Unafraid

by Michael Griffo

  He started the engine, and as the sound of the Benz’s delightful purr filled his ears, Michael decided that if David approached them, he would simply say they were driving into Eden since it was Friday, which was technically considered part of the weekend. A bit of a stretch—well, an out-and-out lie—but Michael thought it would suffice as an explanation. Turned out his preparation was unnecessary, and no one stopped them as they drove toward the front gate. But just as they were about to cross the metal entrance gate and exit the Archangel campus, they faced another obstacle. “Stop!” Ronan cried out.

  As Michael slammed on the brakes, the boys lurched forward and then were flung back into their seats. “What the hell’s wrong?!” Michael asked, not at all happy at the interruption.

  “The electronic fence!” Ronan shouted back. “Just because it’s summer doesn’t mean it’s been shut down.”

  Seriously? That’s why you made me stop? “That can’t hurt us,” Michael said.

  “No, not us, but the car might not survive the shock.”

  “Oh yeah,” Michael said dejectedly. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Disappointed, Michael didn’t want to give in, but it looked like he had no choice. “Guess we’ll have to travel the old-fashioned way,” Michael said. “On foot.”

  Just as he was about to put the car in reverse and return to the parking lot, Ronan ordered him to stop once again. “I have an idea.” He jumped out of the car, shut the door, and ran to the metal gate. Silently, Ronan explained his idea to his boyfriend. “I’ll absorb the shock of the electronic current as you drive through the fence.”

  Michael’s face lit up. “That’s brilliant!”

  “I know,” Ronan said, smiling. “You think up funny little phrases, and I think up smashingly brilliant ideas.”

  If Ronan had been sitting next to him, Michael would have kissed him. “That’s why we’re the perfect team,” Michael replied. “Ready?”

  Standing to the side of the entrance gate, Ronan grabbed onto the metal pole. “Go for it!”

  Michael took his foot off of the brake pedal and placed it on the gas, all the way down until the car zoomed under and past the front gate, untouched by the electronic current. He turned back and saw Ronan, equally unharmed, pumping his fist underneath the twisted metal lettering that spelled out Archangel Academy. They did it; they found a way around yet another hurdle. They were so excited they were acting as if they were going for a joyride instead of in search of a missing person.

  Jumping into the front seat, Ronan was beaming. “Take me to London, James.”

  Michael kept his eyes looking forward as he drove onto the cobblestone road and away from school. “You do know that my name is Michael, right?”

  Staring out the window as the countryside rolled alongside him, Ronan stifled a laugh. “Just drive.”

  Finding a parking spot in front of Edwige’s flat proved to be as effortless as the long drive itself. It was partly due to Michael’s enhanced reflexes and vision and partly due to his growing confidence, he mastered the British highway system and maneuvered the car through city traffic like an expert. If Ronan hadn’t been so anxious he would have told Michael how impressed he was, but after the thrill of their getaway had passed all he could think about was what he was going to say to his mother, how he was going to tell her off for ignoring him all this time. He was going to give her an earful the second after she opened her door.

  After the third knock it was apparent he wasn’t going to get the chance. “She isn’t home,” Ronan observed.

  Instinctively, Michael took hold of the doorknob and twisted. The door was open. “Are you sure of that, Ro?”

  Anxiety, curiosity, fear, all wriggled around inside Ronan’s head and in the pit of his stomach. If her door was open she had to be home and if she was home why didn’t she answer him? Was she that determined to stay out of his life? Was she that angry with him for some unknown reason that she wouldn’t even respond to his call? Or was it simply that she wasn’t home?

  They entered the living room, and it was like entering a morgue. The whole apartment in fact was still, quiet, and, after a quick look into every room, Edwige-free. “What the hell is going on?” Ronan asked, fear rising to the surface amongst all the emotions he was experiencing.

  “I ... I ...” Michael stuttered, searching for the right thing to say. Then he realized nothing he said was going to sound right. “I don’t know, Ro. It doesn’t make any sense that she’s ignoring you, it doesn’t make any sense that her door’s open, but she isn’t here.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense that her painting’s gone.”

