“I have my first driving lesson tomorrow,” Michael squealed.
That’s okay, Ronan thought. It’s not a big deal that he didn’t remember. “Yes, well, it should be all that,” he said. “I never bothered going for mine, didn’t really see the purpose.”
Michael bent his arms and pressed his elbows into Ronan’s chest so their faces were mere inches apart. “Don’t say another word. Ciaran’s already pointed out that I don’t need a car to travel, but I don’t care, I really want my license.”
“And so you should have one,” Ronan said, smiling to hide his disappointment. “You should have whatever you want.”
Feeling the passion rumble in his stomach, Michael kissed Ronan and spoke at the same time. “You can have whatever you want too you know.” Even though Ronan knew that the comment was sincere, right now he knew there was no chance of getting his wish.
The next day, however, one of Michael’s wishes was about to come true. The day had dragged on, class after lecture after pop quiz, and all he could think about was his driving lesson. Yes, it was absurd; yes, for a vampire, human transportation was unnecessary, but yes, he was as excited as any typical mortal sixteen-year-old. And just as confused.
“What the hell are you doing?” Blakeley asked. Car keys in hand, Michael paused in front of the driver’s side door of the familiar-looking Honda Civic, realizing too late that in this British model, the driver’s side door was on the opposite side. “You’re not in the States anymore, Howard,” Blakeley informed him. “It’s time you learned to drive on the right side of the road.”
Shrugging off his mistake, Michael walked around the front of the car to the right side, the driver’s side, and got in. And then the excitement he had been feeling all day long seeped out of his pores and was replaced with anxiety. He had been behind the wheel of a car before, but that was back home, and the wheel on his grandfather’s truck was on the left side. This was completely different. How could he have been so stupid not to know there was going to be an intercontinental learning curve? At least he wasn’t so naïve to think that Blakeley would cut him some slack since he wasn’t a native. “Don’t think I’m going to be easy on you ’cause you’re a Yankee.”
“Actually, I’m from the Midwest,” Michael corrected him, knowing it was a mistake even before the words came out of his mouth.
“I don’t care where the bloody hell you’re from! If you want to drive here in the U.K., you can’t expect leniency!”
The words bounced off the windows and echoed in the car, growing louder and louder until they were replaced by Blakeley’s raucous laughter. Michael’s first thought was that his gym teacher was insane, possibly manic-depressive. He never laughed. He soon discovered that he never laughed while coaching. Sports were serious. Learning how to drive, that was entertaining. “Get it? U.K., you can’t,” Blakeley asked, laughing so hard at his lame joke that he didn’t notice Michael remained silent. “Sorry, Howard, just having a little fun at your expense. Now start her up and let’s get going. We’ve only an hour, you know.”
An hour that I’m suddenly dreading, Michael thought. Regardless, there was no way of escaping, so Michael took a deep breath and started the engine. So far so good. Next he put the car into drive and slowly accelerated down the cobblestone road, thankful that the ancient, uneven pathway made it impossible to drive over ten miles per hour. But all that changed when they reached the Archangel Academy gate. Michael slammed on the brakes, making Blakeley lurch forward in his seat, then hurl back. “Don’t you have to turn off the electronic fence?”
Impressed, Blakeley eyed his pupil. “Already took care of that,” he said. “The fence is shut down on the days I give lessons, but good instincts.” Blakeley waved his hand, giving Michael the go-ahead to drive past the gate and onto the main road, but the car stood still. Michael’s foot wouldn’t move over to the gas pedal. “Don’t wimp out on me now,” Blakeley said in a voice that was frank without being harsh. “You got a lot more courage than that.”
You’re right coach, I do. Pressing down on the gas pedal, he made the Civic hesitantly move forward, and they left the cobblestone path for the slightly smoother road that was the only passageway off school grounds. Gripping the steering wheel tightly and cruising at the incredible speed of eighteen miles per hour, Michael realized that driving on the wrong side of the road wasn’t that difficult after all. It helped that Blakeley looked so relaxed, leaning back in his seat, humming along to the radio, a vast difference from the few times he drove with his grandfather, who criticized his every move while blowing cigarette smoke in his face. Blakeley was the complete opposite. Far from being critical, he praised Michael. But not for his driving.
