The Pawn's Play: Hyde Chronicles, #1

Chapter One

Rooming with Vampires

READY TO GO TO MONSTER School? Rose asked, popping into my room as I finished last minute packing.

I stifled a groan at her running joke. Ah, the height of thirteen year old wit. Could a five-year age gap really make that much of a difference? It’s not a monster school. I doubted this would be any more effective than the previous zillion times I told her, but reacting too strongly just encouraged her.

"But it’s called Hyde University. Like from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." There were times I really wished that hadn’t been on Rose’s summer reading list.

Yes, I’ve read the book too. But the school was named for George Hyde Wollaston. He was a geographer. Brother to William Hyde Wollaston, a famous chemist. I thought the school was named for him anyway. The school was on an island in Wollaston Lake, which I knew was named for him, so it made sense that the school was too. I had told Rose all this before, but for some reason, she refused to give her older sister credit for her wisdom and knowledge.

It was named Hyde because it’s for monsters. Which is why you’re going. You can be a mad scientist.

I shook my head. Anyway, yes. I’m ready to go. I zipped up my duffle bag and scanned the room one more time. I hadn’t forgotten anything, had I? No.

Mom had insisted I make sure the room was neat and orderly before I left, supposedly because it would be easier to tell if I had forgotten anything. That would mess up my organization system and make it more likely for me to forget something, but I didn’t argue with her. After all, I’d be gone for a few months anyway.

The room looked different this way. My posters of the periodic table of elements, and taxonomical charts were still on the wall, though I had finally given Rose my poster of sleeping kittens that she had been eyeing covetously. The computer was off, where I usually kept it on during the day; and there were no papers or random CDs around it. The bed was actually made, something I rarely bothered with. My old gray teddy bear, Mendel, was sitting on the pillow. I had spent weeks debating on whether or not to take him. I had given Rose my cell phone, since I had been informed that there was no cell service up at Hyde. Apparently a combination of few or no cell towers, and magnetic interference. Right. That’s ... everything. Was it possible to feel homesick before leaving?

Violet! Rose! C’mon, it’s time to go! Dad’s shout yanked me from my musings. Rose grabbed my suitcase and dashed for the stairs. I slung my backpack over one shoulder, and my duffle over my neck from the other shoulder. I got almost to the door before hurrying back, and quickly stuffing Mendel in my backpack.

Loaded down as I was, it was a little difficult to get through doorways, and the staircase was near impossible. I ended up knocking down a picture. School pictures from last year. Someone else would have to get it, because there was no way I could bend down to get it.

Let’s go, we don’t want to be late! Dad was outside by now.

Rose, picking up the picture so I didn’t step on it, whispered to me, Isn’t your flight in three hours or something?

Yeah, but you’re supposed to be about two hours early for an international flight. Then, there’s travel time to the airport. I had to rearrange my bags so I could get past the newel post at the bottom of the stairs.

It only takes twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes to get to Newport News International. And I’ve been in there. It takes less than ten minutes to walk from one side to the other, Rose muttered.

That’s in good traffic. When have you been in the airport? Neither Rose nor I had flown before. Dad was a company vendor and flew a lot. We had picked him up a few times, but I wouldn’t say I knew the airport well.

School field trip. Last year. She tossed my suitcase in the trunk, with my bags following.

Taking our seats in the car, we buckled up, and Mom began ‘mom-ing’. I wondered if she had made a list. Or maybe seen mine. You have plenty of time between connecting flights, right?

An hour and a half between when I’m supposed to land in Chicago and when I leave. Close to that for the Saskatoon leg. Dad had been particularly adamant that I be careful with that.

Do you have money on you?

In three places.

Is your jacket in your carry-on? It’s currently sixty-two degrees in Wollaston Lake. Besides airports can be chilly.

Yes, right on top. I’ll be fine. It had been in the nineties in Newport New for the past week, occasionally flirting with triple digits. Wollaston Lake was going to feel cold.

I do wish we’d been able to visit the school at least once before you moved there, Mom said. The school was stingy on visitation days and we hadn’t been able to arrange one. When you come back for Christmas, you’ll have to tell us all about it.

I will, I promised. Plus I’ll write all the time. The school does have internet access. Internet, but not cell phone. Oh, well.

You’d better. Rose wasn’t quite looking at me, but I thought I saw a glint of possible tears. You will be back for Christmas? Promise?

Already have my tickets.