  Ronan’s comment made Michael look up at the living room wall, and he noticed that it, like the apartment itself, was missing something. “You’re right!” Michael exclaimed. “The painting’s gone!”

  The painting that depicted two men in the Atlantic Ocean, their bodies suspended side by side, their skin touching, forever connected, was indeed missing. It was one of Edwige’s most prized possessions and one that she would never part with; it reminded her of Ronan and Michael, of her own heritage, of her species’ future. “Do you think she was robbed?” Michael asked. “Somebody could probably get a lot of money for that thing.”

  It was a valid theory, but it was wrong. There hadn’t been a robbery; no one had broken into the apartment to steal that one item. Edwige had taken it with her when she left. Ronan was sure of it. “She’s gone.”

  Michael heard the certainty in Ronan’s voice, but he didn’t understand it. “What do you mean?”

  “Look.”

  When Michael turned around he saw what Ronan was pointing at. The only thing on the surface of the wooden table that stood next to the window was dust. Gone was the mahogany box that housed Saxon’s ashes and gone too—for the moment anyway—was any hope of finding Edwige. “Wherever she went she has no intention of returning,” Ronan said. “That’s why she took those two things with her.”

  Standing next to Ronan, Michael placed his hand in the small of his back so he would know that even though his mother had apparently left him, that she had apparently decided to take a leave of absence from his life, he wasn’t going anywhere. Michael also hoped Ronan knew that he would remain by his side and scour the earth until they found her if that’s what he wished to do.

  “Nooooo!!!” Imogene screamed in the middle of her song as if another set of fangs had been plunged into her neck, as if once again the life was being torn from her spirit. “Leave me alone!!”

  Climbing into the coffin, Brania took hold of Imogene and cradled her in her arms to try and comfort her, try to calm her down. “Imogene, what’s wrong?” Brania cried.

  Cold sweat poured down the sides of Imogene’s face, plastering her jet-black bangs against her forehead. Her body convulsed, turning her skin an even paler shade of white. “It’s Edwige,” Imogene said, choking on the words. “She’s here.”

  As she whipped her head around, Brania’s fangs descended over her lips as quick as the flick of a switchblade. Her eyes darted wildly, left, right, left, but she didn’t see anyone else with them in their cave. Since they were safe for the moment, her fangs retracted, and she turned back to her ward. “No, it’s just the two of us.”

  Imogene’s body shook more violently as if reacting to the lie. “She’s right in front of me! Can’t you see her!”

  Brania held onto Imogene tighter. Whatever the girl was seeing, whatever the girl was going through, she prayed it would pass, because even with all her incredible strength she had no idea how to make it stop. All she could think to do was try and find a way to console her. “Please, Imogene, look at me, look at Mother and everything will be all right.”

  Imogene turned her head to face Brania and abruptly her body became motionless. Her expression did change, but not in the way Brania had hoped. Her fear turned to contempt, and words poured out of Imogene’s mouth like daggers into Brania’s heart. “You should suffer for what you did to me! You should burn in h
ell like the witch that you are!”

  What? No, no! Imogene would never speak to me like that, Brania reasoned. She trusts me, she loves me. “Imogene, don’t say that,” Brania cried out desperately. “You can’t mean it.”

  And Brania was right.

  “You’re getting everything you deserve, Edwige!” Imogene ranted. “And this is only the beginning of your suffering!”

  She wasn’t talking to Brania. Somehow, in some unexplainable way Imogene was communicating with Edwige. Watching her adopted daughter’s face coil into a mask of pain, Brania couldn’t help but feel relieved. Not only was she not the source of Imogene’s anguish, but she had discovered that Imogene and Edwige were linked.

  Even as she held Imogene and whispered in her ear that there was nothing to be afraid of, Brania began formulating a plan, a plan that would exploit this newfound connection and restore her birthright. She was overcome with a sensation of peace, because in no time at all she would be back where she truly believed she belonged, sitting on the right side of her father.

  chapter 6

  “Welcome back home.”

