Lamia to be exact. Hiram Broadleaf, besides owning most of Manhattan, the Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens, was the head of one of the most important families of born vampires in the country. Nothing like the Redferns, of course. Ivy thought to herself. The Broadleafs could not claim anything near the exalted status of Maya's direct descendants, but they were certainly looked up to. Ivy was glad she'd convinced her father to let her go out alone - even if only to hunt. Or rather she'd convinced her brother to convince their father, since Hiram paid little or no attention to his daughter, having fixed ideas on a female's place. Cliff hadn't wanted to spend another minute as her guardian anyway.
And if I'd had to spend another night at home listening to father's plans for playing up to Hunter Redfern, or mother listing the eligible lamia in the country I'd have gone insane. Thank God my brother, at least, has some sense! The wind was blowing just enough to throw her brown hair into her eyes and tickle the back of her neck. She stopped for a moment and threw her head back, enjoying the feel of the wind, the cool morning and just being alive. Then she heard cries from nearby.
If she'd been with her brother, she'd just have passed by. The chances of it being a Night Person were slim, and Cliff would never even consider helping vermin. But Ivy was alone, and she hated to hear anyone in pain. She ran down the street. The cries seemed to be coming from an alley up ahead. She stopped at the mouth of the alley, just out of sight. Two boys, who looked a little alike, were punching a third who lay on the ground and was not (as far as Ivy could tell) moving. Few Night People were not born fighters, fewer still were vampires and non fighters. Ivy was not one of those few, and she hated bullies. Recognizing no rules she leaped on one of the attackers from behind.
It was two to one, but Ivy had speed, agility, strength (far greater for a vampire than a human), night vision, and the element of surprise on her side. Not only that, not much besides wood could give her any lasting trouble. She had one of the boys down when the other came up behind her and grabbed her shoulders. She almost felt sorry for him as she kicked back and up, and then flipped him over her head to land on his fellow. She still hadn't fed and both were out cold, so she took the opportunity. She read from the mind of the first one who the boy they'd been beating up was and their reason (or lack thereof) for attacking him. He was a newsie, one of the boys who sold newspapers for Joseph Pulitzer's New York World, and these two - who were brothers, she learned - hated the newsies. They'd picked Crutchy, the other boy, because he was an easy target. This knowledge eased any scruples she may have had when she first bit the bully.
Thirsty as she was, Ivy tried not to take too much time feeding. Crutchy needed her help. Then name came, apparently from the broken crutch that lay near him. One of the brothers had broken it early in the fight. Ivy had been keeping her distance from the jagged edges and so from him, but now she came closer. He had several cuts and bruises, and she winced at a small bump on his head, but his eyes fluttered open when she leaned over him which was a relief.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
He nodded and winced with the movement. "Yeah. T'anks." He couldn't seem to focus on her, though. "I jist-" He tried to sit up and abandoned the attempt almost immediately, muttering something like "d-n Delanceys!"
"I'm going to have to carry you." She'd only just realized it herself, but he wouldn't have been able to walk even were he perfectly well. The two halves of the crutch, lying by his head attested to that.
"I'll be fine." he protested with a surprising flash of pride, considering his condition. "I don't need nobody carryin' me."
"Right now, you do." she retorted, sensing that the best way to deal with him would be to argue rather than show pity. "I went out of my way-"
"Well, den don't put yaself out-" he shot back.
She continued right over him. "And I'm helping you whether you like or not, so get used to it." She smiled to herself, imagining her parents reaction if they heard her talking to anyone that way. Their biddable little daughter had more than a few secrets.
Ivy put an arm under the boy's neck and shoulders and another under his knees, and lifted him up. Well, that's what she started to do. At the first contact, her eyes opened wide and she was flying away through a black sky filled with golden stars and cloud wisps. She was sure she'd reshielded after reading the Delanceys, but her mind was frighteningly open as well. She jerked her hand back quickly. "I'm - forgive me." she said shakily. Then took hold of herself and tried again, this time being very careful not to touch bare skin. "Where do you live?" she asked, then kicked herself, looking at his ragged clothes. He may not even have a place to live.