“I think it’s cool that you and Ronan are so open about your relationship.” The heat started in Michael’s stomach and quickly spread out to his arms, his hands, his neck, until little beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Glancing quickly at his student, Blakeley grimaced. “Don’t be so shocked. Everybody knows about you two.”
Parched, the words came out a bit strangled. “They do?”
Nodding his head a few times before speaking, Blakeley smiled. “Back in my day, I would’ve beaten you up for it, you know, just for the hell of it,” he confessed, but then his smile faded. “But now, well, good for you for being true to yourself.”
The heat in Michael’s body lingered, but now it was mixed with a burst of pride, a much more pleasant feeling. “Thank you, sir,” Michael muttered. If only his father could extend him the same encouragement, if only his father could muster up the same empathy, if only Imogene weren’t standing in the middle of the road. Imogene!? “What the hell?!”
Swerving to the right, Michael careened into the field that bordered the narrow road. He punched the brakes once, twice, but there wasn’t enough traction on the grass, and the car veered from side to side. “Howard! Get control of this bloody car!”
“Can’t you see?!” Michael shouted back.
“See what?!” Blakeley asked, looking all around but clearly not seeing the dead student.
Michael couldn’t remember what he had read in his driver’s education manual about how to control a car when entering into a skid, so he was unable to keep the Honda from spinning on a hidden patch of ice. Without warning, they spun around in a complete circle. The entire time Blakeley yelled and cursed at Michael for his stupidity, but Michael didn’t hear him, he was fascinated by Imogene, who was now floating in midair a foot above the hood of the car, spinning in the same direction, and wearing an expression that was so empty, so lost, that Michael took his eyes off of her only when he saw Fritz a second before the car hit him.
“Fritz!” Michael screamed, hitting the brakes even harder.
Jumping out of the car before it came to a complete stop, Blakeley raced over to where Fritz had fallen, but he couldn’t immediately find him. “Ulrich! Where are you?!”
“Avalanche!”
Moving in the direction of the voice, Blakeley found Fritz lying on the ground, almost completely concealed by the tall blades of grass. “How bad are you hurt?”
“Avalanche!” Fritz cried out again.
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
“His comic book!” Blakeley whipped around to see Amir Bhatacharjee grabbing at pieces of paper that were swirling around in the wind. “ ‘Archangel Avalanche.” It’s the latest issue!”
As the coach bent down to assess how badly Fritz was hurt, Michael scoured the area for Imogene, left, right, up, down, but she had disappeared. Was she trying to communicate with him again? Was there something else that she needed to tell him, show him? For now, any questions Michael wanted to have answered would have to wait, there were more practical matters to attend to, like getting Fritz to the infirmary.
“Howard!” Blakeley barked, his arms positioned underneath Fritz’s armpits. “Grab his feet, but be careful!”
Michael did what he was told, gently taking hold of Fritz’s ankles. Follow
ing Blakeley’s lead, he stood up slowly and walked backward toward the car, all the while studying his friend’s face to make sure he wasn’t hurting him. But Fritz looked far from incapacitated, on the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying the ride. “I’m so sorry,” Michael said. “Are you all right?”
“You could’ve killed him!” Amir shouted as he scurried alongside them, picking up the last of the pages.
In midair being transported into the car, Fritz disagreed. “I’m fine! You only nicked me.”
Greatly relieved that Fritz was conscious and seemed to have only a few minor cuts and bruises, the color started to return to Blakeley’s face. However, he wasn’t willing to let Michael off the hook. “You know all those things I said about you in the car?” Michael nodded. “I take every one of them back!”
