Unwelcome aa-2

by Michael Griffo

  “Kano, you’re slipping!” Blakeley called out. “You let Howard beat you by two full strokes!” Before he could continue berating Nakano in front of the whole team, his cell phone rang. Looking at the number displayed on his phone, Blakeley grimaced and started walking toward the locker room. Just before he disappeared from view, he hurled one more barb over his shoulder. “B team, get ready so you can show Mr. Kai how to swim like a loser.”

  Michael spit out some pool water he laughed so hard. “Looks like I’m beating you in everything these days!”

  Lifting the yellow goggles off his eyes and onto his forehead, Nakano stared at the pool water for a moment. There were still little waves rising and falling all around him from the race. He was confused by Michael’s comment. Not by the words; he knew they had nothing to do with swimming and everything to do with Ronan, but by the tone. It was arrogant and smug. Nakano had been spending so much time with Jean-Paul that he hadn’t thought that much about Ronan and less about Michael, and he thought everyone had moved past all that, grown up a bit. Guess not. “Like I care,” Nakano finally replied, in a quieter voice than Michael had used. “I found someone a lot better than any of the boys here at school.”

  Still feeling the power of the swim and obviously feeling the pangs of jealousy more strongly than he originally thought, Michael tried to keep his mouth shut, but couldn’t. Climbing out of the pool, Michael felt adrenaline pump through his veins, he felt the water race down his face, his chest, his legs, and the late afternoon sun penetrate the gym windows and warm his body. He knew how he looked, like a glistening young god, and he knew looking down at Nakano, who was still half submerged in the pool, that he would think he looked like a god too. He took advantage of his superior position and hurled another insult at his nemesis. “Yeah, you had to go find some old man because nobody here wants you!”

  Even if Ronan spoke out loud, he wouldn’t have been heard, not with the roar of laughter that sprang from the crowd, but he knew Michael had heard him telepathically. Since Ronan created Michael and together they had offered their souls to The Well, they were linked; symbolically, they were one. However, they could also exercise free will and choose to sever that connection forever or for a moment, as Michael did now. He didn’t want to hear Ronan’s unspoken warning to back off from Nakano because he’s stronger; he was strong too, didn’t Ronan know that? He was stronger than ever before. And to prove his point, he pushed Nakano back into the pool just as he was on the top step of the ladder.

  Although Ciaran couldn’t eavesdrop on Ronan and Michael’s telepathic conversation, he knew Ronan well enough to know what he would say. He also knew his words would not help Michael change his mind or his actions, so Ciaran grabbed Ronan by the arm just as Michael dove into the water after Nakano. “No,” Ciaran advised. “He’s got to learn on his own.”

  Propelled by a desire Michael didn’t completely understand but couldn’t resist, he grabbed Nakano by the ankle and, just as Kano’s head broke through the surface of the water, pulled him back down. Caught by surprise, Nakano had time only to take a quick breath, hardly enough to fill up his lungs, but he wasn’t concerned about that. He really wanted to know why he was being attacked. Motives would have to wait because Michael wasn’t showing any mercy.

  Nakano felt Michael’s grip around his ankle tighten and in the next second he was being hurled sideways with such force that when the back of his head hit the bottom of the pool, he thought he was going to black out. This wasn’t just a game; this was a fight and one that Nakano was losing.

  Michael couldn’t believe he was winning; he really had the upper hand. After all those years being bullied, being afraid and weak, he was finally the stronger one, the one with the power, the one who could push people around, and he was happy to admit that it felt good. At least for a while anyway.

  The third time Nakano kicked his leg, he was able to break free from Michael’s hold and when he did, the force of the movement made Michael stumble back a bit and lose his footing, his arms rotating furiously to create two little whirlpools on either side of him. He placed his foot on the bottom of the pool to regain control and was about to push off to hurl his body into Nakano’s, but what he saw made him stop. Nakano had decided to change the rules and not fight like two teenagers. He wanted to fight like what they were, two vampires who didn’t particularly like each other.

