His sister was back and it was about time he discovered why she defied human nature.
chapter 12
Michael was trying hard to concentrate, he really was. He was trying to understand the difference between mid-segments and perpendicular bisectors of triangles, he was calling upon The Well’s strength to focus on what Father Fazio was saying, but his class work held no interest. All he cared about was what was happening in his personal life.
He heard the priest’s words, but they made no sense to him, they were just sounds, clusters of vowels and consonants that held no meaning. He saw the diagrams the priest was drawing on the large white Smartboard at the front of the class, but again they meant nothing, they were just a bunch of lines that intersected at various points. It was as if a cloud were descending in front of his eyes, replacing his teacher with an image of Saoirse, then Phaedra, Imogene, his parents, anyone except the person who should have been commanding his attention.
I’m really trying, Ronan, Michael told himself. I want to do well in school, but there’s too much other stuff going on.
When his mind wandered, as it was doing now, he couldn’t believe just how much stuff there really was. So much was happening to him so quickly, he just wanted to make it all stop. Near-death attacks, visions, ghostly apparitions, new questions about his past, old issues about his father, the intensity of his feelings for Ronan—the combination and culmination of all these things were beginning to make Michael wish he had never come here, wish that he was back home, secluded in his bedroom. Well, almost wish, not fully. He wouldn’t want to be without Ronan, but all the other things, yes, those other things he could do without. Except maybe the vision of his mother. Learning the truth about her or at least a portion of her truth was remarkable, one of the good things that had happened to him that wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Imogene and, boy, it was nice to see her again even if the circumstances cemented the fact that she was dead. And of course Phaedra, for the most part, was a godsend. Even if she couldn’t protect him like she used to, she was still an amazing friend and someone he definitely wanted in his life. On and on and on the thoughts came, circling his brain, pulling his mind away from the classroom until he felt dizzy. Clutching his forehead, Michael didn’t even hear himself scream, “Stop it!”
“Dude, I just want to show you my first solo effort.”
When the haze lifted from Michael’s eyes, he saw Fritz standing in front of his desk, the first post-Penry issue of Tales of the Double A in his hands, the rest of the students mostly ignoring him as they hurriedly exited the classroom. I didn’t even hear the bell ring, Michael realized, not a good sign. “Sorry, Fritz, it looks great.”
“You didn’t even look at it!” Fritz yelled, slamming the comic book on Michael’s desk.
Apologizing again, Michael inspected Fritz’s latest endeavor much more closely. He was right the first time. The cover was a depiction of Archangel Cathedral during a snowstorm with the self-explanatory title “Archangel Avalanche.” “It really does look great.”
Convinced that this time Michael was being honest, Fritz beamed. “You really think so, mate?”
The artwork was not as imaginative or as detailed as Penry’s, but it was a close-enough imitation, plus Fritz had included some of his own technique, with the edges of the church softer and rounder, the colors just a bit more intense so they popped against the white, snowy landscape. The total look was more primitive than Penry’s efforts, different. But that was to be expected. It was, after all, the beginning of a whole new chapter in the series, and some degree of change was necessary. Keeping his eyes on the comic and not on Michael, Fritz asked, “Do you think, um, do you think Penry would approve?”
Without a doubt Michael knew the answer to that question. “Wholeheartedly.”
“Are you sure?” Fritz asked again. “I decided not to put Double P, you know Penry, the superhero, on the cover. Thought it might be too sappy.”
Michael smiled. “Afraid you’re getting too sentimental?”
Scratching his tight curls, Fritz replied, “You know how it is when you, you know, really like someone.”
Michael couldn’t help teasing his friend. “Phaedra?”
Fritz whacked Michael with the comic book. “Who else, ya git?! Of course Phaedra!” Trying to keep his voice as gruff as possible, he continued, “I was pretty upset when she was sick. I didn’t want it to affect my work, you know, detrimentally.”
Michael surprised himself by maintaining a straight face, “Oh, of course not, that would’ve been devastating.”
“I know,” Fritz replied. “It is, after all, a comic and not some daft romance novel.”
Laughing heartily, Michael commented, “No chance of confusing one with the other!”
Good! Relieved, Fritz blew out a breath and then instructed Michael to read the issue tonight and give him a critique in the morning. “But don’t let Ronan read it.”
“Why not?” Michael asked, surprised by the dictate.
As they walked to the classroom door, Fritz shrugged his shoulders and crinkled up his forehead. “Because he’s posh, that one.”
“Posh?” Michael asked, stopping in the doorway.
“He’s always reading big books, what do you call them?” Fritz replied. “Classics! He’s always reading those big, classic novels. I just don’t think he’s going to get Tales of the Double A, you know, not like you and me do.”
As they continued on down the hallway, the noise of the crowd forced Michael to raise his voice. “You may have a point there.”
“He’s a good mate and all, don’t get me wrong,” Fritz clarified, speaking even louder than Michael. “He’s just not like you and me.”
“Is that so, Fritzie? Didn’t know you were switching teams.”
