his arms were well defined under the tight sleeves of
“The library sounds excellent,” Ms. Williams confirmed, and she pulled some paperwork out of a drawer in her desk.
Library? That sounded reasonable. As my thoughts revolved around my days surrounded by books, something miraculous happened. My anger subsided. It ebbed away as the thoughts of books, pages, and comfort entered my head. As the two women continued to talk, I realized that what I was feeling was simultaneous emotions. Feeling joy, hope, and anger at the same time? That was enough to dissolve my anger instantaneously. I looked up at the stuffy administrator handing me a pen. On second thought, I wouldn’t have sucked them dry—even if I were a vampire. I hated the taste of anyone over thirty, anyway.
HATHERSAGE, ENGLAND
OCTOBER 31, 1602
The living room was empty. A leather couch faced a crackling, lively fire. On the walls were paintings, and some portraits of Christ—for fun. Chatter, voices, and incoherent sentences echoed from the hallway. I ran a long index fingernail along the top of the couch. My nail was pointed so sharp that it made the tiny fibers inside the soft cloth stick out at jagged angles. The flames roared. The fireplace was more than five feet high and four feet wide, with a mantel made of black onyx. I sauntered past it. The year was 1602, the dwindling years of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. I wore dresses made from the finest Persian silk and corsets that pushed my breasts so close together I was astonished a breathing human could survive the pressure.
I swung my hips as I turned and sauntered down a long hallway lit only by wall sconces in the shape of two palms facing up. In the hands were candles that had burned almost into nothing. The waxy drops fell in succulent globs onto the floor. The train of my dress spread them across the wood in luscious zigzags as I headed toward a doorway at the end of the hall. When I glanced behind me, the grand fireplace threw orange embers of light into the dark hallway and outlined me in a dark tangerine line. I stopped in front of the doorway and listened. I could hear orchestral music and laughter. I didn’t know it yet, but that night, October 31, 1602, was the last night of the very first Nuit Rouge celebration.
I grasped the handle, which was shaped like a dagger facing downward. I pulled it open. Ancient greetings such as “merry meet” and “grand tidings” met my ears. There on the floor, in the center of the room, was a portly woman sitting on her heels. She wore a white wool dress that covered her up to her breasts, and a white bonnet on her head. Her blond hair fell across her face as she muttered something in Dutch. It struck me that she was most likely someone’s servant, though I did not recognize her. She probably had no idea her master was a vampire, and now here she was, in my house.
The ballroom was lovely, I should mention. This servant’s plump behind was seated on the finest wood floor in England. Tall torches rested high on the four circular stone pillars that supported the room. Their flames busily illuminated the dance floor, musicians played in the corner, and two hundred vampires stood in a circle around the fat woman.
Rhode leaned against a pillar watching me, smiling. His arms were crossed over his chest. His ensemble was simple. He wore black leggings and solid black shoes with thin leather soles that were flat with no heels. The clothing at the time was very rich in texture, and wealthy vampires loved to show off. Rhode wore a black linen jacket fastened with a thick black ribbon. The muscles of his arms were well defined under the tight sleeves of
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