Unafraid (35 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unafraid
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“Of course it was Michael,” Ciaran added. “You know, I think the stress of the whole swim competition thing has gotten to you.”
“That must be it. You're seeing things that aren't there,” Ronan joined in. “Stress is one powerful demon.”
“Yes! That's what he is! Some kind of demon!” Blakeley cried.
“Coach, I'm sorry if I scared you,” Michael said, trying to remember what innocence sounded like. “But look at me, I'm no demon.”
He was right; he didn't look like a demon or the devil; he just looked like a kid. But Blakeley knew what he had seen come out of that pool, at least he thought he did. Ignoring reason, ignoring his own sanity, Blakeley began to ramble, and for the first time the events that had taken place at the school over the past year started to make sense. “That's it! It's all because of you! Ever since you showed up things have been crazy around here!” Blakeley shouted, his finger jabbing the air viciously. “Ever since you came to Double A people have started to go missing or die. First Penry, then his girlfriend, Alistair, Lochlan, his nurse, that Amir kid, the girl with the really frizzy hair, and now Diego!” Panting, Blakeley stopped, almost too scared to finish. “Tell me, Michael, where the bloody hell is Diego?!”
Such a long list. Could Michael really be responsible? No. No, it was just coincidence, it had nothing to do with him. It just couldn't. “I have no idea, Coach,” Michael answered softly.
Blakeley couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't explain it, he was in no way capable of rationalizing it, but he couldn't stay in the same room as Michael. If he stayed in the gym for another second he thought he was going to faint. “Oh really?” Blakeley said, running out of the gym. “We'll see about that!”
When Ciaran ran to the other side of the pool, they all thought he was chasing after Blakeley until he bent down and grabbed the pink towel adorned with a huge letter
S.
“Saoirse!” Quickly glancing at the stopwatch, Ciaran saw that Saoirse had been underwater for over five minutes. Way too long. Tossing the timer aside, he dove into the pool fully dressed. Underwater his eyes, wide and fearful, darted all over. Left, right, nothing, just water. Saoirse was nowhere to be found. Breaking the surface, he looked around the gym, but still not a trace of her. How had she left without being seen? Confused, Ciaran placed his hands flat on the edge of the pool and started to hoist himself up, but quickly got some help with his exit.
Ronan clutched the wet collar of Ciaran's shirt, and the way his eyes were flaring, Ciaran realized blue was the new color of anger. “What was Saoirse doing in the pool?” Ronan demanded.
Unable to come up with a lie quickly enough, Ciaran told a version of the truth. “We were testing her breathing,” he said quietly so no one else could hear him. “You know how interested she is in her origin. I figured she's got to be connected to Atlantis somehow, so I thought I'd see how long she could stay underwater.”
“And how long were you going to wait to share your results with David?” Ronan demanded.
“I ... I wasn't,” Ciaran stammered. “I wouldn't do that.”
“Don't lie to me, Ciaran!” Ronan shouted. “I saw David come out of your lab. I know you're still working with him!”
“Was! I'm done with all that!” Ciaran cried. “I swear it!”
There was something in the tone of Ciaran's voice that Ronan had never heard before when they discussed David: fear.
“Well, it's about bloody time,” Ronan said. He wasn't happy to hear that his brother was afraid, but Ronan was thrilled to hear that Ciaran had come to his senses. He wanted to ask Ciaran what had happened that made him finally accept the fact that David was no good, but at the moment he had to deal with his other sibling. “So where the hell is Saoirse?” Ronan asked.
“She must've made a run for it when things got wonky,” Ciaran replied.
“I don't think
wonky
is the best way to describe the situation,” Michael said, joining them. “More like fiasco, shambles. How about catastrophe?”
Rubbing Michael's shoulder, Ronan tried his best to cheer his boyfriend up. “Don't fret, love, it's not like Blakeley saw you feeding,” Ronan said. “He saw a glimpse of your true self, that's all.”
That's all! “Isn't that enough?!”
Twisting his shirttail to drain some water from it, Ciaran agreed. “Ro's right. He can't prove anything. You just have to be more careful from here on out.”
Although surprised by the positive spin they were putting on the disaster, Michael was grateful he had their support. Or did he?
“Um, Ronan,” Michael started. “Any reason you left me on my own to do battle with the Morgue?”
“The Well told me not to interfere,” he replied.
“So let me get this straight, brother,” Ciaran started. “Your Well is now speaking to you?”
