Читать книгу My Ice Prince - Анна Морион - Страница 5

The hysterical girl's grey-blue eyes rounded.

– 'Especially don't you dare grab my hands! And in fact, don't you dare touch me! And don't you dare talk to me either! – She yanked off her forearm and rode away. The bent wheel of her bicycle squeaked pitifully.

Unwillingly looking after Sister Maria, I realised that she would definitely never speak to me again.

«Does she really know?» – I thought, not taking my eyes off her straight, narrow back as she walked away from me. The girl's coat was soaking wet from the fall onto the wet pavement.

I don't know why, I don't know how, but I had an irresistible urge to follow Maria’s sister, and I rushed to the car, but suddenly I saw a white envelope lying on the road, already covered with drizzle. It must have fallen out of the hysterical girl's bag when she fell off her bicycle.

I picked up the envelope, got into the car, ignoring the drivers' shouts of displeasure, and followed the girl carefully, keeping a good distance, knowing that she was unlikely to think that she was being followed. Finally, I saw her turn onto Cowley Road and stop outside a two-storey old looking cottage with white wooden windows, put her bike down by the stairs, put a lock on it and went into the house.

Now that I knew where she lived, I decided that I would definitely stop by to visit her: I wanted to talk to her, to find out what she knew about me and Maria. On the way home, I wondered how this girl had ended up here in this city, for if Maria had told her what had happened between us, this hysterical girl would never have come to Oxford, where I lived. After that unpleasant incident, Maria and I gave each other our word that we would never meet again. And so, in Oxford, I had just met her sister, about whom Maria had told me nothing.

When I got home, I threw off my robe and clothes and took a shower: I wanted to wash away the unpleasant feeling that had come over me after seeing Maria’s sister, but I realised with doom that I would never be able to forget that shame, because a living reminder of Maria would keep flashing before my eyes. I left the bathroom, put on clean clothes, picked up one of the fresh newspapers, sat down in an armchair, and began to read, but I couldn't concentrate on reading as I mentally returned to my encounter with the hysterical girl today.

«Maria’s sister. Another Mroczek. And I don't even know her name. And this girl's got a mouth on her!» – I grinned and tried to continue reading, but the article: «Modern economic systems of the world» ended for me at the third line – further the meaning was lost.

I tossed the paper aside and pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

Of course, vampires didn't smoke, or rather, they could, but smoking was considered a plebeian habit, but I didn't care: I smoked often, and I didn't care whether I was considered a plebeian or not. I'd never fit the mould of a normal, aristocratic vampire anyway, even though I was an aristocrat by birthright, but I didn't care.

I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, inhaling deeply of the tart smoke. It was my second cigarette of the day. Then I remembered the envelope that the young vampire had lost, went to the car to get it, and went back up to the office, sat back in my chair, put my feet up on the desk (a bad habit) and stared at the envelope. After running my eye over the recipient's address, I found the name: «Misha Mroczek.»

«Misha? It suits her: an unusual name for a hysterical girl» I thought, looking at the envelope: it was opened, so Misha had already read its contents.

Should I have read it? No, well-bred people don't do that, but I was just a reclusive cancer, a lone vampire, and a smoker, so I pulled out the letter and read it, chuckling to myself. It was Maria’s handwriting.

«Yes, Maria is as usual in her repertoire: only she can write so wittily about even the most serious things» I thought involuntarily.

Maria’s advice to her sister was so strict and explanatory that I easily drew a conclusion about Misha : she was a little sister who was carried on everyone's arm, she had come to study for the first time in her life, she was among mortals for the first time, in general, she was still an innocent lamb.

And then I saw rule number nine, which read: «Never interact with Frederik Haraldson. Never» and I decided that the girl definitely knew something. I wonder how old she is? Eighteen? Twenty? She looked young, young really, and her skin wasn't as pale as mine. Wow, and she looked so much like someone I used to love. Loved? Hardly – it was some kind of eclipse. We had a brief but stormy affair, with all the consequences that had cast a shadow over Maria’s reputation, but I had no intention of marrying her – I was not that much in love with her, I was in love, but not really: it was just her passionate nature that had turned my head. And when I told her father that I did not intend to become his son-in-law, it was over between us, as well as the friendship between my parents and hers.

