Looking in Michael’s direction, Phaedra knew exactly what was on his mind. “Neither does thinking Frenchie is sexy.”
Startled, Michael almost knocked the can of paint onto the floor. “It doesn’t?”
“Nope,” Phaedra said, dipping a stick into the paint and giving the blackness a swirl. “Just makes you gay.”
Startled again, this time Michael laughed. She was right. Just because he thought Jean-Paul was sexy didn’t mean he loved Ronan any less. It just meant what she said, that he’s gay and finds his father’s driver sexy. Damn sexy actually.
Unfortunately, Nakano felt the same way. From across the gym, he watched Michael watch Jean-Paul and he had to fight the urge to let his fangs descend and pounce on his nemesis in front of the entire school. First he steals Ronan from me, and now he’s trying to get his disgusting webbed hands on Jean-Paul.
“Want me to teach him a lesson?” Amir asked, practically panting at the proposition.
“No,” Nakano replied. “I can handle this.”
Peering into the mirror, David waited for Nakano to take action. He willed him to, but the boy didn’t move, he just watched.
He wasn’t the only bastard son who didn’t comply with David’s wishes.
Standing in front of Jean-Paul was like standing in the past. It was a hot, summer day, the smell of gasoline filled the air, a small bead of sweat traveled down R.J.’s cheek, onto his neck, disappearing underneath his loose-fitting T-shirt, going places Michael only dreamed about going. He was so wrapped up in the memory, he didn’t even hear the meadowlark call out to him. Da-da-DAH-da, da-da-da. All he heard was Jean-Paul’s greeting. “Bonjour.”
Swallowing hard to get some moisture into his mouth, Michael replied, “Hi.”
Jean-Paul moved as if in slow motion, flicking the brim of his cap with a long, thin finger, uncrossing his legs, placing both hands behind him on the hood of the sedan. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, but slow, like honey dripping off a heated spoon. “Looks like your headmaster has, uh, what’s zee phrase? Rallied zee troops.” Michael nodded and took a few steps closer, rubbing his bare arms, suddenly aware of the chill. “March weather, she’s always unpredictable,” Jean-Paul said.
“Yeah, life, she too can be unpredictable,” Michael said, cringing at his attempt to be clever.
Jean-Paul nodded, smiling, either oblivious to Michael’s nervousness or relishing it. “So how have you been, Michael Howard?”
“Good. I’ve been good.” Glancing to the side because he didn’t want to stare too long at his face, the cleft in his chin, Michael focused on the car, the black exterior was shining in the sun. It had the same sheen as Jean-Paul’s eyes. “I remember the first time I saw this car,” Michael said. “When Jeremiah picked me up at the airport.”
“You like to drive?”
“That’s weird you should say that. I just started taking lessons.”
The dirt crunched underneath Jean-Paul’s spotless black boots as he walked toward Michael and opened up the passenger-side door. Jean-Paul climbed in, his leather-clad fingers unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat. “Then why don’t you take me for a spin?”
“Seriously?!”
With a grin, Jean-Paul told Michael to get in the car, then slammed his door shut, making the meadowlark flinch from his perch high above them.
What to do, what to do? Michael looked around, into St. Sebastian’s, and saw that he was being watched, his friends were all clumped together in a huddle and from his own private viewing room, David was watching too. They were all waiting to see what he would do next, and whatever he did, Michael was sure Ronan would find out. But really, what was so wrong with what Jean-Paul was asking, well, telling him to do? Michael needed to get experience driving a car, and what better way to learn than from a guy whose job it is to drive?
Walking around the front of the car, an odd feeling started to grow within the pit of his stomach, not good, not bad, apprehension mixed with excitement. It was similar to how he felt when he was kissing Ronan, but not nearly as pleasant. His brain was fighting his body. There was something wrong with what he was about to do and he knew it, but his body won out and soon he was sitting in the driver’s seat next to Jean-Paul, sinking into the luxurious heated leather seat and letting the smell of cinnamon envelop him. When Jean-Paul spoke, his full red lips hardly moved. “Isn’t it nice to sit up front with zee adults for a change?”