Walking past them was Alexei, the junior who could never make it past the B team in swimming. Despite being a few inches taller and wider than Fritz, he could never intimidate him either. “Say that to my face again, Russkie, and I’ll knock you on your arse!”
With a chuckle and a wave of his hand, Alexei disappeared into Father Fazio’s classroom. When Fritz turned back to face Michael, he realized an apology might be in order. “Sorry, mate, but, you know, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
Far from being angry, Michael knew that Fritz didn’t care about his sexual orientation and that his comment wasn’t hypocritical or hateful, it was merely Fritz being his boyish, obnoxious self. “No worries, Germany.”
Again Fritz’s forehead got all crinkly. “What?”
“Germany,” Michael repeated, then explained, “You call me Nebraska ’cause that’s where I’m from, so I called you Germany ’cause that’s where you’re from.”
Amused, but not willing to show it, Fritz felt the need to put Michael in his place. “Nice try, but that’s just not going to work.”
“Why not?” Michael said, disappointed that his catchword wasn’t accepted.
“Because I said so,” Fritz replied. “That’s why.”
The phrase made Michael’s head start to spin again, not because it made him angry but because it reminded him of his father. That’s what Vaughan always said whenever he didn’t want to explain himself, whenever he didn’t want to have a conversation with his son, which was pretty much every time they spoke. The anxiety Michael felt during class rushed back, flooding his body with the same intensity as this morning’s feeding, but without any of the exhilaration. It was the same sensation he experienced during his vision, a foreboding, a feeling that while unknown pieces of his mother’s life had been revealed to him, more elements of his father’s life were being concealed. Right as they were about to leave St. Albert’s and dash to their next class, Michael made a decision. “Fritz, could you cover for me?” Michael asked. “Tell Joubert I got sick and went to the infirmary.”
Shocked at the implication, Fritz’s jaw dropped. When he spoke, his tone of voice was as indignant as his expression. “You want me to li
e? In theology?”
“Oh, like it’s gonna be the first time,” Michael said honestly, destroying any chance Fritz had of keeping up his ruse.
Good-naturedly, Fritz replied, “Can’t argue with that, Nebraska. So why are you ditching class? Afternoon rendezvous with you-know-who?”
I wish. “No, I just have to take care of something and it can’t wait any longer.”
“Okay, I’ll take notes,” Fritz said. “That is, if I can stay awake.”
Michael started to feel the adrenaline bubble under his skin. He had never cut class before, never been so consciously defiant. Maybe he was reacting to the new energy pulsating throughout his body; maybe he just had to quell the nagging doubts he had. Whatever the reason, he had to confront his father, he had to put together a few more pieces of the puzzle before things got too out of control. Feeling almost as powerful as he did when he knelt before The Well, Michael remembered there was another task he needed to complete. “One more thing, Fritz.”
What now? “Seriously, mate, I’m not your personal secretary.”
“I know, I know,” Michael appeased. “Tell Phaedra I need to see her later. It’s important.”
Fritz nodded and then started to walk down the hallway, but made it only a few steps. “What’s so important that you have to talk to my girlfriend?” Fritz asked, spinning around. His question, however, wasn’t heard. Michael had vanished and was already in front of St. Joshua’s trying to act as if he were rushing to his next class and not rushing toward a long-overdue confrontation.
Even though he knew it wouldn’t be easy—talking to his father never was—it felt right, his bones tingled, and he felt his spirit lift. This is why Imogene had come to him; this is why she allowed him to see his mother, hear what she had really said. It was all so he could make his father admit the truth, whatever that truth was, no matter how hard it was going to be for him to hear.
Stopping near the oak tree that he and Ronan would sit under during the spring, Michael questioned the rationale of his spontaneous decision. Maybe the truth is something I really don’t want to know, maybe it’s something that should stay buried. No, no! I want to move forward, I want to let go of the past, and I can’t do that if I keep treating myself like a child, like a scared kid. Whatever my father is hiding, whatever he doesn’t want me to know, I’m going to make him tell me. And I’m going to make him tell me a bunch of other things too, like why he never called when I was growing up and why he didn’t protest when my mother moved me halfway across the world—and why the heck Brania is walking across campus?
A few yards away from him on the other side of the tree, Brania looked like a St. Anne’s student who was trying awfully hard to get detention. Her red platform shoes were an inch too high, her skirt was hiked up an inch too short, and her bare legs were in violation of dress code policy. Michael had heard Phaedra complain countless times about how uncomfortable their mandatory navy blue stockings were, but the way Brania was walking, almost prancing, each step more of a strut, it was as if she wanted to be noticed instead of trying to blend in. It was so weird. Up close she really did look like a teenager, like someone who belonged here, but from where Michael was standing, she looked very much like an outsider.
Where was she going anyway? She was moving in the direction of St. Martha’s, but she had less of a reason to go to the dining hall than he did. Curious, Michael wanted to follow her. There was absolutely no reason for her to be at Double A, so obviously she must be up to no good. She must be in the middle of some plan, some plot, something that was probably against him and the water vamps. But if that were so, why would she be walking in plain sight? She was capable of a stealthier approach; in fact Michael realized she was probably capable of more things than he could imagine. Maybe if I keep my distance and follow her, he thought, I can figure out what she’s up to, but no, no, do not stray from your purpose! Concentrate! I do not need to channel Agatha Christie and follow Brania into the woods. I have more important things to do.