When did all this happen? Three years ago: Maria finished her studies, passed all her exams in one day and left. And I stayed: I had no reason to leave, nor did I have a stain on my conscience. Well, just a nasty little stain.

I folded the letter neatly, put it back in the envelope, put out my cigarette and lit a new one.

It was strange that I wondered if Misha knew about all this. It's only natural, though: she's Maria’s sister. Still, I wondered how Maria had let her little sister go here, and how their father had done it – because he hates me with a fierce hatred.

I finished my cigarette and put it out on my palm: another bad habit.

In the evening I began to pine: I wanted to get into the car and drive to Mischa's to talk to her, to get to know her, for she was a complete stranger to me, apparently the Mroczeks had hidden her away. I had heard that Maria’s other sister Mariszka had married Markus Morgan in the summer. I knew Markus Morgan, but we had had little contact with him. His brother Cedric I also knew and we even once studied on the same course at Harvard. A fun family: conservative, prim, puffed up. And Misha was a hysterical hysteric.

I smoked my sixth cigarette of the day, though I'd never smoked more than four. I went to the window and stared out at the streetlamp-lit street, then reached for another cigarette, but the packet was empty.

***

«There's a reason I was banned from socialising with that boor! He hit me and didn't even apologise! What am I gonna tell Mary? «Mary, I'm sorry, but your bike was ruined by some idiot vampire's car!?»? – I thought with anger boiling inside me on the way home.

I was so furious that I almost hit a couple of people, and it was uncomfortable to ride with a bent rear wheel, and my long, loose hair was in my eyes and obstructing my view of the road. When I got home, I hitched my bike to the railing, opened the door, took off my shoes, and threw them on top of the rest of my shoes.

– You're back already? So, how was your day? – Mary's voice came from the kitchen. – Are you hungry? I'll wash you a couple of cucumbers and tomatoes. And an apple!

«There she goes again with her vegetables! I told her to stay out of my way!» – I thought angrily as I hung up my coat in the wardrobe. At this moment Mary's concern irritated me more than ever.

I said nothing, went into my room, pulled off my carefully tailored suit, and scattered my clothes on the floor (I always took my anger out on them). But I didn't get any privacy: Mary came in a minute later.

– Wow, what's with the mood? – She asked, looking at the clothes strewn on the floor.

– I couldn't be worse! I got hit by a car! Or rather, it was some idiot! – I blurted out.

I was sitting on the bed, in my underwear.

– Hit? No way! – grinned my neighbour.

She grinned!

– There's nothing funny about it! I flew upside down and my skirt went up over my knees! And that idiot dented the back wheel of your bike! You think I'm joking? I'm not joking at all!» I snapped.

– You fell with the bike?

– Yes! And now my coat is covered in mud!

– But you haven't got a scratch on you.

I looked at Mary, mentally cursing her powers of observation.

– I'd just landed very luckily. And that bastard didn't even help me up! That's what men are like! – I justified myself fervently.

– But it had nothing to do with the clothes» Mary said calmly, picking up my scattered clothes from the floor.

I felt terribly embarrassed.

– No, Mary, leave it! I'll clean it up myself when I've cooled down a bit. It's like a ritual» I told her.

– You'd better get dressed, or you'll freeze» she said, still doing what she was doing.

– Mary, stop it: it's embarrassing for me when someone picks up what I've scattered. – I went up to her. – Oh, stop it, really!

She silently handed me the clothes she'd already collected.

– Is this your real hair? – Suddenly the neighbour asked.

She had never seen me with my hair loose before, for I always put it up in a high knot or ponytail so that it would not get in the way when I walked.

– Yes, of course» I replied, expecting her to admire it like everyone else.

– I can imagine how long it takes to dry them. Have you ever thought about getting a short haircut?

That question shattered everything I'd ever thought about Mary. I swear no one had ever said anything like that to me before; they'd all admired me and told me never to touch my hair with scissors. And she suggested I get a short haircut!