“Hey, coach,” Fritz said from the backseat of the car, his legs propped up on Amir’s lap. “Seriously, I’m okay.”
Closing the driver’s side door with a loud thud, Blakeley wheeled around and leaned over the seat, his hand gesticulating wildly, the color in his cheeks now a deep red. “Oh, really?” he asked. “Then do you mind telling me what the hell you two were doing out here? And if you tell me you had permission to be off school property, I’ll make you swim a hundred laps every day until the end of term!”
No stranger to run-ins with authority figures, Fritz had learned long ago that it was always best to confess when backed into a corner or when trapped in the backseat of a car. He explained to Blakeley that since he knew the fence would be disengaged, he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to sneak out of school, go into town, and see if the general store would sell his comic books. “The owner let me leave a few copies in the magazine rack, you know, as an experiment to see if they generate any business,” Fritz offered.
“Really?” Michael asked. He was going to ask exactly how many issues he was able to leave, but Blakeley threw him a look that made Michael think it was better to remain silent.
“So if you wanted to,” Fritz said, “you could look at it as sort of an internship.”
“Well, I don’t want to!” Blakeley shouted.
“Sorry, coach,” Fritz said sincerely. “It really was a successful outing and if you have to reprimand me, go ahead, but Amir was only along for moral support.”
He had heard enough. Blakeley turned around and started the car, revving the engine violently, and jerking the transmission stick into drive. “I’ll deal with all three of you later,” he barked. “Right now I want to see what the doctor has to say about that leg of yours.” Speeding back onto the main road toward the entrance gate, Blakeley added, “And so help me God, if he says you need time off from swim practice, I’ll break both your legs!”
At the moment, the doctor had nothing scientific to say, nothing that had to do with medicine or logic or reason. All that was on his mind, all he ever found himself thinking about lately, was the fantastical message Alistair had left. Now standing in his office with Ronan, he felt he was finally getting nearer to the bottom of the mystery. “It took you long enough to come around,” MacCleery said, wiping his eyeglasses vigorously with his shirttail. “What finally made you realize I’m not just some crazy old man?”
“I never said I didn’t think you were daft,” Ronan huffed. “I just want to know what you meant when you said there’s evil here at Double A.”
Lochlan felt tremendous relief. Ronan was trying to be evasive, but the doctor could tell he believed him. Finally he could unburden himself, he couldn’t keep the secret any longer; he had spent too many sleepless nights, spent too many days paranoid that he was being watched, scrutinized, singled out. He was desperate for an opportunity to share his information with someone and here it was, it didn’t matter that he didn’t trust Ronan, it didn’t matter that Ronan was a student and one of the people Alistair wanted to protect. He was someone who wanted to know the truth and even if he wasn’t the perfect confidant, he would do. “Here,” MacCleery said, shoving the crumpled note in his face. Intently he watched Ronan read the words and he could see their effect in his eyes. He believed them, he understood they were real. Whatever secrets this kid was hiding, he knew that evil exists. “Do you still think I’m crazy?”
If I told you everything I know, Ronan thought, you’d think I was the one who should be put in the loony bin. “You found this in Hawksbry’s office?”
“Yes, after he disappeared.”
Killed, you mean, but why quibble over semantics? “And you haven’t shown this note to anyone else?” Ronan asked.
“You’re the first.” Enough questions, MacCleery thought, I need answers. “Do you think Alistair was talking about Zachary?”
Staring at the doctor, Ronan truly didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know why he was here. Joining forces with this man whom he didn’t completely trust, who he knew disliked him, might not be a wise move, but he knew what havoc David was capable of creating, and if Michael’s father was on David’s side, the threat was closer than ever before. He couldn’t ignore the issue any longer. He had to take action. He just wasn’t sure he should act with MacCleery. Until the doctor convinced him.
