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EricFromm
I open my umbrella against a sudden spring deluge. Darkness does nothing to improve the neighborhood's ambience and despite the security detail, I glance nervously behind me, still spooked by the darkness. Shadows fall long across the sidewalks and spill out from alleyways when I arrive at the Foster Building. I feel like prey aware of my vulnerability, but not knowing where the predator hides, in wait for a chance to pounce but I know it's there –somewhere.
I climb the steps to the old brownstone huddled between an empty lot and an abandoned brewery. There's no intercom. The door is unlocked and I enter and walk to the elevator to take it to the second floor. As the old doors close and the elevator jerks into service, I shake out my umbrella and wipe a few stray drops of rain from my cheeks. Whatever's waiting for me on the other side of the elevator doors, I hope I can handleit.
The elevator opens and admits me to a small hallway. There's a door across from me and Iknock.
"Come," a voice says from the otherside.
I enter and find myself in a dojo – a small room with mats on the floor used for martial arts training. At the front of the room, a man and woman sit and so I go to them, my backpack in one hand, my umbrella in the other. The man looks like some kind of cop with a shirt and tie and half-eye glasses and the woman is very hard looking, with short grey hair and tortoise shell glasses perched on the end of hernose.
"Hello. I'm Eve Hayden. I'm here for theinterview."
Then motion out of the corner of my eye distracts me and I turn to see Michel, dressed in black SWAT-like uniform, short Wakizashi swords at theready.
Holy hell. I wasn't expectingthis.
I glance at the two people and see they're waiting, watching expectantly to see what I do. I glance around the dojo, and on a table at the side of the room are several woodenweapons.
"I hope you can fight," Michel says quietly. "If you can't, you're of no use tous."
He lunges at me, challenging me. What the hell? Does he expect me to fight him? With what? Wooden practiceswords?
I hesitate for a second then drop my bag and umbrella, running away from Michel as he comes at me. I reach the table on which the wooden swords rest and grab them. I face him, and something strange happens to me. I can't understand it, but everything seems to slow down, like everyone but me is stuck in molasses. It's like I'm in a different time dimension from them and I can see Michel's intentions in the tiniest movements of his muscles, the smallest change in direction in his line of sight, and the way hetenses.
I throw myself at him, my wooden blades slamming him on the side of his head and he's like a statue. I dive and roll, then rebalance, my wooden swords poised. Time returns to normal and I watch him respond, stumbling and then rightinghimself.
"Commendable," he manages, raising his swords oncemore.
He challenges me and the time thing happens again. I lunge at him, aiming my swords at his to disarm him. His response is too slow and my blades strike a direct blow, knocking a sword out of his hand and it goes flying. Now he has only onesword.
I canfight.
I land, use my momentum to pivot, plant my feet, blades up and at the ready, and then I feint to the left. Michel responds but I jump at him from the right, knocking away his other sword and then, with my wooden swords crossed, I catch him against the neck before he can respond. The force of my weight knocks him backwards and he stumbles. Together, we fall back on themat.
If my blades were real, he'd be without a throat. Only after we come to a stop with my wooden blades still at his neck does time return to normal for me. Michel raises his arm behind my back, but it's more of an embrace than athreat.
"Beautiful." There's real pleasure – and some admiration – in his blueeyes.
I'm lying on top of him, my face just inches away from his and he's so beautiful with those perfect blue eyes and dark lashes, the full lips, and I have the most irrational urge to just lean down and kisshim.
For a moment, I'm tempted and he looks in my eyes, lips parted as if waiting. I move closer, my heart racing, and Michel's eyes close, but then the man from the table pulls me off him and the moment passes. I adjust my clothes, which are all out of shape from the struggle. I'm barely out ofbreath.
"What do you think?" the man says, his hands on his hips as he examines me. "How'd shedo?"
"Perfect," Michel says as he stands, and he sounds trulyimpressed.
"What the hell is going on?" I say, glancing between them. "I thought I was here for aninterview."
"This was the first test," Michel says. "We had to see if you could fight and beat me. Beat avampire."
I can beat a vampire… The thought does something strange to me, a thrill goes through me, but I remember what my mother said to me when I'd have nightmares as a child. She said she was faster than the monsters and could killthem.
Now, I know what shemeant.
"What happened to me? It was like time slowed down for everyone exceptme."
"You can see a few seconds ahead of current time when you feel threatened. You have what's called 'fight sight'. The only way a vampire can overcome you is before you feelthreatened."
