Unafraid aa-3

by Michael Griffo

  “Hello, brother.”

  The snifter slipped through David’s shaking fingers and crashed onto the floor. Pieces of glass flew in every direction, but the blood defied nature and didn’t splatter. Like a crimson snake it slithered on the floor, curving slightly to the left, then the right, but maintaining its path, building speed as it traveled toward its goal, not stopping until it reached Rhoswen. When the tip of the blood trail was a few inches from her feet, it veered to the right and continued until it connected on the other side.

  Looking at the circle of blood that surrounded her, Rhoswen smiled. When she looked at her brother, her smile disappeared.

  “It looks like the circle of blood that enveloped me the night I died,” she said. “Do you remember placing me in its center, Dahey?”

  The sound of his Christian name made David wince. He remained seated, his face flushed. The only visible movement on his entire body came from a muscle in his right cheek that twitched every few seconds. Of course he remembered the night Rhoswen had died. No matter how hard he tried to forget, it was a memory that would never leave him.

  “Do you remember telling me to sit quietly in the circle and to wait for Zachariel?” she asked, her voice becoming more agitated, less calm. “I was so young, so trusting. I had no idea that I was waiting for my brother to murder me.”

  Finally David was able to command another part of his body to move, and he slammed his fist into the arm of the chair. “It wasn’t murder; it was a sacrifice!”

  A slow smile formed on Rhoswen’s lips. “Which is merely murder that comes with a reward.”

  Finally, David found the strength to stand. The ascent took longer than he had anticipated, and when he stood upright he felt his legs might collapse underneath him; they were amazingly weak, and so he didn’t stray far from his chair. “What are you doing here?!” he asked, his voice unable to hide its desperation. “Why have you returned?!”

  “Three hundred years is an awfully long time to be away from home, don’t you think?”

  When David saw Rhoswen’s spirit step out of Ruby’s body and walk toward him, he was grateful he hadn’t ventured away from his chair. His legs gave out from under him, and he fell back down. His hands clutched the arms of the chair as he saw his sister for the first time in three hundred years. She looked as innocent and beautiful as she did in the dreams that had never ceased to haunt him.

  With Ruby’s body frozen behind her, Rhoswen kept walking toward David, and with each step she took she moved further away from apparition and closer to resembling the woman she used to be. Her long, straight black hair was parted in the middle and flowed down her back, stopping only when it reached her waist. On top of her head she wore a crown of white roses, robust, grand flowers that were in full bloom, each petal soft and the color of unblemished snow. It was the same color as her skin.

  As she moved the gown she wore rippled at her feet as if she were walking on wind. The floor-length dress was made of two different kinds of material, one underneath the other. On top the cloth was chiffon in a green color that resembled a flower’s stem; under that was white silk that fell closer to her small frame. Around her waist she wore a belt made out of more white roses, but these were miniature, delicate, each petal bending inward toward the center, not yet ready to open up and greet the world. She resembled a living, breathing garden.

  David gasped at the sight, at the visual manifestation of his memory, as he realized she was wearing the same dress she had worn the night she died, the night he sacrificed her soul to Zachariel in exchange for his own immortality. It was his own mad desire for supremacy over God, his own amazement that in Zachariel’s promises he had found the key that could unlock his fantastic vision that led him to commit an unspeakable act, the murder of his own flesh and blood. But what choice did he have? It had had to be done if he wanted his bloodless flesh to live on forever. Zachariel had proclaimed that the only way for Brother Dahey to be transformed from monk into vampire was for Rhoswen’s life to be sacrificed in a circle of his own blood. He wished it had been a harder decision to make.

  Rhoswen was moving closer toward David, and the night she had died was replaying in his mind more vividly than ever before. He remembered thinking about how she looked that night, pure, youthful, unsuspecting. He remembered thinking how for the first time in his life he was thankful she was blind so she wouldn’t question why he was cutting the vein in his arm and filling the silver goblet with his own blood. With her heightened sense of hearing she heard the blood pour from the goblet onto the floor of the building that was now St. Joshua’s Library, and she had asked what he was doing.

