Unnatural (43 page)

“You’re becoming quite the gentleman, Jeremiah,” Brania remarked. “If your restraint permits, however, leave a few drops for me. It’s been quite a while since I’ve tasted untainted blood.”

* * *

One drop, two drops, three drops, four.
These were the words from the poem Michael heard in his dream when he was still living in Weeping Water, when he was still human. They were also the words he was reading in Ronan’s journal. The similarities were mind-boggling. Ronan had written about things Michael had dreamed of, imagined, long before they met. He wrote about a beautiful blond-haired boy from another land who lived far from the sea, a boy who took his breath away. A boy who was surrounded by people, by family, but who had no real friend. He had written about Michael.

   
One drop, two drops, three drops, four.
That’s all Jeremiah wanted. Well, that’s all he wanted for a start. He sniffed at the dried wounds on Imogene’s neck like a wild dog would sniff at a corpse to see if the meat had spoiled. He licked his lips when he confirmed that the girl was still fresh and her flesh ripe for the taking.

   
Floodgates open, the waters pour.
Michael couldn’t believe what he was reading; word for word it’s what he had heard in his dream.
How long have I been dreaming about him?
Before he left Weeping Water, when he was dreaming of a new life, dreaming of spending it with one special person, he had been dreaming of Ronan. Not figuratively but, somehow, literally. The dark-haired boy who looked like Phineas from
A Separate Peace
but spoke with a British accent when he told him he could jump safely from the tree, that was Ronan. The boy who swam with him naked in the ocean, just the
two of them while his mother committed suicide, that was also Ronan. He had been with him in his dreams before he entered his life. What more proof did he need that he and Ronan were destined to be soul mates? He felt his heart swell; he was overcome with a feeling so powerful it was undeniable. Regardless of what Ronan had done, his actions and their connection were inevitable. Their love was quite simply meant to be.

   
Cool and warm and clear and red.
That’s what this little bitch was going to taste like, Jeremiah knew, the saliva dripping from his mouth. Her blood would be cool and warm, melded together to create something new, something beyond intoxicating, and she would give herself to him freely.

But Imogene had other plans.

She had no idea where she was; she had no idea who this man on top of her was, but she knew that if she didn’t make a move instantly, her life would be over. As Jeremiah arched his back to unbuckle his belt, Imogene brought her knee up into his groin, hard and fast. The pain, amazingly intense and unexpected, spread out from his center and by the time it reached his brain, it was almost intolerable. When she kicked him again in the same place, Jeremiah wished he were dead.

   Standing in front of the mirror that took up most of the waiting room outside his office, Alistair felt the same way. He looked at the faces of the archangels Gabriel, Uriel, Zachariel, Michael, all of them, and
pleaded with them, “Why have you abandoned me?” Silence. The only sound was Alistair’s belabored breathing as he looked at his distorted image in the mirror. Something that grotesque didn’t deserve to be alive.

   
Am I alive?
A few days ago Michael wasn’t sure of the answer, but now reading Ronan’s words, the words that came from Ronan’s mind and heart, he knew the answer was yes. The moment of clarity, of understanding that he prayed for, had come.
This is the boy I’ve been dreaming of; this is my destiny. I was brought here not by chance but for a reason. To find a new home.

And that home was Ronan.

   
Am I alive?
Jeremiah wasn’t sure; the pain was that intense. He stumbled backward and Imogene took full advantage of his disorientation. She reached for the first thing she could find, the black marble planter filled with white roses. “NO!” Jeremiah shouted, but it was too late. The roses were already in the air, hurtling toward him.

   
Am I alive?
Alistair didn’t believe he was. He died a symbolic death the day they took him and made him into something monstrous.

It was time he made that death final.

   
Or am I dead?
“Yes, Ronan, without you, I am,” Michael said, the words in the journal growing blurry from the tears in his eyes. Everything was so clear now.
He didn’t want to be alone; he definitely didn’t want to be among Nakano and his kind. He wanted to be with the boy he had always loved.

All that was left was for him to tell Ronan he had made a decision.

