Unwelcome (34 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unwelcome
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Ronan was perplexed when he looked at his cell phone. Why was Dr. MacCleery texting him? The message was straightforward—
I need to see you in my office
—but before he could respond, Saoirse yanked the phone out of his hand, turned it off, and shoved it in the back pocket of her jeans. “No texting at my birthday bash,” she informed.
“Fine,” Ronan said. “Just give me back my phone.”
Waving her pinky in his face, she said, “Do you vampire-swear that you won't text or take a call?”
“Or make any more daft comments about our headmaster,” Ciaran added.
“That man is evil and you know it!” Ronan shot back.
Edwige knew her eldest son was right, but she didn't have the strength or desire to support him. Just as David didn't have the strength or desire to chase after Brania. History, being repetitive by nature, had taught them both that children, after a certain age, could no longer be controlled, so it was a waste of their time to try. While her children and their friends continued to shout and dispute the real purpose behind David's brainchild, Edwige finally came to a decision. Her real purpose was not to be a mother, a guardian, a woman alone leading a brood. She didn't know what her destiny was, but she knew it had nothing to do with her children, and so it was time to set them free. Starting with the most recent addition to her family.
The voices continuing to rise and fall around her, Edwige telepathically informed Imogene that she was being released from her power. She was now free to go wherever she wanted, do whatever she longed to do. But like an infant who cries for her favorite toy only to realize when she's holding it that it wasn't the reason she was crying in the first place, Imogene didn't know what to do with her free will. Now that she had her freedom, she didn't know where to go, so for the time being, until she could think of something else to do, some more exciting place to visit, she would simply sit in her coffin and sing.
Edwige got up and, unnoticed, retreated into her bedroom. Let them get used to being without her, she thought. It was only a matter of time before they would all find themselves completely on their own anyway.
chapter 20
One drop, two drops, three drops, four.
Archangel Cathedral was quiet. Even though it was Sunday morning, everyone, including the priests in residence, were preparing for the day's carnival instead of attending mass. It wasn't typical, but it's what David wanted.
Initially, there had been reluctance, concern that such a celebration would disrupt tradition. Early morning Sunday mass was a Double A custom, not embraced by every student, but deemed a part of school culture. Those who took the tradition—and religious service itself—more seriously were especially worried. They thought the observance of the so-called Black Sun could be viewed as inappropriate, pagan. However, when the most senior priest and Sister Mary Elizabeth met with the headmaster, they realized their concerns were unjustified. Apologizing for questioning his judgment, they left David's office wondering how they ever could have misinterpreted the integrity of an innocent school activity.
Since that meeting, the religious faculty worked alongside the teachers and students to transform St. Sebastian's and the campus near The Forest into a mini fair complete with makeshift booths housing a gypsy fortuneteller, wheels of chance, and even a dunking chamber in which the professors would take turns sitting on a rickety board while eager students threw sandbags at an attached target in the hopes of dunking their favorite or not-so-favorite teacher into a pool of ice-cold water. Interspersed among the amusements were food stands serving cotton candy, popcorn, and Fritz's contribution, apples dipped in dark chocolate to resemble the eclipsed sun. And built right on the edge of The Forest was an attraction that made David chuckle: a mazelike structure with walls adorned with fun-house mirrors that distorted everyone's reflections, humans and vampires alike.
When the building process was complete, the adults couldn't agree as to what was more shocking: the professionalism of the construction or the willingness of the students to participate. Not one student balked at having to help out, not one feigned an illness to get out of doing their share of hard labor. For the first time in years, the student body was in complete support of a headmaster's wishes and worked as a unified team to see those wishes fulfilled. It was a wonderful surprise and yet, to some, disturbing. It just wasn't right, just like it wasn't right not to hold mass on Sunday morning.
As a compromise, David suggested that a twilight service be held at midnight on Saturday so religious obligations could be met and everyone could have Sunday free to worship the Black Sun. When he first proposed the change to Sister Mary Elizabeth, she readily agreed, but as time went on, she realized it didn't make sense. Why couldn't they have both, church in the morning and the carnival in the afternoon? Why did she always give in so easily to David in his presence and then experience doubts later on when she was alone? Why didn't she voice her opinions to him? She wasn't confrontational, but she was hardly submissive, particularly when it came to her beliefs. If she knew what David had planned, what he had already set in motion, she would have done more than question herself. She would have begged God to intervene.
 