"- lodgin' house." He tried to give her directions, but they were so confused, she gave up listening to them and found the route directly from his thoughts.
The Newsboys' Lodging House, as it was called, looked like a home to fit with those rags. The paint was peeling on the green and gold sign above the door, and there was so much rust on the hinges of the door that Ivy wondered if it could be opened without waking the entire neighborhood. "Will anyone be up?" she asked, doubting it.
"Kloppman, prob'ly." Crutchy answered. She got a mental picture of an old man, the owner of the lodging house. Kindness surrounded him - that was Crutchy's first association. A small probe confirmed that at least one person was awake, and that person's thoughts of fondness and concern convinced her it was Kloppman.
She balanced carefully and kicked the door lightly, the best knock she could manage, then set Crutchy down on the steps. True dawn was coming and she had to be home before her maid came to wake her at ten. By the time Kloppman opened the door she had faded into the shadows.
And when she closed her eyes she dreamed of dancing through a starry sky, flying, singing, living as she'd never been allowed to before. And the only people in the world were her and -
Crutchy managed a sheepish grin for Kloppman when the old man opened the door to find him on the steps. After listening to a steady stream of 'Where-was-ya-what-happened-ta-ya-what-da-heck-didja-t'ink-ya's-doin'-wanderin'-aroun'-New-Yawk-at-dis-hour-' while the landlord brought him inside, laid him on his own bed and checked him for bruises and cuts, he finally got a word in edgewise and began to explain.
"I'se jist on me way back-" A slight lie, but it would be impossible to explain to Kloppman what he'd really been doing. "-an' bumped inta da Delancey bruddas." Former employees at the World distribution office, Oscar and Morris Delancey had a long-standing grudge against the newsies that had been returned with interest for longer than either side could remember. The newsies picked fights with the brothers on general principle whenever they came in contact, and the Delancey's returned the favor by beating up any newsie they caught alone. Their favorite targets were the younger boys, the girls, and Crutchy who was fairly helpless without his crutch.
"Wha'd dey do - use ya fer a punchin' bag?" Crutchy turned his head toward the door. A tall, dark blond boy leaned against the doorframe, and grinned worriedly at him. Jack, or Cowboy as he was known, was probably the only other person in the building awake. The worry was because, like Kloppman, he felt a personal responsibility to the other newsies, being their unofficial leader. The grin came from the excuse to fight the Delanceys - one of Cowboy's favorite occupations.
"More or less." Crutchy admitted. A memory of dark eyes, flecked with golden-brown so that they seemed to encompass the entire night sky, filled his vision for a moment, and he smiled. "It was woith it, though."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Ya wanna 'xplain dat remark? Poisonally ya couldn't pay me ta take a soakin' from da Delanceys."
"Yeah, but dis goil helped me-"
"A goil?" Jack's eyebrows were losing themselves in his hair.
"She's beautiful!" Crutchy said, wincing as Kloppman hit a sore spot, while cleaning one of his cuts. "Long, brown hair, an' eyes dat - jist beautiful! She's da one soaked da Delanceys. She brought me heah-" He saw the two exchanging worried looks. "I ain't seein' t'ings, aw right! She was dere!"
"Crutchy, how many fingas is I holdin' up?" Jack put a hand in front of his face.
His friend sighed. "Two! Ya believe me now?"
Cowboy lowered the single finger he'd held up and traded another worried look with Kloppman. "Hey, I'se gonna try ta get some sleep 'fore it's time ta sell. Ya betta get some rest, aw right? See ya tanight?"
Crutchy tried to protest again, but he was tired. He hadn't slept at all, and getting beat up was not the most restful of pastimes. Once he'd closed his eyes, sleep trapped him. He drifted off . . .
. . . And dreamed of dancing on cloudtops through a star-filled sky, where his gimp leg didn't matter and the only people in the world were him and -
Ivy woke up. Impossible! was her first thought when she remembered her dream and her experience with the boy the night before. It's absolutely, utterly impossible! And there was no other explanation. "Are you feeling well, Miss Broadleaf?" her maid asked in concern.