   
Or am I dead?
The decision was made for Jeremiah. He tried to grab the planter before it hit the floor, but Imogene lunged forward, clawing at his eyes, and he missed. He looked down and saw the roses, uprooted, covered in brown dirt and black marble.

And then he saw the girl trying to run out the door.

   
Or am I dead?
The piece of wood in Alistair’s hand shook so violently he had to press it against his leg to steady it. He had never conceived of taking his own life, but he had no choice. If today was an example of what his life had become, it was no longer worth living.

He only prayed that God would understand.

   No prayers filled Jeremiah’s heart when he grabbed Imogene and pulled her toward him, only the desire to kill. Screaming and kicking, Imogene was able to wrench herself free and push Jeremiah back, his foot slipping on the bedsheet that had fallen to the floor. When he fell, it took him a second to realize that he had been impaled through the heart by the wooden stake that was used to keep the roses in place. But it took only another second for his body to be consumed by flames.

Imogene covered her face in horror and disbelief as she watched Jeremiah disappear in the fire.

Alistair didn’t see the same fiery image in the mirror because he had shut his eyes before ramming the stake through his own heart.

   Closing Ronan’s journal, Michael pressed it to his chest and for the first time in days felt complete.

He had no idea death was hovering so nearby. He could only feel himself being reborn.

It was dark when Michael woke up. He had thought he would just close his eyes for a few moments, think of the perfect way to tell Ronan that he was ready to share eternity with him, imagine how happy he would look, how relieved and ecstatic, but his body had given in to the exhaustion.

Now, his eyes fluttering to adjust to the absence of light, he remained still; he needed to wait a while longer before he would be strong enough to move. Until then he hugged Ronan’s journal tighter to his chest, wishing it were the boy himself, and called out his name. There was no answer; he was alone. Michael wasn’t afraid,
but he knew intuitively that he had to find Ronan soon. His time was running out.

When he finally felt his energy return he slowly rose, fully aware of the pains that traversed throughout his body. There was the throbbing in his head, sharp twinges of heat pulsating in his hands and feet, his throat was rough and incredibly dry, his eyes were sore, and the stabbing pains that had plagued his stomach for the past few days had melded together to become one agonizing ache. He felt as if his entire body were being mangled, crushed from the inside, and he knew the only way to end the pain was to find Ronan. But where was he?

Outside St. Florian’s, he was vaguely aware of the chill. It didn’t cause him to shiver. On the contrary, it roused him, the cold bringing down his temperature by a few degrees, the wind pushing him forward. Then he smelled something. He inhaled what he thought was a familiar scent; could just be the earth, but it could also be Ronan, so without a clear path to pursue he followed its trail. He walked east past St. Joshua’s, past the white roses that were still in full bloom despite the late month and the inhospitable weather, past St. Martha’s, where the pungent aroma of beef stew and boiled potatoes seasoned in rosemary infiltrated the air. Michael paused only for a second when he realized the smell no longer made him hungry; in fact, it no longer had any connection to his new world. He took it as yet another sign that such basic human needs were part of his past and that he needed to move toward his fate, toward Ronan.

Breathing in deeply once more, he didn’t know who the smell belonged to, but he was certain it was human. Ever since becoming a vampire, even when he refused to believe the possibility truly existed, Michael had noticed a change in his senses. They were gradually becoming heightened just as Ronan and even Nakano had said they would. His vision, his hearing, his sense of smell, were all vastly improved. And when he touched things, simple things like a coffee cup, fabric, his own skin, the sensations were intense. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Ronan again to find out how much more intense those sensations could become. But for now he needed to focus on the sounds he heard in the distance.

Just beyond the entrance to The Forest he heard a twig break, then a few seconds later, he heard someone stumble on a rock. There were two people out here along with him even though all of Double A was under curfew. Michael walked toward the sounds and reminded himself that a student could be out after dark if accompanied by an adult so perhaps that accounted for the separate noises. But when he saw who was making them, he realized he was wrong.