– What? Why? – My surprise was unrivalled.

– I could tell from the length of your hair that you don't cut it very often» Mary said. – I think you'd look good with fringes, but not bushy fringes, and something like a bob.

The last time I cut my hair was six years ago, when my mum accidentally cut off a huge chunk of it at the root when she was trying to untangle a knot with scissors, so I had to cut all my hair off, and I went around with a short guyish haircut, resentful of the world.

– No, my hair is something I'll never touch» I said firmly to Mary's suggestion, threw my things on the bed, and went to the wardrobe for clothes.

– But you've got to change! Okay, if you can't get fat because of your allergies, but your hair will always grow back! – Mary exclaimed unhappily.

– I think there's a fire in the kitchen» I said, suddenly smelling a foul smoke.

– My cutlets!

Mary ran into the kitchen, and I laughed quietly: people are so funny! When something burns on the cooker, they run just as fast as us vampires.

I pulled out an old pair of jeans, warm socks (I don't know how warm they were, but they were pretty thick), and a long, big T-shirt with the name of some football club on it (it had been given to me by Martin, who had ordered it online and found out it was too small for him, and after that it was mine, but I only wore it at home). I put my hair up in a high ponytail, put my things neatly in the cupboard and went into the kitchen to chat to Mary.

– Why are you home today? – I asked, sitting down by the window so I wouldn't interfere with my friend's cooking.

The whole house smelled of roasting meat.

– I took a day off because I wasn't feeling well, probably because of the weather» Mary said, and then turned to me with her arms at her sides. – By the way, mamselle, don't you eat anything at all? The tomatoes, cucumbers and apples are all there: I count them every morning!

«Well, why does she do that? Is she bored with her life?» – I thought wistfully.

– I'm eating! – I could only say, wondering what clever excuse I could come up with.

– Yeah, I can see you eating! – Mary grumbled unhappily.

– I am eating» I said again, but more insistently. – It's just in small portions, so you think…

– I don't believe it.

I was taken aback.

– Well, that's your business! I'm not going to prove you wrong! – I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest.

Mary turned away and started fiddling with the frying pan.

– Did you take offence? – I asked anxiously, not knowing how to interpret her behaviour.

– No, I'm watching a soap opera» Mary said. – It's my favourite. It's the third time I've watched it.

I wasn't surprised to see my laptop by the sink.

– I watched it a couple of years ago, too» I said, glad to be able to change the subject.

– You did? Who's your favourite character? – Mary asked, turning to me. Her eyes were shining.

– Sally» I answered, walking over to my friend.

– Sally? – She exclaimed and wrinkled her nose. – Why? She's so slippery!

– What kind of slippery? – I asked with a smile.

– Slippery: you never know what's on her mind. Why do you like her?

– She's a strong person. Sally does mean things sometimes, but she doesn't take stupid advice like Jane.

«God, what rubbish we're talking about!» – A note of amusement went through my head.

– Does she do mean things sometimes? All she knows is that she does them at every turn! And by the way, Jane is my favourite character: she's the only kind girl in the show» said Mary seriously.

– Yeah, and that's why she set Sally up on the trip to Detroit» I grinned.

– It was an accident! It wasn't her fault that Sam was head over heels in love with her!

– But that didn't give her the right to turn him against Sally.

– No matter what you say, I'm gonna stick to my point: Jane's a smart girl, and Sally's a snake!

– Okay, chill out, it's just a show» I laughed when I saw how Mary had become agitated by our pointless argument.

– Yeah… Look, if you're not too lazy, take out the rubbish» Mary asked. – You're weird… Sally… Hmm.

But I didn't say anything, took a large black bag out of the bin, closed it with special straps and carried it outside: the bin was about two dozen metres from our house. I knew how and where to put the rubbish: Mary had taught me how.

– Nice T-shirt! – said a red-haired teenager next door with freckles all over his face as I walked home. Bill, I think he's a schoolguy.

– Thanks! – I said.

– Aren't you cold? – He asked, smiling.

– I was taking out the rubbish» I said, and smiled back.

People seemed nice and funny to me now.

