Unwelcome (35 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unwelcome
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“Amir,” David called out as everyone was leaving his office. “Thank you.”
Flushed with humility, Amir had to resist the urge to genuflect in front of David. Instead he bowed his head and clasped his hand over his heart, unable to find the proper words to convey what lay there. He didn't reply.
“You have proven your loyalty today,” David continued. “And once you succeed in your next assignment, you will be legendary.”
I can't believe he's entrusting me with such an important task, I can't believe he thinks I'm so special.
When Amir finally found the words, they raced out of his mouth in a strangled whisper. “There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, sir.”
Placing his massive hand on Amir's bony shoulder, David looked at the boy, making sure his eyes shone with a father's pride. “And that's why I have complete faith in you.”
This time Amir couldn't resist. He clutched David's hand and bent low on one knee, his eyes cast downward, not worthy of looking into his master's face. From across the room, near the door, David caught Jean-Paul's stare, and the two men had to look away from each other to stop themselves from laughing at the spectacle. When Amir finally stood up and found the courage to once again look David in the face, the headmaster's countenance had resumed its serious nature. “You have a busy day ahead of you,” David remarked. “Go make me proud.”
“I will.” After a few moments, Amir was able to pry himself away from David's presence and leave the room. When Jean-Paul closed the door, they could no longer retain their composure and burst out laughing, David's deep baritone intertwining with Jean-Paul's higher-pitched voice, the new sound echoing off the walls loudly.
“You do know thees eez a suicide mission?” Jean-Paul asked, catching his breath.
Pulling out a crisp white handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe away the tears his laughter created, David replied, “That's why I'm not sending you, my love.”
When he heard those last words, Nakano's hand froze on the doorknob. He wasn't eavesdropping, he wasn't being an immature git, he was just looking for his boyfriend. He never expected to overhear his headmaster call him
love
. He also never expected the two of them to embrace.
What the bloody hell is going on?! What are they doing? When he felt his hand start to shake he let go of the doorknob so he wouldn't jiggle it, so he wouldn't make any sound and interrupt the two of them from doing what seemed to come so naturally. He didn't want to bear witness to the scene; he wanted to pounce on them or flee. Instead, he watched. He felt his stomach lurch when he saw David hold Jean-Paul's chin between his thumb and forefinger and stare into his eyes. He felt something cold and painful squeeze his heart when he saw David tenderly kiss Jean-Paul's left cheek, then turn his face to kiss the other.
No, not again! Am I that ugly? Am I that stupid that I can't even keep a boyfriend?! What is wrong with me?! Put one foot behind you, Nakano, so you can get the hell out of here before they see you, before they make you look like an even bigger fool! One foot, that's it, then the other, yes, go, leave!
He stumbled out of the anteroom, but just as he turned to run, he bumped into Brania.
“Watch where you're going, you fool!” she exclaimed.
Nakano stared at her. He wanted to scream back, tell her how disgusting her father was, but he felt that if he opened his mouth he would cry.
Watching him run off toward campus, into the burgeoning darkness, Brania couldn't get over how much younger Nakano looked. It could be the longer hair; it softened his appearance, made him look more vulnerable, more like the child he really was. It wasn't so much his physicality, though, as his demeanor. Nakano ran toward a fight, not from it, something must have happened to change him. Studying Jean-Paul, his arms wrapped around her father, she had her answer. “You're sleeping with the old nurse
and
the hot Frenchman,” Brania denounced. “My word, Father, how varied are your tastes?”
“It seems that you've lived among these humans far too long,” David remarked. “Their primitive instincts have permeated your brain.”
“I'm the one being primitive?!” Brania shouted. “You're so primal, you can't even limit yourself to one gender.”
Outraged, Jean-Paul took a step toward Brania, but David grabbed him by the elbow, preventing him from getting any closer. “You should not speak to your papa that way.”
It was bad enough she had to deal with her father's scorn. She refused to be preached at by his latest concubine. Sideswiping a chair with a brush of her hand, sending it flying across the room, she screamed, “I will speak to my
papa
any way I choose to!”
