Skin Deep - ch 1

Two weeks later

“Young Master, it's time for you to wake up.”

Riven Smith curled into a tight ball beneath his bedsheets and clamped his eyes shut. No matter what, he refused to leave his nest of warmth. The aged hands of the family butler nudged at the back of his head; he bowed it stubbornly and hid beneath his pillow. “Nathaniel, go away. I'm not getting up today...I think I've caught the stomach flu.”

A soft tut reached his ears. “That was your excuse yesterday,” Nathaniel chuckled. “I have breakfast waiting here. You wouldn't want it to get cold, would you?”

He lifted himself into a sitting position with an almighty effort and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I don't want breakfast. Can you bring me some cake instead?” he asked hopefully. Nathaniel helped him out of bed and waited patiently for him to finish yawning to remove the boy's pajamas.

“There will be plenty of time for cake later,” the butler said. He went to Riven's wardrobe and carefully picked the day's outfit. “I think you should wear your blue vest today...and your black overcoat. The clashing colors will bring out your eyes.”

“You make me sound like a girl,” Riven laughed. He obediently raised his arms above his head for his undershirt to be slipped over his head.

Nathaniel regarded him warmly. “You're almost of marrying age—it's about time that you began dressing up for the ladies.”

Rolling his eyes, Riven stepped carefully into his blue shorts. “I'm only fourteen. I have three more years until I have to think about girls,” he said. He waited until his shoes and knee socks had been slipped onto his feet to spring up and dance away from the comb-wielding butler. Nathaniel chased him about the room, stopping only when he found himself quite out of breath.

“Your hair is a mess, Young Master. What would your father think if you came downstairs looking like a scruffy commoner?”

“Have you seen Father's hair?” cried Riven, ducking under his caretaker's outstretched arm and sliding into his washroom. He barricaded the door shut with the corner cabinet. “He hasn't had a comb touched his head in months! I doubt he would even notice.”

With a sigh of defeat, Nathaniel slumped against the closed door and shut his eyes. He was getting far too old for this sort of thing. “You're going to be late for school if you don't hurry,” he warned. His only answer was a mischievous snicker. “I heard your father talking about a new student. Supposedly, Lord Conrad's son has returned from his trip in Japatias. Wouldn't you like to meet him?”

There was a short-lived silence before the door cracked open and a round gray eye peeked out at him. “A new student?” Riven's voice was full of childish curiosity. “What is his name? Do you know what he looks like? How wealthy is his family?”

“I didn't catch his name, but I know he's a few months older than you. His family is quite wealthy,” Nathaniel commented, “but it would be wrong to judge him for that. Wait until you've actually spoken to him to form an opinion.” His Young Master was well-known for judging books by their covers, especially before he had come into contact with the book in question.

Plopping down onto his bed, Riven finally let his butler comb his hair. “I promise I won't judge,” he said cheerfully. Nathaniel knew a lie when he saw one; but refrained from calling the boy out on it. He merely sighed.

“Your breakfast is waiting for you downstairs,” Nathaniel said. He helped the young man to his feet and held the door open for him. The two walked through the corridor and down the stairs, following the familiar path to the dining room. “The cook purchased some eggs yesterday and took the liberty of poaching them for you. Would you like them served on bread or simply plain? And what flavor of tea would you like to drink, Young Master?”

“Bread would be nice,” said Riven. His butler pulled out his chair and he sat down. Facing his messy-haired father, he smiled and greeted him with a 'good morning.' His father grinned at him from across the table before going back to the morning paper. “Is Mother up yet?”

Landen Smith put the paper down and took a bite of his buttered toast. “Not yet,” he replied. Felicia Smith was a notorious late sleeper.

“Is Katherine?”

“Yes, but she's going to be late for school if she doesn't hurry up and eat,” Landen sighed. “Nathaniel, will you bring Riven some raspberry tea?”

Nathaniel bowed. “Of course, sir.”

A girl wearing only her nightgown plodded into the room and sat down next to her younger brother. “I can't find my blue dress,” she mumbled, brushing her long bangs out of her eyes and picking at her breakfast. “I think I'm going to wear pants today.”

He looked at Katherine and frowned. “How are you feeling today, Kathy?” he asked, taking her hand beneath the table and squeezing gently. Her fingers twitched against his as if she wished to be released but didn't pull away. Her dull, glazed eyes left the corner of the room and met his.

“They're not talking today.”

They didn't exist, the doctors said. They were only a figment of Katherine's imagination. His big sister was schizophrenic—a raving psychopath, and not to be listened to. Riven listened anyway. “Really? That's not good. Did they say why?” he asked, concerned. It was never a good thing when they were quiet. “Do you think they're the reason why you can't find your blue dress?”

