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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unwelcome
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Birthday?! Michael felt like he had been punched in the stomach and was being strangled at the same time. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see clearly. How could he have forgotten Ronan's seventeenth birthday?
“Oh, sorry, mate,” Fritz said. “I forgot today was the day. Happy birthday.”
Hardly happy. “It's no big deal,” Ronan replied. “Just another day.”
 
When they walked into their dorm room, Michael still found it difficult to look at Ronan. He didn't want him to see him cry yet again; he also didn't want to see Ronan's disappointment. But he was his boyfriend, the person he loved more than anyone on the planet. How could he forget something so important, how could he hurt him so deeply? He had to say something; he deserved an apology. “Ronan,” Michael started, his tears making it difficult to speak, “I'm sorry.”
One look at Michael, and Ronan knew he was sincere. He knew he felt terrible, which only made Ronan want to ease his pain. “It's okay, love,” Ronan assured him, hugging him tightly. “Vampires don't really celebrate birthdays anyway.”
Pushing Ronan away, Michael said, “But boyfriends do.”
He was right,
Ronan told himself,
he should have remembered. It doesn't matter that I don't age, that we're not going to grow old; it's still my birthday and it's a special day, a special day that went uncelebrated, forgotten.
But Ronan couldn't bring himself to yell at Michael. He knew that these past few months had been a difficult transition and he knew that it was all because of him. Michael's life was complicated now and sometimes unbearable, so if he forgot his birthday, it wasn't the end of the world or, worse, the end of their relationship. “I'll be honest. I am a wee bit disappointed,” Ronan said. “But I'm not going to hold it against you.”
Wiping the tears from his eyes as new ones started to fall, Michael stood before Ronan and pledged, “I'll try harder, I promise.”
Ronan held Michael's hand, heartbroken that it was trembling, but also encouraged. Michael wasn't like the others, the other boys he had loved. He was different and even though, years earlier, Ronan had thought he'd found his soul mate with someone else, he now knew that was a mistake, it turned out to be a relationship that didn't last. The person he was meant to share his eternity with was standing before him. “You don't have to try harder; just be yourself, Michael,” Ronan said quietly, kissing one cheek. “Forever beautiful.” Then he kissed the other cheek. “And forever mine.”
Overcome with guilt and love and confusion, Michael didn't attempt to speak, he just stood there and let Ronan undress him.
“Now come on, love,” Ronan said. “Let's go to bed.”
chapter 14
David jumped up and landed on the branch so gently the white-tailed eagle wasn't disturbed. A foot away, he admired the creature's harsh beauty, its yellow, sharply hooked beak; its talons, the same color and shape; and, of course, its feathers, long, interwoven, and various shades of brown. But what he loved most was the unexpected color of its chest and head—pure white, like a virgin snowfall—which gave the eagle a look of innocence. This, however, was no innocent animal, the eagle, like David, was a predator. That's why, when it shifted its gaze, and its large, expressionless eyes took in David's form, it didn't immediately perceive that it had become prey.
David grabbed the eagle by the throat and their eyes met, one inhuman being facing another. Unused to being in a position of vulnerability, the eagle didn't know to struggle. The only part of the bird that moved was its feet as they shuffled slightly in order to grab a more secure hold of the thick branch. The razor-sharp nails of its talons plucked pieces of bark free until it regained its balance and was once again as steady as David. Squeezing tighter, David didn't sway in the slightest, he looked as if he were standing on the ground and not on a branch fifty feet above it. The eagle, confused, could not maintain its position and finally reacted as David had hoped, releasing its hold on the branch and unfurling its wings as if it were in mid-flight.
Outstretched, the eagle's wings looked magnificent, almost eight feet in length from one tip to the other. Oh, to be graced with such beauty, David thought, such majesty, to have the tools to soar, float through the sky. As a centuries-old vampire, David possessed remarkable abilities, more so than most of his kind, but true flight was not one of them, and David longed to know the full scope of an eagle's freedom. Sadly, freedom for this particular bird was about to come to an end.
Twisting his grip to hold the eagle by the back of the neck instead of his throat, David jumped off the branch and used the animal's innate skill against him so together they could soar into the morning sky. With his free hand, David reached out, stretching, grasping toward a freedom that was not yet his, imagining he was the one allowing them to fly because of his power, his ability, his wings.
When he looked at his reflection in the mirror that hung in the anteroom to his office, the eagle in front of him, its wings fluttering, David knew Zachariel would welcome the sacrifice and understand the symbolism behind his gesture. If the eagle understood what David was about to do, it would have used every ounce of strength to fly from the room, not that an attempt to escape would have been successful. David was in complete control. And in no rush.