“I wish I had never read that blasted note,” MacCleery admitted. “But I did and I can’t forget Alistair’s words. I’m a doctor, and doctors make wrong things right again. That’s what I’m trying to do here, but I need your help, Ronan. I can’t fight this . . . this evil if I don’t know where it’s coming from.” Suddenly the doctor was very tired. Awkwardly he reached behind him to find his chair and slumped into it. “I’m not the type of man to ask for help, but that’s what I’m doing now.” He struggled to say the words, words he couldn’t remember the last time he spoke, but he had no choice. He couldn’t continue alone. “Help me.”
Ronan felt something for the doctor he never thought he would feel. Respect. “Yes.”
Startled, Lochlan wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. “Yes . . . yes what?”
“Yes, I think Hawksbry was talking about David Zachary in this note.”
Fighting the fatigue that clutched at his body, Lochlan stood up, weary but hopeful. Now maybe he could make sense of Alistair’s gibberish, now maybe he could protect the children like he wanted him to. But he couldn’t do anything until he first took care of his patient.
Before MacCleery knew who had burst into his office, he ripped the note out of Ronan’s hand and shoved it into his pants pocket. He thought that his movement was swift and unseen, but he was wrong. Amir saw his quick action and the wave of fear crest over the doctor’s face. Whatever was on that paper was a secret and worthy of protection and definitely something worth mentioning to the headmaster.
“He got hit by a car,” Blakeley announced as he and Michael placed Fritz on the examining table.
“It scraped me,” Fritz clarified. “I don’t even think it broke any skin.”
Rushing to Michael’s side, Ronan thought he should be the one on the doctor’s table. He looked a little pale, weak, guilty. “Were you driving, Michael?”
Nodding his head, Michael wanted to explain what had happened, but this was definitely not the time or the place to discuss surprise visits from the dead. “I’ll explain what happened later, but it really wasn’t my fault and nobody was seriously hurt.” Then Michael realized he wasn’t the only one who needed to offer up an explanation. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you all right?”
Lie, tell the truth, Ronan didn’t know what to do. However, when he looked around the room and saw Amir staring at him, he knew he shouldn’t say anything that he wouldn’t want to have repeated. “I’m fine,” Ronan replied. “I’ll tell you the rest later.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the patient,” MacCleery announced.
“Thank God!” When Phaedra ran into the room and saw Fritz lying on his back, the doctor leaning over him, her heart did something strange, it tightened and along with that came a rush of emotion that she was only beginning to understand. These fe
elings she was having for Fritz were growing stronger every day, and when she got Michael’s text telling her that Fritz was being rushed to the infirmary, her mind immediately filled with despair. She couldn’t help but think the worst, and she dropped everything to rush to his side. So this was what it’s like to be in love? It might prove to be her most difficult task yet.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? How is he, doctor? He’s going to be fine, isn’t he?”
When MacCleery didn’t respond, Phaedra started to panic. “Are you going to answer me?!”
“I wasn’t sure if you were done asking questions,” the doctor replied calmly.
“I’m sorry,” Phaedra blushed. “I’m just a little scared, I guess.”
Softening at Pheadra’s obvious concern, MacCleery told her there was nothing to be worried about. “Your boyfriend’s going to be just fine.”
Unable to control herself despite the crowd, Phaedra threw her arms around Fritz and kissed him several times, the last one more tender than the others and right on his lips. Fritz was definitely embarrassed, especially when he saw Blakeley fold his arms and scowl, but he was also ecstatic, he finally found a girl who actually made him get embarrassed. Reaching out to grab Phaedra’s hand and make sure everyone saw him do it, Fritz smiled proudly. “Not that I’m complaining,” he said, “but how’d you know that I was here?”
“Michael sent me a text.”
“Thanks, Nebraska,” Fritz said. “I owe you another one.”
Smiling sheepishly, Michael stole a glance at Ronan. No need to thank me, Fritz, he thought. Just make her as happy as Ronan has made me. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for how Michael was about to make Ronan feel.
“Oh, Ronan,” Phaedra said, not letting go of Fritz’s hand, “Saoirse told me to tell you happy birthday.”
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?
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