Alberta Petrov was having a horrible day—and she was beginning to suspect that the title of Assistant Head Guardian was nothing more than a glorified name for a secretary. The Senior Guardian on Campus—Radu Stanilav—seemed to be passing more and more of his work along to her, busying himself with things that kept him out of the office… and it was beginning to piss her off.
She was neck deep in paperwork when the door to her office creaked open; as soon as she heard the oh-so-slow sound—like the person on the other side was opening it an inch at a time—she knew who it was without even needing to look. Sure enough, a moment later, a tiny face appeared in the opening, half hidden by a mop of dark waves that had already escaped the neat braid she’d carefully plaited just a few hours before.
“Rosemarie… what’s the rule about knocking?”
The little girl hung from the doorknob, shrugging her shoulders as she smiled. “Don’t remember.”
“You do remember… we discussed it just yesterday.” Alberta eyed her for a moment, shaking her head in dismay. “Think hard—what do we do before we open someone’s closed door?”
“Sorry…just missed you Albie.” It was a whisper, the child’s lower lip sliding out in a pout, quivering just a little.
Despite her resolve to remain stern, the sight was too much for the older dhampir to take; dropping her pen on her desk, she pushed back her chair, holding her arms out for a hug—and was immediately rewarded with a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.
Shoving the door all the way open, the four year old ran towards her—only to trip over her shoelaces and land on the floor with an audible thump. “OUCH! Stupid laces!”
“Well if you’d taken two minutes to tie your shoes that wouldn’t happen, silly. Come here—”she hoisted her visitor up and cuddled her for a moment before patting her knee. “Foot up—let’s try it again… I have a feeling you’ll get it this time. I’ll go first…”
Patiently she went over the steps she’d shown the child countless times before, using the same method her own mother had used to teach her so many, many years before. “The guardian ducks behind the Strigoi… then he kicks… then he circles around and ducks—then what does he do Rose?”
“STAKES HIM!” Rose let out an ear splitting shriek as the bow pulled tight, clapping her hands with delight.
“That’s right! Now you try it… go on… show Albie what you can do.”
Face scrunched up in intense concentration, Rose tried to repeat the movements—but just when she’d almost succeeded, one of the laces slipped out of her tiny fingers. “Shit on a shingle!”
“Rosemarie!” Alberta bit her lip, trying her best not to give in to the laughter that was welling up inside her. “Where on earth did you pick up that expression?”
Arching her brows, the woman gave the small dhampir in her lap a questioning look. “Mr. Stinky?”
“He smells bad… and falls down a lot. He tripped over a rock outside an’ yelled it really loud.” Her tongue slipped out of the corner of her mouth as she determinedly tried tackling her untied lace again.
‘Oh—you mean Mr. Nagy. He shouldn’t have said that—it’s a naughty word. Little girls shouldn’t use bad language and—Rose… what’s wrong?” The expression of anguish that crossed the child’s face made Alberta’s arms protectively tighten around her small body.
“You gonna leave me too? Cause I said naughty stuff? Cause I’m… bad?”
Staring down into those large, tear filled brown eyes, her heart twisted painfully in her chest. “You’re not bad sweetheart—and I’m not going anywhere.”
“If I ain’t bad… why’d Mama leave me?”
“She did what she thought was the best thing Rose—you had to go to school and she had to return to work.”
“You don’t gotta work?” Heaving a heavy sigh, Rose leaned into Alberta, resting her head against the guardian's chest.
Alberta chuckled softly, resting her chin on the girl’s head. “I work here, silly goose—taking care of you and teaching… and doing lots and lots of paperwork.”
“You’re really not gonna ever leave me? You promise?”
Alberta reached down, tickling Rose’s tummy, smiling as the worried look dissolved into chirpy giggles. “I promise you that I’ll be here for as long as you need me. And you know when a guardian makes a promise… we keep it. I even have the tattoo to prove it. Now… you better run along. I’ve got lots of work I need to get back to.”
Rose sighed, sliding off her lap, pouting as she clung to her hand, trying to pull her from the chair. “You don’t wanna play Strigoi with me?”
I do… but I have way too much to do today and—” she frowned as the four year old dropped her hand, sinking down onto the carpet and tugging off her shoes—which she hurled across the room before running for the door. “Rosemarie Hathaway! You come back here and put your shoes on this instant!”
“Gotta catch me first Albie!” Grinning, Rose darted out the door, taking off down the corridor in her sock clad feet.
Alberta fought with herself for a moment, eyeing the piles of paper that littered her desk; she’d worked so hard to get where she was—and with Stanilav retiring soon, the position of Head Guardian would be opening up, her goal finally within reach. Sighing, she picked up her pen and was just about to return to the boring figures she’d been tallying—when a tiny voice, filled with uncertainty echoed down the hallway.
There was a tremor in Rose’s voice… a hint that she feared rejection was imminent; it made the guardian hesitate, rethinking her decision. Dhampir children were forced to grow up far too fast within the walls of the Academy—and before you knew it, the cheerful, playful side of them vanished before your eyes. If you missed taking part in the truly important things—like spending a few hours making a miserable, lonely little girl feel happy and secure—then you lost the opportunity to make a difference, never getting a second chance.
Pushing away from the desk, Alberta scooped up the tiny discarded shoes and burst out the doorway, growling and waving her arms as she chased after Rose—smiling as the little girls happy, excited shriek echoed down the hallway.
The stupid fiscal budget could wait until tomorrow, and if Stanilav didn’t like it then he was the one who needed to rethink his priorities. A child’s happiness was a hundred times more important that a damned boring report that no one would bother to read.