Ronan noticed another photo he hadn’t seen earlier. It was of a handsome man holding a young boy, no more than a year old, in his arms. The photo captured the boy in mid-swing. They were in the country somewhere, in the middle of a wheat field maybe, or just a field of sunburnt grass. It could have been Nebraska, it could have been the English countryside. Ronan couldn’t tell. He could tell, however, that the man looked very much like Michael and had straight, very blond hair and the same high cheekbones. Ronan assumed it was his father. This is what Michael will look like if he grows older, if he ages. If I let him. Did he just say something? “What?”
Michael repeated his question and this time Ronan fixed his gaze onto Michael himself and not onto the image of what he could look like if he had a normal future. “Contrary to what Mr. Wilde wrote, women are geniuses and much more than just the decorative sex,” Ronan said, and then explained further. “My mother was skint broke, she had no money, we had no place to live, so she convinced Brania’s father that she loved him and that we should live together as one big happy family. Worked fine for a while until my mother received an inheritance and we no longer needed assistance to survive. So we moved on.”
Just like we did, Michael thought. Grace got tired of the man she was living with just like Edwige got tired of hers. “Sounds like our mothers really do have a lot in common.”
By this time, they were both sitting on Michael’s bed facing each other, the way they were before being interrupted. “Don’t get me wrong, Michael. What my mother did wasn’t right, but she’s my mother, she’s all I have. I can’t really condemn her, can I?”
Michael thought about all the things his mother did, especially her last successful act, and although he was angry with her often and he didn’t approve of her actions, he realized he didn’t condemn her; he couldn’t find it within himself to judge her that harshly. “No, you can’t.”
“So I know that when Brania starts in on my mother, what she’s really doing is protecting her … father, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to hear. And you know something?” Ronan said, exhaling a long breath. “I just think she’s a right balmy lass.”
“Does that mean you think she’s crazy?”
“Certifiable.”
They shared another laugh and instinctively they each reached out to grab the other’s hand. Michael stopped laughing, but the smile never left his face as he examined Ronan’s hands with his own. His fingers were blunt, some of the nails chewed off, just like his, and underneath he had some rough patches, calluses that felt deliciously manly. He couldn’t wait to know what it would feel like to have those hands touch his face, his arms, the small of his back. But for now the back of his hands would have to do. They were so lost in each other’s smiles and each other’s touch that they didn’t notice Ciaran standing in the bathroom doorway, watching them.
“I don’t mean to spoil the moment, but I have to get to bed?”
“So early, mate?” Ronan asked. “It’s not even ten.”
“Early lab in the morning,” Ciaran replied.
“You and those labs, Ciaran,” Ronan grumbled. “You shouldn’t spend so much time looking through that microscope of yours. There’s a whole wide world out there.”
Thank you, Ronan, I had no idea I was missing out on anything, but it’s good to know I am. When Ciaran spoke out loud, he tried to add a bit less sarcasm to his words. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Ciaran,” Michael said. “I have one biology lab and I barely know what I’m doing. I just don’t have the brain for it.”
Ciaran softened. He really did like Michael and wished they could be better friends. It’s just that with Ronan in the picture, he wasn’t sure that was possible. “Well, you know, everyone has their strong suit. You boys seem to be able to lose yourself in literature; for me, I’d prefer a test tube and a specimen of blood.” Michael didn’t see both Ronan’s and Ciaran’s face turn white. “Or, you know, bacteria,” Ciaran added quickly.
“I should go,” Ronan declared abruptly, jumping off the bed. Michael followed, a bit more slowly.
“I’ll walk you downstairs.”
Before Ciaran rolled over in bed, Ronan saw his face. He wasn’t mad exactly. Put out was more like it. This was his home, and his space was being invaded. Oh, that’s not it, Ronan; you know it’s because he’s alone. He looks at you and sees you with Michael while he’s spending another night by himself and he’s envious, plain and simple. Don’t flaunt it in his face. Maybe what you could do is try to be a better brother. “No, that’s okay,” Ronan said. “I know my way out.”