  Fangs hanging over his lips, eyes black as hate, Nakano lunged forward, and before Michael could swim out of the way, he felt two powerful hands around his neck. Immediately he was hurtled back in time, back to that other place that had caused him so much pain, back to being the victim, and he felt his body and spirit grow weak. He saw foul things in Nakano’s eyes, things he didn’t ever want to see again, things he didn’t think a person would willingly latch on to, and he knew a bit too late that even though he had more power than he ever had in his life, there were still people, things, more powerful than he.

  Somewhere in the distance he heard screaming voices, chanting, gruff and persistent. He wanted to hold on to those voices, use them to pull him up and out and away from this fiend who was attempting to kill him, attempting to finish what he had foolishly started, before it was too late. He felt Nakano’s thumbs press harder onto his throat, push into his larynx, and he felt pain. He was a vampire. He wasn’t supposed to feel physical pain, he wasn’t supposed to be able to die—or could he? He had no idea; he wasn’t sure of anything anymore except that he had to fight back and he had to fight back now.

  He managed to wedge some fingers in between his throat and Kano’s thumbs and instantly the pain was relieved; it wasn’t gone, but it gave Michael a chance to regroup and regain his strength. Pushing upward, Michael was able to lift himself so both he and Kano were now vertical instead of horizontal. He looked right into the eyes of his opponent, the black lifeless eyes, and he saw his image. It was clear and strong and it wasn’t alone. Ronan was right beside him.

  Underwater, Michael turned his head to the left and then the right, but Ronan was nowhere to be found, except he was everywhere. “Use me, Michael,” he heard Ronan tell him. “My power is within you.” He then realized the image wasn’t literal, Ronan wasn’t physically present but a part of him, emotionally and spiritually. It was all the strength he needed. Using the force that Nakano was exerting to work against him, Michael released his grip just slightly so Kano, caught off guard, perched forward, giving Michael the mere second he needed to swing both his legs up and push them into Kano’s stomach. Michael didn’t wait to see where Nakano landed, he sprang up out of the water and let the air race back into his body. It was over. His first fight was over and he had won. Yes, he had some help, but he still won and that’s all that mattered. Nakano, however, was not ready to concede defeat.

  Climbing the ladder, Michael was about to step onto the gym floor when he felt a hand grab at his bathing suit and toss him back into the pool. He was so startled that he didn’t hear Blakeley’s whistle blow or the splash he made when he jumped into the pool to prevent Nakano from coming after Michael. It was due either to exhaustion or to fear of retaliation that Kano didn’t fight back against Blakeley. He still wanted to teach Michael a lesson, but he knew if he let himself go and used his full strength against his teacher, he would suffer the consequences at the hands of Brania and the others. He was furious, but he was trying not to be stupid.

  “I turn my back for one second and this is what happens!” Blakeley shouted. “You act like a bloody animal!”

  Just as Michael emerged from the water, he saw Nakano pointing a finger at him. “He started it!”

  The American? Blakeley found that hard to believe, it wasn’t like him; he was, oh, what was the right word? Bookish, refined, whatever the word, he wasn’t a bully and he didn’t pick fights. Nakano on the other hand did. “Apologize.”

  Nakano was dumbfounded. “What?!”

  It was Blakeley’s turn to point a finger. “You know the rules in my pool! You start a r
ow, you apologize.”

  “I told you I didn’t start it!”

  “Tell it to somebody who bloody well cares! Apologize right now or you’re off the team!”

  Glaring at Michael, Nakano wasn’t able to conceal his hatred. It could be felt and Michael knew there was no way Nakano was going to apologize, so he had to make a choice: He could let Blakeley continue to think Nakano was the initiator or he could admit the truth. It was an easier decision than he thought. “I started the fight.”

  Oh, how Blakeley hated to be contradicted. “What?!”

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said. “It was me, I started it.” Michael couldn’t see Ronan, but he knew he was proud. “Nakano, I . . . I’m sorry.”

  That isn’t good enough, Nakano thought. “What about you?” he asked Coach Blakeley.

