Unafraid

by Michael Griffo

  Sitting up, Michael noticed two leaves floating on the current. One was vibrant green with dark, almost black veins, the other much lighter in color, its veins, translucent. Visibly different, yet connected, the leaves touched and never separated as they rode on the water’s surface. Some mornings Michael woke up and wished he and Ronan were like the leaves, that during the night they had been taken elsewhere, far from Double A, far from his father, and David, and the threats that hung over them. But when his mind cleared and he could think like the formidable creature he was and not the child he had been for so long, he realized distance was not salvation. It didn’t matter where he was, the intangible ropes that connected him to his past and even to his enemies would still be tightly bound around him. What Michael needed to figure out was how to live with those ropes and not be strangled.

  Michael splashed some water onto his face, and, as cool drops ran down his cheeks, onto his chin, into his hair, his mind took control of his eyes and he saw into the past. R.J. was standing before him, as lanky and relaxed as ever, sweat dripping down the sides of his face, his cheekbones reddened and moist. R.J.’s eyes barely opened, the sun was too strong, so he had to squint, but it was enough for him to see. “Ya lookin’ all grown up, Mike,” he said, his lips sliding into a smile when he was done talking.

  Guess not everything about the past is so bad, Michael thought. Then he wondered what R.J. was really doing right now. Sadly, he figured he was probably still leaning up against the gas pump, motionless, sweating, waiting for the next customer to drive up, waiting for the next reason to move. But where was R.J. going to go? The guy had never crossed the Nebraska state line in his entire life. At least Michael had gotten out of there. Thanks to this father. Oh not again!

  Grabbing his sneakers, Michael bounded away from the stream, his feet jamming into the earth, one angry step after another. “Why can’t I get him out of my head?” Michael asked, staring at the trees, a bit surprised that they didn’t answer. His right foot landed squarely on a rock, but instead of wincing or losing his balance, he pressed down hard. When he lifted his foot to keep walking the rock was gone, burrowed into the ground. “I’ll tell you why,” Michael said, answering his own question. “Because every time I think of that car I think of him!”

  And unfortunately it was hard not to think of the Benz since it occupied his world literally and figuratively. Regardless of where he went during the day—St. Joshua’s, the pool, some new, unexplored area of campus, even Eden—he dreaded returning home. Now, walking back from The Forest he felt the same way. At least when he reached the clearing that led to St. Florian’s he saw that the SUV wasn’t waiting for him alone.

  “Nice feet,” Ronan said. “Looks like you stepped out of a page from Huck Finn.”

  Michael looked down and saw that from his ankles below he was almost completely covered in mud.

  “How was your walk, love?” Ronan asked.

  Sighing, Michael sat on the ground next to Ronan. “You know me,” he replied. “I’m just a regular country boy.” Michael leaned back and pressed his body into the rough stone of the building, allowing its cold to embrace his skin. “I see that it’s still here.”

  “Like a blighter, it just won’t leave,” Ronan said.

  Michael knew Ronan was using one of his British slang words again, and he wished he had memorized more of the book Saoirse had given him for his birthday. “Blighter?”

  Smiling, Ronan grabbed Michael’s knee and played with the frayed trim of his khaki shorts. “Pest,” Ronan translated. “The Benz is like a pest that just won’t go away.”

  “Isn’t there an exterminator we can call?” Michael asked. The cool stone and Ronan’s warm touch almost made Michael forget how annoyed he was, almost made him feel like he was just lounging with his boyfriend on a summer afternoon. Almost, but not quite. “Or a towing company?” Michael suggested. “I’m serious, Ronan, I don’t think I can go another day seeing that ... that ... thing!”

  Ronan leaned back against the stone as well. He let his hand slip to hold onto the back of Michael’s thigh and realized that the car really had been parked outside for quite a long time now. “You know, it’s against school rules to have a car parked anywhere except for the lot by the headmaster’s office,” Ronan said. “Odd that David hasn’t told you to move it yet.”

