Unafraid (29 page)

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Authors: Michael Griffo

BOOK: Unafraid
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“I don't understand it in its entirety, but I believe Atlantium is what connects you and Michael to The Well,” Ciaran said, his voice positively reverential. “And somehow this gene is what links The Well to the human world.”
“ 'Scuse me, Science Boy, but that's fanciful talk, don't ya think?” Saoirse quipped.
“When you're presented with facts that make no logical sense,” Ciaran replied, “the next logical step is to think illogically.”
Gulping down the rest of her hot chocolate, Saoirse hoped the warmth would make her feel better, like she had no troubles. Concentrate on the sweet mixture of cream and cocoa and let it trick her into thinking they were just chatting about the nonsensical stuff siblings are supposed to talk about and not genetic anomalies and interspecies correlations. It actually worked, until Ciaran completed his thought. “I think you and Michael are somehow destined to play important roles in the world of all water vamps,” Ciaran said, “as well as in the future of The Well itself.”
Saoirse stared at Ciaran for quite some time, and she only replied when it was clear that he was serious. “You have got to be kidding me, boyo.”
Ciaran couldn't help but laugh at his sister's reaction. “I know it sounds daft,” he admitted. “But I'm convinced the only way to decipher why you are what you are is to think beyond science.”
Giving her hair a good, arrogant flip, Saoirse replied, “And belly flop smack dab into the middle of science fiction.”
It was time for Ciaran to play the game by his sister's rules, time to act bored and disinterested instead of charged up like he really was. Bit by bit he started to put away his paraphernalia, and never once did he look Saoirse in the eye. “Be cheeky and call it what you want, science fiction, fantasy, whatever,” Ciaran said. “All I know is your body negates scientific fact in a way I've never seen before, and it's my expert opinion—and we all know I'm an expert in these things—that the answer lies outside of the box so to speak.” He knew by Saoirse's silence that he was starting to make sense to her, so he wrapped up his summation as succinctly and, hopefully, as enticingly, as possible. “And right inside that little round Well of theirs.”
After a few moments of silent deliberation, Saoirse figured she had come this far, why not take it a few steps further, even if she suspected her brother was leading her by the hand directly into Barmyland. “Fine, but no more needles.”
Ciaran resisted the urge to hug Saoirse and swing her around the room and fought hard to maintain his blasé composure. “I'll only need to draw one more sample of blood.”
“One more and that's it! I feel like I'm cutting myself all over again and not getting any of the attention!” Saoirse screamed, rubbing her hand over her forearm as if she was soothing a sudden pain.
“Since there's no way we can get to The Well, the next test will be conducted at the pool at St. Sebastian's,” Ciaran explained. “It's a long shot, but I want to test your blood to see how it reacts after your body's been in a pool of water.”
Could this get any worse?! “Blimey, Ciar! The chlorine'll turn my hair green!” Saoirse shouted.
Laughing at his sister's priorities, Ciaran remembered that she might be a rare, uncommon individual, but she was still a teenage girl. And he wasn't against using that fact in his favor. “Morgandy is still on the swim team, remember?”
El Disgusto, Morgandy van der Liar, on the swim team? Who cared? Saoirse did. Despite everything she felt about her ex, whenever she had a daydream, she just couldn't help herself and cast him in the leading role. It might be nice to accidentally bump into him at the pool and see him in his skimpy bathing suit, his curls plastered wet against his forehead. She wouldn't talk to him, of course, never, not again. Why give him a chance to spew more lies? But it would be nice to look at him. And if she were standing there in her own revealing bikini, like maybe the blue-and-white-striped one that she totally rocked, she could show him what he was missing. No matter what kind of results the test produced, Saoirse thought it was what business people called a win-win situation. “Never let it be said that Saoirse Glynn-Rowley stood in the way of scientific progress.”
Taking that as a yes, Ciaran finally let his true emotions break through his deadpan veneer. “You won't regret this, Seersh!” Hugging Saoirse tightly and swinging her in circle after circle after circle, he couldn't believe that he was one step closer to finding out the truth about his sister. He was even closer to finding out the truth about himself.
 
