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.
chapter 23
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