  There was nothing odd about it, at least not to Michael. His father and David were working together, in cahoots with each other, so of course David didn’t care if the presence of Vaughan’s gift broke school rules. The thing wasn’t even a gift anyway; it was bait, a bribe to try and get Michael to forget every heinous act that Vaughan had ever committed. It wasn’t going to work. “My father’s one of Them,” Michael seethed. “They protect each other.”

  Ronan wanted to remind Michael that that’s what families do, they protect each other, stand by one another, but he knew that Michael didn’t want to hear that. He also knew that if anyone else had given him that car Michael would be driving it up and down every road in the United Kingdom. All he had talked about was getting his driver’s license and how driving to him was synonymous with freedom. He hadn’t changed his mind simply because he had acquired alternative methods of transportation; it was still a dream of his to be behind the wheel of a car, and Ronan felt terrible that Michael was letting his contempt for his father stand in the way of fulfilling that dream. He had to say something that would allow Michael to see beyond his hatred. “Have to admit it’s beautiful, though,” Ronan said. “Betcha it’s got a brilliant ride.”

  In one quick, brusque movement, Michael stood up. Clearly, Ronan’s words had pushed him into action. Michael thrust his hand into the side pocket of his shorts and pulled out the car keys that he had been carrying with him ever since his birthday. He stared at them with such disdain it was as if he believed they would burn his flesh. Michael flicked his wrist, and the keys flew out of his hand and were caught by Ronan’s. “Then take it for a test drive,” Michael said. “I don’t want it.”

  It was not exactly the action Ronan had been hoping for.

  An hour later, sitting across from Ciaran in his lab, Ronan received yet another unwanted response.

  “No, Ro,” Ciaran said, his right eye firmly pressed into the lens of a microscope, “I haven’t heard from Mum lately.”

  Knowing Michael needed to be alone for a few hours to sort through his feelings, Ronan had wandered around campus until he decided to go to St. Albert’s lab where he knew he’d find his brother. Ciaran hadn’t changed that much. Just because it was a beautiful summer day didn’t mean he wouldn’t be hunched over his microscope conducting some complicated experiment. An experiment that he seemed to be more interested in than their mother.

  “Don’t you find that a bit odd?” Ronan asked. “She used to always pop in from out of nowhere.”

  The oldest, Ciaran thought, but definitely not the wisest. “Into your life maybe,” Ciaran stated. “But I’ve kind of grown accustomed to living mine without the constant appearance of our mother.”

  Embarrassed, Ronan gazed at the red and white blob that was squashed in between the two small, glass plates clipped onto the microscope’s stage as if he knew what he was looking at, as if it held any interest. Although Edwige frequently visited Ronan and took an active part in his life, the same could not be said about how she treated Ciaran. Ronan had thought things would have gotten better after the family party he made her throw a few months ago, after she saw how all her children and even Michael needed her, but he was wrong. If anything, the party had the opposite effect, and lately, she was not only keeping her distance from Ronan’s siblings, but from him as well.

  “I will admit to one thing, brother,” Ciaran said, tapping his notebook with the eraser end of his pencil. “It’s not like her not to meddle in your affairs.”

  Ronan couldn’t agree more, and he also couldn’t push from his mind the disturbing thought that something terrible had happened to her, that wherever she was she n
eeded her children’s help. Then again Edwige didn’t act like a typical mother so maybe she had just decided to spend a few months traveling and forgot to tell anyone where she was headed. “Do you think she went on holiday?” he asked.

  “Possibly,” Ciaran said. From the tone of his voice, Ronan knew his brother was not convinced that their mother was frolicking on a beach in the south of France or shopping in an exclusive boutique in New York; he knew instinctively just like Ronan did that she was missing. The problem was that neither boy knew how to find her. “Guess we’ll just have to wait until she gets bored wherever she is and decides to come home,” Ciaran advised.

  The idea of not being proactive, of just letting the events unfold around him, went against Ronan’s instinct, but reluctantly he had to agree. Edwige was far more powerful and cunning than anyone Ronan knew, so if she didn’t want to be found, if she wanted to take a leave of absence from their lives for a while, there was nothing he could do to change that. “Guess you’re right,” Ronan said.

