Unnatural aa-1 Page 34

  When he finally felt his energy return he slowly rose, fully aware of the pains that traversed throughout his body. There was the throbbing in his head, sharp twinges of heat pulsating in his hands and feet, his throat was rough and incredibly dry, his eyes were sore, and the stabbing pains that had plagued his stomach for the past few days had melded together to become one agonizing ache. He felt as if his entire body were being mangled, crushed from the inside, and he knew the only way to end the pain was to find Ronan. But where was he?

  Outside St. Florian’s, he was vaguely aware of the chill. It didn’t cause him to shiver. On the contrary, it roused him, the cold bringing down his temperature by a few degrees, the wind pushing him forward. Then he smelled something. He inhaled what he thought was a familiar scent; could just be the earth, but it could also be Ronan, so without a clear path to pursue he followed its trail. He walked east past St. Joshua’s, past the white roses that were still in full bloom despite the late month and the inhospitable weather, past St. Martha’s, where the pungent aroma of beef stew and boiled potatoes seasoned in rosemary infiltrated the air. Michael paused only for a second when he realized the smell no longer made him hungry; in fact, it no longer had any connection to his new world. He took it as yet another sign that such basic human needs were part of his past and that he needed to move toward his fate, toward Ronan.

  Breathing in deeply once more, he didn’t know who the smell belonged to, but he was certain it was human. Ever since becoming a vampire, even when he refused to believe the possibility truly existed, Michael had noticed a change in his senses. They were gradually becoming heightened just as Ronan and even Nakano had said they would. His vision, his hearing, his sense of smell, were all vastly improved. And when he touched things, simple things like a coffee cup, fabric, his own skin, the sensations were intense. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Ronan again to find out how much more intense those sensations could become. But for now he needed to focus on the sounds he heard in the distance.

  Just beyond the entrance to The Forest he heard a twig break, then a few seconds later, he heard someone stumble on a rock. There were two people out here along with him even though all of Double A was under curfew. Michael walked toward the sounds and reminded himself that a student could be out after dark if accompanied by an adult so perhaps that accounted for the separate noises. But when he saw who was making them, he realized he was wrong.

  Imogene was running blindly, and several yards behind her was Fritz. Even this far away, Michael could hear the girl’s panting, her quick breathing, and he knew she was frightened. When she turned her head around for a quick look behind her, he saw that her face was pale, her bangs wet with sweat, her eyes wide. Why in the world would she be so afraid of Fritz?

  Unless he was trying to hurt her.

  * * *

  “Imogene, wait up!” Fritz cried out, his voice thick and commanding. Imogene’s vision was so blurred by her sweat and tears, her ears still ringing with Jeremiah’s screams behind the crackling of flames, that she didn’t recognize Fritz’s voice; she didn’t know it was her friend running behind her. She only knew that she was being chased. She thought she would be able to hide in The Forest, lose this stalker, but it was a stupid decision; she was alone now in the woods, and whoever was behind her was gaining speed. Every time she opened her mouth to scream, to call for help, she felt her throat constrict, her lungs battle to find air. Fear was suffocating her, making her limbs feel like heavy steel. She had witnessed such unexplainable horror today, she knew that if she didn’t move faster, if she didn’t get help soon, something unspeakable was going to happen to her too. She was sure of it.

  “Imogene!” Fritz called out. “Where are you going?!” Why the hell is she running away from me? Fritz had lost track of time and left St. Sebastian’s just after the sun set. He went there to swim some laps alone to try and clear his mind of all the crazy things that had been happening. First Penry gets killed, then Michael’s missing in action for a couple of days, and Phaedra, no matter how many times he tried to comfort her, just kept saying she wanted to be alone. “That bloody well suits me just fine,” Fritz had told her, not that he meant it. He wanted to hold her, feel her soft shoulders relax under his arms, and say all the words to her that were jumbled inside his head. Make a bit of sense out of the confusion he was feeling.