Imogene was running blindly, and several yards behind her was Fritz. Even this far away, Michael could hear the girl’s panting, her quick breathing, and he knew she was frightened. When she turned her head around for a quick look behind her, he saw that her face was pale, her bangs wet with sweat, her eyes wide. Why in the world would she be so afraid of Fritz?

Unless he was trying to hurt her.

* * *

“Imogene, wait up!” Fritz cried out, his voice thick and commanding. Imogene’s vision was so blurred by her sweat and tears, her ears still ringing with Jeremiah’s screams behind the crackling of flames, that she didn’t recognize Fritz’s voice; she didn’t know it was her friend running behind her. She only knew that she was being chased. She thought she would be able to hide in The Forest, lose this stalker, but it was a stupid decision; she was alone now in the woods, and whoever was behind her was gaining speed. Every time she opened her mouth to scream, to call for help, she felt her throat constrict, her lungs battle to find air. Fear was suffocating her, making her limbs feel like heavy steel. She had witnessed such unexplainable horror today, she knew that if she didn’t move faster, if she didn’t get help soon, something unspeakable was going to happen to her too. She was sure of it.

“Imogene!” Fritz called out. “Where are you going?!”
Why the hell is she running away from me?
Fritz had lost track of time and left St. Sebastian’s just after the sun set. He went there to swim some laps alone to try and clear his mind of all the crazy things that had been happening. First Penry gets killed, then Michael’s missing in action for a couple of days, and Phaedra, no matter how many times he tried to comfort her, just kept saying she wanted to be alone. “That bloody well suits me just fine,” Fritz had told her, not that he meant it. He wanted to hold her, feel her soft shoulders relax under his arms, and say all the words to her that were jumbled
inside his head. Make a bit of sense out of the confusion he was feeling.

That’s why he sought refuge in the pool. He needed life for a few moments to be just about him and the invigorating water. Swimming in the narrow lane of the pool, he could make sense of things, he understood what he needed to do. Put his right arm over his head, then his left, then lift his head to breathe. It was a simple rhythm, a known routine, nothing at all like life outside the pool. Everything outside the water was royally screwed up and getting worse by the second.

Why won’t she just stop so I can help her back to St. Anne’s?
Fritz thought. She couldn’t walk all the way over there by herself, not with the curfew, not with whatever or whoever killed Penry still on the loose. He stopped abruptly when he heard the growl. It was low and deliberate. “Who’s there?”
Stupid question, Fritz, like an animal’s going to respond.
But it did. With an even louder growl, this time with a cracking sound at the end of it like a jaw breaking or expanding. Fritz looked in front of him and saw Imogene just as she disappeared into the woods. When he turned back around, all he saw was fog.

“What the …?” he muttered. He couldn’t see anything in front of him except a thick gray mist hovering a few feet away. He held his breath, his ears searching the grounds for a sound, any sound that would indicate the beast was getting closer, but he didn’t hear a thing. Then he noticed something odd: He wasn’t afraid. He should be; there was something out there, something very close
by, but he felt, no, he knew that somehow he would be unharmed. But just to be safe, he turned and began to sprint and didn’t stop running until he heard the front door to St. Peter’s Dormitory lock behind him.

   Michael couldn’t believe those sounds had come from him. When he thought Fritz might be trying to harm Imogene, something clicked in his brain and he wanted to use his newfound power to protect her. Fritz was no longer his friend, but an enemy who had to be stopped, an enemy whose sweet blood was pumping furiously through his veins. Michael felt his fangs descend and the pain in his stomach swirl into something even more cruel. It had become need. He needed to taste Fritz’s blood, he needed to devour him, not only so he could prevent him from attacking Imogene but so he could feed his own body, which was so close to collapse. As he leapt into the air, he envisioned killing him the same way Nakano had killed Mauro, quickly and unmercifully. And he would have if it wasn’t for the fog.

But where had it come from? And why was it now evaporating as suddenly as it appeared? The fog began to condense, becoming more vertical than horizontal, but instead of continuing to rise, instead of disappearing into the black sky above, it curved from its highest point and sped toward Michael like a giant gray snake.