“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.
“What’s up, doc?” Fritz cried out, causing Phaedra, who was sitting between him and Michael, to slap him on his knee. Fritz enjoyed hearing his schoolmates laugh at his outburst, but he was happier that Phaedra was getting more comfortable with him. Her touch felt deliberate and pronounced, not so light and airy as before.
“One of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble,” she whispered.
“Too late for that!” he replied, not quite as softly.
Lochlan cleared his throat into the microphone to try and get the students to quiet down, but it only resulted in their imitating the doctor by coughing into their fists. Not used to such open defiance and blatant disrespect, Lochlan froze, he forgot about the note, he forgot about Alistair, and all he could think about was Blakeley’s comment. Yes, right at this very moment, he would have preferred to be performing an autopsy on a badly decomposed corpse, preferably one of the students, than trying to form coherent sentences in front of a hostile group of teenagers. To hell with protecting the children, Alistair. I’m the one who needs protection! Which is just what he got and from a very unlikely source.
“All right! Put a bung in it!” Blakeley shouted into the microphone. “Or you’ll all be back here this afternoon to run laps for detention!” Standing to the side of the bleachers, Sister Mary Elizabeth, headmistress of St. Anne’s, backed up Blakeley’s rebuke in the best way she knew how, with silent prayer. The combination worked and after a few moments the coughing stopped. Blakeley cupped his hand over the microphone and told Lochlan, “Now would you mind getting on with it? You’re making my soccer team look like bloody national champs.”
This time Lochlan didn’t look up. He didn’t risk it; he looked down at his notes, pushed all thoughts of angels and evil out of his mind, and read the words he had scribbled down last night. “Alistair Hawksbry was a good man,” he began. “As headmaster he was fair and supportive and he worked tirelessly to make this school one of the best in the country.” Feeling a bit braver, Lochlan looked out into the faces of the students but was again annoyed to see that many of them were talking to each other, laughing. A few were even taking catnaps. Why, you ungrateful good-for-nothings! Don’t you know how hard he worked for you? he wanted to shout, how desperately he wanted to enhance each one of your lives? “He lived and breathed this school and he lived and breathed for every one of you!”
This time when Lochlan’s voice bounced off the gym walls, the students didn’t mock him; they were too stunned by his tone. Michael turned to see if Ronan was as shocked by the doctor’s outburst as he was and he could tell by the way his jaw was clenched, how the little wrinkles had formed between his thick eyebrows, that he too was surprised. But Ronan wasn’t surprised because of what Lochlan said or how he spoke, no, he understood the doctor completely, and that’s what disturbed him. This was all the confirmation he needed, Ronan was certain, the headmaster was dead and the reason the doctor was leading the assembly was because that is what he suspected as well. “And just because he can no longer be with us doesn’t mean he cares for you any less,” he continued. “For as long as this school stands, Alistair Hawksbry will be a memorable part of it!”
The thunderous applause he imagined would follow never came. True, a few kids clapped, but weakly and without enthusiasm, and one kid did shout, “Hawksbry, we hardly knew ya,” but for the most part the gym was silent. Fine, Lochlan thought, if you don’t care about your headmaster, then protect yourselves.
Angrily he gathered his notes, shuffled them into a crumbled pile, and started to leave the podium but abruptly stopped when he heard Blakeley cough loudly into his fist. At first, he thought the gym teacher was mocking his previous attempt to quiet the crowd, but then he realized he was once again trying to help him, remind him of the reason they were having the assembly in the first place, the reason he was at the podium, to introduce Hawksbry’s replacement. Grabbing the side of the lectern tightly, Lochlan barked into the microphone, “Here’s your new headmaster, David Zachary.”
Once again, there was no wild applause after Lochlan spoke, but something did happen. The sun that had been so strong all morning, illuminating St. Sebastian’s Gym with a glow, golden and alive, was suddenly overtaken by the clouds. In its place a gray pall crept into the room, the result of the shadows that fell from the ice-covered windows and sprayed out like cobwebs, splintered and dark, along the gym floor. An eerie calm seemed to descend from the ceiling, cloaking the students, rendering them speechless, and the only sound that could be heard was the click, click, click of footsteps coming from the locker room. With each step the sound was getting closer, and with each step the anticipation was growing. Lochlan surveyed the faces of the kids and his anger grew, now they were attentive, only now were they interested. Gone were the apathetic expressions, the restless body language; in their places were the faces of children eager and hopeful, waiting to see what was walking toward them, what would walk among them.
When Lochlan saw David Zachary enter the gym, he involuntarily clutched Alistair’s note that he had shoved into his jacket pocket. He felt the words throb in his hand as if they were lifting off the page and burning into his palm, as if his friend were using every ounce of strength he had to reach out to him, connect with him from wherever he was. This is the reason I wrote the note; this is why the children need to be protected. The message ripped through Lochlan’s mind like a bullet obliterating every other thought that he had, leaving only one meaning, only one belief, that this man who was walking toward him was dangerous. And before the doctor knew it, the man was standing before him.