“But you will not raise your voice to your brother!”
Her knees buckled, just slightly, but enough to warn her that she needed to hold on to something or else she might fall. Brania clutched at the back of one of the leather chairs, pressing her nails so hard she broke through the fabric. “My
what
?”
This was not the way David had planned to hold the family reunion. He wanted to wait until the location of The Well was discovered to proclaim that he and both his children would lead His people to victory, Brania seated on his left, and Jean-Paul, a smidge closer, seated on his right. Ah, well, what was that colloquialism? No time like the present. “Brania,” David said, “I'd like you to meet your baby brother, Jean-Paul Germaine.”
This is ridiculous, this cannot be happening. It's a joke, yes, my father's attempt at a cruel, a very cruel joke.
“That's impossible.”
“I assure you it is possible and it is fact,” David declared. “I remember every second of Chantal's labor, thirty-six long, but ultimately extremely rewarding, hours.”
Smiling, Jean-Paul touched his father's shoulder affectionately. “She still blames me for zee pain.”
Joining in the laughter, David kissed Jean-Paul's hand. “Oh, she has no one to blame but herself, my son.”
Son?! How in the world can he have a son? Her entire life she was the only one, no one else. That wasn't going to change now; she wouldn't let it. “I'm your only child! That's what you always told me!”
Growing weary, David was beginning to regret his disclosure. “I said you were my only daughter, I never said you were my only child. Maybe if you would stop listening with human ears, you would hear the truth.”
It was as if Brania stepped through time, as if she tumbled through a tunnel and landed two centuries earlier. She felt like Nakano looked, young, vulnerable, like the child she had been and, unfortunately, still was. The tears were so unexpected, so unfamiliar, that they stung, they blinded her so she couldn't see her father's face; she could only focus on the memory of him. “I have dedicated my life to you! I . . . have . . .
compromised
myself and done things that were
abhorrent
only to carry out your whims and earn your love.” She wanted to continue; she had so much more she wanted to say. But she couldn't breathe properly, she was gasping, her chest heaving. Her father's harsh summation made it unnecessary for her to speak another word.
“As it should be.”
Brania felt her body fold in half; she reached out to grab another chair, but there wasn't one and she stumbled forward, causing David to take a step backward or else feel her touch. Hunched over, she looked up into the face of her father, then her newly discovered brother. She was surrounded by more family than ever before and yet she felt more alone than she had ever felt in her entire life.
 
Lochlan felt the same way. He wished he didn't, he wished he could feel some pain, but that stopped quite a while ago, and without the pain as a distraction, all he could do was think. He thought about how he had spent his life, the wife whom he lost years ago, the children they never had, and he acknowledged, ruefully, that there was no one on earth that he wanted to spend his final moments with. This was not the way he assumed he would die, but he had to admit it was better than dying in a hospital after a long illness, the medical staff expecting family to gather round and, when none showed, feeling sorry for him, not because he was about to die but because he was about to die alone.
Which is what he thought would happen until he saw Ronan.
After he left the doctor's office, Ronan scoured the campus for a trace, a clue as to the doctor's whereabouts. When he smelled the blood coming from the cathedral, he knew his search had ended. He had no idea, however, that he would find something so ghastly.
Looking up at MacCleery, Ronan realized he had been crucified for his sin, the sin of being human. All he wanted to do was protect him, protect all the children at Double A, carry out Alistair's wishes, do what the former headmaster had been incapable of doing, and this is how he was repaid. It wasn't fair, but it proved what Ronan always believed: David and his kind were truly evil and he was right in keeping the truth from Michael and trying to shield him. MacCleery's impaled body was evidence—when you uncovered the truth, this was what happened.
Will the sun prevail.