Ninth grade biology had instilled two major concepts in me. One, I definitely wanted to be a geneticist; though I had been interested in genetics for years. Two, Hyde University was the best place to study for that. My biology teacher, Ms. Green, had attended and raved about what a wonderful and exclusive science program Hyde had. That part worried me some. I was a decent student, but I wasn’t sure I could make the cut, or that I could afford it if I did. But I had to try, and I made sure to ask Ms. Green to write me a letter of recommendation. I applied several other places too, so I can say with some authority that the Hyde application has the strangest questions. Possibly because it was a Canadian school, I couldn’t apply on a common application website. In fact, I couldn’t even print out an application or apply online. I had to ask them to mail me a paper application.

I don’t know what Ms. Green wrote, but it must have been impressive, because Hyde University not only accepted me, but they offered me a full academic scholarship for four years, contingent on my keeping my grades up. I was a little worried when it said I had to have an A average, until I learned that in Saskatchewan, there was an A+ grade, that was a ninety to hundred percent, an A which was eighty to ninety, and so on. So it was similar to a B average, which was what I tended to get in high school. I had gotten some attractive offers from other schools but didn’t give any of them much consideration. Hyde was my first choice, and with the scholarship, I could use my savings to fly home during breaks.

How are you even getting to the school if it’s on an island? Rose asked.

There’s a ferry when the lake isn’t frozen. When it is, the lake can be used as a road. Plus the school rents snowmobiles. I wouldn’t be surprised if the town does too. On the banks of Wollaston Lake was a town, also called Wollaston Lake. Slightly less than a thousand and a half people living much closer to the Arctic Circle than people are meant to live. A large percentage were from the First Nation, Hatchet Lake Dene tribe. I had never heard of the Hatchet Lake Dene tribe, but that’s what the information about the town said.

How much of the time is the lake frozen? Rose asked.

About November to June.

College was going to be an experience, but it was definitely one I was looking forward to, cold weather not withstanding.

I HAD LITTLE EXPERIENCE with traveling. I had never left Virginia. Other than our yearly trip to stay at the beach for a few days, usually with Uncle Jack and Aunt Laura and my cousins, I barely left Hampton Roads. This was my first time ever traveling any appreciable distance alone. So, when I boarded the first plane, I was pretty excited. For the first hour. Then it got boring. Stale air, cramped seats, stuffed up ears, etc. I had a book, but finished it in O’Hare, and all the flight magazines were the same. I could read my student packet, but I had all but memorized it before leaving.

By the time I landed in Wollaston Lake, I had been in four different airports and three different planes. I was surprised by how worn out I was. Sure, it had been over eleven hours, but I had been sitting for at least nine of them, how bad could it be? Yeah, I was naïve. I disembarked from the final plane tired, sore, and with painfully stuffed up ears, but my excitement was rising again. I had finally arrived.

It was probably fortunate that both my first and last airports were nice small places that could be navigated with ease. I certainly wasn’t up to navigating another O’Hare. At this point, I might not have been able to navigate a mall. Wollaston Lake airport, on the other hand, could have probably fit in my high school.

With everyone off the plane, there were still less than forty people total in the airport. It took less than ten minutes for me to claim my luggage; prove that I wasn’t a terrorist, again; and get my passport stamped. I doubt they would have bothered with the last part if I hadn’t asked. Then I was officially on Canadian soil. I think.

American, eh? Well, it’s a bit past the height of the tourist season, The lady at the exit desk said, as she handed me back my passport.

I know. I’m here for the college.

Heading to Hyde, are you? You’re the only one today. It’s odd, we hardly see students from there. Anyway, ferry’s on the edge of town. About three kilometers. Just follow the signs.

I did some mental conversion. Three kilometers should be just under two miles. I could walk that on a normal day, but dragging luggage? Is there a cab or shuttle I could take? I asked, adjusting my suitcase strap so it didn’t cut so much into my neck.

The woman thought for moment before turning to face a man about twenty feet away. Middle-aged, very dark hair, wearing a uniform, he was sorting through the mail sack that had come in on the plane. Hey, Paul! You making a ride to town soon?

The man looked up, letting me see the ‘Post’ badge on his shirt. Yeah, about ten minutes. Why?

Give this girl a ride to the ferry? She nodded towards me.

The man gave me a quick onceover. Sure, not a problem. Truck’s outside, you can load your bags in the back. Two envelopes in hand, he pointed at a side door.

Oh, thank you.

It’s nothing. The ferry’s practically on my way, anyhow. You can wait in the truck if you like.

It wasn’t hard to find the truck. It had the same small boxy shape that American mail trucks have, but the paint was primarily cherry red, with bits of white and blue. In case I had any doubt, it proudly proclaimed ‘Canadian Post’ in both English and French. Well, presumably that’s what it said in French.

