Unnatural

by Michael Griffo

  A few minutes later, he was standing in the living room of her London flat, surrounded by a collection of shabby chic furnishings and accessories in every shade of white imaginable. Since she didn’t initiate the conversation, Edwige was trying her best to ignore Ronan, but he wouldn’t stand for it. The topic was far too important. “You didn’t even say two words to him at the festival!” Ronan shouted.

  “I nodded when he looked my way,” Edwige said, focusing all her concentration on applying her aubergine nail polish with a smooth, even brushstroke.

  “He will do anything to become a vampire! He practically forced me to transform him. Doesn’t that concern you?”

  Blowing a steady stream of air onto her nails, Edwige didn’t seem concerned at all. “No, dear, because if you remember, I told you that I would destroy you if you ever gave your brother the gift of immortality.” Ronan flinched at the memory, knowing that his mother meant what she had said. “He does not deserve to be given our life, not after what his father did.”

  “I know,” Ronan said quietly. “And that’s why I refused him.”

  Finally, Edwige smiled at her favorite child. “No, you refused him because you’re a loyal son. Loyal to your mother and loyal to The Well.” Edwige got up, not to walk toward her son but to stand in front of a large painting that covered most of her living room wall. “Do you like it?”

  Ronan’s eyes glossed over the artwork. “It’s fine.”

  “Fine!? I paid sixty thousand pounds for this painting,” Edwige declared. “It’s by a fledgling artist, someone who I predict will be the darling of the art scene one day. And this is, by far, his greatest achievement to date.”

  On the wall in a flat, distressed frame the color of an acorn was an oil painting of two men swimming in the ocean at night. Their bodies, touching so they almost appeared to be conjoined, could be seen above and below a sea that was a beautiful blend of azure, cobalt, and cerulean, deep colors, thickly painted and rich in texture. It was obvious why his mother was attracted to the painting, Ronan thought, but he hadn’t come here to discuss art.

  “Mother, that doesn’t mean Ciaran won’t look elsewhere to satisfy his craving. To someone like Brania or Nakano. Those people are immoral. They’ve killed Penry!”

  “And if he does something so incredibly stupid, then he will prove what I have always known, that he is his father’s son!” Edwige replied, uncharacteristically losing her temper. “It will be his punishment!”

  Stunned by his mother’s outburst, Ronan didn’t choose his next words very wisely. “Do you hate him so much because he reminds you of what happened to Saxon?”

  Edwige slowly turned away from the painting to examine her son. “You are very lucky I just did my nails. Otherwise I would slap your face. And we both know that my appearance belies my strength.”

  Suddenly exhausted, Ronan roughly brushed the tears from his eyes. Why did every conversation with her have to be a battle? Why couldn’t she be like a normal mother? Why couldn’t he and Michael just run away somewhere and never have to see her or anyone else again?

  “Speaking of Michael,” Edwige said, reading her son’s thoughts, “you let an opportunity pass. Why?” Ronan tried to push the images of Michael from his mind so his mother wouldn’t become witness to their intimacy, but it was too late and she was too strong. “The Well wants this coupling, Ronan. It recognizes, as I do, that you and Michael are just like The First and The Other.”

  Why must she always talk in riddles? “What are you saying?”

  “You know exactly what I’m saying,” Edwige said, turning back to the painting. “You know the legend, you know our beginning.”

  “Of course I know all about that! I just … I just want to wait for the right moment.”

  “The right moment is now! You know that you are The First and Michael is The Other. If you would stop fighting it, you would see that it really is that simple.”

  And Ronan had to admit that it was. He knew the history of his people and he knew that he and Michael were poised to become part of the next generation. He couldn’t explain it, but it was as if his ancestors were speaking about the two of them when they told the story of their genesis. Maybe it was just another romantic notion, but something had to explain why Ronan had felt so connected to Michael the moment he saw him.