  Instinctively he had lied. He had told her he was preparing a game that he wanted to play with her, and as always Rhoswen believed what her brother told her. She had never had any reason to doubt him before; she never thought she had any reason to that night. Only when she felt the knife plunge into her body, when she felt the ridged blade sever the flesh between her shoulders, when the world all around her went white did she think that she had misjudged her brother. But then it was too late. She was dead before her body hit the floor, directly in the center of the circle of her brother’s blood.

  “Get away from me!” David screamed. “Don’t come any closer!”

  David rose from the chair too quickly, and he felt light-headed. He stumbled and had to hold on to the fireplace mantel for support. This is insane! I am more powerful than she is! David shouted to himself. That might have been true, but Rhoswen had a distinct advantage over David: She wasn’t crippled by her own guilt.

  “Are you feeling remorse, brother?” Rhoswen asked. “Are you feeling guilty for killing me like a coward, stabbing me in the back in exchange for becoming a creature of the night?”

  Racing toward the door, David didn’t care how cowardly he appeared. He wanted to leave the room; he needed to escape, breathe fresh, uncontaminated air, but Rhoswen was not going to allow her reunion to be cut short. Just as David reached Ruby’s motionless body, the door slammed shut. The last things he saw before the door closed were Zachariel’s red, flaming eyes staring at him, filled with utter disappointment. When he turned around he saw Rhoswen holding the book with the marble rose on it, her blind eyes looking at him the same way they used to when she was alive, filled with hope.

  It was too much to bear. Over the centuries David had pushed the memory of his sister from his mind, altered the way his brain remembered things to convince himself that he was an only child and had become a vampire without sacrificing the life of the only person he had ever loved. With Rhoswen standing before him he could no longer hide from the truth. “What do you want from me?” David begged, his voice breaking like a scared child’s.

  The only sound in the room was the crackling fire. It filled up the space while Rhoswen decided how she wanted to answer her brother’s question. Did she want revenge or did she want comfort? It was such a difficult decision to make.

  “For now, Dahey,” she said, holding out the book to him, “I want you to read to me like you used to.”

  Vision after vision bombarded David’s mind, all of them the same, all of him sitting in a chair, reading to Rhoswen. In every memory her head gently rested on his knee, her blind eyes staring into nothingness as her mind conjured up images of the stories David told her. Looking at Rhoswen now as she sat on the floor next to his chair and held her favorite book in her hands made David feel both ashamed and exhilarated. It was both his greatest fear and his greatest wish come true.

  “Read to me like you did in the place that you now call St. Joshua’s,” Rhoswen said. “Where I let the white roses bloom in honor and remembrance of my name.”

  David took the book from her, and his hands were remarkably steady; it was a positive omen.

  Rhoswen’s return did not have to mean misfortune; it could mean a chance to reconnect with his long lost sibling. Yes! Maybe all he needed to do was read her one story and she would leave and they would both have closure, bot
h be able to move on. Maybe he would then be able to look at the white roses that grew outside of St. Joshua’s and not be haunted by Rhoswen’s memory. Maybe he could see them as a happy reminder of the blind girl whose only happiness in life had been hearing her brother read stories to her.

  “Once upon a time there lived a beautiful princess,” David said, his voice tentative as he read the opening line of Rhoswen’s favorite story. He felt her head lying on his knee, and he could sense her delight at being in his presence once again after so many years. Three centuries later and she was still a child, still his sister, still his Rhoswen. He was so moved that the words of the next sentence caught in his throat, and he had to swallow hard in order to speak. And he was so lost in the wonder of the present and the familiarity of the past that he didn’t notice Michael and Ronan looking into his office from the open window.

