So I'm going to talk about college a little. If you don't want to hear it, go ahead and scrooooollll down to the chapter. :) I've missed you. And I've had a really bad 24 hours, which is why I decided to go to the library and write. (Hint: Falling in love can be very, very painful.)

SO COLLEGE. It is AWESOME. Sorry I can't really tell you where I'm going, I don't like to be stalked. My hallmates are like my family. It's a hall of girls next to a hall of boys and we're already super close. We stay up late playing spike ball or eating junk food or doing homework.  Yes, I have been to a frat party. No, I did not drink. Yes, I danced with a boy. Yes I made out with him. No, I did not sleep with him. 

My classes: 

- I have a first year seminar (FYS) about Norse mythology, German opera, LOTR, and more opera. It sounds interesting, but right now, it's quite boring. 

-Spanish! I placed out of the 100 (intro) level class so I am taking a 200-level class, which is good because I'll be done with Spanish for the rest of my life after, but bad because it's very hard and I'm not very good at it. 

-English! I'm also in a 200 level class for English, and our focus is British literature from 1800 to early present. It's heaven. We analyze poems and talk about books and mythology and characters. 

-History! Ancient Civilizations to 1500. My teacher is Chinese and has an accent and is in all ways hilarious. 

NO MATH OR SCIENCE THIS SEMESTER, CAN I GET AN AMEN???? 

I also signed up for archery, equestrian, tap dancing, and Christian clubs. SO EXCITED.

But the last couple days/approx. week have also been really, really hard. I cried myself to sleep last night at 3 AM. Good times. I have an attachment problem lol. Sorry this chapter took so long. :( 

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I'm sure you'll hear more college adventures at some point. LOVE YOU ALL.

Please VOTE and COMMENT!

PS: That pic of Videl has that really amber-glowing-eye look that I've really attached to his character. Nobody panic, he's not alive in this chapter. 

(yet.)

;) 

xoxo Sierra xoxo

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Chapter 8:

Victoire, unfamiliar with Jaunting, stumbles on her knees on hard stone. Her backpack swings around, striking her shoulder and putting her off balance.

Dean and Ayaan, practically professional surfers, excel in balance and manage to stay standing by holding their hands out to their sides and bracing themselves. The same couldn't be said for Ajia, Anthony, and Gia- Giovanna actually flails dramatically, and would have fallen into the road had Ri not grabbed her shoulder and kept her upright.

Naturally, the Velah has every sort of grace possessing his kind, and he waits patiently while his travel mates to compose themselves.

Grunting, Anthony re-shoulders his heavy backpack. "You do this a lot?" he asks.

"Yes," says Ri.

"Figures," says Anthony.

"Where are we?" asks Ajia, looking around.

They're standing at the edge of cobbled pavement, beside a cement sidewalk running parallel to a semi-crowded street. It's completely dark, and headlights and street lamps blink brightly in Victoire's eyes. To their right is a stretch of stone, Tutor-style buildings with rainbow flags hung from hooks. An old-fashioned, oval-shaped sign hangs over an old oak door bearing the name VIA FOSSA.

While Victoire- and most everyone- is still trying to orient herself from the tumultuous Jaunting, Ayaan has been conducting a hasty Internet search. "Uh... we're in England," he says.

"England?" asks Ajia. "Like Queen Elizabeth the Immortal, England?"

"Well, I certainly don't know any other Englands," says Anthony. "I thought I recognized this place. It's the gay village area in Manchester."

"Should I ask how you know that?" asks Dean.

"My brother is gay," says Anthony. "And I will tell you right now that the gays know how to put on a flaming pub party."

"Where are we going?" asks Victoire. "I don't see any random music boxes hanging around, waiting us to take us to another random ass country."

"Baya told us to follow the songs," says Dean. He is standing beside Victoire, the street lamps casting a glow on his tan skin. "Does anyone hear anything?"

"Besides a Manchester street at three in the morning?" asks Anthony. "That would be no. We have more than a month to track down the seven gems. I say we find a hotel and get some sleep. There's a small place a couple blocks away."

"Sounds great," says Ayaan. "Except for the important factor of money."

Anthony waves a plastic rectangle in Ayaan's face. "International credit card," he says. "I told you I traveled a lot."

"We owe you," says Ajia.

"No he doesn't," says Victoire moodily. "Because if it weren't for him, none of this stupid Velah stuff would have happened."

"Actually it would have," says Anthony. "Events relating to me realizing you're a Velah at the same time are purely coincidental and are independent of all persons living or dead."

While Victoire glowers at him, Giovanna says, "How are we going to find the music box if there isn't a sound to follow?"

"Well," says Anthony, peacefully disregarding Victoire's laser eyes, "because they're Velah, Victoire and Riyell have the best hearing. If anyone is going to be a bloodhound, it's them."

"Except they're following sound, not smell," pipes in Ayaan.

"Thanks for the help," says Victoire.

"For now, let's just crash," says Anthony, who Victoire has by now realized deals with her attitude by simply ignoring it. "We have a month. There are seven jewels. Hopefully, we won't be pressed for time."

"Don't jinx it," says Dean.

