Unnatural (38 page)

“Has this fog ever separated the two of you before?”

“No.”

“Has Michael ever mentioned it to you?”

“No, Mother, never!” Ronan rose from his chair and started to pace the room, the untied laces of his sneakers failing about at his feet. But before he reached the other end, he stopped. “Yes! Once, once he mentioned a fog.”

“Think,” Edwige ordered. “Think clearly and tell me what he said.”

Ronan closed his eyes and looked into his memory before conveying what Michael had told him. “He was lost; he was walking on campus at night looking for me and he got lost. I found him the next morning in The Forest. He said he had no idea how he got there, but he remembered seeing a fog and then getting very tired.”

Edwige glanced at her painting, which loomed heavily in the room. “He was out searching for you?”

“Yes, he was on his way to my dorm but lost his way,” Ronan said.

At another time, when matters weren’t so serious, Edwige might not have said what was on her mind, but this was no time for caution. “It sounds like Brania’s work. It appears as if They are desperate to prevent you and Michael from coupling.”

For once his mother was wrong. “No, that’s not it.”

Turning to face her son, she said, “I know you would prefer it be something else.”

“It is something else! That was the night Penry was
first attacked … by Nakano. And Michael was only a few yards away. I never understood why Nakano didn’t attack him as well, but now I know Michael was being protected. Trust me, if I couldn’t break through that fog, there’s no way Nakano could.”

Her son made sense. If They didn’t want Ronan to transform Michael, why would They create an obstruction to stop Nakano from getting there first? However, They were a hideous race and their intentions were rarely compassionate. “Something isn’t right,” Edwige declared. “There’s a piece missing.”

“The fog is protecting Michael, but not from
me.
If it were, I would never have been able to transform him last night.” Edwige almost had to look away when she saw the veil of sadness cover her son’s face. “But now he’s out there alone. He has no idea what’s happening to his body and he thinks … he thinks I’ve tried to hurt him.” A mother never wants to see her child cry, even a mother as unskilled as Edwige. “Doesn’t he know how much I love him? Doesn’t he know that I can’t live without him?”

The last time Edwige cradled her son in her arms was when she told him his father had been killed, destroyed by their enemies. That was also the last time she felt tears sting her own eyes. She could sense that the pain Ronan was feeling now cut just as deeply as the pain she had felt that night. “I need to find him,” Ronan said, his voice cracking. “I need to bring him to The Well so he can feed before it’s too late.”

Edwige hated giving in to such human frailty, but
maybe it was time to let go of some of the pain, some of the rage. “You have time, Ronan. You have until your next feeding.”

When Ronan looked up at his mother, it was almost too much for her to bear. She wanted to look away, she started to, but she compelled herself to look into the eyes of her son, just as she had compelled herself to look into the eyes of Saxon before he left this earth. “But what if he doesn’t want me? What if he hates me for what I’ve done and I’ve lost him forever?”

Edwige understood the need to ask such questions. She also understood that it was a complete waste of time because she had been asking her own useless questions for years. What if someone comes into your house in the middle of the night and takes your husband from you and your children? What if the last time you see the man that you love, love more than you thought you were capable of loving another being, human or otherwise, he is surrounded by a mob carrying torches, tied to a stake, covered in gasoline, begging for his life? What if you could erase all that from your past? “That will not happen.” Edwige cried. “Not again.”

She bowed her head and rested it against her son’s, fighting to let go of the image of one man, the first to set her husband on fire. The man who shouted,
“Death to all water vamps!”
into the cold night air and whose ugly blue eyes filled with sheer joy when her beloved Saxon started to scream, to shriek in absolute agony, and whose voice erupted into cheers of triumph when
Saxon’s body was gone and in its place lay black ash and embers.
But enough! Enough of the past, enough of the memories. Our future is all that matters.
“Come now,” Edwige said. “Let go of me.” Ronan stood up, not as tall as usual, but at least he stood. “I need to get Michael back for you.”

The first stop she made was at St. Peter’s Dorm. Ciaran was surprised to see them, but relieved to see Ronan. “You and Michael weren’t in class today. Is everything all right?”