  Standing at the podium, David knew that every person in St. Sebastian’s—student and teacher—was looking at him, listening to his voice, and he reveled in the attention. He only wished he could reveal his true self to them. How they would gasp when they saw his magnificent black wings and saw that he possessed powers beyond comprehension. But there would be time for that. Now, he had to welcome the students and faculty members back to Archangel Academy for yet another school year. This year, however, would be more special than ever.

  “And welcome to our Tri-Centennial Celebration.” David waited for the applause to subside before continuing. “This year we will commemorate three hundred years of academic excellence here at Double A.” He paused again, knowing that the students would cheer at his use of the school’s nickname. He personally disliked colloquialisms, but it made the students feel more comfortable in his presence, as if he were one of them. He laughed to himself and couldn’t believe how incredibly easy it was to deceive people, even those who knew he was a vampire, with only a few choice words. What fools they all were.

  When it was once again quiet, David explained that even though Archangel Cathedral and some of the main buildings were built in the fifteenth century, Double A had begun life as a monastery, a religious enclave where monks and those seeking sanctuary could worship without fear of persecution. Conveniently, David didn’t mention that not every monk had spent his days praying to God, but rather to what he considered to be a superior deity. That wasn’t a truth that needed to be disclosed just yet, but when the time was right, he would savor the opportunity to introduce them all to Zachariel’s power. Until then he would stick to the more mundane facts. “It wasn’t until three centuries later that the school itself was created,” David said, his voice soft yet commanding. “But since that time Archangel Academy has been one of the most prestigious educational institutions in the world, a school that I consider myself lucky to have attended and a school that I am proud to call my home.”

  Ronan heard the cheering all around him, but he couldn’t join in. Yes, he also loved Double A; yes, he also considered it home; but no, he couldn’t uphold David’s testimonial with applause. He knew David was lying and that to David the school was nothing more than a hideout. David didn’t value education; he didn’t care about the school’s reputation or the students’ prosperity. It was simply that Double A and the land that it was built upon, land that extended all the way into Eden, had been christened long ago as hallowed ground where his kind could walk in the sun as if they were worthy of its glory. Anger reddened Ronan’s alabaster cheeks, because he knew David wasn’t worthy of such a gift. The only light that should warm his skin should be created by the fires of hell.

  “So much for maintaining the peace, Ro,” Michael commented silently, obviously tapping into Ronan’s far-from-peaceful thoughts.

  Caught, Ronan smiled and tilted his head. “Guess I should practice what I preach.”

  “Nah, it’s more fun to throw your words right back at ya.”

  Ronan was delighted. Not only was Michael willing to hold a mirror up to him to expose his flaws, but he would tease him about them as well. “That’s my boy!” Ronan said silently.

  His laughter, however, was drowned out by David’s booming voice. “And how do you honor three hundred years of being the best school in the world?” David asked rhetorically. “Prepare yourselves for a celebration that none of you will ever forget!”

  The over-the-top pronouncement was met with a variety of responses. Michael and Ronan instantly felt uneasy, knowing that any festivity would most likely be camouflage to cover up another attempt by David to find The Well; Ciaran was hopeful that he would be able to uncover the true meaning of Atlantium before then so he and David could celebrate his breakthrough along with the school’s anniversary; Fritz was scared that he would wind up attending his third school function in a row without a real girlfriend; and Nakano was surprised to find himself excited not only for the upcoming gala, but for the new school year.

  On the other side of the bleachers, Saoirse sat next to a girl with flaming red hair and prayed the party would be a formal affair so she and her new best friend could go shopping for a special outfit. It was clear that everyone had a different priority. At the moment, David’s was to steer the assembly away from talk of school festivities and to the introduction of the latest addition to Double A’s staff.

  “Now please help me welcome Dr. Oliver Sutton.”