Ronan shrugged his shoulders and looked unintentionally impish. “It's not like He rings me daily,” he replied. “But, yeah, I've heard from Him.” Was that accurate? “Or Her, or is it It?” For all the times Ronan had pledged his love, support, and devotion to The Well, he really didn't know what pronoun to use to describe it. “Whatever it is, it told me to stay put.”
“That's why there was a whirlpool!” Michael announced.
“A whirlpool?” the brothers replied in unison.
“Yeah, just like the one that sucked up Amir last year,” Michael explained.
Ronan had never been prouder to be a water vamp. “That's why The Well told me not to get involved,” he said. “Everything was under control, thanks to Him.”
“Or Her, or It,” Michael added.
“Whatever,” they said, laughing as one.
Ciaran, however, failed to see the humor. Not because he wasn't a water vamp, but because he was a scientist. A scientist whose experiment had just exceeded his wildest expectations. “Boys, I hate to strip the gilding from your lilies,” he interjected. “But this isn't about either of you. It's about Saoirse.”
After a moment of silence, Ronan was the first to follow Ciaran's train of thought. “Blimey! You think the whirlpool meant that The Well was somehow protecting Saoirse?”
“Yes!” Ciaran cried.
“That would be borderline amazing,” Michael shared. “Without, you know, the borderline part.”
“Let me guess, Michael. Just before the whirlpool started, Morgandy was about to attack Saoirse,” Ciaran hypothesized correctly. “Is that right?”
“Exactly!” Michael confirmed.
“I was right all along!” Ciaran shouted. “Saoirse
is
connected to The Well, but the relationship is even stronger than I ever imagined!”
“What do you mean?” Ronan asked.
“Saoirse didn't sneak out of here without anyone seeing her,” Ciaran explained. “She was taken to a safe place. And there's no safer place than that Well of yours.”
 
As Michael and Ronan ran out of the gym on their way to Inishtrahull Island to visit a particular spot buried deep within the Atlantic Ocean, Saoirse was sitting with her back against the cold, stone wall of The Well. Arms wrapped around her knees, Saoirse sighed, half-scared, half-bored, and wondered how in the world she had ever gotten there. And, more important, if she was ever going to be able to get back home.
chapter 25
In three different locations, three different revelations were beginning to unfold.
“What are you two doing here?” Saoirse asked.
“We should really be asking you that question,” Ronan replied. And then, suddenly, he felt incredibly awkward.
Because they weren't visiting The Well after a feeding he and Michael remained clothed, wearing their Double A track pants over their swim team Speedos, all now soaking wet. They looked like they had gotten pushed into a pool and had only had enough time to rip their shirts off, a look that Ronan, especially, found to be a bit too casual in the presence of The Well. But it was more than that. Whenever they had made the journey to this sacred place it had been ceremonial and just the two of them; they never ventured here merely to visit, nor did they ever have company. Seeing Saoirse sitting on the ground and leaning against the base of The Well like she was resting against a tree trunk in The Forest in between classes was just a little too weird. “How did this happen?” he asked, his voice a hushed whisper.
Reaching overhead, Saoirse gripped the top of The Well and stood up. “You're asking me?” she snapped. “Aren't you the authority on all things water vampire-esque?”
Michael couldn't help but smile. Even here, standing in the shadow of The Well, the God-like entity that was worshipped by an entire race, Saoirse wasn't intimidated, not the least bit awestruck. Standing in her bikini, she rubbed her hands together to wipe away the sea grime and noticed some pieces of dirt still clinging to her skin. She dragged the palm of her right hand down the edge of The Well's rim and upon inspection wasn't completely satisfied with the result. “Guess the maid forgot to come in this week,” she mumbled to herself.
This time Michael did laugh. Ronan, however, grew even more tense. Watching his sister act so informally in a place that commanded reverence and respect made Ronan uncomfortable. He knew The Well was protecting Saoirse, he knew that the two were indeed connected in some strange way, but he also knew The Well demanded obedience and decorum and could dispense punishment with the same ease as it bestowed mercy. Then again, maybe Ronan didn't know The Well at all.
He looked around the cave and saw that the rocks near the ceiling were shimmering with a golden light; he had never noticed that before. The ceiling itself was sprinkled with a silvery dust that sparkled and twinkled, making the entire cave glow. Ronan didn't know if he had never taken in these details before or if The Well was somehow changing the physical shape of its home, redecorating to welcome its latest guest. Was Saoirse really that special? When he heard the water within The Well ripple, sounding as if someone was plucking the strings of a harp, he was convinced The Well was laughing at him.