  That’s why he sought refuge in the pool. He needed life for a few moments to be just about him and the invigorating water. Swimming in the narrow lane of the pool, he could make sense of things, he understood what he needed to do. Put his right arm over his head, then his left, then lift his head to breathe. It was a simple rhythm, a known routine, nothing at all like life outside the pool. Everything outside the water was royally screwed up and getting worse by the second.

  Why won’t she just stop so I can help her back to St. Anne’s? Fritz thought. She couldn’t walk all the way over there by herself, not with the curfew, not with whatever or whoever killed Penry still on the loose. He stopped abruptly when he heard the growl. It was low and deliberate. “Who’s there?” Stupid question, Fritz, like an animal’s going to respond. But it did. With an even louder growl, this time with a cracking sound at the end of it like a jaw breaking or expanding. Fritz looked in front of him and saw Imogene just as she disappeared into the woods. When he turned back around, all he saw was fog.

  “What the …?” he muttered. He couldn’t see anything in front of him except a thick gray mist hovering a few feet away. He held his breath, his ears searching the grounds for a sound, any sound that would indicate the beast was getting closer, but he didn’t hear a thing. Then he noticed something odd: He wasn’t afraid. He should be; there was something out there, something very close by, but he felt, no, he knew that somehow he would be unharmed. But just to be safe, he turned and began to sprint and didn’t stop running until he heard the front door to St. Peter’s Dormitory lock behind him.

  Michael couldn’t believe those sounds had come from him. When he thought Fritz might be trying to harm Imogene, something clicked in his brain and he wanted to use his newfound power to protect her. Fritz was no longer his friend, but an enemy who had to be stopped, an enemy whose sweet blood was pumping furiously through his veins. Michael felt his fangs descend and the pain in his stomach swirl into something even more cruel. It had become need. He needed to taste Fritz’s blood, he needed to devour him, not only so he could prevent him from attacking Imogene but so he could feed his own body, which was so close to collapse. As he leapt into the air, he envisioned killing him the same way Nakano had killed Mauro, quickly and unmercifully. And he would have if it wasn’t for the fog.

  But where had it come from? And why was it now evaporating as suddenly as it appeared? The fog began to condense, becoming more vertical than horizontal, but instead of continuing to rise, instead of disappearing into the black sky above, it curved from its highest point and sped toward Michael like a giant gray snake.

  Michael found the courage to stand firm. He couldn’t run from this thing that had been plaguing him; he had to find out what it was. He didn’t flinch when it landed a foot from him, the gray smoke shrinking and spinning until it was no higher than Michael himself, until it was no longer fog and had turned into something else.

  “Phaedra?” Michael asked in disbelief.

  “Hello, Michael.”

  Astonished, he was going to ask her how this was possible, how she could possibly be this fog. But then he realized that was a foolish question. He knew better; anything was possible. And yet this was unbelievable.

  “For someone who’s been stripped of his mortality,” Phaedra said, “you look a bit surprised.”

  Michael couldn’t erase the shocked expression from his face, and then her comment registered. “You know?”

  “Since the moment it happened,” she said gently.

  He felt his body waver but couldn’t do anything to prevent it. Phaedra grabbed his arm to stop him from falling, and Michael bar
ely felt her touch. “You’re like air.”

  Sitting next to Michael on the grass, she corrected him. “Like an efemera.”

  Maybe it was the dizzying sensation that was still making his brain jumbled, but he had no idea what she just said. “Like a what?”

  “An efemera,” Phaedra repeated. “That’s what I am.”

  Michael clutched his head and the spinning actually felt like it was slowing down, it was coming to an end. His confusion, however, was not. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Smiling, Phaedra wrapped her arms around her knees; she looked like a teenager, innocent, human. She wasn’t any of those things. “We’re not as well known as vampires, but we do have a following,” she began. “Efemeras are protectors, spirits who are called upon to watch over humans who are in danger.”