  A slight shuffling noise followed David’s statement, which turned out to be the sound of shoes scuffing against the lacquered wood of the gym floor. From the locker room emerged a small man who possessed none of David’s majesty nor his predecessor’s disheveled appearance. The man who would replace Lochlan MacCleery as the school’s doctor was impeccably dressed, but the accent was on neatness and not style.

  His dull gray suit fit his slight frame perfectly, but had been bought at a discount. His tie, the same color, but faded with age, held no pattern, and his black loafers were made of industrial strength plastic. His physical appearance was just as unfortunate. His eyes were small, set too close together, and the pupils and irises melded as one to create the same shade of black. The end of his nose hooked slightly and presided over thin lips set against a backdrop of ashen, pockmarked skin. Topping everything off was a scalp that was largely bald except for some wiry strands of black-gray hair combed over from left to right that didn’t completely conceal a cluster of brown age spots on the crown of his head. If he hadn’t been standing in front of the podium, he would have still commanded attention. But only for being unattractive. When he spoke, however, his voice did not arouse much interest.

  “Hello,” Oliver said.

  Although amplified, he hardly made an impact. His sound wasn’t enthralling like David’s or as gruff as Lochlan’s had been. It was nondescript.

  “Thank you for letting me join your family,” he continued meekly. It was an unnecessary statement since no one present—other than David presumably—had been asked to vote on or consider Oliver to fulfill the vacant position of school doctor. And when he took to the makeshift stage there had been no applause. Thanks did not have to be given. “It is a true honor to follow in Dr. MacCleery’s footsteps as your new school physician.”

  Ronan wanted to stand up and shout that there was no way that he could replace Lochlan; there was no way that this meek imposter could be as courageous and honorable as MacCleery had turned out to be. For most of the time that they had known each other, Ronan and Lochlan hadn’t trusted each other. They thought they were enemies; they had been wrong. The doctor had taken an oath to protect mankind from all kinds of evil, and even when he discovered that he was surrounded by some who didn’t fit that description, who existed outside the boundaries of what would be considered human, he still fought to keep them all safe. He was murdered for his bravery. Staring at
Dr. Sutton, Ronan knew intuitively that he was an unfit replacement.

  “I will do my utmost to uphold good Dr. MacCleery’s memory,” Oliver droned. “And make him proud.”

  Positioned behind the newest staff member, Coach Blakeley sat amid the other school personnel. He, like Ronan, didn’t approve of the new doctor. His relationship with Lochlan had been outwardly antagonistic, but he had admired him greatly. Leaning to the left he whispered into Sister Mary Elizabeth’s ear, “I know it isn’t very Christian of me, but I don’t like the bloke.” Although she remained silent, it was clear by her expression that she shared Blakeley’s point of view. It was an endorsement that Professor Joubert, sitting on her opposite side, couldn’t help but notice.

  Bored, Michael felt his mind drift. Physically, he remained sitting in the bleachers; mentally he had journeyed somewhere far away, to a place where it was raining. One drop, two drops, three drops, four. One raindrop after another fell from the sky and plopped onto the ground, its sound echoing like a distant boom, loud, dissonant, but far enough away that it didn’t present any immediate danger. Involuntarily, Michael turned his head and looked around as if he would be able to find the cause of the phantom sound in the gym. He did.

  Dr. Sutton was still standing at the podium, but that was one of the only things that had remained the same. Every person in the gym besides Michael and Oliver was frozen, immobile, the victim of some time-stopping trick, and while Michael looked the same as he did moments before, Oliver had undergone a transformation, one that Michael was all too familiar with, but still found grotesque nonetheless.

  It looked as if the doctor’s body had shrunk and gotten thicker. His shoulders, no longer bony, curved forward, hunkered down by newly acquired muscle. His neck was like the trunk of a small tree, and the increased bulk threatened to pop open the top button of his shirt. The rest of his body strained at his suit’s threadbare material, and Michael couldn’t believe it wasn’t ripping at the seams. Most horrific, however, was his skin.