Warm Blood

seven

7

present day 

I find myself in the depths of the university's library the very next morning. Even though SavU prides itself on the many modern features to allow its students to learn in new and different ways, the library is not one of them. It's old—the bricks responsible for holding up the infrastructure were placed by people who didn't get paid enough, if at all. The interior reflects this as the large cathedral-like wooden beams are reminiscent of the Italian Renaissance period. Even the glimpses of technology are sub-par: computers that never work, printers that never print, and internet that never reaches—the bane to a 19-year old's existence.

But I'm not that bothered. I've always liked the feeling of running my fingers along the sharp edge of a page. Good research is what can be obtained from the texts and the tales of the past, not the warped view and retelling of history that is so commonplace in America. I like stories from the ones who truly got to live it.

I'm incredibly motivated as I scan through the library's copy of The Confessions of Nat Turner where a lawyer gives an account of Nat's confession to the insurrection prior to being convicted. Nat was firm in his beliefs of rising above and killing the whites who enslaved them, and he was a natural leader—something I keenly remember from the very few conversations I had with him. The confession describes Nat's murders and all those involved along with their inevitable fates, but Ann's name is not among them.

I parted ways with my last memories of Ann as soon as they formed long ago. It was the only thing I could do when you live as long as I have. I can't let myself feel emotion for it would make me weak as I came to learn when I made Ann a vampire.

The day after her transition, Ann was rightfully bewildered with all her new-found abilities. The strength of ten soldiers, the speed of the mother of all cats, and the heightened senses that'd make no opponent a fair one contributed to her disbelief, but instead of being grateful, she was adamant on using them for good. It wasn't enough for her to escape capture and live her life as a free vampire—she wanted to get revenge by planning an insurrection with Nat Turner.

I told her it was risky—vampires didn't live this long by purposely outing their existence—but she was persistent. "God gave me this gift to do somethin' 'bout it," she'd said. "If they not gon' give us freedom, we gon' take it." I was rightfully annoyed by her stance because God didn't give her anything.

I did.

No God would ordain this life.

"I know your secret," I hear a familiar male voice murmur from behind. I whip around to see Theo in all his golden retriever glory, staring back at me with inquisitive green eyes and a charming smile. He's donning his tour guide uniform—an unfortunate combination of maroon and yellow on a crisp polo shirt with khakis that don't make him look like the heartbreaker he is.

"My secret?" I return his coy line of questioning.

"You have a paper due tonight and you're in the library this early because you suck at procrastinating."

Oh, to be a college student whose worst fear is missing a deadline. "Wow, you got me," I respond with a hint of surrender in my voice.

Theo glances over the assortment of books and journals scattered across my table. Instead of choosing to end the conversation here, he can't help himself but to ask, "so what's got you looking at the antebellum period? I thought Mackus only taught about fairies and leprechauns?"

His interest amuses me especially when I know that he has no way of knowing my class schedule. "And you would know I'm taking Mackus' class, because?"

Theo is momentarily stunned, his brain populating every plausible lie and his heart pumping overtime to supply them. "Amara's in that class. She's mentioned you," is the lie he settles on, and it's laughably bad. By now, he's probably guessed that Amara and I are friends, and he must know that I know about their history together.