Not everyone would agree. When Nakano raced past Phaedra and Fritz, they both knew where he was going, they both also knew they were thinking the same thing, that Michael was acting inappropriately and Nakano impetuously so there was no to need to speak.
Saoirse, however, couldn’t keep silent.
“ ’Scuse me,” she said, squeezing in between them. “There’s been a change in today’s schedule, people; the fireworks are about to begin!” How they hoped she was wrong. “And doesn’t Kano’s hair look better grown out and longer like that?” she added. “He doesn’t really have the face for a crew cut.”
Or the temperament for remaining calm. I cannot believe he’s sitting in the car next to my boyfriend! I cannot believe the two of them are driving away! The words raged in Nakano’s skull, making the bone hurt, making his heart ache. Was everything Jean-Paul said to me a lie? I thought he loved me. Nakano knew for certain that he loved Jean-Paul. No, no, this wasn’t Jean-Paul’s fault, it wasn’t his doing, it was Michael’s. Stinking water vamp ruins everything!
He should teach him a lesson once and for all; he should race after them. Damn the spectators. Let them all see my preternatural speed and chase after the car, overtake it, fling open the doors, and make Michael pay for making a fool out of me. But something prevented him from taking that first step. He wished he could call it maturity, good sense, but he needed to call it by its proper name: Ronan.
Yes, Michael realized, this was definitely a different feeling from when he was with Ronan. Jean-Paul was sexy, really, really sexy, there was no doubt about that, but what Michael felt had more to do with himself than with Jean-Paul. Being in his presence, knowing this other man’s body was so close he could touch it if he wanted to, was liberating. He had taken another step toward not hiding from his true feelings and it felt wonderful.
But he was the only one who felt that way.
“Doesn’t feel so good to watch your boyfriend drive off with another guy, does it?” Nakano asked, the words spitting out of him like rancid blood.
“Nothing wrong with taking a driving lesson from an expert,” Ronan replied, convincing neither of them that he believed what he said.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” When Nakano got next to Ronan, he stopped and looked up at his ex. “And when you see that smarmy boyfriend of yours, tell him to keep his hands off of mine!” Shoving Ronan out of the way, Nakano sprinted past him and away from the gym to find a private place where he could cool down. Ronan preferred to stay put, sitting on a tree stump to wait for Michael to return, his only company the meadowlark’s comforting melody.
“I should get back,” Michael announced. “I’m not really supposed to drive with anyone other than Mr. Blakeley.”
“I understand,” Jean-Paul said, his dark eyes peering at Michael. “It’s fun to break a rule, but only if you don’t get caught.”
And how incredible is it to break your own rules, he thought. Little by little, Michael was breaking down barriers, breaking down the walls that he built while growing up too scared to reveal his true self to the world. All those walls were starting to crumble, and Michael was beginning to feel what it’s like to be a man. For now, though, he would accept being a teenager, one with an incredibly beautiful boyfriend.
“Ronan!” Michael said, delighted to see him.
When Ronan looked up from where he was seated, the way the sun was shining in his eyes, Michael was momentarily unrecognizable. Once he stood up, he realized it was an illusion. Michael looked the same as he did this morning, the same as he did ever
y morning, and yet there was a difference. The meadowlark noticed it too and, disappointed, it flew away in the opposite direction of the car.
As Jean-Paul drove away, Michael confessed, “I can’t believe you don’t want to learn how to drive. It’s really exciting! And that car feels a lot better than the Civic Blakeley’s making me use.” Michael rambled on a bit more about how Jean-Paul’s car handled better, how it had better traction and a smoother flow over the ground, until it was clear that he was the only one doing any talking. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
Mad? Yeah, a little, but Ronan knew they had an audience and he wasn’t about to give them a show. “I’m just hungry.”
“Really? Our next feeding isn’t for a few more days.”
But I want a connection now. I want to feel that we’re connected so tightly that no one, no matter how fascinating or sexy or older can break that hold. “The Well allows us some leeway if we need to feed a day or two early,” Ronan explained. “It acknowledges that even immortals have weaknesses we can’t control.”