Ronan was only a child when his father died, so there was nothing he could do to make his death easier, this time was different. Ronan narrowed his eyes and shot beams of light to disintegrate the nails. Untethered, the doctor fell into his waiting arms. Placing Lochlan gently on the altar, Ronan could barely hear him breathe, in a matter of seconds, the man would be dead. He wished he could think of something to say to him to lessen his fear, but what did an immortal creature, someone who took death from the living as a means of survival, know about alleviating a dying man's fears? Fortunately, it was the doctor's turn to make things easier for Ronan.
“It's up to you now,” MacCleery sighed.
Or will darkness reign.
As a deep shadow passed over Lochlan's body, he spoke once more. “You have to protect them from David.”
And then with Ronan as his only witness, he died.
chapter 21
Ronan's shadow fell at Brania's feet and they both stopped. When she couldn't smell any human blood, she knew the body Ronan was carrying was dead and for a fleeting moment, no more than a second, she wished she could trade places with the corpse. So did Ronan.
“This is because of you!”
Ronan's words were silent, but they still smashed into Brania with such force that she clutched her stomach.
“Innocent blood! Spilled because of you and your father!”
Holding MacCleery's body close, protecting him even in death from the enemy, Ronan asked, “Are you proud?!”
While his eyes bore into Brania, Ronan tried again to mentally contact Edwige and Michael. Once again, neither one responded. Sometimes Michael couldn't hear him, but Edwige always did. Where was she? Ronan needed help. He needed to give the doctor's body a proper burial and find Michael and the others to warn them that they could be in danger. Obviously the doctor had been right. It was up to him, up to him to do everything.
As Brania watched Ronan run off toward where there was still some sun, where darkness was not yet king, she felt the sound begin to rise from her toes. It consumed her, ravaged her entire body until she could no longer physically contain it and had no other choice but to give it release. “NOOOO!!!!” Again and again she shouted, disrupting her surroundings, making the birds squawk, flee, making her body shake, screaming until her voice was sore, screaming so her feelings and thoughts would leave her.
She looked at Archangel Cathedral, the yellow stained glass pale and hushed, the fading sunlight and shadow in a duel for supremacy, and she wondered if those who worshiped that other god were also disappointed. She had put all her faith in her father only to find out he was a false prophet, a liar, someone whom she couldn't trust and someone not worthy of her love. Could this place be different? Could all the stories she heard be true and not just the desperate hopes of those who were sadly mortal?
One stubborn ray of light shone from the window and traveled through the premature dusk in a line that landed a foot from Brania's face. She gazed into it and although she knew she was acting like one of those desperate fools, she walked toward it. When her body touched the light, she was amazed how quickly the throbbing in her mind, the rage, ceased. The only thing that prevented her from entering the church was the music.
The soft soprano voice floated through the air, a melody that existed purely on its own. It wasn't seeking an audience, but it had found one. Brania listened preternaturally and finally surmised that the voice she had heard so many times before was coming from near St. Sebastian's, but as far as she could tell, it had nothing to do with the celebration for the Black Sun, nothing to do with her father's people. This was a voice that was on its own.
Crisscrossing through the trees within The Forest, Brania's eyes narrowed and blackened. She needed her full vampire vision to maneuver inside the darkness that had overtaken the woods. The voice acted as radar, calling out to her, bringing her home. Her pace accelerated and she ran through the brush, sidestepping boulders and tree stumps, her memory returning to when she was a young girl, the folds of her long satin dress clumped in one hand, her other hand outstretched so the blood that dripped off her fingers wouldn't soil the fabric. She had to get to the lake to wash before Daddy saw her. He always got mad when she made a mess. He wanted His little girl to be perfect, not remind Him that He was not.
When she reached the entrance of the crypt, she was startled to see that her hand was blood-free. She still felt stained, but when she moved farther into the cave and saw Imogene sitting in her coffin, she no longer felt like a little girl.
The purity of Imogene's sound, the effortless notes, swirled around and through Brania as if they were cleansing her soul, and she found it difficult not to cry. But a parent isn't supposed to cry in front of her child; a parent is supposed to instill her child with a sense of comfort and security, love and compassion, and that's what Brania planned to do. Stepping into the coffin, she sat facing Imogene and felt for the first time in centuries that she had found her true purpose.