Water is mixed with blood once more.
No one was in the church, so no one heard the sound. Plop, plop, plop. The holy water rippled within the insides of the font each time its smooth surface was broken, each time something fell from above to splice into the consecrated liquid. If anyone was in the church, all they had to do was look up to see what was creating the sound. The cross that was usually bare now held a body.
Mimicking the crucifixions from the Bible, the man was nailed to the cross, one piercing in each outstretched palm, one through both feet, which were placed one on top of the other. Unlike typical religious iconography, there were two more piercings in the body, these two created not with the aid of nails but with fangs. Two holes, more like gashes, were visible on the left side of Lochlan's neck, both large enough so that whatever blood was left in the doctor's body could spill out and contaminate the blessed water below. Sister Mary Elizabeth was right. Canceling mass had nothing to do with keeping the students' schedule free. David merely wanted to put the church to better use.
 
And Ronan merely wanted to know what the hell happened to Dr. MacCleery. Standing in the middle of his office was like standing in the aftermath of an explosion. The desks were overturned, cabinets were leaning on their sides, their contents spilled out and strewn throughout the room. There were huge dents in the walls created by fists or thrown bodies, and splattered all over the floor in a random pattern was blood. It was not what Ronan expected to find when he raced over to the doctor's office after seeing that he had sent him several texts last night and early this morning. He thought he would find the doctor waiting for him, eager to explain what his puzzling messages meant. He didn't think he would find more mystery.
Instinctively he kept the truth about his rendezvous from Michael. Even after his promise to be honest, he still felt the need to protect him, still couldn't fight his innate reflex to conceal. “I'll meet you at St. Sebastian's in an hour or so,” Ronan shouted as he left their dorm. “I forgot something.” He didn't see Michael peek out of the bathroom, expecting a good-bye kiss. He was already racing across campus. All the way he kept wondering if he had made the right decision, the feeling only got stronger when he saw the doctor's ransacked office. Then he looked into the corner of the room and saw two things that made him forget all about Michael and made him realize the doctor was in grave danger.
Jutting out from behind a fallen lamp were the doctor's eyeglasses, one lens shattered, and a crumbled piece of paper. Ronan didn't have to squint to see the word “evil” written on the page and he didn't have to think twice to know the paper was Alistair's note. MacCleery might rush out without his glasses, but he would never leave the note behind. He had been taken by force. Angry and frightened, Ronan didn't know who attacked Lochlan, but he knew whoever it was, only did so because they were following orders.
 