The right words didn’t come to Michael’s brain quickly enough, so he heard himself utter something totally trite. “Okay, sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And yet another night has passed without me knowing what it feels like to kiss him. But at least it wasn’t a night without hope.
Standing on the other side of the doorway, the door partially closed, Ronan couldn’t see Ciaran and so he could speak more freely. Even still he whispered, “I’m glad we cleared the air, Michael.” Michael smiled. “Me too.” And then Michael told every muscle in his body to relax because no matter how badly he wanted to, he was not going to pounce on Ronan in the hallway with Ciaran as witness. Later on, he would dream about doing that minus Ciaran’s presence, but for now he simply said, “Good night.”
“Good night.” Ronan then pushed the door open. “Good night, Ciaran. Um, maybe we can meet at St. Joshua’s during break tomorrow and hang out.”
Don’t be cynical, Ciaran. He’s not just asking to look good in front of Michael; he wants to spend time with you. “Okay, I’ll see you there.”
One final smile and then he was gone. Ciaran almost laughed out loud at the irony. This time he was the one satisfied with the evening’s outcome and Michael was left feeling disappointed.
But there was another boy who was feeling even more satisfied than Ciaran because his evening didn’t end with just one kiss, but with several. Penry had just ended his first make-out session.
“For someone who claims not to have any experience in boy-meets-girl relationships, you’re a pretty good kisser,” Imogene declared.
A bit more self-conscious now that the kissing had stopped and he had to do something else with his mouth, such as talk, Penry paused a moment before speaking. “Well, I think it’s because I have such a great partner.”
“Are you trying to say that I must be the one with experience?”
Does she really mean that? Penry was confused. She always says these things with such a straight face, I never know if she’s joking or not, and I have a feeling that I should be able to figure this kind of stuff out. She’s just a girl after all. Ah, maybe Pop is right; girls just aren’t supposed to be figured out. He’s always saying that Mum’s a mystery to him. “No, Ims, I like kissing you.”
Imogene’s smile told Penry that she was just teasing. It also told him that she liked to tease him and that for as long as they would date, she would continue to tease him. All of which made him smile right back at her. And shake his head because he just never thought he, Penry Poltke, self-described nerd, bookworm, and all-around geek, would actually have a girlfriend as sassy as Imogene Minx. Life held so many surprises.
“And I like kissing you too, my little PP,” she said.
Oh, not again! “You really have to stop calling me that,” Penry insisted.
Imogene was shocked. “Why?! You’re my little PP.”
His father was right; girls were an absolute mystery. Maybe Ronan and the others were the smart ones; boys were so much easier to figure out. “Do you have any idea what that sounds like? ’My little PP’?”
What was he getting so upset about? Imogene thought. Don’t boys like it when their girlfriends make up cute little nicknames? “It means you’re my boyfriend and I’m your girlfriend and I get to call you something special, but more unique than honey or baby.”
How was he going to make her
understand without being vulgar? “A nickname is sensational, Ims, but not one that reminds people of, you know …” And then even though they were alone and outside, he added in a whisper, “Doing number one.”
Now Imogene was thoroughly confused. “Number one?” Then suddenly the gender gap was mended and she understood. “You mean like going to the bathroom? Tinkling!”
“Yes!”
Her mother was right; boys were an absolute mystery and practically a different species. “That is thoroughly disgusting and you should get your head out of the gutter,” Imogene demanded. “Or at least out of the toilet.” But she couldn’t stay mad for more than a second because once she thought about it, she realized Penry was right. “My little PP” was not a really great nickname. So much for trying to be original. “What if I called you Pens?” she suggested. “Kind of like how you call me Ims.”