Ivy took hold of herself. Her expression must be showing something for the girl to ask. Sarah certianly couldn't have taken anything from her thoughts. The maid was human, brainwashed like all of the servants, and unaware that she was living among vampires. "Quite well, Sarah." Ivy replied as if her world had not come crashing down around her that morning.
"If you're certain, miss. Your mother is expecting you for breakfast, and your father wants to see you after you eat."
About what?! Ivy quickly shielded her thoughts. The maid might not be able to hear her, but her parents certainly could - and neither would have the slightest compunction about probing her mind with the least reason. He can't know! Know what? she calmed herself. Nothing happened. I was just tired, that's all, just tired. Right after she'd fed, though . . .
"Ivy," Maeve Broadleaf's voice held it's most serious tone, and her daughter resigned herself to another lecture about her choice of dresses or how to behave when the mayor came to call. There was very little difference between her mother and most human gentlewomen of the city. Ivy amused herself with the thought that few would believe this pampered, proper, temperamental lady drank blood on a regular basis. "Ivy, next month is the summer solstice."
"Yes, mother. What about it?"
"You know you're father will be having a ball to celebrate. There will be several witches and shape-shifters, but mostly lamia and made vampires. Hunter Redfern will be coming."
So that's what father wants to talk to me about! Understanding dawned. He's finally gotten in with the 'royal family', and he wants to make sure I don't-
"-Don't do anything that might embarrass yourself in front of them." Embarrass you, you mean. Ivy thought. Her father trotted out the same speech before every such event. Just because when I was four years old and I hadn't fed, I bit Helena Harman during one of his galas. Father couldn't apologize enough, and she was only upset that I'd been neglected that long.
"Of course not, father."
"This is very important, Ivy." Hiram said sternly.
"Yes, father. I understand."
"You're dismissed then."
"Yes, father."
Once free of her parents, Ivy headed straight for the library. She knew exactly what book she was looking for - the one that would explain that startling connection she'd felt with Crutchy. It was a dusty, old volume, not one her father or mother ever looked at Ivy was sure. "Good morning, Ivy."
She turned from searching the shelves. Behind her stood a tall eighteen-year-old boy with her same dark brown hair. He was classically handsome, reminding Ivy of a Greek statue Joseph Pulitzer had once shown the Broadleafs. "Good morning, Cliff."
"Looking for anything in particular?" her brother asked.
A sudden wave of guilt washed over Ivy. "No, nothing in particular." she lied, projecting a lazy boredom. Why should she feel guilty, though? Nothing had happened.
"Well, tell me if you see that book of Kasey's. She's been nagging me about it. Father give you the speech yet?"
She smiled. "With embellishment. The Redferns will be here, did you hear?" Clifford shared her disinterest in politics and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I'm to be a good little boy and not bore Hunter with my love of ancient history." He laughed. "Honestly, though, I wish I could talk to him. There's no convincing father to talk about the old days."
"Mother was careful to tell me Thierry Descoudres will be coming, too. Maybe you could talk to him." Ivy suggested, trying to be casual. She'd found the book she wanted and was desperately hoping he'd leave so that she could go back and look at it.
"Well, father will have to introduce me , at least." he replied brightly. "As his 'golden heir'. Ivy, you don't know how lucky you are in being a girl. I've idled enough. Masterson will be looking for me for lessons, so I ought to go." She started to go back for the book. He turned back. "Oh, I forgot to warn you - cousin Mica is coming to visit."
Ivy groaned. Of all her least favorite relatives . . . "Thanks for telling me. Mother didn't - she probably thought I'd go into hiding."
"Which you will, now that you know." her brother smiled knowingly. "I'll see you later then."
He nodded and left. Ivy neither collapsed with relief. She retraced her steps and found the book again. Checking once more to see that no one was in sight, she carried it to an alcove in the back of the library where she could see anyone apporaching, but was hidden from view. Then she sat down, blew the dust off the cover and opened it - The Soulmate Principle by Patricia Arlin.
PART II: SOULMATES
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