  He didn’t see their stunned expressions. He didn’t know that they had overheard him and Rhoswen speak and had uncovered his greatest secret: that David was far from all-powerful, far from indestructible; he was vulnerable and weak. As Michael and Ronan held on to each other, unable to tear themselves away from the unbelievable sight, they both knew that at some point very soon they were going to use the information they had learned about David to their advantage.

  Looks like Phaedra and Rhoswen were both right, Michael realized. The next time David and his army attacked them, death would surely follow. And now that Michael knew David was a fraud, there was absolutely no reason for him to be afraid.

  chapter 24

  Outside, the earth was alive. Anticipation hung in the air, as vibrant and as lush as the landscape.

  The end of May was always a lively time at Double A. The end of the school year meant that the students were frantically studying for final exams and preparing for their summer vacations. The end of spring always meant that the campus grounds were in full bloom and brimming with a jumble of colors and smells. But this year the school was crackling with more excitement than ever before. The euphoria of hosting the National Swim Team Competition, the unofficial start of the Tri-Centennial Celebration, was about to be realized; the day had finally arrived. For some it had arrived earlier than expected.

  “When I signed up for this experiment, I didn’t think we’d have to be here at the crack of bloody dawn,” Saoirse said, finishing off her protest with a yawn.

  “Blame Blakeley,” Ciaran replied, checking his bag for the third time to make sure that he had brought an extra syringe and backup test tubes. “Yesterday he called for an early morning warm-up session before the first race starts this afternoon.”

  “Why’d we have to wait until today, anyway?” Saoirse asked.

  “I thought it would be symbolic,” Ciaran replied.

  “Now you want to be symbolic and scientific?” Saoirse questioned as she tossed her towel next to her backpack and shivered. Despite the early morning sun that was pouring into St. Sebastian’s, the room was still chilly, and her bikini didn’t offer much warmth. “I should be under my covers, Ciaran.”

  “You should be under the water,” he corrected. “Now get in before the rest of the team starts to show up.”

  Standing on the top rung of the ladder attached to the side of the pool, Saoirse paused, her left foot dangling in the air an inch above the water. “Hold on, boyo! Wasn’t that one of your selling points?”

  she asked. “So maybe a certain ex-boyfriend might see me in my cracking outfit?”

  Oh yeah, right. Remembering that he had mentioned her participation might result in Morgandy’s getting a glimpse of Saoirse like he’d never seen before, Ciaran backpedaled. “Um, yeah, but later, you know? When we’re finished.”

  “Was Albert Einstein a liar too?” Saoirse asked, descending into the pool.

  Ciaran had no idea. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was running out of time if he wanted to keep using the gym as his own private annex lab. “Take a few breaths, then a really deep one, and go under,” Ciaran said, holding a stopwatch. “Stay down for as long as you can.”

  One breath, two breaths, three breaths, wait. “Is there any reason why we couldn’t have done this in my bathtub?” Saoirse asked. “The water would’ve been a lot warmer.”

  Looking as if someone had presented him with an explanation as to how and precisely when the universe had been created, Ciaran replied meekly, “Oh I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  Just before she took one last gulp of air and disappeared underwater, Saoirse snipped, “Guess you and Mr. Einstein have nothing in common after all.”

  Alone, Ciaran watched the long hand on the stopwatch click, click, click as it traveled from one number to the next. One minute. One minute, ten seconds. Eleven, twelve, and then they were no longer alone.

  The noise spilled out into the gym from the locker room before the three boys did. “You wanted to be one of Them all along!” Ronan shouted. “Well, you got your bloody wish!”

  “I didn’t want to be cast out and left for dead!” Morgandy spat back.

  Regardless of what he told Saoirse, Ciaran hadn’t wanted to be interrupted. No one was going to believe he and his sister had just wanted to go for a swim before the competition started. He would’ve looked for a place to hide, but it was a foolish idea. The gym was one huge, open space and plus, Saoirse was in the pool. He couldn’t just hide and leave her to fend for herself when she came up for air. No, he’d have to stay put and hope that the intruders were too wrapped up in their own drama to question their presence. So far it was working. Even Michael, who didn’t seem to be engaged in the argument, hadn’t noticed him yet.