 
Standing in the doorway of Ciaran's lab, prepared to satisfy the second part of David's command, Amir felt the same way. He knew long before he was plucked from a slum in Calcutta to study at Double A that he was special. He dreamed about immortality long before David approached him one afternoon and asked him if he wanted to live forever, and he understood that dealing with this human was just another step closer to holding the keys of eternity in his hands. Those keys were meant to be his and no stupid, prissy science geek was going to stand in his way. “I knew I'd find you here,” Amir informed Ciaran. “You're not the festive sort and you really don't have any mates, do ya?”
Ciaran was not afraid of vampires. He grew up aware of their existence, he coexisted with them, a part of him wanted to be one, but when he saw Amir, his top lip twitching uncontrollably, he gasped. “You shouldn't startle a bloke holding a test tube,” Ciaran replied, struggling to keep his voice calm. “It could have dangerous results.”
The sound of Amir's heels against the tiled floor was steady. Ciaran maintained eye contact with him so he wouldn't notice that he closed his journal and snapped it shut just as Amir's heel made one final click. When he placed his spindly fingers on the table, Ciaran's journal was covered by a pile of notes. “Spill it, science boy,” Amir barked. “David wants to know what you've discovered for us.”
Us?
If Amir actually thought his name could be mentioned in the same breath as David's, he was not only delusional, but dangerous as well. Best to give him what he came here for and get rid of him. “Take a look,” Ciaran said, spinning the microscope around so the lens faced Amir.
Peering through the lens, Amir saw a blob of colors, red, white, yellow, interswirled like an abstract painting, pretty but with no meaning. “We don't have time for flippin' games, Eaves,” Amir shouted. “What is this?”
Ciaran pulled the microscope back to his side of the table and explained that what Amir saw was a chromosome unique to water vamps. “I was able to isolate a cell in Michael's blood and test it against elements found in the sun,” Ciaran said. “I thought I was right barmy to try something so basic, but it worked. Looks like water vamps' blood, unlike yours and mine, contains some of the same elements.”
“Oh, sod off with your bloody science talk, will ya!” Amir bellowed. “What's it mean for us? David wants a final report.”
He gave Amir information. Now it was time to get rid of him. “I'm working on a transfusion of water vamp blood, but it will take time.” Gathering his books, Ciaran stood up. “Vampires weren't created in a day, you know.”
“What about the human child?”
Keep walking, Ciaran. Don't let this prat think you know what he's talking about.
“Pardon?”
Stepping in front of Ciaran, Amir blocked the exit, his wiry body so rigid he looked like he'd grown another foot. “I'm talking about your sister! The bitch hiding underneath the table.”
“I am not . . .”
“Saoirse!” Ciaran was having difficulty controlling Amir; he couldn't handle two wild cards at once. Trying to block Saoirse from Amir's line of vision, Ciaran forced himself to laugh. “Absobloodylootely, mate. Saoirse's human just like me.”
“She may be human, but she's nothing like you!”
Shrugging his shoulders, Ciaran took a step closer toward Amir. “I'm not sure what you've heard, but you know how these stories get twisted, one part truth, twelve parts fiction.”
“Bugger off, Ciaran!” Amir screamed. “We all know the stories are true, no matter how hard your kind try to keep it a secret!”
Before the last word spat out of Amir's mouth, he disappeared. Ciaran whirled around and was terrified to see that he didn't go too far, he was on the other side of the room, holding Saoirse by the back of the neck, lifting her two feet off the ground. “Tell me why this one's so special!” Amir cried.
“Let go of me!” Saoirse shrieked.
Ciaran had never seen his sister so frightened, he had never worked harder to remain unruffled. “Amir, mate, what's it matter?” he asked. “She's different, that's all.”
Shaking Saoirse like a rag doll, Amir bellowed, “It matters because we want to know!”
“Ciaran, help me!” Saoirse shouted, her feet treading air. His patience gone, replaced with an uncomfortable combination of fear and frustration, Ciaran yelled back, “We all want to know, but none of us can figure it out!”