  The gym teacher wasn’t sure he heard Nakano correctly, so he thought he’d give him a chance to rephrase his question. “Would you mind repeatin’ that?”

  I don’t need this anymore, Nakano thought. It’s like I always suspected; they’re all jealous and I am way too good and way too mature for this. “You know something? I quit! I’m done playing with the boys!”

  First everyone was speechless and then Fritz broke the silence the only way he knew how, with his trademark laugh. Nakano had barely fled for the locker room before, one by one, the rest of the students joined in and the gym was filled with laughter instead of shouting. Blakeley made a feeble attempt to quiet everyone down, but even he knew it was pointless, the students needed this release after such a tense situation, so being more practical than professional, he joined in. And when the laughter finally subsided, he announced the new revised team rosters. “Ciaran!” Blakeley shouted. “You’re taking Nakano’s place on Team A.” Ciaran tried to act indifferent but wasn’t entirely successful, gladly accepting the whoops of congratulations from his friends, and when Ronan grabbed him by the shoulder, he didn’t pull away.

  “Welcome to the big time, brother,” Ronan said.

  “Thank you,” Ciaran said. “Or I guess I should really thank Michael.”

  Michael wasn’t at all sure that he deserved thanks. In fact, at the moment he wasn’t sure what he deserved. Blakeley was sure of one thing, though; he needed another swimmer. He studied his clipboard and then cried out, “Bhattacharjee!”

  A slight Indian boy with a thick mop of black hair and reddish skin the color of sun-faded brick stepped forward from the crowd. “Yes, coach?”

  “Amir Bhattacharjee, you’re the newest member of Team B,” he announced. “This is your chance to make something of yourself. Don’t screw it up!”

  The cheering continued, and since he and Ronan were of different species, Amir thought it was safe to whisper to himself, but he was wrong. Ronan heard his words as clearly as if they were shouted. “Don’t worry, Nakano, I’ll make our people proud.” Ronan didn’t make the same mistake and silently remarked to himself, Oh, well, one vamp out, another vamp in.

  “I don’t know what happened to me.” Showered and dressed, Michael needed to get away from the continued chatter and was staring out the ice-covered windows that encased the far wall of the gym, gazing at what could be seen of The Forest. When he thought about how dumb he acted, how reckless, he was embarrassed and confused and could hardly look at Ronan.

  “You got a little carried away, it happens,” Ronan said, knowing full well the temptation to want to use one’s power, show it off, especially when it’s new. “But you have to be careful.”

  Michael understood, he got it. He just didn’t want to hear it at the moment, so he cut Ronan off. “I know.”

  Ronan allowed the silence to continue for a while; he knew Michael was upset with himself and he wanted to choose his words carefully. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

  Just as Michael turned, he finally realized what the windows reminded him of. They were covered with large patches of ice that made them look as if they were being encased, protected, until the time was right for them to rejoin the world. Just like a cocoon that was about to burst open and unleash a new life. Michael knew exactly what that felt like.

  chapter 2

  From inside, it appeared as if the sun was winning. Despite the frigid temperature and the dark gray clouds that hovered over the grounds of Double A, one ray of light after another pierced the locker room windows to create a long row of sunshine. Dr. Lochlan MacCleery, sitting on one of the narrow wooden benches, his back facing the light, felt the warmth penetrate his tweed jacket and spread out across his hunched shoulders, down his back, up toward the nape of his neck. But despite the sunlight’s heat, he still felt the chill. It wasn’t the outside cold that made him shiver, it was Alistair’s note.

  Evil walks among the angels. The children must be protected. It must have been the fiftieth time he read it and he still couldn’t imagine what the words meant. He had known the former headmaster for many years, the entire time he worked at Archangel Academy, and not once had he spoken so cryptically, so fantastically. No, Alistair was a logical man. Like me, he thought, someone whose mind had a firm grasp on reality. But could it be possible that Alistair discovered that their reality had changed, shifted in some horrific way?