  When Ronan turned to face his nemesis, Ciaran could see that his brother was prepared for a fight.

  The muscles in his back were flexed, his hands were fists, his thick legs like tree stumps anchored into the floor. Morgandy, on the other hand, was like a hungry mosquito, flitting about, bobbing, flailing.

  “I was right to try and destroy The Well!” he cried, his deep voice so frenzied it seemed to make the gym shake. “I’m living proof of how vindictive and evil it can be.”

  “No, Morgandy,” Ronan said, his voice so quiet it seemed to quell the shaking. “You’re living proof that some people are simply born evil.”

  Ronan’s words, his insight, penetrated into the very depths of Morgandy’s mind and soul. Could that be his secret? Could that be what The Well had tried to erase? The fact that Morgandy had not been trying to uphold some personal belief or defend some popular ideology when he wanted to obliterate The Well, that he hadn’t been swayed by David to abandon his birthright to be its guardian, but that he was merely succumbing to his true nature? He had never thought of himself that way, but could his be the face of pure evil?

  Glancing at his reflection as it rippled on the surface of the pool water he didn’t shield his eyes. He didn’t shrink from the horror of seeing his soul exposed in all its tainted, sullied glory or beg Ronan to help him find the path back to goodness, because he realized in one liberating moment that goodness was not the place from which he had come. There was no reason to scurry back there, remorseful, repentant, to seek shelter and salvation; his destination was in the opposite direction. He laughed, the sound rough and coarse like jagged rocks chaffing against one another. As his body convulsed joyously, his curls bounced slightly, and when he placed his hands on his hips to steady himself, he wasn’t surprised to feel that his flesh was hot, warmed not just by his latest victim’s blood, but by the recognition of exactly who he was. He couldn’t wait to share the revelation. “Oh my God,” Morgandy whispered. “I never imagined that.”

  Ronan hadn’t been expecting such a humble response, but he’d take it. Maybe he had reached Morgandy? Maybe he had finally gotten him to understand that The Well had given him the greatest gift of all by separating him from his memories, from his past, from his innate malevolence so he could start his life over? Or maybe Ronan just misinterpreted the reply? “Thank you, Ronan,” Morgandy hissed
, “for reminding me of who I really am.”

  Distracted by his own hope that Morgandy might welcome the opportunity to change, he hesitated when he saw him leap forward, arms reaching, fangs bared. Luckily, Michael had dispensed with hope where Morgandy was concerned. He had never expected him to express gratitude and had known he would exercise his free will to retaliate against Ronan’s words with violence. Springing into action, Michael tackled Morgandy in mid-flight, and together they twisted horizontally and rested on the air for a few seconds before plunging into the pool.

  Underneath the water, they fought not as boys but as the supernatural creatures they were. Michael whipped his webbed hand in front of him and a second later Morgandy’s head snapped to the left.

  Morgandy kicked his leg up and after a slight delay Michael somersaulted backward. When he regained his balance, Michael flipped his webbed feet once, twice, and latched onto Morgandy yet again, this time holding him by the throat and ramming his back into the bottom of the pool. Staring at them while wedged into a corner of the pool, Saoirse screamed for them to stop. Her voice, however, was silenced by the water and the commotion. She may not have been heard, but she was definitely seen.

  When Morgandy broke free and swam toward her, his face cruelly distorted and tinged with a greenish-blue color thanks to the chlorine, she screamed with even more force and never noticed that her lungs were completely filled up with water. It hadn’t registered, but like the other beings in the pool, she was having no trouble breathing underwater.

  Michael had no idea what Saoirse was doing in the pool, but he would have to figure that out later.

  Right now he had to protect her, because from the ominous look on Morgandy’s face it was obvious that she was about to become his next victim.