Penry smiled at his girlfriend and was even brave enough to give her one more unexpected kiss. “I like the sound of that.” But that would be the last kiss of the night they would share because if Imogene didn’t get back to practice in thirty seconds, she was going to be screamed at by Sister Christopher, the music teacher, in front of the entire choir. And since Sister Christopher had an operatic soprano voice, when she screamed, it was like a banshee’s screech. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Penry told her just as the door to the music room closed shut behind her. But before the door closed, there was another gust of wind and Imogene’s scent was carried off into the night air until it reached Nakano. When he caught a whiff of the young girl, the hunger that he thought was fulfilled returned with a vengeance.
He couldn’t identify what girl was giving off such a tantalizing scent; he just knew it was the smell of fresh, virgin blood. Blood that he had to taste. He told himself he would just take a small swallow, maybe two, nothing more; he couldn’t let this girl, whoever she was, get away.
He began to sprint toward this new aroma just as Michael told himself that he couldn’t let Ronan get away, not again. Mumbling an excuse to a half-asleep Ciaran, lying that he must have dropped something on the front steps, Michael left the dorm and walked into the night. Without really thinking, he started jogging in the direction of St. Florian’s, or where he thought St. Florian’s was. He didn’t know that part of the campus very well and soon he realized that he was walking in the direction of St. Sebastian’s near The Forest of No Return.
Breathing hard thanks to the unexpected chill in the air, Michael stopped to catch his breath and try to figure out where Ronan’s dorm was in relation to the gym. First he thought it was south, but after a few steps, he corrected himself and realized it was west. Or was it?
“How can I possibly be lost?” Michael asked himself.
The question Nakano asked himself was “How can I possibly be so lucky?”
About twenty yards away, right at the ridge of The Forest, Nakano saw Michael standing bent over, his hands on his knees, a bit winded from running in the cold night. He could hear his heart pounding, the smell of his blood puncturing the air. It wasn’t as sweet as the unidentified girl’s, but Nakano was drawn to it. Michael’s blood was even more alluring. All he had to do was walk up to him—he wouldn’t even have to run, just say hello—and ask him what he was doing out so late. Start a casual conversation and then when Michael least expected it, he would bare his fangs and stab his flesh and let his warmth cascade down his throat, the warmth that Ronan had yet to feel. Nakano felt his own head pound just thinking about it, just thinking about taking this fool away from Ronan. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew Brania wouldn’t be pleased by his taking action so soon and against her wishes, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking with his brain any longer; an opportunity had presented itself and Nakano was not about to let it pass by.
Looking around, Michael didn’t see Nakano quickly hide behind an oak tree; he didn’t see anything, nothing that would help give him back his sense of direction. Not that it mattered, because suddenly he was very tired and felt the need to rest before he could continue on. He entered The Forest, causing Nakano to stifle a shout of victory. “Could this be any more perfect?” he asked himself. Michael sat on the ground and leaned against a thick tree trunk, his head nestling into a groove in the bark, and closed his eyes. He didn’t see the fog swiftly envelop him, but Nakano did.
Nakano watched in amazement as the crisp, clear night changed in an instant. It didn’t make sense. The fog, dark gray and dense, seemed to originate from where Michael sat and then spread out like an oil spill or a fire, quickly and randomly, until it reached a few inches in front of Nakano. “What the hell is going on?!” He flailed his arms in front of himself to try and swipe the fog away, but that was no use. It was more substantial than air; it didn’t thin out when he passed his arms through it. He stepped into the fog, but that only made matters worse, which made even less sense to him. Usually it’s easier to see within a fog than from outside of it, but this was different. He was inside, part of the mist, and yet he still couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, let alone where Michael was resting.
Blindly he took a few steps but crashed face-first into a tree. Furious, he pushed at it and could hear its roots tear apart from the ground below, but he couldn’t see his accomplishment; all he saw was blackness. “Michael, where are you!?” he called out. Nothing. He cried out again, but it was as if the fog even blocked his words, as if they were being swallowed up by cement the moment they came out of his mouth. Something’s wrong, he thought. And then he stopped moving entirely, fear gripping his small frame. It has to be Brania. She has to know what I’m doing and she’s making me stop.