  He thought back to when he was a little boy, when he was still human and his father and grandfather told him how their race originated. Then like now, Ronan didn’t fully comprehend the words, but emotionally he was connected to them.

  Centuries ago, hidden from mortal eyes, their race was created when a vampire fell in love with a stranger, a woman who was different, who lived beneath the ocean in the city of Atlantis. Sworn enemies, the two species never had any interaction that didn’t end in bloodshed, until The First met The Other and their love changed history.

  The First’s vampiric race did everything in its power short of killing him to prevent him from consorting with The Other. At the same time, her people imprisoned her, tortured her, anything to separate her from this creature whom they considered vile and evil. But to no avail. They loved each other, no matter how unnatural everyone around them felt their connection to be. Their love, deep and never-ending, created The Well in the center of Atlantis, and from its waters a new race was born, a hybrid vampire who could walk from out of the darkness and break through the water’s surface, no longer having to fear the sun. A race that had webbed feet and hands that made swimming to the floor of the ocean possible, and lungs that could breathe underwater as easily as above. And a race that would only have to feed once a month as long as they drank from The Well. All they were required to do was create new vampires, not out of hunger or malice or rage, but out of love.

  “You and Michael are from different worlds, you’re both perceived as unnatural by the majority of your people, and you’re both in love,” Edwige said. “There should be no hesitation.”

  “I’m not hesitating. I know The Well approves, but I would like his permission first before changing him forever.”

  Try to remain calm, Edwige, he is still young. “His love is his permission.”

  Clenching his fists, Ronan started to pace his mother’s room. “I know you think our race is superior. I do too, but there are others who disagree. Not everyone admires us water vamps!”

  Such a disgusting word. “Because they’re jealous.”

  “Yes, I know that! And I know their jealousy is wrong, but right and wrong have nothing to do with it. The reality is that there are more of Them than us. How can I bring Michael into a world where he will be reviled by so many? Where so many will wish he would just burn up and die?!”

  Edwige turned on her son viciously. “Because we have two choices! Either we increase our race or we allow Them to destroy us and all those whom we love. And I have seen too much destruction in my lifetime!” She turned away to look out the window. High, high above, a vulture was circling, waiting for the right moment to pounce. She knew the scavenger would wait two minutes or two centuries, but when the time was right, it would pounce to destroy what was left on the ground. “And I will tell you for the last time, if you don’t act on your love and bring Michael over to our side, someone else will act on their hatred and create him in their own image.”

  Ronan sank into a chair and he felt his heart break at the thought of that happening. He stared up at the painting, at the two men who were captured in one moment of a lifetime, and he imagined how many glorious moments he and Michael could share over an immortal lifetime. The Well was right, his mother right. He knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

  What Ronan didn’t know was that there were others who had also decided it was time to take action. “I’ve spoken to Him,” Brania said. “And He has given His consent for you to take Michael.”

  It was as if a burst of energy flooded Nakano’s brain. The feeling was almost as fantastic as when Penry’s blood spilled down his throat. “Perfect! I can’t believe He’s
going to let me do it!”

  She wouldn’t admit it, but Brania shared his belief. “He finds poetry in having another student do the deed. You.”

  “I know that He doesn’t have to explain Himself, but did He give any reason why He changed His mind?”

  She would be so happy when she would never have to see this one again. She was forced to accept unintelligence, but she detested disrespect. “He didn’t change His mind,” Brania explained in as calm a voice as she was capable. “Now that Ronan and Michael have made love, the separation, the violation, will be that much more painful.”

  “Of course,” Nakano said. “That makes total sense. Except …”

  Her patience was gone. “What!?”

  “Why is Michael so important?” Nakano asked. “He’s just a mortal, a kid from Nebraska, of all places.”

  His arrogance was appalling, but so too was his insight, not that she would commend him for it. “You have exceeded your allotted number of questions for one day,” Brania said. “Now please get to work.”

