Unafraid Page 11

  What?! Professor Joubert—a vampire!? The revelation shouldn’t have surprised Nakano, but it did. Turning to the man he had always known was old, but never imagined could be ancient, Nakano asked, “Is that true?”

  A slight nod of his head confirmed it. “May God strike us dead if my fellow countryman is telling a lie,” Joubert replied. After a moment of silence, he added, “Either Jean-Paul speaks the truth or once again God has proven his powers to be greatly exaggerated.”

  And now the theology professor was mocking the very religion he spent hours every day teaching. Nothing made sense any more. Nakano heard himself mumble some lame excuse that he had to leave or he’d be late for lunch, and thanks to his supernatural hearing he heard Jean-Paul laugh in response. “I forget ’ow childeesh children can act sometimes,” he snickered.

  Luckily, Nakano could get to The Forest on autopilot, so in a few seconds he was deep in the woods, away from Jean-Paul, away from his face, his smell, his stupid chauffeur outfit. All he wanted was to be with someone who didn’t think he was a jerk, someone who wouldn’t judge him for every stupid thing he’d ever done, someone he could trust. The only person who even remotely fit that description was Brania.

  “We have a visitor,” she announced before Nakano even entered the cave. “How lovely.”

  Ever since she had voluntarily sequestered herself in these primitive quarters, Brania’s preternatural senses had become even more heightened and her typical suspicious nature sharpened. She was constantly on guard for intruders. Or guests.

  “Welcome, Kano,” she said, crossing to greet him properly. “And to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?”

  Fighting the impulse to let his tears flow freely down his cheeks, Nakano replied hoarsely, “Just needed to see a friendly face I guess.”

  Brania was willing to accommodate. Imogene was not.

  Sitting in her coffin, her back pressed into the corner of the casket so severely the wood cut into her flesh, Imogene saw two images simultaneously, one from the present, the other from the past. Nakano was standing there in front of her talking to Brania, but he was also crouched on all fours like a wild animal ripping Penry’s throat apart with his fangs. Imogene didn’t care which image was current and which was memory, they were both real to her. And after months of doing nothing but sitting and singing and obeying, she was beginning to feel strength and courage once again invade her body, and she was determined to use them.

  “Noooo!!!!”

  In mid-scream, Imogene sprang from her tomb like a coil that refused to remain pressed down any longer. She flew through the air with incredible speed and landed on top of Nakano before he even had a chance to defend himself. His back crashed into the hard earth with such force that his body buckled, head and legs flying upward. Imogene used the momentum to her advantage, clinging onto his shirt to pull him close to her face, then slamming him back down onto the ground.

  Unable to hide her amusement, Brania chided her ward. “Imogene! Is that any way to greet our guest?”

  Poised on top of Nakano, Imogene held tightly to his shirt and pressed her knees into the sides of his stomach. She turned to Brania, her face a mask of rage. “He killed my Penry!”

  Brania wished she didn’t understand the fury that was causing Imogene to act so violently; she wished she didn’t comprehend the need for revenge that was turning her into something unrecognizable, but she understood all too clearly. She was no different than Imogene, except she had learned during all the centuries she had lived how to be patient. “Yes, he did,” Brania said, her voice as calm as if she were telling Imogene a bedtime story. “But that was an unfortunate mistake.”

  Imogene, however, wasn’t in the mood to be consoled. “It was no mistake!” she shrieked. She lifted Kano’s body again and slammed him down once more, his head thumping into the ground. “He wanted to kill him, and he left me for dead!”

  Underneath the girl, Nakano struggled to get free. This was ridiculous, he thought, I’m a vampire and she’s just human. Well, she was human; now she was literally half dead, so Nakano didn’t know the technical term for what she actually was. But she was a girl; he shouldn’t be having so much trouble wrenching himself free. It was as if his hands were caught in steel traps and several tons of concrete were pressing down on his chest. He simply couldn’t escape. The only chance he had was for Brania to intervene, and the only thing she was doing so far was talking; that wasn’t enough. “Get her the hell off of me!” Nakano cried.