“Be patient, my friend, your time will come,” he said. “But first I must send a message to my children.”
 
The text was intriguing. It wasn't the words that impressed Phaedra, but the power behind them. David was able to cast a spell even when his words were unspoken.
My students, The Carnival for the Black Sun is almost upon us! Come to St. Sebastian's today so we can begin preparations for the festivities. Only together can we make this a memorable event in Archangel Academy's history!
In only a few sentences, David called for unity among his students, pride in the legacy of their school, and service to the common good, and he did so using the students' preferred method of communication. Phaedra would have been even more impressed by his skill had she known that David was born more than three hundred years before the digital age.
“Must be some fascinating text you got there.”
Phaedra looked over at the other side of the room, at Saoirse, who was lounging in bed. Michael had been right. Having company these past few weeks did help speed up her recovery. “Our new headmaster has sent us a command.”
Jumping off her bed, Saoirse ran over to Phaedra, grabbed the cell phone out of her hand, and collapsed onto the mattress. “Ooh, let's see.” David Zachary: Headmaster, Vampire King, Text Meister. How many secret talents does that man have? “Cool, this is as good a reason as any to show my face in public,” she said. “I'm tired of hiding out.”
“Are you sure that's a wise idea?” Phaedra asked.
“I'm a fifteen-year-old runaway who escaped one boarding school to hide out in another,” Saoirse replied, tossing the cell phone back to Phaedra. “I've no idea what's wise.”
As always, Phaedra couldn't tell if Saoirse was being serious or sarcastic. She thought living as a teenage girl was difficult; living with one was even trickier. She wouldn't change the arrangement. She enjoyed Saoirse's company, her irreverence and good energy, but that same energy could be exhausting at times. And depressing. Saoirse's presence made Phaedra realize how much she missed Imogene.
Poor Imogene. When her friend was taken from this world, Phaedra thought her learning would cease, but the opposite occurred; her knowledge grew. She understood the grief of losing a friend and now the joy of rediscovering a new one, one who was a bit more complicated than Imogene. “I think you're a lot wiser than you let on,” Phaedra said.
I wonder how much she knows about me,
Saoirse thought.
As much as I know about her?
“That's 'cause you're anti-human.”
More complicated, but just as sassy. “We told you about me in confidence, in case I suddenly got all, you know, foggy and stuff!” Phaedra screamed. “But it's a secret!”
Straight-faced, Saoirse chastised her roommate. “Then why are you shouting so the neighbors can hear?”
Phaedra wasn't an expert, but she thought Saoirse had the “little sister” act down pat. “I'm not shouting!” she replied, playfully flinging a pillow at Saoirse. “And besides I'm not
anti-
human.”
Welcoming the pillow fight challenge, Saoirse pelted Phaedra in her shoulder with the cushiony weapon. “You are too!”
Quickly the two girls were kneeling on Phaedra's bed, hitting each other with pillows, shrieking with laughter, each one of Phaedra's
Am not
's met with an
Are too
from Saoirse until a deeper voice put an end to their shenanigans. “Blimey! I didn't know the match already started!”
The sight of Phaedra bouncing on her bed, her smiling face the center of a mass of curls, gave Fritz some not-soinnocent ideas. She looked so light, so bouncy, like she could fly, like she wasn't born to be attached to the ground or something. All Fritz wanted to do at the moment was take her by her hands and pull her back down onto the bed, show her that being grounded can be just as much fun as being airborne. Saoirse had other ideas. “Pillow fight!” she declared. “Boys against the girls.”
Michael saw the looks of terror. Neither Fritz nor Phaedra relished the fact of engaging in close, physical contact with each other while two other people were in the room. “Sorry, I was brought up not to hit girls,” Michael announced.
Adorable
and
a gentleman. “Even if the girl hits first?” Saoirse inquired, then threw Phaedra's pillow at Michael's face.
So much for trying to make things less awkward for my friends,
Michael thought.
A challenge is a challenge.
“Prepare to be defeated, lassie!” Michael cried, whacking Saoirse's legs with the pillow. Giggling, she returned fire with a wallop to the side of his head, and soon the two were using Phaedra's bed as their own personal arena, laughing, shouting, hurling pillows at each other, while Fritz and Phaedra stood on the sidelines watching them, not brave enough to join in, each secretly hoping that when their time for physical entertainment came, it would also involve pillows, but of a more stationary kind.