“Ciaran,” Saoirse said, her voice now choked as Amir pressed harder on her neck, “make him put me down.”
Outside, there was an explosion of firecrackers, the carnival was under way. That's where he should be, Ciaran thought, with his friends, enjoying himself, not in here trying to reason with a madman, trying to save his sister's life, not watching Amir's face distort and lengthen, his fangs descend, pure white, as thin as the rest of his body. “C'mon, mate, just put her down!”
Amir grinned devilishly. “Make me.”
Without thinking, Ciaran tossed his books at Amir and sprang forward, lunging not at Amir, but Saoirse, hoping he could wrestle her away and give her a chance to run free. No such luck. Amir's reflexes were too quick and he was able to jump out of the way, Saoirse's flailing body securely tucked under his arm, and make it to the doorway with enough time to watch Ciaran fall to the floor and crash into the base of the lab table. Scrambling to his knees, Ciaran turned around just in time to see Saoirse reaching her arms out to him. “Help me!”
“We'll be where the sun is blackest,” Amir said. “Ronan'll know where that is.”
Ciaran understood the cryptic remark, but before he could respond, Amir and Saoirse disappeared from his view. Running to St. Sebastian's, he couldn't stop blaming himself. He knew he was no match for Amir physically, but he should have been able to outsmart him, make him realize nothing could be gained by kidnapping his sister. No one understood why she was so different, and people had been trying to figure it out since she was born. An act of unprovoked violence wasn't going to bring forth an answer; it was only going to elicit more violence.
“Ronan!” Ciaran shouted into his cell phone, his feet smashing into the grass as he ran. “Call me, it's urgent.”
Once inside St. Sebastian's, Ciaran had to close his eyes. There was way too much going on around him. The carnival was in full swing, music thumping, lights flashing, kids screaming. There was a loud crash, then a splash, and Fritz yelling, “Blakeley down!” Where was Ronan in this swirl of activity? Ciaran couldn't find him, but he found the next best thing. “Michael!”
“Hey you,” Michael said, holding a cloud of pink cotton candy on a stick. “Here, have this. I only grabbed it 'cause I like the smell.”
“No, thanks,” Ciaran said, waving his hand. “Have you seen Ronan?”
Shaking his head, Michael replied, “No, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Dammit! Why is my brother never around when I need him?
“Any idea where he is?”
“He said he would meet me here, but I can't find him,” Michael said, looking into the crowd. Then he leaned in closer to Ciaran. “He's probably trying to send me a telepathic message right now, but you know, I just can't get the hang of that.” When Ciaran didn't laugh or make a snippy comment, Michael realized he was definitely not wearing a happy carnival face and out of all of them, he was the one most looking forward to the day's outing. “What's going on?”
“We have a problem.” Ciaran hesitated. He knew Ronan wouldn't want Michael to be involved, but he didn't have a choice, he couldn't waste any more time trying to find him. The second after Ciaran explained that Amir was waiting at Inishtrahull Island, the northernmost part of Ireland, where the sun would be the blackest during the eclipse, and with Saoirse as his hostage, Michael started to run out of the gym.
“Where are you going?” Ciaran asked.
Ciaran really could be so dimwitted at times. “To help Saoirse, where do you think?”
Michael really could be so ignorant at times. “Stop! There are things about her you don't understand.”
Tossing the cotton candy into Ciaran's hands, Michael informed his friend that there were no more secrets between him and Ronan and raced off into the crowd. If only that were true. There was much more that Ciaran wanted to tell Michael, much more that he himself didn't understand, not that it was his place. Ronan should be the one to inform Michael of the riddles that confounded their family, but where the hell was he? For that matter, where was David or Nakano or even that French guy Nakano was going out with? As far as Ciaran could tell, there wasn't one vampire inside of St. Sebastian's and, at Double A, the odds of that happening were pretty slim.
What an idiot I've been. Ronan was right after all.

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