  Uninspired by Kano’s appeal, Brania stood motionless and watched him thrash about, wriggle his body as best he could, as Imogene held firm and hardly reacted to the movements underneath her. As disturbing as it was to see her daughter act so callously, so viciously, it was also amazing. Her actions were completely out of character. But then Brania felt the blood drain from her face as she realized she was wrong. Imogene was doing nothing out of the ordinary. She was merely acting like her old self.

  As Nakano continued to fight for his freedom, Brania remembered how heroically Imogene had fought against her and Edwige, before Edwige ultimately won and infused the girl with her own hybrid vampire blood. She also remembered how Imogene had killed Jeremiah. She hadn’t witnessed the assault, but she knew Jeremiah had possessed superhuman strength, so for Imogene to defeat him she couldn’t have just been lucky. She was seeing a side of the girl she had thought was dead and buried, but in truth had only been asleep. She was watching the resurrection of her feisty spirit, and while it filled her with pride it also filled her with fear. Brania knew firsthand how dangerous an uncontrollable daughter could be.

  “Enough, Imogene!” Brania cried. “You’ve proven your point.”

  The girl didn’t budge. “Not until he’s dead.”

  Cautiously, Brania took a step forward. She didn’t think Imogene would strike her, but she couldn’t be sure. “Remember Nakano could’ve killed you too,” she said quietly. “Isn’t it better to be like this, the way you are now, than to be dead?”

  The words had their desired effect, and Imogene loosened her grip on Nakano as she pondered Brania’s interpretation of the facts. It was all the time Nakano needed to strike back. Finally able to get one hand free, he rallied his strength so he could punch Imogene in the jaw. But his swing hit nothing but air. Imogene was no longer on top of him.

  “Imogene!” Brania cried out, having witnessed the girl disappear before her eyes.

  Stunned, Nakano scrambled to his feet and looked all around the cave, waiting for the girl to strike back at any second. Left, right, behind, Imogene was nowhere. Just as they were about to run out of the cave, Brania saw a light flicker in the coffin, and then a shape began to materialize, a shape that turned into Imogene’s body. Without saying another word, Imogene sat back down in the casket and leaned into the corner, bringing her knees close to her chest.

  “What the hell just happened?” Nakano asked, his body still shaking.

  Proud, yet truly frightened, Brania replied, “I think my daughter can turn herself invisible when she feels threatened.”

  Shaking his head, Kano started to pace the width of the cave, the words gurgling out of him like puss from a wound. “I came here from a run-in with Jean-Paul to seek refuge,” he spat, “only to come face to face with some half dead, invisible, po-faced git!”

  With one eye on Imogene, Brania sat down on a boulder that was lodged against one of the walls and smoothed out her black leather skirt. “Oh come on, Kano,” she scolded. “She hardly looked glum. Vengeful yes, glum no.”

  Taking in the surroundings and this latest unexplainable event, Nakano was flabbergasted. “Seriously?! You like it here?”

  Laughing at the boy’s honesty, Brania replied, “For the time being this place suits me perfectly.” Glancing over at the now-peaceful girl in the coffin, she added, “And Imogene is a lovely companion. We rely on each other implicitly.”

  Still unable to stand still, Nakano continued to pace, making sure to stay as far
away from the open coffin as possible. “Bollocks! I don’t believe a word you say!” he shouted. “I trust you less than I trust Jean-Paul!”

  Not if I told you that Jean-Paul has been lying to you and he’s really David’s bastard son. Brania wanted to share that piece of information with Nakano, but thought it best to keep it secret for now until she could use it to her best advantage. She did, however, recognize an opportunity when she saw one and realized that Nakano’s vulnerable state was ripe for exploitation. “Has Jean-Paul told you why he’s so chummy with my father?” Brania asked.

  At last Nakano heard something that made him stop moving. “No,” he replied. “Tell me, what exactly is going on between them?”

  Brania felt like a spider watching a curious little bug step onto her web. “I can’t figure out what it is,” she said, sounding helpless and unsure. “I thought you might know something since you’re so close to Jean-Paul.”

