Unnatural (44 page)

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 barely 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?”

Smiling, Edwige pulled her black leather gloves off, one finger at a time, before tossing them into her purse. “I’ve come to thwart Brania’s plan to kill you.”

“Oh, well, that’s really nice to hear,” Imogene replied.
Wait a second! What did she say?
“Kill me?!”

Brania lunged at Imogene, but before she could grab the girl’s arm, Edwige’s purse struck Brania in the face. The force of it knocked her backward and Brania fell into the bathroom, hitting the back of her head on the sink. Seeing Brania crumble to the floor, Imogene ran to the front door, but just as she turned the doorknob, Edwige gripped her hand so tightly she couldn’t move it any farther.

“What are you doing?!” Imogene screamed. “We have to get out of here.”

Edwige didn’t look like she was exerting any energy and yet Imogene couldn’t turn the doorknob an inch or release her hand from this woman’s grip. “Darling, you misunderstood me,” Edwige said calmly. “I’m not going to let Brania kill you because I want that honor all for myself.”

Finally the terror that Imogene had been feeling all day rose to the surface and she screamed. Edwige cut the bloodcurdling sound short with a harsh slap to her face that sent Imogene sprawling on the floor. Scrambling to get to her feet, Imogene saw Edwige standing over her, her face changing right before her eyes. Frantic, she grabbed whatever she could and threw it at her, shoes, books, a chair, but all her effort only made Edwige laugh wildly. Until Brania jumped on Edwige’s back and knocked her to the ground.

“This one is mine!” Brania shrieked, grabbing the back of Edwige’s head and ramming her face into the hardwood floor. Before she could do it a second time, however, Edwige flipped around and grabbed a fistful of Brania’s hair. “Let go of me!” Brania screamed. Naturally, Edwige didn’t comply but simply pulled harder, causing Brania to tumble over onto her side and crash onto the floor. Straddling her, Edwige grabbed Brania’s wrists and pressed them to the floor. “She’s mine!” Brania shouted, gasping for breath. “She killed one of my most trusted men!”

Edwige’s eyes were filled with such uncontrollable hatred
that for a moment she lost herself. She released the pressure she was exerting on Brania and leaned forward so her face was less than an inch away from hers. “And you took Vaughan from me!”

That’s what this is about?
Rallying all her strength, Brania cocked her head forward and banged it into Ed-wige’s forehead. Lurching backward, Edwige fell onto the bed, and before her eyes could focus, she felt Brania’s hands violently squeezing her throat. In one quick move, Brania stood up and held Edwige high over her head. “So it’s revenge that you want?!” Brania cried. “You’re jealous because I got to that fool before you did?”

Edwige kicked Brania in the chest with the heel of her shoe, and Brania was thrown back into the window. Edwige fell to the floor, her feet firmly planted, and stood over her nemesis. “Damned right I am! And now I’m going to kill this one before you can bring her over to your side.”

But the one she was talking about was almost out the door. Once again, Brania was impressed with Imogene’s moxie, but there was no way she was letting her escape, and there was no way she was letting Edwige get to her first. Like a flash of silent lightning, Brania yanked Imogene away from the front door and held her in front of her. Imogene’s feet dangled a few inches above the floor while her hands tried to pry away Brania’s arm, which was tucked underneath her neck. It was no use. Imogene was kicking and flailing as much as she could, but Brania’s hold was like a vice. She tried to scream, but no
sound could penetrate through the hand that was covering her mouth. Imogene was filled with despair when she felt something scrape against her neck just like it had the night in The Forest, the night Penry was killed.