“Headmaster, I'm sorry I'm late! Please forgive me!” All heads turned when Amir burst into David's office, the door slamming behind him. He was greatly relieved, however, when he saw that David wasn't in the room.
“Amir!” Nurse Radcliff chastised. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Why don't you get stuffed?” Amir shouted. “I was carrying out Headmaster's orders.”
Which doesn't make you special, you dumb twit!
Of course, Nakano didn't speak that comment out loud, he didn't want Jean-Paul to think he was immature or anything. “Hey, mate,” Nakano said. “She's just talking about the blood that's dripping off your face.”
Extending his tongue so it glided across his chin, Amir tasted the doctor's surprisingly sweet blood as he wiped his face clean. Sitting next to Nakano he quipped, “Guess I didn't have time to freshen me face.”
Seated directly behind him, Nurse Radcliff muttered under her breath, “Sloppy.”
“Like you should talk,
Margaret
.” The nurse's given name hissed out of Brania's mouth like acid, turning the already rancid air toxic. As David's daughter, Brania knew that she should be immune to the unattractive human traits that characterized the group of dysfunctional immortals and not sink to their level, but she couldn't help herself. She despised them, the nurse most of all. The feeling, predictably, was mutual.
Pulling her cardigan tighter across her ample bosom, Nurse Radcliff looked in Brania's direction and lifted her chin. “This from someone who dresses so disrespectfully in her father's presence.” Seething, Brania felt her back stiffen and her fangs tingle as she tried to inconspicuously pull down her black leather skirt so it would at least reach the middle of her thighs. Satisfied at putting her master's spoiled child in her place, Nurse Radcliff beamed. “And don't think He hasn't noticed.”
“That's because I notice everything.”
Before the door closed behind David, everyone had stood up to greet their leader, everyone except Brania. As his only child, she didn't feel the need to rise in his presence. She felt that, over the centuries, she had proven her loyalty enough to remain seated. David didn't agree. “Lethargic, darling?”
The ticking of the seven-foot oak and gold grandfather clock, hand-made by one of David's many admirers, a now-deceased master carpenter from the Lower Rhine region of Germany, was the only sound that could be heard as everyone waited for Brania's response. “No, Father,” she replied. “Bored.”
David didn't hear Nakano snicker or Jean-Paul slap him in the arm to caution him. He was too busy listening to Zachariel. “She may be your child, but she
is
a girl,” the wise voice counseled. “She is not created in my image and therefore she is worthless.”
Spoken like a true father.
Before David spoke out loud, he paused to stand behind his desk, his black eyes shimmering, his red hair aflame, every muscle of his body hard and expanded, pressing against the tight-fitting black silk material of his imported suit, to allow his subjects to see what a true leader looked like. Then it was time for them to hear what a true leader sounded like. “Brania, please take your place with the others.”
What?! Brania couldn't believe that her father was relegating her to take position with, with . . .
them
, those inferior beings. How dare he? Oh, how she wished he had never returned! Again, silence permeated the room, and the ticking of the clock was deafening. But when the thin second hand, made of twenty-four-carat gold, had traveled more than halfway around the clock's face, Brania realized her father was serious; he expected her to sit among his subjects and not by his side. Things were changing. Brania could feel it, changing to her, around her, within. Maybe her father was testing her loyalty? Possibly, but hadn't she proven herself so many times before? Still she had her pride. She wasn't about to let these nothings see how hurt she was, how utterly disappointed. When she got up to walk toward the empty seat next to Nurse Radcliff, she didn't care that her skirt had ridden up her thighs and was exposing most of her legs. When she saw the older woman eyeing her exposed flesh, Brania pulled her skirt up an inch higher. Why not let the pig see what she would never, ever have?
“Now that you have all taken your rightful places,” David said, “the Carnival for the Black Sun may officially begin!”
After the cheers and hoots died down, David sat in his chair, leaning back into the leather upholstery, and folded his hands in his lap. He looked like a kindly professor about to tell an anecdote instead of a man about to lead his subjects to war. “This is the end of the beginning, my friends,” David said softly. “My purpose in returning here was not to be Ruler of Academia but to reclaim our dominance. Today is the first step in a battle that I have longed to wage, a battle against those vile half-breeds who call themselves water vamps and who threaten our position as leaders of the immortal world.”
“We are the true leaders!” Amir shouted.
Proud, David let Amir's words and fury wash over him. “Yes, we are! And today's carnival is step one in uncovering the location of their precious Well, their life force.”
“So we can destroy it?” Nurse Radcliff said, clutching her cardigan so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Precisely!”
Brania listened to the applause. She heard the roar of approval, the craving for victory, but she felt numb and had no idea why. She hated the water vamps and their arrogance as much as anyone else in the room. Perhaps it was because her father was the one leading the charge? Perhaps she had stood behind no man for so long, she didn't know how to step back in line? Or perhaps she just felt like being defiant? “Do you really think destruction is an attainable goal?”
David's face turned as gray as the shadows bleeding through the windows. Sometimes children were so spiteful. And stupid. “Have you been listening, dear?” David queried. “Destruction of The Well is not on today's agenda, merely its location.” The others in the room looked positively gleeful by David's tongue-lashing. Most believed Brania too haughty for her own good anyway. “Does that strategy make sense to you now?” David asked condescendingly.
Breathing deeply, Brania ran her fingers through her thick auburn hair, making it bounce freely, and gave her father the answer he wanted to hear. “Yes.”
Triumphant, David declared, “Let the festivities begin!”
 
Shadows and light.
The sun was not yet covered in darkness, but the mid-morning sky was starting to look like dusk. St. Sebastian's was filled with students eating, laughing, not at all understanding the magnitude of the Black Sun or even caring about its arrival, merely thankful not to have to spend hours in the library or the cathedral or hovered over their desks doing homework. To them the day was a respite from the endless study and pressure that was common at the end of the school year. To Dr. MacCleery, it was much more significant.
 
On a crimson stain.
A pall crept through the stained-glass windows of Archangel Cathedral, turning the hopeful yellow color somber, like the sound of prayer when spoken by someone who doesn't believe in its power. Lochlan opened his eyes and looked down. His vision was blurred, fading, but he could see the drop of blood that had fallen from his neck foul the holy water below. He felt the last few breaths that his body clung to quicken as the blood drop exploded and swirled so there was now more blood than water in the font. He was not a religious man. He wasn't going to spend the last few moments he had on earth begging forgiveness for a lifetime of cynicism, nor was he going to become a hypocrite and plead for mercy. He was, however, a practical man and, if there was a God, he assumed he would be listening, which is why he began to pray for the safety of the children he could no longer protect. When he finished his prayer he started another, this one for the child who had taken his life.

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