  Exhausted, Nakano sat on the boulder next to Brania. “We’re not that close anymore.”

  Feigning shock, Brania replied, “I don’t believe that.” She reached out and touched Kano’s hand. It flinched slightly, unused to such tenderness. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Nakano was drenched in a wave of hope, so he disregarded the rational part of his mind that questioned Brania’s comment. He wanted to believe what Brania was saying, he wanted to believe that there was still a chance for him and Jean-Paul as a couple, so that’s what he clung to. “Really?”

  For just one second when Brania heard Nakano’s voice crack did she contemplate telling him the truth. But then she remembered she needed to keep her heart out of her plans and only think with her mind. “Absolutely,” she said. “There is no way that Jean-Paul can look at you and not see the wonderful man you’re becoming.”

  Nakano could no longer look into her eyes, so he gazed down at the dirt at his feet and started counting the pebbles so he wouldn’t cry. When he felt like he could speak again without blubbering, he did. “I’m trying.”

  Brania stared at the ground as well, hoping her movement would translate as contemplative and not mimicry. “You know, I’ve made a lot of mistakes myself, and I know I haven’t always been the most trustworthy person, not to you, not to a lot of people actually,” she said softly. “But I’m trying to change, too. I’m trying to become a better person just like you are.”

  This time when he felt Brania’s fingers touch his chin, he didn’t flinch, he allowed them to rest there and turn his face toward hers. She looked at him with such kindness, he wished he could bottle it and take it with him, so every night before he went to sleep he could open the bottle up and have kindness watch over him while he slept. “You really think I’m becoming a better person?”

  “You’re doing more than that,” Brania corrected. “You’re succeeding.”

  Brania grabbed Nakano’s hands and made him stand up. “You’re an adult now, and you can make your own decisions,” she said. “You can trust whomever you want. I just hope that someday you come to trust me.”

  Deep within him, hope was churning into happiness, and impulsively he hugged Brania. Startled, she didn’t hug back right away; her arms floundered for a few moments until her mind clicked in and advised her to return the gesture. She wrapped her arms around Nakano and was surprised to find that his warm, needy flesh felt good. But after he left, Brania wasn’t sure if what had just transpired was indeed a good thing. Imogene knew it was not.

  “He isn’t an adult,” she hissed.

  Pulled from her musing, Brania crossed over to her ward and knelt beside the coffin. She placed her arms on the white satin edge and rested her chin on her clasped hands. She looked like a lazy schoolgirl kneeling in church and leaning on the back of a pew. “No, he isn’t, darling,” Brania agreed. “But he doesn’t know that yet, because he’s still a child like you.”

  Rising, Brania stood before Imogene and was happy that she had remained tranquil after her outburst. Brania would have to observe her more closely and try to find out what other powers she possessed, but right now she was hungry. “I need to feed,” she announced. “But Mother will return shortly.”

  A few minutes after Brania left the cave, Imogene felt anger and resentment boil inside her. She looked at her skin expecting to see blisters, but it was as pale and smooth as always. Even still, she knew she was transforming into something different yet again. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but she knew one thing for certain, that sooner rather than later, Brania was going to find out that the rules had changed.

  The mere thought of Brania’s name made the rage within her grow even stronger. Imogene knew that Brania didn’t care that that thing had killed Penry. Brania didn’t care about her; she just wanted to control her and do God knows what to her. The thought of it made Imogene feel threatened. She felt as if she were in danger and that even though she was alone she had to defend herself in any way possible. Rising, she felt her hand grip the side of the coffin without commanding it to do so and heard a deafening creak as the lid was ripped from its hinges. She felt her arm involuntarily swing to the side and heard the lid crash into the wall of the cave. She heard herself shriek, “I AM NOT A CHILD!!!”

  And then she felt herself disappear.

  chapter 8

  “I am not a child!”

  Despite Saoirse’s protestation, her tone was indeed childlike. So was her stance for that matter. With one hand she held the door to her dorm room open, while her other hand was balled into a fist that dug into her hip. Her lips were pursed together and her head cocked to one side. Amused, Ciaran half-expected her to stomp her foot.