Now doesn't that just take the biscuit,
Ronan thought.
The Well's just like Michael. It finds humor in everything.
Folding his arms across his bare chest, Ronan smirked. “My guess is that when The Well sensed you were in danger of being attacked by Morgandy, the pool turned into a portal and whisked you to safety,” he explained. “Bringing you right here to home base.”
If that were true, then they weren't kidding. This Well really did have super duper magical powers. Mimicking her brother's stance, Saoirse folded her arms. “Plausible, rabbit, very plausible, given, you know, the implausibility of our circumstances,” she agreed. “Even though Michael was doing a jolly good job of rescuing me without any outside help.” Saoirse felt the warmth of her flesh seep into her arms and was overcome with shyness, suddenly all too aware that she had never completely gotten over her crush on Michael and that her bathing suit was quite revealing. That was the last time she would ever be manipulated into trying to impress a boy. “This is all Ciaran's fault, you know?” she declared. “Him and his bleedin' experiments.”
Glancing sideways at Michael, Ronan had to give their brother his due. “C'mon, Seersh,” he said. “You have to admit, this one turned out to be pretty successful.”
“We're like miles and miles below water, right?” she asked.
Marveling at the truth of the situation, Ronan finally unleashed his enthusiasm and grabbed his sister by her shoulders. Decorum be damned! “We're in uncharted territory, Saoirse!” he exclaimed. “Besides that, do you realize that you are the only non-water vampire to ever ... ever! ... cast your eyes on all of this?”
Unable to move her body, Saoirse twisted her head as much as she could, but all she could see was rock and stone. “You realize it's just a cave, right?”
Laughing hysterically, Ronan let Saoirse go, but held onto his excitement. Needing some sort of physical contact he hugged Michael tightly, twirling him around a few times as Saoirse watched with a stunned expression. “She thinks this is just a cave!”
Equally bemused, Michael was laughing just as hard as Ronan. However, he also understood Saoirse's indifference. Even though the bulk of her family was comprised of water vamps, she was an outsider, excluded from this miraculous part of their lives. “It might look like just a cave, but it's sacred ground,” Michael said, his voice more gentle than preaching. “I don't really know how it works or all of its mysteries, but trust me, Saoirse, your being here is nothing short of a miracle.”
Saoirse did trust Michael, and she got what he was saying. She understood that she was standing amid majesty, touching blessed dirt. She just didn't feel anything. This place meant nothing to her. And for one of the first times in her life she understood that she should keep those feelings to herself. Ronan and Michael didn't want to hear that she would rather be back in St. Sebastian's or in her dorm hanging out with Ruby, so she self-edited and joined in with the merriment. “Well then, three cheers for Ciaran!”
“Professor Chow would probably give him full marks and an engraved plaque,” Michael declared. “Heck he'd probably petition to have the Einstein Wing be renamed The Ciaran Eaves Research Laboratory For Things That Defy Explanation!”
“Brilliant idea!” Ronan beamed. “I second it!”
Rubbing the back of Michael's neck, Ronan held out his hand to Saoirse. Unsure of what her brother was staging, she held his hand and could feel the blood pumping through his veins. “This is an unprecedented event in our history,” Ronan announced. “And I'm so bloody happy that I got to witness it.” He squeezed her hand tightly. “Thank you, Saoirse.”
“I should be thanking you guys,” she stated. “This is all really beautiful in its own way and peaceful and everything, but I thought I was going to be stuck here forever, so, um, thanks for showing up.”
Michael grabbed Saoirse's free hand so the three of them were joined as one. “Why don't we go home and share the good news with the man of the hour?” he suggested. “Ciaran's gotta be dying to know what's going on.”
“Good!” Saoirse declared. “Because I've got a pep rally to get to, and if we don't leave right now I'm going to be late.”
Once again the water rippled, more intensely this time, and the cave was filled with a harp's flourish that indeed sounded like laughter. Clearly, The Well was amused by Saoirse's priorities. “Then let's go,” Ronan said. The words were barely out of his mouth and he realized they might have a very serious problem. “Saoirse, I don't know exactly how you got here, but are you going to be able to hold your breath until we reach the water's surface?” he asked.
Saoirse didn't know
exactly
how she had gotten here either, but thinking back to how easily she had breathed underwater in the pool, she wasn't worried. “No need to fret, Roney,” she assured. “Me and The Well here have got it all under control.”