Once Saoirse agreed to the next phase of the experimentation, Ciaran felt the strong desire, a compulsion really, to inform David that his plan was moving forward. It made no sense. He knew David was manipulating him, he knew that David wanted to use the information from his research to destroy instead of enhance, and yet all Ciaran wanted to do was make sure the headmaster knew that he had put his trust in the right person and that Ciaran could deliver as promised. The more Ciaran tried to fight against going to see David, the quicker he ran.
Taking a shortcut from St. Albert's, Ciaran came around the back of David's office. There was only a light dusting of snow on the ground, so while his footprints were recorded, they made no sound. Just as he was about to turn the corner and move along the front of the building, where he'd be in plain sight of anyone entering or exiting the Archangel Academy gate, Ciaran noticed something strange partially buried in the snow.
He bent down and saw a black feather, jutting out from a mound of white powder. Not that strange, but for some reason he was drawn to inspect it further. Picking it up he expected it to be an inch or two in length, probably a loose feather from a crow's wing. He never expected it to be several feet in length and almost a foot wide. The thing was huge and had definitely not fallen from a crow.
Tracing his fingers along one side of the feather, Ciaran couldn't believe how soft it was to the touch. It couldn't possibly be real; it had to be fake, part of a costume, part of somebody's get up for the Tri-Centennial Celebration. That's what he thought until he saw the dried droplets of blood clinging to the edges near the end of the feather, the part that had once nestled against skin. Whatever creature this feather had once belonged to had been in a fight.
Ciaran look around to see if the bird was nearby, but he couldn't see anything on the ground except snow. He was about to start digging to see if the animal or its nest had been covered by the snowfall, but his curiosity was interrupted by voices. Looking up he realized he was crouched just below a window, and the voices were coming from David's office. He was still curious, but no longer about the bird and its lost feather.
“Why didn't you tell me that Ronan was my ... my ...” Morgandy stuttered, his voice travelling in an angry staccato rhythm just over Ciaran's head.
“I believe the word you're choking on is
boyfriend,
” David replied.
Was that David? His voice was off. Maybe it was because Ciaran wasn't looking him in the eyes, he wasn't in his magnetic presence, so he could hear the sound for what it truly was. It wasn't that different; it was still deep, commanding, imperious, but underneath all that was something Ciaran had never noticed before: anxiety. David didn't sound like he was upset with Morgandy. It was more like he was gravely concerned about something else. Ciaran knew that he would only be able to determine what it truly meant if he continued to listen.
“And I didn't tell you because it wasn't necessary for you to know,” David replied. There it was again. His voice was a little strained, the cadence of his speech a little quicker than normal. The headmaster might be addressing Morgandy, but there was someone else on his mind.
“Not necessary?!” Morgandy cried. “This is my life you're talking about! I have every right to know, and it wasn't your decision to make!”
Whoa! Morgandy must be certifiable. Nobody talked to David like that, not without serious repercussions. It took a few seconds, but it came. Ciaran heard the sound before he saw the silver decanter crash through the window, and he had just enough time to raise his arms to shield his face and eyes before the shards of glass started to shower down upon him.
While flying through the air, the decanter twirled on its side, and just as it began its descent the top detached from the long, swan-like neck and flew in the opposite direction, landing near the entrance to The Forest. The decanter itself continued to twist in the air, its contents spilling out from its spout like a lasso of blood. Crimson drops decorated the side of the building, the snow, even Ciaran's body until the decanter finally landed on an embankment, blood pouring from its mouth, turning the snow pink, and burrowing into the hungry earth.
Then there was silence, no sound, no voices, nothing. Ciaran stood still so he wouldn't make a noise, wouldn't step on a piece of glass from the shattered window. He saw that his jacket and hands were speckled with blood, but even in his frozen position he was able to see that he hadn't been cut. That was a relief. Then again maybe not. With two vampires a few feet away, he wasn't exactly comforted to know that he was stained with blood. Ciaran's discomfort only grew when David spoke again and he noticed that the timbre of his voice was even more unrecognizable. What the hell was wrong with the headmaster?
“Your past was destroyed by the cruel hands of time,” David growled. “And time is an evil mistress! She lurks, she waits, but she never disappears! Never! She always comes back, and she always comes back wanting revenge!”
Time is an evil mistress out for revenge? David must be reading one of Ronan's potboilers.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Morgandy asked, rather impudently. “Time had nothing to do with my losing my memory. It was taken from me by that Well.”
Another eerie silence passed, and Ciaran imagined that David was either searching for the right word or something else to fling out the window. “Yes, yes, of course, I know that The Well has been cruel to you,” David rambled.
“And so have you.”
Oh okay. Now Ciaran understood. Morgandy was a vampire with a death wish. Why else would he keep attacking David if he didn't want him to strike back? How stupid could he be? Didn't he know how powerful David was, how incredibly strong, unpredictable, and evil? If all that was true—and Ciaran knew that it was—then wasn't he even stupider than Morgandy? The urge to flee, to run back to the safety of St. Albert's, was overwhelming, but no, he must have come here for a reason.
That's right, Ciaran, treat this like a routine experiment, wait it out, wait for the result, and maybe you'll finally be able to comprehend what is happening.
“How dare you speak to me in that tone!” David bellowed.
“Then don't talk to me like I'm a fool! Like I'm some
human!!
” Morgandy spat back, his voice even deeper and more repugnant than David's. “You told me when you found me wandering through the back alleys of London, filthy, alone, feasting on sewer rats to stay alive that you were my salvation!”
“I am your salvation,” David whispered, his voice hoarse, strained like it was about to snap.
“Then start acting like it!” Morgandy howled. “Stop forcing me to take on these stupid roles... . Saoirse's boyfriend, where did that get me? Nothing but a waste of time.”
“Do not question me!”
Ciaran seriously thought he was going to have a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or be killed. David was breathing so heavily that when Ciaran looked up he was certain that he would find David gazing down at him from the window, but no one was there. Even still Ciaran could hear David panting, struggling to control his breathing. Was this the real David? A frightened man instead of a frightening ruler?
“I'm not an idiot, David! I know that you didn't stumble upon me in London accidentally,” Morgandy stated. “I know that somehow we were partners before that damned Well wiped my memory clean. Why don't you just admit it?!”
This time when Ciaran heard the crash he knew nothing was going to fly out the window because he felt the side of the building shake. Whatever David had hurled against the wall, it hit low to the floor, and the vibration sent Ciaran heaving forward, his hands slamming into the ground, a jagged piece of glass piercing the fleshy part of his left hand between his forefinger and his thumb. “Ahhh!” Ciaran cried. The only thing that saved him from being heard was that David cried even louder.
“YES!!! We were working together!” David admitted, his voice positively tremulous. “You were destined to be The Guardian of The Well, but you were also destined to be its destroyer.”
“So you used me,” Morgandy replied, his tone more a statement than a question.
“I guided you
after
you came to me!” David corrected. “
After
you begged me for my help! We are kindred spirits, you and I, of the same mind, and so few ... SO FEW understand our desire, our destiny!”
“Then let's destroy it once and for all!” Morgandy shouted.

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