My Ice Prince
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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.