Saoirse was laughing so hard that when Michael's pillow hit her in the face, she lost her balance. When she hit the ground, however, she was the only one who continued to laugh. “Saoirse!” Kneeling beside her, Michael brushed her hair from her face, he was sure she hit the side of her head against the bedside dresser, but there wasn't a mark on the girl.
Looking up at Michael, Saoirse couldn't decide if his eyes were green like the meadows near her old school or green like her favorite angora scarf. Didn't matter, they were still gorgeous. “You win!” she wailed. “I dub thee Michael, King of the Pillow Fight!” Close call, but obviously a false alarm. Saoirse was already standing up. “What's next on the agenda? Sword fighting? Russian roulette? I know! Let's have a duel!” When three sets of eyebrows raised at the same time, Saoirse was compelled to amend her statement. “With water pistols if you're all chicken.”
“Are you sure you're related to Glynn-Rowley?” Fritz asked.
“Hatched from the same old bird,” she confirmed.
Shaking his head, Fritz looked at Michael. “Like night and day, those two.”
Running to the other side of the room, Saoirse practically dove underneath the bed to retrieve her sneakers. Sitting on the floor, she shoved one on and then the other. “Speaking of my brother, where is he? I thought the two of you were, you know, joined at the hip.”
Michael blushed a little. Even though everyone knew he and Ronan were a couple, when spoken out loud in front of people, it made him feel, not embarrassed exactly, but self-conscious. For all his bravado he wasn't yet completely comfortable declaring his homosexuality, but he was getting there. “Hardly,” he replied. “He's at the library.”
“Doing some
posh
reading,” Fritz added, garnering a huge laugh and a high-five from Michael as well as dumbfounded looks from the girls.
“Boys!” Saoirse shouted, rolling her eyes at Phaedra. Looking at Fritz, Phaedra repeated the sentiment to herself.
Yes, boys, what a wonderful concept.
Noticing the onset of what could grow into a long, awkward silence, Michael thought it time to explain to the girls why they barged into their room in the first place. “Did you get Zachary's text?”
“You mean his decree?” Phaedra asked, scouring her closet for her coat.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “We weren't sure if St. Anne's students got it too.”
Zipping up her coat, Phaedra assured them the entire student body got his message. “He sure knows how to amass an army.”
“Should be fun, though,” Fritz said. “You know, all of us . . .
amassed
army recruits decorating for this carnival thing.”
Crawling back under her bed to find her jacket, Saoirse whispered dramatically, “The Carnival for the Black Sun. It sounds so mysterious.”
“Nothing mysterious about it,” Phaedra replied. “It's the solar eclipse in a few months.”
“C'mon, missie,” Michael said. “It's time to go.” Grabbing Saoirse by the back of the neck, Michael led the way out of their room, giving Fritz enough privacy to grab hold of Phaedra's hand. Her grip was soft, but firm, the way Fritz liked it. He liked it almost as much as Saoirse liked having the last word.
“Sure, complete and total darkness in the middle of the day,” Saoirse replied sarcastically. “Nothing at all mysterious about that.”
When they got to St. Sebastian's, the only mystery concerned David. Somehow he had convinced almost the entire student body of Double A and St. Anne's to volunteer their time on a Saturday morning to start decorating for the upcoming social event of the school season, and yet he was nowhere to be found.
What they didn't realize was that David had no intention of being a participant; he was hoping to become a voyeur.
 
In one swift movement, David bit the eagle's neck and started sucking out the creature's flavorful blood. Screeching and flapping its wings wildly, the eagle tried desperately to escape the clutches of this thing that was taking its life, but David was too strong, his thirst too great, and soon the eagle's bloodless body grew limp, its head slumping to the side.
David pulled out his fangs slowly and cradled the beast to his chest like a newborn before placing it on the floor, stretching out its wings to their full width. Leaning over the animal, David brushed its eyes closed with his fingers and allowed a few drops of blood to fall onto the eagle's chest, staining the white feathers as a way to claim his victim. And then it was time to, hopefully, claim his reward.
Facing the mirror, David bent over until his bloodstained lips were a breath away from Zachariel's portrait and kissed his namesake, smearing the eagle's blood all over the archangel's likeness until its face glistened red. Then he knelt beside the eagle—reluctant to disturb its eternal slumber, but aware that he must in order to make a proper offering—and ripped the wings from its body. Standing before the mirror, his lips and beard wet with blood, he held the eagle's fully expanded wings in his hands and extended his arms, his elongated reach almost filling up the entire room.
O Zachariel, archangel of the sun
Share your power with a child of the night
As my grasp extends like an eagle on the wind
Grant your son the gift of omniscient sight.

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