The new headmaster was easily five inches taller than Lochlan, but height wasn’t the only reason he seemed to dwarf the doctor, he was a strapping man, maybe thirty-five, maybe forty, but possessing a muscularity that couldn’t be contained beneath the fine woven wool of his navy blue suit. His chest threatened to tear the soft cotton material of his white shirt and his tie—a collection of cream-colored flowers springing from delicate brown branches against a background of sky blue silk, the same color and texture as his eyes—floated, then fell with each breath. David held his chin level and smiled down at the doctor as he reached his hand out to greet him, but Lochlan was reluctant to let go of the note; he felt that if he did, he would lose the connection to Alistair, lose the meaning of what he needed to do. Unfortunately, he had no choice. And when he felt David’s hand engulf his, it was as if he was being enveloped by something completely foreign and yet completely familiar. He felt as excited and defenseless as a child.
“Thank you, Lochlan, for that lovely introduction.” The doctor didn’t think he saw David’s lips move, but he must have; he heard every word he said. His voice was smooth, soft, but compelling, and seemed to float in the air like a breeze that had no beginning and no end. Despite his immediate reaction, despite feeling that Alistair’s words were trying to warn him about this stranger, Lochlan, like every other person in the room, was entranced by David Zachary’s presence.
“He is, like, way hotter than Hawksbry ever was,” Michael sighed. He couldn’t believe he’d just admitted that to Phaedra, but it felt good to express such thoughts, the kind that he usually kept to himself and, any
way, it was the truth. The new headmaster looked like the pictures of those Norse gods he saw in books about classical mythology, fiery and imposing, with close-cropped red hair and a thin beard that didn’t soften but accentuated his sharp cheekbones and square jaw. Phaedra didn’t respond to Michael’s comment, not because she didn’t agree with him, but because she couldn’t take her eyes off the man who now stood in front of the microphone, his two large hands placed on either side of the podium as if resting on the arms of a throne. Gazing out at the crowd, at his subjects, David didn’t say a word, he merely smiled and nodded his head, only slightly, welcoming the students into his world instead of the other way around.
Amir was the first to applaud, loudly and without embarrassment, he didn’t care if he was alone in his zeal. But he wasn’t. Nakano, sitting next to him, quickly followed his lead, a bit miffed that he hadn’t thought to start applauding first, so he made sure he was the first one to stand. Then one student after the other, followed by members of the faculty, all joined in until everyone in the gym was standing and cheering the appearance of the man who would signal a new era at Archangel Academy. Everyone except Dr. MacCleery and Ronan. MacCleery could not believe the reception this stranger was receiving, and Ronan couldn’t believe he was staring at a face from his past.
David basked in the applause until he was certain that it would continue for as long as he would allow it. He raised his hand, and the cheering halted; a few seconds later he bent his arm until his palm was once again resting on the side of the podium, and everyone sat down, waiting, waiting, waiting, for him to speak. “Welcome to the family.” The words landed on each student’s ears as if they were a private message, hushed and secret, and each student leaned in to hear more. “These are the words my headmaster spoke to me when I was a student here many years ago and these are the words I speak to you now. Archangel Academy is more than a school, it is more than a place to learn, to grow, to be challenged. It is home.” David smiled as he saw his words caress each face, wrap around each throat, burrow into each heart. “And now it is once again my home and I am thrilled and proud to return here, this time not as a student but as your headmaster.” And then he noticed that his words had failed to penetrate one student, Ronan, who did not stare at him in admiration or awe. Ah well, that was what he had expected. What he didn’t expect to see, out of the corner of his eye, was that MacCleery noticed it as well. But that was all right; the doctor could be handled. “With your support I will lead our home into the future and make it stronger than ever before. But the future can only be prosperous, it can only conquer, if there is a strong foundation and an unbreakable connection to the past.”
Softly, David began to sing. The students recognized the words, but it was as if they were hearing them for the first time. O feathered wings that soar above this land that we call home. The school’s alma mater never sounded so honest, so heartfelt, so perfectly fitting. Immortal creatures filled with love protect us as we roam. First Amir and Nakano and then a handful of others began to mouth the words along with David, eager to proclaim their unity, their solidarity with their school and their school’s new leader. Throughout this earth and back again over land and sea, guide us so we may return where we were born to be. And now most of the students began to sing along, sincere and sober, without a trace of ridicule in their voices, without a hint that the words they were singing were not words that they completely believed in. MacCleery was stunned. The kids hated this song; they wrote parody lyrics to it, they mocked it the way kids are supposed to mock an ancient, outdated verse. What the hell was going on? This hallowed ground, our resting place, Archangel Academy.
When the singing stopped and the kids began to clap and cheer, Lochlan looked around at the faculty members, trying to gauge from their expressions if they were as alarmed as he was. Most of them were applauding along with the students, visibly impressed by David’s ability to command authority, tame an otherwise unruly crowd. But not all of them. Blakeley looked skeptical, or was he just jealous that David had accomplished with a soft voice and well-chosen words what he could achieve only with shouting and threats? He glanced over at Sister Mary Elizabeth, her lips moving frantically. Was she praying? Did she too see through to this man’s soul?
“Archangel Academy,” David said, his voice breaking through the clamor. “May she live strong and may she live forever.”