  As Nakano was about to enter the underground passageway that would lead him away from the center of Eden, he remembered something. “I just hope the fog doesn’t get in the way this time.”

  Again with the fog. “You’re a vampire! How can a fog prevent you from fulfilling your duty?”

  He really was so happy he was gay. No matter how hard they tried, girls just couldn’t help being stupid. “I’ve told you, Brania, it’s not an ordinary fog. It’s a protection, it’s as if someone is deliberately interfering so that no one can get to Michael except Ronan.”

  That’s it. Who’s a born protector? Women, not men. And no one is more protective than a mother. “It’s Edwige,” Brania declared. “She’s the source of the fog.”

  Maybe, Nakano thought. She is powerful, that one. “How do you know?”

  “Because a boy’s mother will do anything to help her son.”

  “Wow,” Nakano gushed. “I guess women aren’t that stupid after all.”

  No, they’re not, Brania thought. They’re far more intelligent and resourceful than any man she had ever known. Except of course for Him. Because no matter how contradictory or indecipherable His actions might appear, she always knew He had a plan, and that’s why He was the only man she had ever respected. Yes, she considered herself the luckiest woman in the world to have Him as her father.

  chapter 19

  The Beginning of an End

  Outside, the earth was dying.

  Patches of dry, brown grass blotted the area outside Archangel Cathedral as if Penry’s sudden death had taken life from the land. Trees stood leafless, stark, their branches like jagged edges, lonely, dangerous. But even on the cusp of tragedy, beauty could still be found.

  The interior of the cathedral was even more breathtaking than its façade. How a group of monks in the fifteenth century could ever have built such a structure, Michael had no idea, but he was grateful. The combination of elaborate religious imagery and simple man-made woodworking was comforting, especially at this time of mourning.

  Penry’s coffin had already been carried out, loaded onto a hearse, and was on its way to his family’s cemetery in Sheffield. Gone were his parents, weary with sorrow; his twin sister, Ruby, whose hair was an even brighter shade of red than Penry’s, his grandparents, weathered but sturdy. They were all gone and they took Penry’s body with them. They left behind students who were deeply saddened and also deeply worried because even though very few knew exactly how Penry had died, everyone knew that what had happened to him could just as easily happen to them. Sitting in a pew in the back of the church, Michael clutched Ronan’s hand tighter, closed his eyes, and prayed, “Please, God, keep us safe; our lives are just beginning.”

  When he opened his eyes the cathedral was bursting with light. It was as if God had responded to his plea. The huge circle of yellow stained glass acted like a portal through which the sun’s light could enter, and when it hit, as it did now, a perfect cylinder of golden sunshine beamed through the glass and illuminated the altar. Michael knew that the effect was nothing more than the result of clouds moving past the face of the sun, but he didn’t want a logical explanation; he wanted something more miraculous. So that’s what he believed. To him it looked like a pathway bringing a little bit of heaven to earth. He wanted to reach out and touch it, feel heavenly splendor, but as Ronan’s hand moved underneath his, he realized he already was.

  He hated feeling so joyful at such a terrible time, but he couldn’t berate himself; he wouldn’t. Too many years spent loathing life in Weeping Water, too many years wishing it would just be over; now that his life was beginning, he refused to ignore his happiness, even though someone he considered a friend was no longer with them. He looked up at the huge wooden crucifix suspended from an arch and hanging over the altar—different in that Jesus’s body wasn’t nailed to the cross, but only drops of blood, crimson and thick, were painted where his hands and feet would be—and he hoped that Penry was at peace. That whatever horror he witnessed just before his death was now a distant memory, its image replaced with the mercy and serenity of eternal peace. It was his wish for his friend and he hoped it would be fulfilled.