  Even though he accepted fate, it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and fight it. There had to be something he could do to connect with his mother. She was often able to read his mind; it made total sense that he should be able to read hers. Maybe if he followed in his brother’s footsteps and conducted more experiments to strengthen his telepathic ability he would be able to destroy whatever intangible barrier Edwige had put up to separate herself from her children. Yes, that’s exactly what Ronan had to do, because the possibility still remained that Edwige had been taken by force, against her will, and the barrier that divided them could have been put up by someone else. Now that he had decided to take action, Ronan felt much better. Until Ciaran spoke.

  “I haven’t seen much of Saoirse lately either,” he remarked. “Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ronan asked. “Saoirse’s missing?!”

  Startled by his brother’s concern, Ciaran almost dropped the new specimen he was about to clip into place. “No, she isn’t missing. I saw her this morning,” he replied. “But it was the first time I have since Michael’s birthday.”

  Relieved, Ronan forced himself to laugh so Ciaran wouldn’t think he was paranoid. “Oh good, ’cause you never know with that one.”

  It looked like the tactic had worked, and Ciaran resumed his study. Once again his face was practically devoured by the microscope’s eyepiece as he inspected whatever germ or bacteria cell was on the glass lens. As inquisitive as Ronan could be, he couldn’t imagine anything that tiny igniting that much curiosity. He admired his brother for his interest and acumen in science, but didn’t understand it. “What are you looking at?” Ronan asked.

  What wasn’t admirable was Ciaran’s lack of communication skills. “Nothing.”

  “Well, nothing seems to have you over the moon,” Ronan said. “You can’t take your eyes off that thing.”

  It was true. Despite the close proximity of his brother, despite the fact that they were having a conversation, Ciaran’s eyes hardly ever strayed from his experiment. Even when he jotted something down in his notebook he kept his eyes looking into the thin, metal tube.

  “Just boring science stuff,” Ciaran mumbled.

  It might be based in science, but it definitely wasn’t boring. Ronan realized that whatever Ciaran was examining through that contraption and whatever he was writing down in his notebook were infinitely more exciting and appealing to him than any talk of his family. “ ’Fess up,” Ronan demanded. “What scientific breakthrough have you discovered this week?”

  Without waiting for a response, Ronan spun Ciaran’s notebook around so he could read it. But even with his vampire vision he couldn’t make out Ciaran’s handwriting—if that’s even what the scribbling could be called. The opened pages were filled with a jumble of enigmatic symbols, numeric formulas, clusters of letters that didn’t form words, but rather some sort of shorthand. The result was a notebook filled with spy-level code, indecipherable to anyone other than the person who created it. Ciaran, however, wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Leave that alone!” he barked, slamming the notebook shut.

  Ronan wasn’t entirely surprised by his brother’s actions. He might have willingly given Michael his notebooks from classes that were part of the Double A curriculum, but when it came to his private research, he was downright territorial. Even still, Ronan felt his reaction was a bit extreme. “You don’t have to get all brassed off about it!” Ronan yelled.

  Stuffing the notebook into the drawer underneath the countertop, Ciaran apologized. “Sorry, you know how I get about my little projects.”

  The way you’re reacting, it seems like this is a lot more important than one of your little projects, Ronan thought. He kept his suspicions to himself, however, knowing full well that if he accused Ciaran of doing anything more than conducting innocent experiments, his brother would respond with silence and a blank stare. “As long as you don’t blow us up to smithereens,” Ronan said, once again trying to make a joke despite his uneasy feeling.

  “Impossible,” Ciaran responded, completely missing the bait. “This is biology, not chemistry.”

  Shaking his head, Ronan realized he had overstayed his welcome and it was time to go. “And on that note, dear brother, I bid you adieu.”

  After Ronan left the room, Ciaran took out his notebook and started writing in it furiously. Line after line of symbols and formulas that ended in one word—Atlantium. Ciaran smiled triumphantly, but when he saw who was standing in front of him his smile disappeared.