The pride that Michael had felt when he first walked through the iron entrance gate and stepped foot on Double A soil came rushing back to him, flooding him with an almost overwhelming sense of joy. But unlike before, when he wasn’t sure why he was experiencing such euphoria, the thrill was accompanied with the knowledge that he was someplace special, somewhere that he belonged. He couldn’t be happier or more grateful. And Ronan couldn’t be more distressed. He’s buying this, Ronan thought, like every other gullible prat in the room.
All around him, kids were shouting their approval, the memory of Hawksbry forgotten, ravaged with calculated ease, and replaced with something new, something better, something that Ronan knew couldn’t be trusted. Perplexed, he turned to scour the crowd to find someone, anyone, who shared his concern, but it was useless. And then his concern grew to fear when he saw Brania sitting in the bleachers, dressed in a St. Anne’s uniform.
She waved at Ronan like the schoolgirl she wasn’t, wide-eyed and openmouthed, and shrugged her shoulders at the chanting that was taking place around her. She shook her head and spoke so that only Ronan could hear her, “Can you believe all the commotion?” Actually, Ronan couldn’t. He turned to look at David, who was once again holding up his hand as both recognition of the glory bestowed upon him and reprimand that such glory was inappropriate, and when Ronan turned back to look at Brania, she was gone. His eyes flitted about the bleachers, but she was nowhere to be found, she was just someone else playing a game.
“Thank you,” David said, his audience immediately quieting so as not to miss any of his words. “On behalf of Archangel Academy, it will be my pleasure to serve each and every one of you. And I know you, in kind, will welcome each and every opportunity to serve her.” You mean to serve you, Ronan thought. When he saw Michael applauding with the rest of the students, he felt cold. He needed to speak with him, tell him that he was being manipulated, but he knew that nothing he said now would register, nothing would breach the bond David had so successfully and so quickly created. For now, Ronan stood alone, just like Dr. MacCleery.
All around Lochlan, teachers, visiting priests, even his own nurse, were swarming David, trying to shake his hand, have a brief yet personal audience with the man, while the doctor stood back, his right hand once again shoved into his jacket pocket, clutching Alistair’s note. “Bloody amazing, don’t ya think?” Blakeley asked. Lochlan didn’t know how to respond, so he just shrugged his shoulders. “I hate to admit it, doc, but I think we can learn something from this bloke.”
“I already have,” the doctor muttered.
As the students started filing out of the gym, the sun seemed to take back some control. Shadows were replaced with streaks of sunlight that brushed at the darkness, pushing it to the side, not completely disposing of it but making it less apparent, less compelling. Ronan fell into the crowd behind Michael and Phaedra, giving his boyfriend time to talk to his friend while he looked around to see if he could catch another glimpse of Brania. Usually, he went out of his way to ignore the girl, but today he thought she could provide him with some answers, make him understand what was going on here. However, he figured any conversation he had with Brania would only create more questions, because the problem with girls, as Ronan had come to realize, was that you never really knew what they were talking about.
“I’m glad you decided to stick around,” Michael said. Phaedra tugged at a curl that had escaped the hair clip she was wearing in an attempt to smooth out her otherwise wavy hair. “My work here isn’t done yet.”
Really, Michael thought, what else could you possibly do for me? Phaedr
a had come to Double A at the request of Michael’s dying mother, to protect him, to make sure that he became what he was born to be. Phaedra had seen to that, she had done her job, Michael was now like Ronan, an immortal hybrid, a member of a rare species. What reason could she have to stay? Not that Michael wanted her to leave. Phaedra had become a good friend, one of the few people who knew him utterly, and one of the few people around with whom he could be himself, without any pretense. But didn’t she already grant his mother’s wish? Didn’t she already prevent anyone from standing in the way of his destiny? Then he saw Fritz and it all made sense.
“Oh, now I get it,” Michael remarked. “But I didn’t think efemeras cared about guys.”
Blotches of pink began to form on Phaedra’s cheeks and she tilted her head so it almost touched Michael’s. “Neither did I.”
So Phaedra was now working for herself instead of him. That was fine with Michael. He found the man of his dreams, why not her? “He really is cute,” Michael said. “You know, in that cocky, European sort of way.”
“I know,” she agreed. “It’s like he thinks everything he says is brilliant just because he’s got this accent.”
Michael clutched Phaedra’s hand and shook it. “Absolutey! Ronan’s got the same thing going on inside his head.” He glanced around quickly to make sure his boyfriend was out of earshot. “Makes me a little crazy sometimes.” Then it was Michael’s turn to blush. “But, you know, it doesn’t make me love him any less.”
Love? Is that what she felt for Fritz? She didn’t know because she had never felt love before. She of course knew it existed, but from a purely intellectual viewpoint, she really didn’t understand its meaning on an intimate level. Giggling to hide her anxiety, Phaedra realized that she had no idea what she was doing, she had no clue if she should be entertaining romantic thoughts about Fritz or about any other boy for that matter, but then she realized most teenage girls had no idea what they were doing either, so she should lighten up. But you’re not a teenage girl, she reminded herself. Trouble was she didn’t know what she was any longer.
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