Katherine wore nothing but blue. They became angry when she wore a different color. And when she couldn't find her blue dress, she was forced to wear men's clothing. The Smith name had been sullied for it...and yet the family couldn't bring themselves to care. Katherine was their beloved daughter and sister. They would love her until the very end.

“Maybe,” Katherine muttered. “I don't know. Maybe the maid misplaced it.”

“Do you want some tea, Katherine?” Landen asked as Nathaniel returned with the aromatic brew. She nodded jerkily but did nothing but stare at the cup when it was handed to her. None of the other three commented on her rude behavior but instead bowed their heads silently and continued eating. Nathaniel reverted his gaze.

His hunger having vanished, Riven got up from the table and walked over to Nathaniel, tugging lightly on his butler's sleeve. “Can you take me to school now?” he whispered. His loyal butler smiled and nodded, nudging him forward. They were both silent for a time, until Riven finally spoke up just as their carriage had begun rattling its way down the cobblestone street. “So how wealthy did you say the new boy's family was, again?” he asked, bouncing excitedly in his seat. Nathaniel simply sighed and took the boy to school.

***

Hsssss.

Ciaran shut his eyes tightly as he held his arms under the spray of icy cold water, waiting for it to heat up. When it did, the blood would begin to leak, and he could check for signs of disease. Little bits of his tattoos were continuing to disappear; he needed to find out why and remedy the problem. As he worked, he recalled the phone call from two weeks ago.

“I think it would be a perfect opportunity for you to get to know some kids your age.”

Without regard of the pain that was sure to come from such an act, he turned the heat up and shoved his arms under the open tap. His skin began to burn. Ciaran resisted the urge to yank his limbs back to his sides and held them still.

“Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to juggle your job as well as school. You've done it before, haven't you?”

Hotter. His tattoos were making sizzling noises, like a pat of bacon on a frying pan, but it wasn't enough.

“You don't want to go? But I already took the liberty of signing you up! You'll be joining the other children on their quest for knowledge in two weeks. What's that? No, no—I'm positive that it'll be very fun.”

Here it was—the blood. It dripped down his arms like a red river, twisting and rolling awkwardly to avoid the black symbols on his skin. Carefully, Ciaran pulled one hand away from the water in favor of taking hold of a small vial. A few drops of his own blood plopped into the glass. He pushed a cork into the top of it.

“Some friends will do you some good.”

That should be enough for a few tests, Ciaran decided, and turned the bath off. His arms stopped bleeding immediately. He toweled them dry and left the room, heading to his new kitchen; on his father's orders, he had moved to a different country.

“I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time, son. I love you and hope to see you soon.”

He was convinced that he would be absolutely miserable here. There was no sushi, no exotic languages, no beautiful silk kimonos, and there were no signs of his ancestors. Already, he missed Japatias. Although he looked almost nothing like the natives, he himself was Japatian, and had felt at home there. The worst part about this place wasn't the fact that he had been forced to move here. No...he had always wanted to travel.

It was the fact that he had to actually talk to people that was the problem.

In Japatias, he was able to stay inside for two weeks at a time and not show his face once. The lady next door visited him every other day to bring his groceries and check to make sure he hadn't ended up killing himself, but that had been the extent of his socialization. But now that he was back home in Norloch, he was being forced to go back to school. They didn't care about his status as a genius—he was only fifteen and staying inside all day was no longer an option. He was lucky enough to keep living alone.

Boxes littered the floor, and he found himself stepping over quite a few of them on his way to the barren kitchen. What he had decided to take with him, he mused, wasn't much. There was a lot less than what normal people would have brought. There were twelve boxes and his furniture, which pertained mainly to his bed, his desk, his dresser, and his sofa. Everything else had been abandoned. Unfortunately, the house hadn't come with an ice box.

The house that he had been forced to move into.

Skipping breakfast, for he never had any, Ciaran padded down the small hallway to his bedroom. He pulled on a white shirt and a dark green vest, slipping his arms into a black overcoat. Shaking the sleeves back, for they were far too long, he put on some dark trousers. Ciaran combed his bangs into place. It wouldn't do for the other children to see his eyes.

“Remember, school starts at eight—try not to be late on your first day!”

That gave him fifteen minutes to get to school. With the ride his father had supposedly arranged for, he would be right on time...that is, if his “ride” didn't skip out on his duties.

Just as he finished the thought, there was a knock on the front door.

Ciaran took his time answering the call, sitting down on his bed and sliding his feet into his knee-high boots. He swung his bag over his shoulder and heading out the door. His nervous chauffeur bowed to him and gestured toward the open door of the carriage, signaling for him to get inside. Ciaran complied grudgingly. He hated carriages; horses had never been very fond of him and they seemed to try to make the ride as bumpy as possible.