At home I decided to read a smart book, and I took the first volume of Chateaubriand's The Genius of Christianity out of the Smiths' personal library. I wanted to read his reflections for general development: I had never thought about God and whether I should go to church or not, but Chateaubriand in the first Chapters praised Christianity so highly that I felt interested in this religion. Catholicism reigns in Poland, and my parents often went to services at some church, but I grew up an atheist. Although, no, I had my own thoughts about the universe.

Chateaubriand soon bored me: I read a few Chapters, bookmarked it, and listened to music on my player. Sometimes I lay like that almost all day long, but now I needed to relax after this morning's disappointment and the quarrel with this Frederik. I also felt sorry for the bicycle.

Putting my hands under my head, I closed my eyes and sank into the world of my favourite indie rock. After a while, I felt something soft against me, and I opened my eyes: Mary had covered me with a blanket. I was overwhelmed by her kindness.

– Thank you» I whispered, throwing off my headphones; it felt good that Mary had taken the plaid and covered me with it so I wouldn't be cold.

– Are you going to eat? – She asked.

– No, later» I answered.

– Well, all right.

Mary left.

I raked the ends of the plaid under me so that I could curl up like a cocoon-it had been my childhood habit to lie wrapped in a blanket. I didn't feel warm, but I felt very cosy mentally lying in that soft, pleasant-smelling plaid.

Mary chatted on the phone with some guy, then turned on a sappy melodrama on my laptop.

It was the most unpleasant part of our life together: I could hear everything that went on in the house, including the sounds coming from the toilet and Mary's sniffling at night. I tried to block out these sounds, but I could not, and it made me very uncomfortable mentally. So now I was lying there and involuntarily listened to what the characters in the film were talking about: a wife left her husband and he was left on the street, without money or documents, but a kind businesswoman picked him up and gave him a job as a valet.

Suddenly someone knocked loudly on the front door.

«Let Mary open it» thought.

The knock was repeated.

I sighed unhappily: I didn't want to leave my cosy nest, but I had to go and open the door.

«Who was it that came in so late? I don't even think people visit at eight-thirty-two in the evening» I wondered, glancing at my watch.

Opening the door, I froze with surprise. No, not that: I was astonished, and terribly displeased: the man who had run me down was standing on the porch.

– You seem to have the wrong house or, no, street» I said icily, and I was about to slam the door in his face, but he held it open with his hand. – What the hell was that? – I let out a cry of indignation.

The vampire didn't remove his hand.

– You don't have to get so fired up right away» he said and grinned mockingly, as if proud of his insolence.

He was dressed like a casual dresser now. His dark hair was dishevelled, as if its owner had made a mess of it on purpose.

– Who said I was hot? Why would you be? – I said mockingly, too, and then frowned. – Let go of the door and leave. You're not welcome here.

– Don't you think you're a little jumpy? – The vampire asked, still smiling cheekily.

– It's probably because I hit my head on the pavement when some idiot hit me today! – I retorted. – And by the way, that idiot is in front of me right now! So get out! – I tried to close the door again, but the insolent man interrupted me again. His arrogance was pissing me off.

«No, look at the arrogance!» – I thought angrily, wanting to punch him in the arm or slam it against the door.

***

– Do you really think you're stronger than me? – I asked with interest, laughing inwardly at the girl's nervousness.

She was wearing some kind of obscure colourful men's T-shirt, jeans, and her hair slicked back, looking like an American high school cheerleader.

– I'll call the police» the girl said seriously.

Her eyes threw lightning bolts. How easily she explodes!

– Then you should go to the station: they're in a big meeting right now, and they're not likely to come just to throw me out» I teased at her.

She rolled her eyes. How theatrical, by God.

Suddenly I heard a shrill female voice in Misha 's house yell her name.

«What the hell?» – ran through my head.

– Who's that at your place? – Frowning, I asked, having no idea who could have been there with her, a vampire.

– That's none of your business! – The girl cut me off irritably.

A second later, a short-haired girl appeared behind the golden-haired hysteric's back. A mortal.

I frowned unhappily: since when did young vampires invite mortal girls to be their guests?