Once that seed was planted, all thoughts of devouring Michael and destroying the connection between him and Ronan were gone. All he wanted to do was get out of the fog and back into the security of the night. He felt the uprooted tree and turned around, arms out in front of him, as he slowly, deliberately placed one foot in front of the other and started to walk back toward the night to escape the fog. He stopped only when his hands touched a body.
Nakano felt powerful again. Even though he couldn’t see Michael, he felt him and then he grabbed him so his back was pressing in against his chest, and his hand was covering his mouth. Not that Michael’s screams would be heard; the fog made sure of that. Nakano howled with laughter. The very trick Brania used to try and protect Michael would ensure his eternal enslavement. Before he unleashed his blood-hungry fangs, he made a silent apology. “Forgive me, Brania, for I am about to sin.” Then he allowed his fangs to penetrate the flesh they so desperately craved.
One delightful bite and the ripe blood passed from victim to predator. Nakano wanted to feed, feed, feed until there was no more blood, but even in his wild state, he knew he couldn’t; his trophy needed to remain alive. Forcing himself to stop, he released his hold and let his fangs slowly slide out of the abused flesh. Delirious, Nakano stumbled forward, falling to the ground, and finally emerged from the dark fog. Underneath the moon’s glow he knelt and turned his prey over to make sure he was still breathing.
He was stunned to see that his prey was Penry.
chapter 12
High above the ground the meadowlark rested on a narrow branch and watched Michael. It was impressed. The boy had traveled quite far, he had a much farther distance to go, but he’d begun, and beginning was always the most difficult. Thirsty, the lark dipped its beak into a dewdrop that clung to a leaf and drank, drank, drank until the drop was gone and the leaf dry. It sang a few notes, da-da-DAH-da, da-da-da, sang again, and waited until Michael was no longer alone. When the lark saw the other boy kneel down next to him, it knew it could carry on with its own journey. Michael would be safe and so it flew off, its yellow feathers nearly lost in the morning sunshine.
The first thing Ronan did was look at Michael’s neck, first one side, then the other. They were both unscarred, just smooth, heavenly flesh, and Ronan felt great relief. He bowed his head to murmur “thank you,” holding
back tears. But when he lifted his head and looked again at Michael’s face, he felt an urge overcome him. No! Please, God, no! Against his will, his fangs descended and his eyes brightened and only one thought consumed him, the thought that in seconds he would taste Michael’s blood. Valiantly he fought the feeling, tried to shake it off, but he couldn’t, and he knew why: He was too close to his Day of Feeding. Unlike Nakano, Brania, and the others like them, Ronan and his kind had to feed only once a month. One glorious and fulfilling monthly feeding. Because it was less frequent, it was almost ceremonial, but it was still about need, and definitely about hunger. And right now, looking at Michael, asleep and dangerously handsome, Ronan was hungry.
He turned Michael’s face to the side to fully reveal his neck. Ronan could almost see through the skin, into the vein, and to his blood underneath, alive and flowing. He bent forward and the smell, a mixture of Michael’s skin and blood, was enthralling. Ronan closed his eyes and breathed in deeper. He bent lower still and traced the vein with the tips of his fangs, lazily, back and forth, just connecting with the skin. Then he let them travel across Michael’s jaw, over the curvature of his lips, to the height of his cheekbones. The desire to feed had never been this strong and it frightened Ronan; he thought it might consume him. He felt his fangs vibrate, a sign that they were ready, and all he wanted to do was devour Michael right here, right now, with The Forest and sun as the only witnesses. But then Michael opened his eyes.
The sunlight was so strong, Michael had to blink. He thought he saw an animal and by instinct he clawed at the earth, clutching at the grass frantically, and started to scramble to his feet to get away from the thing. It grabbed him at the ankle, it felt like a hand, and then it took hold of his wrist. No. No! He twisted violently but couldn’t break free. What was this thing?! He collected a mouthful of fear and let out a scream, hoping it might frighten the animal, but no, its grip only tightened. Finally, he looked into its eyes. “Ronan?!”
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