Michael was young, but he wasn’t stupid, he knew Ronan wasn’t talking about The Well, he was talking about him. “Nothing happened, Ronan. Nothing is ever going to happen,” Michael stated firmly. “You know that, don’t you?”
I don’t know, Michael. All I know is that I hate feeling jealous, I hate feeling that all this could end, that history could repeat itself. But I trust you and you said nothing happened, so I’m going to choose to believe you. “I do,” he said. “But I’m still hungry.”
The feelings Ronan stirred within Michael were indeed more powerful than the ones he felt while sitting next to Jean-Peal. Sure it was exciting, gratifying to feel his stare, but this, the magnetic pull between him and Ronan, was unique, and Michael recognized that. He couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t take Jean-Paul for another spin if he offered, but he could promise that he would never do anything with him except drive. Kissing, feeding, and all that other good stuff was reserved for only one person. “Well, love,” Michael said, imitating Ronan’s accent, “let’s go eat.”
As usual, Ronan led the way and while their friends continued to paint banners and glue material onto wood, Michael stood next to Ronan on a ledge six stories high, outside the hospital room of a woman who was closer to death than the ocean is to the horizon. Ronan slid open the window, and a whiff of death floated past them. It was an artificial smell, though, this woman was being kept alive by machines that were interfering with nature. The scent of death should be intoxicating, not manufactured. Maybe this was Ronan’s revenge, run off with a handsome man and your reward is an unsatisfactory feed. No, not this time. Before they could enter, Michael heard a noise in the distance and then an intoxicating smell engulfed him, the unmistakable smell of someone who was about to die naturally. “Follow me,” Michael ordered.
Ronan watched in shock as Michael jumped off the ledge. He wasn’t worried that he would hurt himself, but Michael had never taken charge during a feeding before. Things were definitely changing. Instead of feeling apprehensive or concerned, Ronan found himself feeling proud. And when they stood on the top of the overturned truck, the wind carrying with it the delightful scent of a life about to end, Ronan grabbed Michael’s hand and kissed it. It was a small gesture, but hopefully one that communicated a great many emotions. Standing high above the ground, his hair windswept, his chest puffed, Michael truly looked like a young king and Ronan his loyal servant. Michael understood what Ronan was trying to convey and he was grateful, but now he too was ravenously hungry.
The handsome man, sprawled on the grass a few feet from the truck, was barely conscious. He didn’t feel the shards of glass sticking in his chest and arms, but he did feel something pierce his neck, something sharp, oddly pleasurable, and then he felt his blood swirl underneath his skin. Crouched over the man, Michael was gripping a handful of his curly brown hair tightly as he sucked the blood from his thick, muscular neck. He was so enraptured by the experience, so absolutely becoming an extension of this man, that he didn’t stop feeding until he felt Ronan’s hand grip his shoulder. Extending his tongue to flick the stream of blood that dripped from the side of Michael’s mouth, Ronan whispered, “He needs to feed both of us.”
Not only was their feeding unusual, so too was the ceremony at The Well. They knelt, they drank, they prayed, and then they were plunged into darkness just as Michael’s vision prophesied. “Ronan!” The only response was a flash of light. The break in the darkness frightened the boys even more because, when they looked into The Well, a distorted image, a grotesque face, stared back at them before the darkness returned.
At the same time, David’s mirror turned to black. “No!” he shouted, the wings he was still holding fluttering in the air. “Zachariel, don’t abandon me!” Slowly his reflection returned. Gone were the images from St. Sebastian’s, gone was his miraculous vision. Only he remained in the mirror. A rumbling started to grow within the room. The walls vibrated, the floor shook, and David fell to his knees when Zachariel spoke. “As you ask your children to be patient,” the angel growled, “I ask the same from mine.”