The vampire's guest, judging by her homemade clothes, had been staying with her for a long time. What kind of idiocy is this?

– Misha, who is it? – Asked that strange girl.

'Misha, then ,' I thought contentedly.

The young vampire stood in front of me with a face so full of anger, as if her hands were itching to choke me.

– No one. It's just this guy who came by to ask for directions to the center» Misha told her icily. – I hope you understand, mister? Good night!

– No, I think I forgot again. Could you repeat the instructions again? – I've decided to play by her rules.

She's not gonna get rid of me that easily.

At my words Misha tightly pressed her lips and pierced me with a fierce look.

– Let me explain» the girl standing behind the vampire suddenly suggested. – I was born here and have lived here all my life. Almost. So you need to…

– No, Mary, I'll do it myself, but can you fill the bathtub for me? – Misha told her insistently, then went out on the porch, closed the door right in front of Mary's nose, and now stood in front of me with no slippers and only socks.

– You should at least put on some shoes, for decency's sake» I said calmly.

– Listen, you! I don't know why you came here, or how you knew where I live, but don't you ever come here again! – She said in a quiet, shaking voice.

– Who is this girl? – I asked insistently, wanting to find out what was going on behind the door of this house.

– None of your business! – Misha snapped at me. – And anyway, I told you: don't you dare even talk to me, do you understand? Never!

– What do you know about me to talk to me like that? – I was indignant.

– You're right, I don't know anything! But my family forbade me to communicate with you, and I think they had enough reasons for that ban! I don't know what you've done, but I'm not going to talk to you!

– I wonder what you've been doing for the last two minutes. – I grinned: she was ridiculous in her hysterics. – And how old are you, if you still listen to your parents?

– None of your damn business! – Misha said again, raising her voice; I must have hit her with a question about her age: she was boiling with anger.

– All right, calm down. I don't like dealing with hysterical women» I sighed tiredly.

– You're the hysterical one!

– If you knew how to talk normally and wouldn't yell, I'd give you this» I handed Misha her envelope, «and we'd go our separate ways.

The girl looked at the envelope in surprise and incredulity, but took it, and then looked at me with such anger in her eyes that I realized: Misha realized that I was a little curious.

– You read it!

– I don't deny it» I smiled, amused by her reaction.

– How can you… I just don't have words! – The girl was indignant, shaking the envelope in my face. – What an asshole! That's it! I've had enough!

She went into the house, slammed the door behind her, and locked the lock with two clicks.

– Very mature! – I laughed softly, knowing that Misha could hear me perfectly well.

– Get out! – she replied just as quietly.

– See you later, hysterical girl» I said, getting into the car.

– Go to hell! – followed by her angered reply.

«And not so defenseless as she seems at first sight» I thought with a smile. – We'll meet again, Misha. Even though it's pointless.»

Now I was finally certain that she was very much like her sister in appearance, but at the same time she was different: real, a little naive, not yet able to find the right words and arguments: even her swear words were not offensive at all. The girl must have watched a lot of movies and taken all the swear words from them.

When Misha opened the door, I immediately noticed that she held her left shoulder a little higher than her right: almost imperceptibly, just a couple of millimeters.

But what was a mortal doing in her house? Who was she? A guest? Or worse, a neighbor? What's the whim? Misha shouldn't get close to people, much less share living quarters with them. This is nonsense, we'll have to look into it. Why, though? Well, she reminds me of Maria, well, lives with this mortal, what do I care? Let her live, study, have fun. After all, she has a lot of relatives who should take care of her. I wonder how old she is. And how does she eat: does she still drink donated blood or does she already hunt?

But, since Misha did not want to communicate with me, no, not that – since she was forbidden to do so, it means that she knew nothing about me and Maria – it was obvious: she was angry at me for small trifles, not for what I «did» to her sister.

«If this damsel does not wish to see me, why should I see her? But what if she asks for my help? Who? Her? That hussy? She'd rather eat her own head than bother to do so.

Fine, let her live the life she wants. But if I broke her bike, I'll fix it» I thought as I steered my Mustang onto Abington Road.