Pushing her way into his room, Edwige sat Ronan down on the bed. “Your brother isn’t in the mood to talk. Stay with him until he’s well enough to leave.”

Ronan looked like he had been crying. And if Ciaran didn’t know his mother better, he would have suspected the same thing of her. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to take care of your brother! Can you do that?”

Sure, Mother,
Ciaran thought,
I’ll be part of the family now that it’s convenient for you.
“I’m sorry, Mother, it’s just such a rare occasion when you need my help.”

There were those blue eyes again, the eyes that still haunted her. At the moment they contained no joy, they were not lit up by torchlight, nor were they about to shine with the glory of triumph, but they were still as haunting as ever. And Edwige hated them. She didn’t care if they were possessed by the father or by the son, those eyes, thanks to the memories they sparked, would never, ever know her kindness.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if Ronan wasn’t desperate.”

When they were alone, Ciaran looked at his brother and knew that whatever was troubling him, whatever made him look so lost and defeated, had to do with Michael. Sitting next to Ronan, Ciaran almost laughed at the irony. The last time they were together, he was begging Ronan to turn him into a vampire and now it seemed that his brother needed a simple human connection. Knowing how it felt to be empty and discarded, Ciaran couldn’t deny Ronan his touch although he wished he could. How he wished he had the strength to exist alone, isolated, separated from everyone and everything. But that was just a pipe dream. So, resigned, he put his arm around his brother and let Ronan rest his head against his shoulder. However, neither brother said anything they would later regret.

Edwige’s next stop was to a town house in London a mile or so from where she lived, to see a man. “Vaughan.” Edwige beamed. “Your assistant told me you’d be working out of your home today.”

Surprised, but pleasantly, Vaughan let his favorite new acquaintance into his home. “Edwige, I didn’t expect to see you so soon after the festival.”

“Quite frankly, neither did I.” Quickly she surveyed his home and ascertained, quite accurately, that she was slightly wealthier than he was. “I’m sorry that I had to attend to a business crisis after the festival and we couldn’t … finalize our relationship.”

Vaughan was relieved Edwige hadn’t feigned a headache but made up a business crisis to escape spending the night with him. It was much more original. “I must confess I have spent a moment or two thinking about what could have occurred.”

Edwige was crestfallen. “Just a moment?”

“Or two.”

That was better. Despite the urgency of the current matter she needed to attend to, it made her feel better to know she hadn’t lost her feminine charms. “Well, you should be happy to know that it is a personal matter that brings me here. One I believe you can help me with.”

“I am at your service,” Vaughan said, sitting down on the chocolate-brown leather couch, patting the seat next to him in lieu of a verbal invite. As she walked over to take her seat, Edwige bent down to admire a gorgeous bouquet of white roses in a black marble planter, much too modern for her taste but, from what she could tell, expensive. “Please be careful!”

Before Edwige could even breathe in the roses’ fragrant aroma, Vaughan stood and brought the planter to the other side of the room, placing it on top of the granite kitchen countertop that separated the two rooms. “I’m sorry, roses are so delicate, you know,” he explained. “And they were a gift.”

Lying, Edwige replied, “I understand.”

Much less relaxed than he was a minute ago, Vaughan sat on the opposite side of the couch and crossed his legs
like a proper English gentleman. And like a proper English gentleman, he concealed his emotion behind a courteous tone of voice. “I assume this visit has something to do with our children.”

“You assume correctly,” Edwige replied in the same tone. “It seems they’ve had a misunderstanding.”

Vaughan held back a sigh of relief and merely said, “Why, that’s too bad.” Unfortunately for Vaughan, Edwige had had a rough morning, so her allotted time period for remaining pleasant had already run out.

“We both know you don’t mean that. And inside that little brain of yours, you’re celebrating or doing whatever a man does when he thinks he’s won a battle, but I can assure you that this battle is far from over.” Edwige took a quick breath to continue before Vaughan could interrupt. “You see, my son and your son are destined to be together, so it behooves us all to give them a little push so they can find their way back to each other.” It didn’t matter how many breaths she took this time because Vaughan was speechless. “Now, have you heard from Michael lately?”