I dug out my jacket and put the bags in the back. It was still above sixty degrees, probably, but that’s cold compared to mid-nineties. Instead of climbing in the truck, I took a look around. Lots of pine trees, which I could have guessed even with my eyes closed. I could hear birds but couldn’t see them. While not an expert on birdsong, it didn’t sound that different from birds back home. There was a road sign for the road away from the airport. It was called Welcome Street. That made me smile.

Now that I had gotten some of my bearings back, I could wonder at something else. Why was I the only Hyde student on the flight? The school was small, and I was early for orientation, but there were only a few flights a day, so there ought to be at least a small handful. I could see being the only one on that flight, as it was the last flight into Wollaston Lake today, but she said I was the only one today. Both Dad and I had checked the dates and times repeatedly, and the school sent a confirmation email a few days ago, reminding me of my room assignment, when and where check-in and registration were, and my class assignment. I couldn’t possibly be here on the wrong day.

The lady at the information desk said that they didn’t see many students, but that made even less sense. This was the only place they could get to the campus. Well, maybe not. Wollaston Lake, the lake, is big but not huge. Wollaston Lake, the town, may be the closest bit of civilization, but it probably wasn’t the only one. Maybe this was just the most convenient ferry, not the only one. Besides, a small school this far up north was probably made up of mostly local and semi-local students.

Paul came out then, tearing me from my musings. You could have waited in the truck. He tossed in the mail bag before shutting and locking the back door.

I’m fine. I’ve been sitting too long today. I climbed in.

He chuckled understandingly. Paul Rutchkin. He offered a calloused hand as soon as he settled in the truck.

I shook it. Violet Peters.

Nice to meet you. So, off to Hyde? Little early, isn’t it?

A little. Classes start the fifteenth, but freshmen and transfers have to show up a week early for orientation. That starts Monday. By showing up the Friday before, I have a chance to get used to the campus and learn my way around before it gets too crowded. It was August fifth, so he had a point. Have you ever seen the campus?

No, they’re pretty strict on security. Only students allowed. Can’t even get on the school ferry without an ID. Every couple of years or so, you get a story of kids trying to sneak on, pretending to be students, or someone boating and trying to take refuge there in a storm or ‘cause of mechanical problems. No one who isn’t a student gets further than the dock.

Wow, that’s... totalitarian, odd. What do the students say about it? It was more than odd. How did a college even survive without recruitment visits, publicity events, athletic games, etc.? Not to mention, why so stringent on security up in the boondocks of Canada?

Not much. We don’t see much of them. Most seem happy enough, but they don’t talk about the school.

Okay, this was getting beyond odd into creepy. Why not?

Don’t know. Maybe you can tell me next time you come to town. I’m usually at the general store.

I hadn’t been paying much attention to the town, but I did recall seeing the general store. We pulled off Welcome Street into the parking lot of the ferry and I had to stifle to urge to beg Paul to drive me back to the airport.

Paul must have read something in my face. Look, I don’t think anything’s wrong at the school. I really don’t. But if there’s a problem, or you need a way out, at any time, here’s the store number. You can reach me there or leave a message. I have a boat and can borrow a snowmobile. Okay? He handed me a napkin with a hastily scribbled number on it.

As I took the lightly stained napkin, my paranoia faded, leaving me feeling silly. Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. There’s bound to be a reasonable explanation.

Look forward to hearing it. Don’t lose that number.

I won’t. I tucked the napkin into my jacket pocket. Then thanked Paul again for the ride and for helping me with my bags. I tried to pay him, but he refused, insisting I get on the ferry before it left without me.

The ferry was a beautiful little boat; dark wood and gleaming brassy metals, even a riverboat paddle. But before I could embark, I had to convince the man sitting next to the plank that I belonged on the boat. He was a tall man, with an intelligent glint in his eye, and he seemed completely relaxed. However I had the strangest feeling that if I tried to get past him without my ID, I would end up in the hospital long enough to miss orientation. Not that I planned to try, I wasn’t much of a risk taker or rule breaker.

My student packet included a temporary ID. Between that and my passport, I was able to prove my ‘student-hood’ and he let me on board. Just me. Paul had offered to help with my luggage, but the guard wouldn’t let him so much as step foot on the plank. So, I again thanked Paul, took my luggage, said goodbye, and embarked. Once on board, I waved again. Then had to grab the rail as the boat jerked and started moving. Wow, I must have cut that one close.

The boat was maybe three times the size of the mail truck, including below deck, meaning it took under five minutes for me to realize I was alone with the ferryman. No other passengers. The ferryman was probably around two inches taller than me, so about five-nine, and my initial thought was that he was probably the skinniest man I had ever seen. Not that I could tell much because he was thoroughly wrapped in a coarse brown cloth so I couldn’t see his face or any distinguishing features. Yeah, that wasn’t creepy at all.

