Ronan sitting against a dune, Michael leaning into him, their eyes closed, not thinking, only feeling, feeling the beautiful music. Now awake, he heard those notes again, soft, lilting, and, most of all, familiar. “Is that you?”
Michael lifted open the window and peered out, ignoring the bitter cold breeze, and scoured the trees in search of the music’s origin. Could it be? Could it possibly be the meadowlark that traveled with him from Nebraska? The same lark he heard from his bedroom window back home? Who witnessed Michael and Ronan emerge from the ocean after offering their souls to The Well? He hadn’t heard his beautiful melody since that day and it brought him such delight to know his friend, his companion, had returned.
Throwing on some clothes and sneakers, Michael left his room and ran downstairs. He couldn’t resist; he had to get closer to the music and see if he was right. But when he walked outside, he forgot about his mission; he was overwhelmed. He felt as if he had stepped inside peace. Overhead a full moon shone brilliantly, its grayish-white light luminous, making the night sky look like an immense sheet of black velvet in contrast. Michael couldn’t believe how luxurious it looked, he wanted to wrap himself in the night, let the texture of the unknown embrace him. Just when he didn’t think it could get any more perfect, the sky changed. Speckles of light appeared in the darkness like tiny silent firecrackers, and Michael thought the stars had come out of hiding, but it wasn’t stars. It was snow.
Slowly, Michael watched pieces of white fall from the darkness, floating without care, without concern, their only ambition to touch the earth. He looked up and smiled as the first snowflakes landed on his cheeks, his nose, moist and cold. He didn’t mean to impede their journey, but he was compelled to make contact, so he stuck out his tongue and savored the fresh taste of winter, laughing at how childish he was acting, but loving every second of it.
And then he heard a noise.
The sound took away his youth and immediately he remembered who and what he was and the kind of danger that existed in the world in which he now lived. Then in the next moment, he remembered what kind of protection also existed in his new world and, calmer, yet still heedful, he waited for the fog to come, to encase him and separate him from whatever was out there in the darkness. But nothing happened. The fog didn’t appear. The darkness wasn’t joined by mist. He was still alone. And now even the music had stopped.
The noise, however, was getting closer.
Standing near St. Joshua’s, David could no longer hear the music. He had followed the sound for as long as he could, drawn to its notes, its melancholy, but as abruptly as it began, it ended, replaced by the silence only nature could produce. David stood motionless in the snow, his arms outstretched like a forgotten scarecrow in an abandoned field, and accepted the chill as it penetrated his skin, the white flakes as they fell freely all around him, and he listened to the quiet.
Until it was interrupted.
He stared into the night, through it, using his preternatural vision like a beam of light to illuminate the dark. With no movement of his head, his eyes darted left, then right. Nothing. Although he was certain the sound came from the direction he was facing, he quickly turned around and scoured the area behind him. Still he could see nothing, alive or dead, nearby.
And yet he heard the sound again, this time even closer.
Phaedra, I need you! Michael didn’t speak the words but shouted them inside his mind. He had never called out to Phaedra before, never asked for her help because he never had to, whenever he was in danger, she appeared. But now, just like the other day in the swimming pool, she was nowhere to be found. Why was she abandoning him? He had no idea if she could hear him, but he called out to her again, and still no response. Didn’t she just tell him she would continue to protect him? Was she somewhere with Fritz right now, preoccupied, concerned with her own pleasure and not his safety? Michael didn’t want to prevent Phaedra and Fritz from starting a relationship, but seriously, wasn’t this the reason efemeras existed in the first place, Michael thought, to respond to the silent pleas of those in need? Then again, perhaps there was no danger; perhaps he was just overreacting. When he heard the growl, he knew his first impression was correct.
Involuntarily, he felt his fangs descend and his eyes narrow. He watched his fingers elongate and the space in between them turn into webbing; he felt the leather of his sneakers stretch and he knew the same change was happening to his feet. The beating of his heart quickened as his body prepared for battle even while his mind prayed a fight would never come. He hated feeling this way, apprehensive, no, that wasn’t being completely honest, he was afraid. Still afraid like the boy he used to be. What’s the use of being immortal if I’m afraid to defend myself? If I’m afraid of being defeated? If I’m just the way I always was?
His fear was short-lived, however, and replaced by the will to survive when he was struck from behind.
Breathing deeply, David recognized the scent, it was one of his own. Pungent and thick, it quashed the more appealing aroma of the snow-filled air and, for a moment, David was greatly annoyed. He hated wanton intrusion. But one of his children was restless or possibly in trouble and like every good father, he had a duty to come to the aid of his child, to offer comfort and, of course, punishment if that was deemed necessary.
When he got to a clearing and saw what was happening, saw that Michael was being attacked from behind, he knew there would be no need for punishment or reward, but merely intervention.
Michael felt his fangs cut into his lower lip as his face crashed into the snow, small droplets of red tarnishing the otherwise white landscape. What was happening? Who was on top of him? Of course, it had to be Nakano! He knew that he wasn’t going to allow Michael to get away with embarrassing him in front of his classmates, forcing him to quit the swim team. He wanted revenge, and Michael stupidly gave him the perfect opportunity by wandering outside alone.
He felt Nakano’s hand grab the back of his head and he knew that if he didn’t escape, if he didn’t get out of this position, his head was going to be bashed into the ground until his skull shattered. The anger he felt breathing down his neck was that potent. Michael had no choice, so he allowed his instinct to take over. Instead of fighting against the fear, he let it fill him, he let it consume his mind and his heart so he could take action. Reaching back, his hand over his head, he grabbed ahold of Nakano and pulled at his hair until he heard him cry out in pain. Michael pulled with all his strength and he could feel the strands of hair stretch, forcing with it Nakano’s scalp. He had to keep pulling until Nakano couldn’t take the pain any longer and fell off of him so he could be free. But wait, no, something wasn’t right. Nakano’s head was practically shaved; he didn’t have hair long enough to pull.
Someone else was on top of Michael, someone else who just wouldn’t give up. Until that someone was ordered to.
David admired loyalty, but this action was premature, he did not want death to mar his homecoming. And it was not well planned. Death, like life, should have purpose. Just as David gave the command to release Michael, he heard the roar. He had to admit that it was a touching sight, Ronan coming to the aid of his young companion, but he felt a greater sense of relief watching his devoted subject scamper away, on all fours close to the ground, like a wild animal. “Good, you were unseen, which means you cannot be prevented from trying again,” David said. “When, of course, the time becomes right.”
“Did you see who it was?” Michael asked, his breathing beginning to return to normal.
Ronan shook his head. “What are you doing out here?”
What was he doing outside? He tried to remember, but he felt as if he was in a trance. “Music.” Yes, that was it. “I heard music and I thought it was . . . so I came out here to find out . . . I . . . I couldn’t find you. . . . Where were you?”
Ronan felt the tears sting his eyes. If I’d returned just a few seconds later, you might not be alive; if I hadn’t gone out at all, you would never have been in danger. “I wasn’t where I was supposed to be,” Ronan cried.
David turned away, not interested in watching the two boys embrace, one comforting the other, and started to walk back to his office when something else just as irritating caught his eye. “Those damned roses,” he hissed. “Will they never die?”
Along the outside of St. Joshua’s Library, as always, was a row of white roses in full bloom, their petals soft