  Michael’s eyes moved from the crucifix to the large group assembled near the altar. Classes were canceled today and the front of the cathedral was filled with students, most of them talking to Father Fazio and a few other priests who were counseling them, helping them cope with the grief they were experiencing from this unexpected tragedy. The back of the church, however, was nearly empty. Other than an elderly priest lighting a candle at a statue of St. John the Baptist, it was just the two of them. “I can’t believe Penry’s really gone,” Michael whispered to Ronan.

  “It didn’t have to happen,” Ronan said.

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” Michael corrected. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s death, Michael. As much as we don’t want to accept it, it makes perfect sense.”

  The clouds must have returned; the ray of light was gone, the altar and tabernacle once again drenched in shadow. “But so soon? Penry’s life is over before it’s even begun.”

  Ronan was searching for the right words. He needed to hear what was in Michael’s mind, what lay in his heart, but he didn’t want to frighten him or make Michael think he was losing his grip with reality. He was given a reprieve, some time to collect his thoughts when Fritz, followed by Phaedra, somber and subdued, approached their pew.

  As he genuflected hastily, Fritz’s hand was a blur as it made the sign of the cross, his knees never bending. He didn’t enter the pew to join the boys but remained standing in the aisle, Phaedra beside him, head down, her hands dug deep into the pockets of her sweater. Michael thought she looked older, tired, which made sense since she had most likely spent the night crying. Penry’s death and the attack on Imogene had affected her deeply. Surprisingly, it had a similar effect on Fritz as well.

  “He was a right fine mate,” Fritz said with quiet respect.

  “Yeah, he was,” Michael agreed. “I wish I knew him longer.”

  Fritz nodded in understanding. Phaedra’s eyes remained focused on the hard wood of the floor. During the ensuing silence, Michael didn’t notice Phaedra shift her gaze to Ronan. However, Fritz did. He didn’t know what to make of it; he really didn’t know what to make of this girl except that she was different from all the other girls he knew. She was high-spirited, then quiet, aloof, then interested. She sparked new feelings in him, adult and unexpected, but she always seemed to be looking at another boy and not at him.

  “Do you guys want to sit with us?” Michael asked.

  “No,” Fritz answered for them both. “I’m going to walk Phaedra back to St. Anne’s. Light of day or not, there’s a bloody killer out there.”

  Phaedra’s stare didn’t waver. Ronan felt her looking at him, but he pretended to be very interested in watching the elderly priest who was now lovingly dusting off the statue of St.
John with a very tattered cloth. Even when he heard her ask Michael if he would be all right, he didn’t turn, he didn’t flinch although he knew exactly why she was asking. She, like Dr. MacCleery, didn’t trust him and suspected he had something to do with Penry’s death. Luckily, Michael knew otherwise.

  “Of course I’ll be fine,” he replied, squeezing Ronan’s hand gently. “I’m not alone.”

  “Neither are you, Phaedra,” Fritz mumbled, but his words got lost among the notes of the soft organ music that began playing in the cathedral’s choir space. For a few moments, all that mattered was the music, the rich melody, filled with vibrations. Achingly hopeful, it commanded their attention, swirled around and between them and then floated above, ascending to the cathedral’s huge space overhead. The music ended as abruptly as it began, just a few moments, just a brief passage of time, just like Penry’s life.

  Tentatively, Fritz took hold of Phaedra’s elbow. “See you later, mates.” As she was led toward the front door, Phaedra moved so fluidly with him that Fritz had no idea she wanted to stay, that she wanted to curl up on one of the pews and fall asleep under the crucifix, and awake bathed in beams of sunshine. But that wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t think about her own needs, not now when she was needed elsewhere, at Fritz’s side, even if that wasn’t the place she wanted to be.

  When they were once again alone, Ronan couldn’t wait any longer. He didn’t have the patience to be subtle; he had to know Michael’s answer. “If you had the choice, would you choose to be immortal?”

  Someone was finding it difficult to let go of Penry’s death, Michael guessed. “Like Dorian?”

  “I’m serious, Michael,” Ronan said. “If the choice were presented to you, what would you do?”