into the future? Why, then, did he feel that someone was trying to separate him from Ronan? And why had Brother Dahey’s eyes changed? The whites surrounding his pupils were gone and there was not a spot on the surface of either eye that wasn’t covered in black.
chapter 6
Night had come early. It was only four P.M., but already the sky was a deep shade of blue. The lights from the windows of several buildings on campus tried their best to penetrate the premature darkness, but they succeeded only in casting a glow here and there, shooting out brief glimmers of hope into the blue-black dusk. Walking swiftly from St. Joshua’s, Michael realized he much preferred the sunlight. Odd insight for a vampire, but luckily he was a vampire who wasn’t confined to the shadows. Or, he recognized, barred from places of worship.
Every time Michael stood before Archangel Cathedral he stood in awe. No matter how much of a rush he was in, as he was now, he couldn’t help but stop and marvel at the beauty and craftsmanship of the church. He wasn’t sure what was more impressive: the wood carvings of the seven archangels that framed the arched doorway or the circular yellow stained-glass window that floated almost ethereally above it. Not that it really mattered, one couldn’t exist without the other. In fact, each piece of the cathedral’s architecture was built to enhance the beauty of the whole structure. Hawksbry had once told Michael that the cathedral was like the school itself. Each component, like each student, wasn’t created to stand out as the highlight, wasn’t meant to be a focal point, but was brought together to work in harmony. Building a better school would lead to building a better self, he had said. Watching the moonlight bounce off the yellow stained glass and soften the dark sky, Michael wished Hawksbry was still around; he had always been a calming influence. And by the time he got home, Michael was anything but calm.
“No, Ronan,” Michael stressed. “It was much more than a dream!”
Ronan knew Michael might be right. He knew that his outlandish claim could be true, but at the moment, he didn’t feel like debating the validity of Michael’s latest delusion or even wholeheartedly supporting it. He didn’t want to talk about what if’s or could be’s—he just wanted to finish getting dressed. Wearing only a pair of black chinos, Ronan opened one dresser drawer after the other in search of his favorite sweater, the reddish-purple V-neck that his mother had given him for his birthday last year. Luxuriously soft and slightly too large, it was the retail equivalent of comfort food, and tonight Ronan wanted to be as comfortable as possible. “Here you are,” Ronan said, elated. He pulled the sweater from underneath a few T-shirts and laid it on the bed, unfolding it and smoothing it out in the hopes that some of the creases would disappear.
“Are you going to ignore me?” Michael asked.
Unable to remain quiet any longer, Ronan finally spoke. “I’m sure it felt real, but face it, Michael, you have been anxious about us lately, thinking that I ran off to heaven knows where the other day. This dream was nothing more than a result of that.”
A logical boyfriend is more annoying than a silent one. “Well, okay, that kind of makes sense.”
“Because it’s true.”
Scratch that. A boyfriend who thinks he’s always right is worst of all. But he wasn’t right, Michael couldn’t explain it, he just knew it. “Then why did it feel like it was happening? Or like it was definitely going to happen, like it was our future?”
Crossing his arms, Ronan scrutinized Michael. When he spoke, his tone was as harsh as his expression. “Well, which one is it?”
Stunned by his boyfriend’s gruff tone, Michael took a few moments before he responded. “I . . . uh . . . I really don’t know.”
His frustration mounting, Ronan no longer cared if he sounded sarcastic or pompous, he simply wanted to convince Michael that his theory was nonsense. “Well, I do and it wasn’t either one,” he said. “It wasn’t happening at the moment you dreamed it because I wasn’t near The Well, I was in St. Joseph’s with Fritz and that dumb prat Amir, working on our theology paper.” Before Michael could remind him that he could have had a premonition of their future, Ronan exhaled deeply, grabbed Michael by the shoulders, and pressed his forehead against his. “And how many times do I have to tell you that we will be together forever.” Ronan concentrated on how cool Michael’s skin felt, how delicious he smelled, until an uninvited thought entered his mind and he stepped back. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”
Once again Michael was stunned, this time by Ronan’s words. How could he think such a thing? How? Well, maybe, Michael thought, because he was constantly suggesting that they were on the verge of eternal separation. “No!” Michael protested. “I don’t want that!” Realizing what he actually said, Michael grabbed Ronan’s arm, causing him to pull farther away. “No! I mean I want us, you and me, always, forever.”
Michael mumbled a few more words, but Ronan didn’t hear them because he was kissing him. That’s all he wanted to know, that’s all he wanted to believe. He didn’t care about Michael’s dreams or premonitions or his crazy ideas, none of that mattered; the only thing that mattered was how wonderful Michael’s lips tasted. That and the fact that they now had less than an hour to get ready.
Forget about visions of The Well and Brother Dahey’s portrait , that damned portrait, Ronan told himself. Our life is supposed to be filled with moments like this, mundane but real moments filled with jokes and laughter. Michael just has to stop complicating matters. “I call the bathroom first.”
“Don’t hog it up like you usually do.” Michael laughed.
It worked. “You do want me to look presentable for your father, don’t you?”
“That’s just the point,” Michael cracked. “He’s my father. I should be the one making sure I look my best.”
“Since he’s your father, he’s going to think you look smashing no matter what you look like.”
This gave Michael the biggest laugh he’d had in days. “Seriously?! My father’ll be lucky if he recognizes me!”
A quick kiss, one more, and Ronan ran into the bathroom. Of course the second after he closed the bathroom door, he remembered something he wanted to tell Michael. “Hey! Fritz asked if you found ‘that stuff’ for him!” Ronan shouted.
“What stuff?”
They were truly never going to be dressed and ready by six o’clock. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me,” Ronan said, swinging the door open. “He was acting all mysterious when I questioned him about it, though. All he would say is that you promised to look for . . .” Ronan dropped his voice an octave lower. “That stuff?”
“Oh, right, that stuff,” Michael said, remembering their conversation. “Of course.”
First Fritz, now Michael. Was no one going to fill him in? “Oh, come on! What stuff are you talking about?”
His dream a distant memory and dinner still a part of the future, Michael was enjoying teasing Ronan in the present. “Hmm, could be a bunch of stuff,” Michael said. “Are you jealous that Fritz and I have a secret?”
Now it was Ronan’s turn to laugh, deep, genuine. “Jealous? Of you and Fritz? Absolutely not.” As Ronan continued to howl with laughter, Michael wasn’t sure to join in or be insulted.
“Fritz is very handsome,” Michael protested.
“I guess, but he’s also very straight,” Ronan pointed out. Looking at the hands of the clock moving ever closer to their time of departure, Ronan decided it was pointless to keep digging and time to act like the mature one in their relationship. “Fine, I don’t give a fig about whatever stuff there is between you and Fritz.” Turning abruptly, he went back into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Michael stared at the closed door in disbelief and then shouted, “It’s about Tales of the Double A! I told Fritz I might have some old comic books he could use as inspiration.”
Suddenly the door swung open. “I knew that would make you tell me.” Before Michael could respond, the door shut again. “Now hurry up and get dressed,” Ronan shouted. “We don’t have much time.”
I’m a vampire, I need about three seconds to get dressed, Michael thought, and even if he weren’t, he didn’t care about impressing his father. He would probably just throw on jeans and a T-shirt; no need to make it look like he spent time getting ready. He had better things to do, like find those comics for Fritz, if he could only remember