As the carriage began moving, Ciaran began to mentally calculate the time it took for them to get to the school. If he multiplied three by the square root of—

“Your father told me to make sure that your shirt was tucked in, sir,” the driver said cautiously, interrupting his calculations.

“Ten minutes and forty-one point twelve seconds,” Ciaran blurted. There was an awkward silence. Then, with a slight giggle that made the chauffeur shudder visibly, he looked down and began tucking in his shirt. “Did Father send any lunch along for me? He said he would make me some biscuits,” he said hopefully, twisting his long sleeves in his sickly pale hands.

Picking up a brown paper bag, he handed it slowly to Ciaran. As soon as the boy had it in his grasp he yanked his hands away like they had been burned. A small grimace twisted Ciaran's lips before it was replaced with a goofy grin. He peered into the bag and pulled out a misshapen peanut butter biscuit. He placed the end carefully between his teeth and sucked the flavor out for a while. Mentally counting down the time he had left until he entered his own personal Hell, he gazed out the window and chewed his biscuit.

“We're here.”

He started and looked over at the driver, who had an expression of relief on his face. For a moment he sat there and waited to see if the man would get out and open the door for him. Then, a bit disappointed, he nodded and stuck his tongue out at the man before opening the door and hopping out of the carriage. “Thanks for the ride,” he said sarcastically, tucking his bag of biscuits underneath his arm and flouncing away.

As he left the safety of his carriage he faintly heard the driver mutter about uncleanliness and sadistic demons; he pursed his lips together for a moment. He pushed his bangs further in front of his eyes to block them from view, squinting through the pale blonde locks to keep from walking into somebody.

His new school was large, and looked almost like a haunted castle from where he stood. The windows were all closed; the heavy wooden door gaped open slightly to allow the students to squeeze their way in. The lawn was the only thing that looked truly alive—lush and green, trimmed to perfection by the caretaker. Ciaran resisted the urge to walk in it and see just how springy the grass was. Instead he kept to the walkway, avoiding everyone and everything as he went.

Someone was staring at him. They had better not try to talk to me, he thought sourly. The person was getting closer...they were walking over to him. He picked up the pace a bit to the point where he was almost jogging. His sack of biscuits slipped a bit and he cradled it to his chest, letting his schoolbag drag along the ground. The person's gaze left the back of his head and he breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against a tree and resting there for a while. Something touched his arm and he groaned inaudibly. Why do they have to talk to me?

“Are you all right?”

Ciaran looked over at the girl with half-lidded eyes, and an involuntary thought rose up to his mind before it was quelled. Wonder what she would taste like? Probably sparkles and petty jealousy. “I'm fine,” he said, grinning widely. “Perfectly fine.”

She bent down and picked up his schoolbag, which had been dropped unceremoniously onto the ground beside him. “Is this yours?”

“I think so,” he said. He patted himself down to find that his bag wasn't on his shoulder where it was supposed to be. “It's mine.”

“Are you blind? I can help you get to your class if you'd like,” she offered, trying to meet his eyes through his thick bangs. He nodded hesitantly and she took a hold of one of his sleeves, pulling him up the walkway and to the school. “What is the name of your professor?”

The name flashed through his mind. “Mrs. Price. Do you know who he is?”

“She's my professor too. I guess now I'll be able to help you when we have to read things...you know, you being blind and all,” she said absently. “Careful—the doorway is really small.” Ciaran walked straight through, and was left with a few inches of space between the frame and his body due to his scrawniness. The girl lugged him up the stairs and through the hallways. “I'm sure Mrs. Price will read it all out loud for you though. You'll have to tell her about your blindness.”

“I'm not blind,” he snickered. “I can see perfectly fine.”

She rose her eyebrows at him and dropped his sleeve immediately, looking annoyed. “So you made me take you around the school when you could do it yourself? How rude...I'm going now. You can find your class by yourself.”

Watching calmly as she stormed away, Ciaran smiled to himself. If he acted the same way with everyone else, they wouldn't talk to him at all...they wouldn't want to. It would be perfect.

He followed the girl to Mrs. Price's room, making sure not to be seen by her. Although he didn't want people to so much as acknowledge him, he didn't want to be labeled as a stalker. It would ruin his plans.

The girl went through one of the many doors lining the corridors. Sliding down the wall to sit for a while, Ciaran pulled out another biscuit and chewed it slowly as he waited. When the person he was looking for didn't come he got up and walked into the room.

It had been quite a while since he was last in a classroom. Curiously, he looked around and slid into one of the seats near the back. The girl from before stood in a corner with a group of girls, who were giving him dirty looks. He smirked down at his new desk and placed his bag in front of him. At least he could sketch while he was waiting for—

He was here.

A shiver went down Ciaran's spine and he slowly looked up to meet the eyes of his newest target.