I scolded myself for making snap judgments like that and tried talking to him. So, do you have many more trips today?

Last ferry ‘till Monday. He rasped out in a voice that sounded like he had been eating glass, gravel, and sand for years.

I forced back a shiver, trying to concentrate on what he said instead of how he said it. Monday, huh? Then I was very lucky. Though, what if something happened at school during the weekend? We’d be trapped. No, stop it, Vi. If there was an emergency, the school would get the ferry running again. I would just have to plan ahead so I didn’t need to go to town during the weekends. Perhaps the ferry was in limited operation because it was summer, and there might be weekend trips during the school year. Besides, I still had Paul’s number if I needed it, but I wouldn’t need it. Are we close to the school?

Instead of speaking, the ferryman raised a bony stick of a finger, pointing to an island in the middle distance, enshrouded by slate-gray fog. What had I gotten myself into?

SUDDEN AND UNEXPECTED burst of cynicism aside, we arrived without incident. Another guard, a woman this time, required me to prove I was who I said I was, that I was supposed to be here, and to sign a huge stack of paperwork. They wouldn’t even let me off the boat until I was finished. Mom was a real estate agent and had impressed on Rose and I to never, ever sign anything we hadn’t read and understood completely. And I totally agreed with her. But I was so tired, sore, my ears made everything sound like it was coming through cotton, and by the time I had finished reading the first sheet (essentially saying that I was signing the following papers of my own free will and not out of coercion), I had a pounding headache. It didn’t help that the words were tiny and written in legalese. I eventually resorted to skimming and hoping I wasn’t agreeing to sign over all my worldly goods (which basically consisted of my luggage) and/or my firstborn. Finally I signed the last paper, and the nice guard lady, who I fully believe could have broken me in half, let me off the boat, and gave me a student handbook and a map.

Don’t I get a copy of those papers? I should get a copy.

When you check-in and get your permanent ID.

Okay then. Just as well. I didn’t have a free hand at the moment. So, priorities. It was too late for check-in, and I needed to find my dorm. According to the map, the freshmen girls’ dorm, Price Hall, was close to most of the buildings I’d want to go to often, such as King Library and Victor Science Building. Very convenient. Even more convenient, it was close to the dock. Good, I was enough out of it to start walking into things. Not that it would be difficult, the fog was only slight lighter on the island than it was from a distance. I could see movement from people within twenty feet, but I couldn’t see anyone clearly. Price Hall was the first building I got a good look at, which again got me wondering what I was in for.

I knew it was a tall dorm, I was on the sixth floor. On an island that was only about two miles in diameter at the widest, it only made sense to build up instead of out. I had a catalog with pictures of various buildings, so I knew much of the architecture was gothic in style, made of dark gray stone. It was one of the details Rose had latched on to when declaring it a monster school. In the pictures, taken on what appeared to be a sunny, summer day, it looked lovely and historic. On a cold foggy day, it looked eerie.

Come on, Vi, you didn’t come over a thousand miles to stare at buildings. With a deep breath, I walked semi-boldly up to the door, and promptly discovered I couldn’t get in. Fortunately, the Resident Advisor on duty, a strawberry-blonde woman sitting behind a desk, spotted me at the door and pressed some button to unlock the door.

Hey, miss check-in? She asked, after I maneuvered my luggage and myself through the door. Her smile was sympathetic but amused.

Yeah, I had to take a late flight. Her expression seemed to change, but I probably imagined it.

Not a problem. Okay, name, and if you know it, room number?

Violet Peters, room 613. I know I didn’t imagine the sudden look she gave me; but I couldn’t interpret it.

She looked at a list, but didn’t seem to be checking anything, before handing me a key on a key ring shaped like a moose. Here you go. Your room key will let you call the elevator. Your RA is currently in a meeting, but will meet up with you as soon as possible. Your roommate has checked in, but I think she’s out at the moment. I’m Risa Torney, third floor RA, if you need anything. I’m here until midnight, if you leave and need to get back in.

I nodded. By now I was bordering on drained and was more than ready to just drop off my stuff and collapse for a few minutes. Or hours. Risa showed me how to use the key to call the elevators, and I was soon in a huge, probably a freight, elevator. I wondered about that, but figured it was probably for moving furniture, like the beds.

Sixth floor was at the top. I exited the door and barely had time to look around when a door at the end of the hall opened. Out popped a girl, about my age, who was maybe an inch or two shorter than me. Her shoulder length honey-brown hair flounced in the air as she practically skipped over to me, huge grin etched on her face. Hi, I’m Kara! Are you Denise?

I blinked at her at least twice before my brain started functioning again. No, I’m Violet Peters.

For a millisecond, she looked disappointed, then the grin was