"I have a cat named Jinx," says Ayaan helpfully.

*

The hotel is located several blocks away. Even though it's late, booming music filters from a club nearby. It's not particularly chilly, but when Victoire notices Giovanna shivering, she hands her friend her jacket. Giovanna smiles appreciatively and wraps it tight around her shoulders.

The kids slouch against the old oak walls while Anthony talks to a very tired and rather snippy hotel clerk. Finally, Anthony walks back to them with a partially rusted, old fashioned key hanging from a leather cord. "Good news first," he says. "We have a room. Bad news next, we only have one room for the seven of us."

"Now is not the time for budgeting," says Ajia.

"Wasn't the card," says Anthony, picking up his backpack from its perch on a ledge beside a silently brooding Riyell. "Hotel is booked. We got the last room."

Ten minutes later, after a dismal walk through a musty, darkly wallpapered hallway that Victoire comments properly belongs in the Twilight Zone, Anthony unlocks a door that has seen better days and ushered them in.

"Ah yes," says Victoire. "I, too, have always wanted to stay at the Hotel Cortez."

"It's not terrible," says Ajia, looking around at the room. It is made up of two lumpy queen mattresses on iron bedframes covered by fern green blankets (with moth holes), a mayonnaise-colored couch (with stuffing pouring out the back and one side), a fairly clean woven rug (though there's a coffee stain), and an odd combination of Venetian blinds underneath lace curtains framing a small window that is either severely discolored or hasn't been cleaned in several decades.

"Yeah, it's terrible, Ajia," says Victoire.

"I hate to agree with anything Victoire says," says Ayaan, considering sitting on the couch and choosing instead to lean against the wall, "but she's right."

Anthony shrugs. "Well, it isn't the Four Seasons, but at least it's not the side of the road. And that couch can be flipped to make a bed. The Moody Manchester Man at the front desk said there are extra blankets in the cupboard underneath the sink."

Dean wrinkles his nose. "Have the blankets been washed since the dawn of man?"

"Don't be so pessimistic," says Victoire. "I'm sure they got a good scrubbing during the French Revolution."

"Four people can sleep in the beds," says Giovanna. "And maybe three on the sleeper sofa."

Giovanna's quiet voice makes Victoire almost feel guilty, as it always is when Gia provides the calm in a storm.

"There are three girls," says Ajia. "We're all fairly smallish- at least you two are twigs. We can fit on the sofa and the lads can take the beds."

"I'm not sleeping with Ayaan," says Dean. "The last time we did that, I ended up on the floor."

"You shouldn't have told me that scary story before I tried to sleep," protests Ayaan.

"I'll sleep with Ayaan," says Anthony. "Dean and Ri can be together."

Dean wrinkles his nose, like he would much rather sleep with Ayaan, or perhaps an ogre.

Ri, on the other hand, smirks widely, his yellow cats' eyes gleaming. Victoire makes a mental note to either slap the Velah knight or give him a talk about manners. Not that Victoire is the best instructor in the field of manners.

"Also," says Anthony. "Dinner. Food."

"It's, like, four in the morning," says Ajia, who has gracelessly plopped on the bed that may or may not have been cleaned since Bastille Day. "Where are we going to get food?"

"There's a twenty-four hour joint a two minute walk away," says Anthony. "Unfortunately, I don't think they serve blood, but some very unhealthy English food might be better than nothing."

"I'm not even hungry," says Victoire.

"I'm always hungry," says Ayaan.

"We know," says Ajia.

"I'm not going to make you go," says Anthony. "But I'd really rather you not faint on our journey to who knows where."

"I will go hunting for my own meal," says Ri, who is still leering in the corner like a character from a gothic novel. Victoire, who secretly adores Wuthering Heights, is reminded of Heathcliff every time she sees him. So far, the two seem to have similar characteristics too. "Victoire is welcome to join me. I should show her how it is done in the Velah way."

"No thanks," says Victoire. "I had enough taste of blood when I sampled a la dickhead bully. I'll stay here."

"You shouldn't stay here by yourself," says Giovanna. "Baya could-"

"Baya is more interested in me finishing her little quest than she is in killing me right now," says Victoire. "If she's going to avoid killing anyone, it's going to be me."

"Who do you think she wants to kill most, I wonder?" asks Ayaan.

"Probably you," says Ajia.

While Ayaan throws a few dust bunnies at Ajia and Ajia threatens to push Ayaan out the window that may or may not actually open, Anthony shrugs toward Victoire. "It's your choice. Just keep a lookout. We shouldn't be gone long."

"I'll stay with Victoire," says Dean.

Ri snorts. Victoire shoots him a not-so subtle middle finger, then says, "I'm fine, Dean. I know you're starving. Bring me back a milkshake if you care that much, if they even have milkshakes in England."

"It's England, not Mars," says Ayaan, trying to ward off Ajia's counterattack. "I'm sure they have milkshakes."

"I beg your pardon," says Victoire in a terrible English accent. "I didn't mean to insult the Queen's milkshakes."

"All right, it's too late for this stupidity," says Ajia. "Food. Then sleep. Then creepy magic music boxes." She pauses. "Man, I wish the first two sentences were the only ones I had to worry about."