Brania completely agreed. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she tilted her head slightly and cast a sideways glance. Yes, her gut instinct was correct; she was seen by a water vamp. She only saw a swatch of blond hair, but it was enough for her to deduce that her watcher was Michael. Thank God there aren’t that many of them, she thought; otherwise they might be harder to keep track of.
Bounding across campus, her arms swinging freely by her sides, she relished the feeling of being observed. It was nice to be the object of someone’s attention even if that someone was an enemy of sorts. A hint of danger always put a little lilt in her step, but allowing more than a hint to creep into her world was simply the act of a fool, and Brania was many things, but not foolish.
When she came to a fork in the road she stopped and bent down, acting as if she was tying a shoelace that had come undone. Looking all around her, peering into every crevice, within every shadow, she saw that she was alone. Michael was nowhere to be found. Good, no need for him to see me visiting Father. Not that she was even certain that Ronan had informed Michael of their connection; it was just that every once in a while, Brania liked to play it safe.
The safe route, however, was not the road Michael wanted to take today. Banging on the door to his father’s hotel suite, he didn’t even know if anyone would answer. He had merely called his father’s office, said he was a client who needed to see him immediately, and was told by a chatty secretary that he was conducting business out of his hotel in Eden today. He took a chance that the information he was given was correct.
“Michael!” Vaughan exclaimed, then quickly recovered from the unexpected sight of his son. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Deep breath, Michael, say what you practiced on the way over. “I had some free periods and I wanted to see you,” he said quickly. “It’s been, you know, a really long time.”
Vaughan believed only one part of what Michael said, the part about its being a long time since they saw each other. “Well, isn’t that nice, son. Come in.” When Michael heard the door close behind him, he had a moment of regret. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
When Brania saw Nurse Radcliff exit her father’s office just as she was about to knock, she had the same thought as Michael. It deepened when she saw her father run out after her, holding the nurse’s cardigan sweater, a polyester creation teeming with pink peonies on a bed of overgrown green grass, which he placed gently over her shoulders. “You wouldn’t want to misplace such a lovely frock,” David told her. Giggling, Nurse Radcliff shuffled out of the room, and there was silence as father and daughter stared at each other until Brania was compelled to speak.
“You’ve had empresses, virgins, a sea nymph if I recall,” she said. “And after all that, you’ve chosen a frumpy, old-maid nurse.”
“She’s actually a divorcee,” David replied.
Laughing much more heartily than Nurse Radcliff, Brania continued, “I cannot believe you’re having an affair with . . . that!”
“If you wish to see me, stop laughing.”
Another father had a similar thought regarding his child’s spontaneous visit. “If you wanted to see me,” Vaughan said, “you should’ve called first.”
Michael was pacing the small space between the living room and the dining area, unsure of where he should sit or if he should stand. Maybe standing would make him appear stronger, more adult. “With your schedule, it never seems to matter if we make plans,” Michael replied, pleased at how testy and adultlike his voice sounded, “So, you know, I figured I’d be spontaneous.”
“Well, I’m glad you did,” Vaughan replied warily. “I can take some time out from work. What seems to be on your mind?”
Tired of pacing, Michael finally opted to sit on the couch, slouching into the cushions and clutching a pillow so he wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with his hands. Talking was proving difficult enough. “Nothing much,” he mumbled. Say something, Michael. You told him you wanted to see hi
m; you can’t just sit here. Ask him about your mother. No, I’m not ready for that. “I met your new driver. He, uh, seems nice.”
“Jean-Paul’s wonderful. I’m lucky I found him so quickly after Jeremiah up and left,” Vaughan said, sitting on the far end of the couch, leaning forward, his hands clasped, fingers drumming together. “Not that I could fully blame the bloke, family emergency and all.”
That’s not what Jean-Paul said. “I thought Jeremiah got a new job.”
This is why I don’t like to talk. Too many loopholes, too many opportunities to say the wrong thing. “No, some sort of family problem back in the States,” Vaughan said as he stood up, rubbing his hands on his thighs to dry them. “Jean-Paul must have gotten it wrong.” Michael nodded but was more convinced than ever that the real truth was that Jeremiah and Alistair were lovers who ran off together. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Uh . . . a glass of water would be good.”
“Coming right up,” Vaughan announced, then retreated to the kitchen. “And then, Michael, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here.”
“Brania, darling, why are you really here?” David stared at his daughter, not expecting her to show any surprise, and he wasn’t disappointed. He had raised her well. What he did expect, however, was an honest answer, which is what he got.
“To give you an update,” Brania replied, crossing her legs and becoming aware for the first time all day how short her skirt really was. “Vaughan’s factory has already produced beta versions of our new implants. I’ve been advised that these permanent contact lenses will keep out more of the sun’s rays than ever before.”
Unwelcome Page 19