  The dizziness threatened to return. “But I didn’t call upon any spirit to be protected.”

  “No, you can’t ask to be protected. We don’t hear those requests,” Phaedra explained. “We’re called upon to protect a loved one.”

  Of course! “Ronan asked you to look after me.”

  The love between these two is so strong, Phaedra admired. “No, he does love you fully and completely, but it wasn’t his call I responded to,” she said. “It was your mother’s.”

  Tears stung his eyes and he felt his body slump as if someone had reached inside him to steal his breath. “My mother?”

  “Before she died, moments before, she begged for us to watch over you,” Phaedra said, her eyes searching out the stars in the night to give Michael some privacy. “And when we hear a call from a dying soul that is filled with the purity of love, we have no choice but to respond.”

  “I don’t understand,” Michael said, ignoring the tears that now fell freely down his face and the anger that swelled in his chest. “She committed suicide. She didn’t care about me or anybody else! Why would she ask you … anyone to watch over me when she couldn’t be bothered to do it herself?”

  Pointing to their left, Phaedra said, “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

  Standing in a clearing, some newly fallen leaves twirling at her feet, was Michael’s mother. Grace looked different; her face was softer, the lines from years of worry, anxiety, regret were smoothed away, her eyes were no longer cautious but eager to take in all they could see, especially her son.

  Like a child taking his first steps, Michael walked toward his mother. Unsteady and unsure that he would reach her, but filled with joy for the opportunity. When he stood before her, when he saw her face again, which he never thought he would, all the anger he felt toward her for choosing to leave him floated off of him and was carried away by the breeze. “Mom?”

  Grace’s voice was quiet, but strong. “Yes, Michael, it’s me.”

  This is my mother, Michael thought, back from the dead. Yet another unthinkable possibility come true. Michael threw his arms around his mother and breathed in her warmth. He no longer judged her for her actions; he didn’t care why she chose to leave him, he was simply grateful that she had returned. “I’ve missed you so much,” Michael cried.

  Grace held her son tighter, his touch truly a gift. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Me either,” Michael said, which was the last thing Grace ever expected to hear.

  She pushed Michael away gently and looked at him, her unbeating heart breaking at the sight. “Why would you ever think that you hurt me?”

  Dig deep, Michael. Find the courage to tell her; you may never get another chance. “Because of what I am,” Michael said, his voice hushed with shame.

  For a moment Grace didn’t understand what Michael meant, but then understood that he was talking about his sexuality. And then she was the one who was consumed with shame. “No. No, Michael, you have nothing to apologize for. You have never hurt me,” Grace said. She didn’t think she would be able to cry any longer, but she was wrong. “I’m the one who hurt you. I let you down in so many ways.” Fervent for another touch, Grace grabbed Michael’s hands in hers and held them against her face, wishing she had taken the opportunity to comfort her son like this when she was alive. “I should have told you that it didn’t matter to me. I was never upset or ashamed that you’re gay,” she said, looking directly into her son’s eyes. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to tell you how I felt. But you need to know that I always loved you.”

  Unable to resist, Michael had to ask. “Then why did you leave me?”

  Wind fluttered past Grace, and her body vibrated. She was out of focus, then clear once again. “I don’t have much time, Michael, and none of that matters.”

  “It matters to me,” Michael protested.

  Scared, Grace looked to Phaedra, but she no longer had any control over the situation. “What matters is that I was able to protect you.”

  “From what?” Michael asked impatiently. “Were you trying to protect me from Ronan?”

  Just hearing that name gave her strength. “No, not him,” Grace replied honestly. “I called upon Phaedra to make sure that nothing prevented the two of you from coming together.” Grace beamed. “He’s the one you’re meant to share your life with.”

  There was no wind, but Grace’s body shimmered as if behind an opaque curtain. No, he couldn’t lose her, not so soon. “Wait, please! There’s so much I want to ask you!”