After a moment he found his voice. “I can’t say that I have. I’ve been meaning to call him. I have some news for him.”

“News?”

“From back home, Nebraska,” Vaughan replied. “But I must circle back to your comment about destiny. I hardly think, well, in fact I know, our teenaged sons are not, not at all each other’s destiny.”

Knowing when to make an exit is one of a woman’s best traits, so having done what she came here to do—plant a seed; hope Vaughan takes action so he can lead her to Michael—Edwige collected her things and began to leave. “Vaughan, your thoughts are immaterial because they are the thoughts of a wise and successful man, not those of a teenaged boy. When teenagers are distraught, they tend to ignore their studies. And I know that a man as successful and driven as yourself has his son’s future all planned out.”

When Vaughan stood up, he was over a foot taller than Edwige. Looking down at her, he didn’t know if he wanted to crush her or ravish her right there on his couch. “You’re right, I do have his future planned out,” he said. “Meticulously.”

“Then tell Michael to speak to Ronan to clear up their misunderstanding so they can both get their minds back on their schoolwork and have the bright, promising futures their parents have worked so hard to set in motion.”

Vaughan was on the verge of being just as forthright and telling Edwige that he had no intention of advising his son to make up with hers, not when it looked like he may have come to his senses. Instead he chose a craftier tactic. “I will do that. I know how difficult and confusing relationships can be at that age.”

“At any age,” Edwige said, adding a coquettish laugh to, hopefully, soften her harsh approach.

Standing in the doorway, her mission complete, Edwige
was overwhelmed with a feeling of distrust for this man. Then again, she didn’t trust any man, so she couldn’t put too much credence in that feeling. And even though he was quite handsome and would probably make an enjoyable and enthusiastic playmate, there was something about him that made her regret the fact that their families would, in one way or another, forever be linked. “Please ring me once you speak with Michael,” Edwige said. “I do so want to put this matter in the past.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” But since Vaughan had learned in business to never fully shut a door, he gave Edwige a kiss on her lips that left her the way he had planned, and the way she hardly ever found herself, speechless.

Minutes later, while he waited for Michael to pick up his phone, Vaughan wondered why women always thought they were in control. Men have the real power, well, men like him, who knew how to use it properly. After the recording, Vaughan left a message for his son. “Michael, this is your father. I’m sorry about the other night. I guess I’m still learning how to do this parent thing properly.” Vaughan breathed in deeply, the fragrance of the roses enveloping him. He touched a petal, so soft, so smooth. “I hate leaving this information on a message, but your grandmother died the other day. Please ring me and I can give you all the details.” Was there anything he forgot to say? “I, um, I hope all is well with you.”

* * *

It wasn’t. Long after the fog had lifted, Michael still couldn’t find the strength to move. He lay shivering on the ground, bothered by the cold but grateful that the sun had set because, even with the sunglasses, his eyes were still irritated by its light. He wished he had never come to this place. The pain of Two W and his home life were nothing compared to what he was going through now. He was physically and emotionally exhausted. And he couldn’t believe that it was all because of Ronan, the person he thought was going to be his savior.

When he opened his eyes, he realized that his hand was moving; he was lazily drawing in the dirt. Round and round and round his finger went, creating a circle in the earth. He knew it was a well, that thing Ronan talked about, that thing that was so vital to his existence, that thing he wished he had never heard about.
No, no, no!
He rubbed at the dirt furiously, making the circle disappear, and begged God to do the same thing to him. Just open up the ground and swallow him whole. Because if he couldn’t go on living in His image, then he didn’t want to go on living at all. But the ground didn’t open and he wasn’t swallowed up by the dirt, maybe because even unnatural things were created in God’s image.

A hybrid vampire! The idea was absurd. It couldn’t possibly be true, and yet he believed it, he believed that Ronan was telling him the truth and he was no longer human. When he thought of the implications, the real consequences, he clutched the dirt and screamed in fear,
but there was no sound. He opened his mouth, but the sob, the terror, strangled his throat. His body shook uncontrollably.