Suddenly, The Well was flooded with light. Ronan was standing next to Michael, where he belonged, and from the cave’s ceiling fell the most beautiful white roses, like the ones that grew outside of St. Joshua’s. The shower of roses was such a lovely antidote to the grotesque face they had seen that they beamed. The roses clustered together and hovered a few feet above their heads, one giant bouquet, suspended, until the petals separated and fell, their softness gently brushing against their skin like wisps of satin.
The feathers from the eagle’s wings began to separate and lift, encircling David, until every last one was sucked into Zachariel’s carved image. The archangel had accepted his sacrifice. David heard a crackling and saw that the torso of the eagle had burst into flames, all that remained of the animal was fire, then ash, then nothing. Overjoyed, David realized this was a turning point in his immortal life, his first undeniable communication with Zachariel, the archangel of the sun.
Two separate rituals, two different resolutions. The three of them, however, had no idea how closely they were all connected.
chapter 15
Ronan woke up with a plan. Ever since Saoirse took a risk by going out in public to decorate for the school’s upcoming carnival, he knew he would have to take action. He didn’t want to, but it was inevitable. So instead of going to first period, he was going to see Edwige.
His mother would not be happy to hear that Saoirse ran away from Ecole des Roches to avoid expulsion; that Phaedra impersonated her to assure the French headmistress that Saoirse was safe, sound, and living with family; and, most disturbingly, that Saoirse had been cutting herself out of peer pressure. But his mother needed to be told, his sister needed guidance, and Ronan no longer wanted to act like her parent. It was time for Edwige to resume that role.
Racing out of his dorm room, he kissed Michael good-bye and wished him luck on his British lit quiz. “Don’t forget. Charles Dickens got paid by the word,” Ronan reminded him. “That’s why he was so long-winded.”
“What was Proust’s excuse?” Michael asked, feeling ohso-literary.
“Self-indulgent,” Ronan replied. “But don’t give that as your answer. McLaren’s got a stiffy for the old bugger.”
Now Michael felt confused. He thought Ronan was off to confront his mother and yet he was cheerier than he had been in days. Standing in the doorway, he called out, “You’re in an awfully good mood this morning.”
Climbing back up the stairs two at a time, Ronan almost collided into Michael. “Trying to be more like you, love,” he said, throwing his arms around him. “And put a positive spin on something I really don’t want to do.”
When Ronan looked down, a clump of hair flopped out of place. Michael brushed the loose strands back with his fingers. “You don’t have to. You could force Saoirse to call her mother and take responsibility for her own actions.”
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br /> Ronan’s laughter filled the stairwell. “That’s one of the reasons I love you,” he said. “You’ve got a cracking sense of humor.” One quick kiss on the lips, one more for good luck, and Ronan was once again racing down the steps. Running out of St. Florian’s, he shouted, “See ya at practice!” but he didn’t pause for Michael’s response. He was determined to get to his mother’s flat before he lost his courage.
Standing outside Edwige’s front door, his hand poised to knock, Ronan almost turned to run all the way back to school. He could already hear her shouting, going off on a tirade, blaming him for not making Saoirse return to school, beg forgiveness, and get herself unexpelled. He knew it was going to be his fault because he should have understood the gravity of the situation and how dangerous it could be to have Saoirse in such close proximity to David, Brania, and the rest of their kind, and that he should have immediately asked Edwige for her help. He was wrong.
“I’m so very proud that you’ve been taking care of your sister.”
“What?! You’ve known all along she was at Double A?!” Standing in front of the oval mirror, Edwige secured the gold pin to her chocolate brown crushed velvet poncho, one complete shade darker than her suede knee-high boots. The pin was the silhouette of an ocean wave with two crests, a simple design. But the contrast it made against the brown material made it look as expensive as it was. Underneath the poncho she wore a tight-fitting cream-colored cable knit dress that fell a few inches above the top of her boot. She absolutely loved the look. Swinging around to face Ronan, she caught a glimpse of her movement in the mirror, the poncho flouncing at her waist, and thought what a shame she had never experienced London’s Carnaby Street in the sixties. She would have been so popular. “The headmistress called several weeks ago to inform me that Saoirse had run away.”
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