  “You don’t need anything more from me,” Grace said. “I’ve done everything I had to do.” She was a mere shadow now and when Michael reached out to her, his hands moved through her like she was the ghost that she was.

  “Please, Mom! Don’t go!” Michael begged, his voice parched and cracking.

  Grace reached out to him, her hand now only a flickering patch of light. “Never forget, Michael, you are who you were born to be.” Those were the last words Michael heard his mother say before she disappeared into the night.

  “No! Come back!” Lost and so very tired, Michael fell to his knees, sobbing, his face buried in his hands. He was more distraught now then when his mother first died.

  Phaedra wished she could allow him time to grieve, but she couldn’t. “Michael, you have to find Ronan,” Phaedra ordered. “You need to go with him and offer yourself to The Well or risk being like Nakano and his kind for all eternity.”

  Michael nodded; he understood. “I will. I just need some time.”

  Phaedra lifted his chin so he could see the seriousness in her face. “You don’t have any more time.”

  The same thing, unfortunately, could be said about Imogene.

  Somehow she made it to her dorm room at St. Anne’s. While she was locking the door, breathless but relieved, she called out for Phaedra, but her dorm mate didn’t answer. So when she turned around, she was stunned to see that she wasn’t alone.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You came to visit one of my homes. I thought I would return the favor.” Imogene didn’t really know Brania, but she didn’t like her. She was far too flirtatious and conceited. She had no idea that she was also deadly.

  “What do you mean I visited one of your homes?” Imogene asked. “I don’t even know where you live.”

  Brania admired the girl’s tenacity. She had survived not one, but two attempts on her life. Nakano obviously didn’t do a very good job cleaning up his mess; he merely wounded her when he should have left her as lifeless as the other one, her boyfriend, so she was simply lucky to survive that attack. But she had proved her mettle against Jeremiah. Sadly, she would have to pay for that.

  “Really?” Brania asked, stretching out on the bed, her head cradled in her hand, her hair falling free. “How quickly we forget.”

  Adrenaline was still pumping through Imogene’s veins and acted as an antidote to her fear, so when she spoke, it was with an indignant tone. “I hardly know you; what makes you think I was at your house?”

  “You don’t remember the cold, dark basement?” A chill enveloped Imogene’s heart
. “What about the apartment upstairs? Small, but smartly decorated.” No, that was impossible. She couldn’t possibly have anything to do with that man who burst into flames. “Those beautiful roses you destroyed were a gift from me to Jeremiah.”

  Behind her back, Imogene was trying to unlock the door. “You need to leave here, now!” she demanded, her bold tone at odds with the panic she was feeling. When she turned to open the door and run from the room, she was amazed to find Brania blocking her exit. “What the hell?”

  With one hand Brania relocked the door; with the other she fondled Imogene’s hair. “I could never wear bangs. I just don’t have the face for them.”

  Involuntarily, Imogene stepped back. When she spoke, her tone was infinitely less bold. “I told you to leave.”

  “Sweetheart, I think you’ve already realized that I don’t take orders.”

  Standing still, Imogene tried to survey the situation. For the second time in just a few hours, her life was in danger, but she succeeded in getting away once. She could do it again. There’s a window in the bathroom, she reminded herself, but before she could make it to the bathroom door, Brania blocked the entrance, once again foiling her plan. “And I always get what I want.”

  “Not always, darling.”

  Blinking her eyes several times, Imogene still wasn’t sure if she truly was seeing another person in her room or if she was hallucinating. “Mrs. Glynn-Rowley?” Imogene asked incredulously.

  “How many times must I ask you children? Please, call me Edwige.”

  Imogene knew less about Ronan’s mother than she did about Brania, but with one glance at Brania, who was now seething, she could tell they were not friends. She figured she had about three seconds to decide where to lay her trust. “Edwige?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “It’s, um, very nice to see you again,” Imogene stuttered. “But, um, what are you doing here?”