While the others start shuffling through their bags for wallets and purses, Dean leans against the dusty wall beside Victoire. The cross dangling from the leather chain around his neck catches some of the dim light around them so Victoire can barely read the initials M.C. etched into the wood. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

Victoire glances into his deep blue eyes. They remind her of the Pacific Ocean and of home. "I'll be fine," she says. "I'll start unpacking all the shit."

"All right," says Dean hesitantly. He leans forward, as if to hug her, but then kisses her cheek instead. "Be safe."

One of Riyell's thick eyebrows arches probingly. Victoire ignores him. She has been trying to ignore the handsome Velah knight for the duration of the day.

"I'll have my cell in an emergency," says Anthony, waving his phone. "But it's also traceable, and we'd rather that not happen unless somebody is trying to kill you."

"Thanks, I'll manage," says Victoire. "And I'm sure Wairua the not-Hedwig is nearby somewhere."

"In that case, if you need help, use him to summon me," says Ri. He winks, flashes his fangs in a brief smile, and then vanishes in a flurry of black mist.

"I dislike him," says Dean. "I dislike him strongly."

"He reminds me of Edward Cullen," says Ayaan dreamily.

"He's hotter than Edward Cullen," says Ajia.

"No, he's not," says Dean.

"Now you stop," says Victoire. "See, this is why Giovanna is the smart one. Boys are shit and too much trouble."

"Preach it," says Ajia.

"We can rearrange our sexualities another time," says Anthony, practically pushing Dean (and Ayaan, who is still removing dust bunnies from his argyle sweater) toward the door. "We'll be back soon, Victoire."

When the dull stampede that is Anthony (still pushing the boys), Ayaan (still removing dust bunnies), Dean (still glaring after the spot Ri vanished from), Ajia (still threatening to defenestrate Ayaan), and Giovanna (still being a calm angel) vanish out of the tiny hotel room and down the hallway, Victoire sinks onto the dusty wooden floor. After a couple minutes of calm breathing, during which her now-supernatural hearing picks up the sound of any number of insects crawling through the who-knows-how-old walls, she gets to her feet groggily.

Kneeling beside her rucksack, Victoire unlatches the metal buckle and digs down between the cluster of snacks and random papers and an umbrella she didn't remember putting in there. It was probably Ayaan, who has a high superstition for rain even when there is not a cloud in the sky.

Reaching between a protein bar and her wallet, Victoire pulls out a slightly yellowed envelope. The one with the spidery handwriting spelling out Scorpion.

Victoire isn't one for hesitation, but it takes even she a few prolonged seconds to pull the letter out from its envelope.

"It's just from your dead uncle," she says out loud. "Pull your shit together. You have no attachment to him whatsoever."

She begins to read.

Victoire-

You are beautiful. That's what I thought for the first time when I saw you. I was imprisoned when you were born, but on the night your parents were murdered, I went into their bedroom and found them slain. I also found a crying child in a cradle and picked her up. Through my tears, I saw the most beautiful baby girl I have ever seen. Your eyes are your father's, and your grandmother's. Your golden hair curled around your small head like a halo. I kissed your forehead and vowed to never let any harm come to you.

I have failed in that promise. Over and over, I have failed. You are barely two years old and have already been brought to death's door more than once. Each time, you have managed to survive. You learned to survive before you learned to talk, or to walk, or to laugh. From the moment you were born, you were a survivor. And I hope, that if you are reading these words, it means that you have continued to be one.

I hope your life isn't filled with loss and pain, like mine has. But as I've gone through the loss and pain, I have discovered more love and more loyalty than I ever thought would be given to me. For through the moments in which pain stabs you the most, it is the love of your family and friends that hardens you into the warrior that does survive. Thankfully, I haven't learned that lesson too late.

I wish I could be there now. I asked that you read this when you were at least eighteen. I hope your life has been happy. With our family's luck, probably not, but I'm trying to be positive right now- a rather big battle is about to occur. If your life hasn't been happy, then look at yourself now. You are still standing or sitting wherever you are, and you have been strong enough to survive this long. Survive. Love. Have you gotten the basic point of this letter? I hope you inherited some of my brilliance.

(I hope you haven't inherited my arrogance. Wait... of course I hope you have inherited my arrogance. The more like me, the better the worlds will be.)

I hope you meet Thea one day. Since you're reading this, you probably will at some point. Please make sure to call her Theodora. It makes her feel respected. She is the strongest woman I know right now, and I can only pray that you grow up to be as strong, independent, and loyal as she is.

Don't be afraid of love, or of happiness, or of laughter. I did that a lot. It didn't work out for me. It left me friendless in a time I needed friends the most. Bitterness will give you solitarity, but it will not give you a break from your misery. Misery often does not love company.

Trust me.

Trust me on that one.

I wish I could be there to see you now. I am sure you are so perfect. And strong. And beautiful.

I love you.

I love you a lot.

I'm sorry I'm gone.

-Videl

Victoire clenches the paper between her fingers, bedecked in rings, including Videl's ruby ring.

Then, she runs into the bathroom in case the rats in the bedroom walls can hear her cry for the first time in five years.