  “How can I protect the children if I don’t know what I’m protecting them from?” Lochlan muttered to himself. He had started that habit about a month ago when it became clear that Alistair wasn’t returning to his post, that he had decided to seek out a new life or was being held captive somewhere against his will or something equally preposterous, and he would have to ponder this mystery alone. Many times he wanted to reach out to someone for help, share this unwanted information in the hopes that perhaps a more fanciful mind might be able to uncover its meaning. But who could he possibly turn to?

  He was tempted to confide in one of his colleagues even though he usually kept personal matters private, but he couldn’t think of anyone he could fully trust. And he knew it would serve no good to turn the note over to the police, they would simply file it away as proof that Alistair was delusional, at best formally deem the abandonment of his post as the action of an academic in the throes of a midlife crisis, either way forever ruin his reputation. Lochlan knew that’s what most people already believed, a dozen rumors were circulating among the students and the faculty, but gossip isn’t as concrete as evidence, and for some reason the doctor felt that he needed to protect his friend’s reputation. Because the more he dwelt on it, the more he was convinced Alistair would not willingly desert his students. “But what the hell happened to you?”

  “Practicing your speech, MacCleery?”

  The voice startled Lochlan so much that he sprang up from the bench with such force, he would have knocked it over if it wasn’t bolted into the floor. “Whoa there,” Blakeley said, raising his two hands in front of him as if Lochlan were a horse that needed taming. “If public speaking makes you this nervous, why’d you demand that you be the one to give the speech?”

  Because I need to clear my friend’s name, he thought. “Because I felt like it,” he replied, trying to look and sound disgruntled and not panicky.

  “Well, you hardly look like you fancy talking in front of a bunch of out-of-control kids,” Blakeley observed. “Go out wearing that face and those juvies will make you wish you were back in med school slicing open cadavers.” Lochlan never liked the gym teacher; he found him crass and loudmouthed. Now he disliked him for a new reason; he was also perceptive. Try as he might to put forth an earnest façade, an enthusiastic expression, he was clearly unsuccessful and couldn’t fake that he was not only terrified to speak in front of such a large group of students but highly uncomfortable speaking about things he didn’t fully understand.

  “Don’t waste your time worrying about me,” the doctor hissed. “Try to figure out how to make something out of that miserable soccer team of yours.” Now it was Blakeley’s turn to look unnerved. A good insult always made the doctor feel better, so when he walked out onto the gym floor, he felt mor
e confident than he had in days. But then he made the mistake of looking up into the bleachers and he felt the familiar chill slither down his spine. Every student of both Archangel Academy and its sister school, St. Anne’s, was seated in the stands, looking directly at him, waiting for him to speak, daring him to say something important and profound. Before he got to the microphone, he cursed Alistair under his breath. “You better have a damn good reason for putting me in this position.”

  Michael leaned over to Ronan and whispered, “I didn’t know this was going to be a health seminar.”

  Ronan smiled, thankful that Michael was in a better mood than yesterday. “It isn’t supposed to be.”

  “Then what’s MacCleery doing headlining the event?”

  “I don’t know,” Ronan replied. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him out of his office.” Ronan was just as confused as Michael and because he never trusted anything the doctor said or did, he was also suspicious.

  As Lochlan stood before the podium, adjusting the microphone so it was closer to his mouth, Michael surmised, “I guess we’re about to find out why.”

  “Hello.” Lochlan’s voice echoed loudly throughout the gymnasium, followed by a shrill screech.

  “Nice reverb, doc!” one of the rowdier students shouted, causing ripples of laughter to emerge from various spots among the crowd.

  “Sorry,” Lochlan mumbled. He glanced at the notes he had prepared, the words he had written about his friend that he wanted to share with the students so they could understand their former headmaster better, but when he looked down at the paper, he didn’t see his handwriting. All he saw was the phrase that had been playing in a loop in his brain for the past several weeks: Evil walks among the angels. The children must be protected. He couldn’t very well shout that into the microphone, so he remained quiet, which only caused the students to fill in the silence.