 
Standing in Sister Mary Elizabeth's office, Blakeley couldn't control his emotions. He was nervous, scared, and more than a little embarrassed. The first two feelings he was familiar with; the third, not so much. It wasn't because his trophy-filled office looked like it was a narcissist's retreat compared to the austerity of the nun's quarters. It was simply that it had been years since he had sought religious guidance. He didn't know how to begin.
Sitting behind her desk, Sister Mary recognized when someone was floundering. She placed her pencil next to her notepad and smiled. “Why don't you take a seat and tell me what brings you here?”
Blakeley could hardly stop pacing the small confines of the office; there was no way he was going to be able to remain seated. No, gotta keep moving, stay alert. Just because he was in a nun's office didn't mean he was safe; he knew better. “I'd rather stand, thank you.”
“Whatever makes you most comfortable,” she said. Knowing the coach the way she did, she knew that he was a no-nonsense man, so she adopted the same approach. She replaced her smile with a more serious look and asked, “So tell me, Peter, what's on your mind?”
How appropriate that a Christian woman would remind him that he had a Christian name. He hadn't been called Peter in years. To everyone—co-workers, students, their parents—he was just Blakeley or Coach. The sound of his own name made him feel like a child again. Had he really strayed that far from who he was? Had he really grown up to disregard everything that he had learned? Did it take something so ... unnatural, so evil to remind him that he had once believed in things that required faith? He had no clue if this woman, this frail woman whose only weapon against the unknown was devotion, could help him regain his footing, help him rebuild his courage, but he had to try.
“Confession being good for the soul and all that tommyrot?” he asked, his voice sarcastic to hide the flurry of emotions growing in his heart.
Clasping her hands, Sister Mary replied, “Just the simplest way to begin a conversation.”
Blakeley found Sister Mary's straightforward attitude reassuring, if not entirely calming. Gripping the back of the only other chair in the room, he looked into the sister's unblinking eyes and found the strength to articulate the fear that threatened to consume him. “It's Michael Howard, Sister, he's not right,” he blurted out. “He's trouble.”
“Did you come to that conclusion on your own?” she asked. “Or did you pray to God for guidance and understanding?”
“I don't know how to pray.”
Sister Mary laughed more heartily than she or Blakeley expected. The sound was high-pitched and seemed to be released from not just her throat, but her whole body. “If you know how to talk,” she said, “you know how to pray.”
“This isn't funny, Sister!” Blakeley yelled, unable to control his anger. “I'm scared! And I think you know me well enough to know that that's not something I admit to very often.”
“There's nothing wrong with being fearful, Peter,” Sister Mary replied. Every trace of laughter was gone from her voice and had been replaced with a tone that was solemn and learned. “It's how we act when we're afraid that's key.”
“Don't give me that! You've noticed it too. I've watched you!” Blakeley shouted, his forehead glazed with sweat. “You know there's something wrong with this Howard kid, and yet you're not afraid of him. Why?!”
Sister Mary wished she could hold Blakeley's hand and tell him he had nothing to be concerned about, that his fears were unfounded, but that wasn't the truth. Something bad was happening at Double A, and she was fully aware that Michael was at the center of it, but there wasn't a single part of her mind or soul that believed he was the cause; she believed he would be the salvation. Unfortunately, there was no way she was going to convince Blakeley of her beliefs. As with all faith-related teachings, he would have to come to his own conclusion in his own time.
“I know how I feel about Michael,” she said. “What you need to do is search within yourself to find out how you truly feel about him.”
Frustrated, Blakeley pressed harder on the back of the chair and pushed it down into the floor, the sound of wood scraping against wood interrupting the conversation. “So you got no answers for me then?” Blakeley challenged.
“I'm a nun, not an oracle,” Sister Mary replied. She was hopeful that her laughter and slight irreverence would have more impact on her caller than a pious decree. “And I think you're a big enough boy to figure out the answers all on your own.”
 
Brania wasn't sure what specific questions she should ask, but she knew if anyone could give her answers about her father's past it was his sister. That's why when Rhoswen showed up at the cave without warning or an invitation, announcing that it was time they went on a tour of the past, Brania was riddled with curiosity, even though she knew instinctively that it would alter the way she felt about her father forever.
Stepping out of Ruby's body, Rhoswen ignored Imogene's shriek and walked toward Brania, her green and white dress flowing around her, making it look like she was floating over the stones. The scent of the white roses that hung around her waist and graced her head drowned out the musty odor that occupied the cave. Her one outstretched arm, her one beckoning hand, was like an offering of unparalleled insight and knowledge, and Brania ached to grab onto it. But could she? Should she?

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