  “David!” Ciaran cried. “What are you doing here?”

  “Is that any way to greet your headmaster?” David asked, in a voice more smooth than severe. “And your friend?”

  Ciaran took a deep breath, knowing that he had to choose his words wisely. “I’m sorry, it’s just that, um, you startled me,” Ciaran replied. “I was reviewing my work.”

  David’s mouth smiled and he forced his piercing blue eyes to join in. “Then what an opportune time for a visit.”

  Straddling the lab stool, David sat across from Ciaran. He folded his hands, and Ciaran couldn’t help noticing how strong they were, how thick and blunt his fingers looked, as if they could punch their way through concrete without tearing the skin, strangle a wild horse without effort. Bravely, Ciaran met David’s gaze and thought his features had changed a bit since the last time he had seen him. His brow seemed wider, his jaw, still square, still decorated in a thin layer of red bristle, seemed stronger somehow, more powerful than before.

  His entire look was softened, however, by his suit. Seersucker, white with delicate blue stripes, slightly crinkled. Underneath he wore a white cotton shirt, the top button undone, but adorned with a tie crocheted from silk yarn a shade of pink that reminded Ciaran of peppermint cream. The color should have clashed with David’s red hair, but instead it complemented it beautifully. His overall appearance had been calculated to appear more casual than intimidating, and it was having its desired effect on Ciaran. Even when David spoke.

  “I’m delighted to see that you haven’t forgotten about our agreement,” David said.

  “Of course not,” Ciaran replied. How could he forget? It’s all he ever thought about, it’s why he spent so much time in his lab. He had promised David that he would work with him to try to unlock the key to the water vamp’s DNA, and in exhange he would be rewarded with prestige, honor, admiration, all the things he never received from his own family. But Ciaran hadn’t expected it to be so difficult to hold up his end of the bargain. For months he had been conducting experiments on Michael’s blood from samples David had given him. Ciaran never questioned how the specimens were obtained; he was merely a scientist conducting research. He didn’t know that the embroidered handkerchief dotted with drops of Michael’s blood was Nurse Radcliff’s and had been soiled during a vicious attack. He also had no idea that the bloodstained T-shirt had once belonged to Amir Bhattarcharjee and had been
used to clean up Michael’s blood from the gym floor after Michael had a minor accident during swim practice. But even with Nurse Radcliff and Amir, now both destroyed, acting as unwitting assistants in Ciaran’s experiments, he was still very far from a breakthrough. Ciaran had been certain that within those cells, the cells that had only recently been transformed from human into water vampire, he would find the key to their unnatural makeup and quite possibly a kind of physiological roadmap that would lead him to The Well. That had not been the case, not yet. “I think I may have found something that could be interesting,” Ciaran confessed.

  “Smashing!” David cried, tapping Ciaran’s hand with his fingers. “Tell me, what did you find?”

  “I’ve isolated a gene in Michael’s blood that I’ve never found in Ronan’s. It isn’t human or one that’s found in traditional vampire blood,” Ciaran reported. “But I need to conduct further tests to find out exactly what it means.”

  The news wasn’t entirely satisfying to David, but it was progress. And David had learned from years of manipulating the lower classes that progress deserved praise. “That’s amazing,” David declared. “Professor Chow was right, you really are brilliant when it comes to this scientific ... stuff.”

  Ciaran felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Professor Chow and David were talking about him? Relaxing, he loosened his grip on his notebook, but kept his arm draped over the page. He was excited, but he still understood the need to keep his notes concealed from David’s prying eyes. However, he hadn’t yet learned to keep his thoughts from David’s prying mind. “So what’s this Atlantium?”

  Shocked, Ciaran involuntarily glanced at his notebook. The word he had written down was being blocked by his arm, there was no way David could see it, unless he had some crazy X-ray vision. Maybe he did; Ciaran had no idea the extent of their powers. The only other alternative was that David was reading his mind. If that was true, David must have also discovered that Ciaran didn’t think anyone other than a water vampire would ever be able to locate The Well.