  “I never said you were, Seersh,” Ciaran clarified, walking past his sister and into her room.

  Behind him he heard Saoirse sigh heavily and then the sound of the door closing. She might not be happy about it, but at least he was in. A quick look around the room, however, showed him that it might all be for naught. “She isn’t here,” Saoirse said.

  Turning to face his sister, Ciaran tried to make his voice sound as innocent as possible. “Who?”

  Now she did stomp her foot. “Don’t give me that!” she yelled, waving a finger at the air in front of Ciaran’s face. “You’re not here to ask about Mum. You want to try and get a glimpse of the pretty little blind girl!”

  “Don’t call her that!” Ciaran demanded.

  “Why not?” Saoirse asked, plopping onto her bed. She lay back, her blond hair spread out around her face, blending into the lemon-yellow bedspread. “She’s pretty, she’s little, and she’s blind.” Disregarding Ciaran’s shocked expression, she expanded her reasoning. “She’s also ginger-haired, but that would be one too many adjectives.”

  Suddenly Ciaran had a disturbing thought: Ruby could be in the bathroom right now and overhearing every word they were saying. He was sure that Ruby had gotten a taste of her impudent nature, but the girl hadn’t been blind for very long, and blindness was not something that should be treated casually or in a way that could be interpreted as disrespectful. “It’s rude,” Ciaran whispered, his eyes bulging as he looked over at the closed bathroom door.

  Rolling her own eyes as she rolled off the bed, Saoirse opened the door with a dramatic, sweeping flourish and announced grandly, “The ginger-haired princess ain’t in the lavvy!”

  Ciaran acknowledged the disappointment that filled his body, but since it was not an uncommon feeling, he didn’t need to dwell on it for very long. Instead, he used his energy to channel the playfulness of his sister. “Well, she probably jumped from the tower to escape the evil, blond-haired witch.” Saoirse’s laughter was silenced only when the pillow Ciaran threw hit her squarely in the face.

  When she picked up the pillow, Ciaran thought for sure that she would attack him with the goose-down weapon. Instead she tossed it on her bed and ran into her brother’s arms to give him a quick hug that was filled with more awkwardness than spontaneity. “Sorry, Ciar,” she said. Pulling away from her broth
er she crossed to the mirror on the other side of the room. When she saw her reflection she immediately started to tame a few strands of wayward hair. “Ruby isn’t here. Fritz beat you to it and came by about ten minutes ago to walk her to the library.”

  “Oh that’s great,” Ciaran said, deflated. “I’m glad she has someone to show her around.”

  Saoirse knew he was lying, but she didn’t want to discuss his latest romantic disappointment, so she kept her gaze focused on her unruly hair to avoid looking at her brother’s sullen expression. Unfortunately, he was only going to make it harder for her to avoid eye contact. “What about you?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, reaching for her tortoise shell hairbrush.

  “Anyone showing you around lately?” he asked. “You were M.I.A. most of the summer.”

  A few brushes and her hair was perfect. She dropped the brush back onto the vanity top and searched for another distraction. “No, you wanker, just doing girl stuff,” Saoirse mumbled as she grabbed a barrette and began to clasp it in her hair. “And, you know, trying to keep up with all our beastly summer reading.”

  Ciaran couldn’t argue with that. For whatever reason Double A felt it important that every student read five new books over summer vacation, but did not require them to spend any time doing lab work. It didn’t make any sense to him. Though very little made sense to him lately, in or out of school.

  “And I haven’t heard from Mum either,” she said. “So I hate to break it to you, but this was kind of a wasted visit.”

  She thought her words would act as a dismissal, but looking in the mirror she saw that they had the opposite effect. Ciaran propped up the pillows and sat on her bed, his arms and ankles crossed. She was about to tell him quite sternly that she didn’t want his shoes on her comforter, but she knew that he had seen her jumping on her bed—and his bed and Ronan and Michael’s bed—countless times before with her shoes on, so it would be a request without merit. The only option she had was to continue the conversation. At least one part of it. “It isn’t as strange as you’re making it out to be.”