a couple weeks over a century ago, Michael thought he would risk being the most unsexy vampire who ever walked the earth if it meant he could escape having to hear another one of his monotonous lectures ever again. Now that he was equipped with the armor of immortality, he shouldn’t have to act as if he was like everyone else, like he had to follow rules. Oh, but maybe Ronan was right. He has been a water vamp longer than me, but still, Willows’s voice is just so grating, especially when he asks a question.
“The Serbo-Bulgarian War, Mr. Howard,” Professor Willows said. “Which side emerged victorious?”
Michael had no idea, but luckily he didn’t have to know everything when he possessed other skills. Because of his inhuman dexterity, no one saw him flip through his history book and in less than a second find the answer. “That would be Bulgaria, sir, winning on November 28, 1885,” Michael replied. “In just under two weeks, or, um, a fortnight.”
If the professor was impressed that his student, who he felt certain was daydreaming, answered his question immediately, correctly, and with added information, he kept all thoughts of surprise to himself. His expression was as unexpressive as his speaking voice. “Hmm, yes, quite right.” Just as Willows opened his mouth to continue his oratory, the bell rang signaling the end of class and mercifully, Michael thought, the end of his pain. Shoving his books into his backpack, Michael smirked. How thankful he was to have his vampire skills; it would have been a lot more painful if he failed to answer Willows’s question correctly. His smirk grew as he silently remarked, You may think I’m ignorant, Ronan, but I’m not stupid.
“What do I think?”
Startled, Michael turned around to see Ronan standing behind him. “What are you doing here?”
Not exactly the greeting Ronan was hoping for. “I thought I’d walk you to your next class,” he explained. “But what were you saying? I never said you were stupid.”
Damn that telepathic connection. Michael would have to be more careful if he wanted to keep his private thoughts private. Smiling the way one boyfriend should smile at the other, Michael said, “I didn’t say that.” He kept smiling as he tried to think of a plausible explanation for his words, but couldn’t, so he flirted. “If you’re going to eavesdrop, sir, please do it right.”
Whatever Ronan thought Michael had said no longer mattered, not while his beautiful green eyes were sparkling, not while it was clear that Michael really was happy to see him. “Well, sir,” Ronan replied, “next time I’ll be sure to try harder.”
On their way across campus, Michael continued to smile, in part because he was walking alongside Ronan and in part because he was getting a little bit smarter every day.
Someone else who boasted a nontraditional kind of intelligence was Fritz. He may not be aware that creatures other than humans also called Double A their home, but when it came to social networking and interaction, knowledge acquired outside of the classroom, he was the smartest kid on campus. Running through the parade of students, Fritz finally reached Ronan and Michael and wedged himself in between the couple, pausing a moment to pant from his sprint. When he finally spoke, tufts of cold air emerged like crowns above each word, which was appropriate since his words were a proclamation: “At tomorrow’s assembly they’re going to unveil the new headmaster to replace Hawksbry,” he announced.
“Really?” Michael asked. “So it’s official, then; he isn’t coming back?”
“Nope, just up and left town, the old sod. Not a bleedin’ word to anybody.”
Ronan knew that wasn’t the truth, but he wasn’t about to share the information. Let them believe that Alistair was simply irresponsible and grew bored with being sequestered in the countryside, or could no longer take the stress of being in charge of so many young lives so he left unannounced and without explanation. Better that than the truth, that he was either killed or, worse, transformed into one of Them, one of Brania’s people. Ronan hoped it was the former, though based on one of the last conversations he had with the Headmaster, where he alluded to the fact that he knew the truth about Ronan and was disgusted by his presence, Ronan was led to believe that he had been turned into their kind. No need to mention any of that. He would keep those beliefs to himself and instead offer a new suggestion. “Maybe he finally found a totty and ran off to Las Vegas to get married.”
Michael appeared confused. “Totty is, um, British for girl, right?”
“You’re starting to catch on,” Ronan said, happy that Michael could make him smile no matter what he was thinking.
“But you’re not, mate,” Fritz said. “Hawksbry’s a pouf, you know that. We caught him red-handed with his hands all over that chauffeur bloke.”
An image of Alistair and Jeremiah walking arm in arm down an alleyway in Eden pierced Michael’s memory. “That’s right, Ro, we did.”
“If he ran off anywhere to get married, he and the chauffeur would’ve driven to Canada, which is like Vegas for you people!” Fritz laughed so hard at his own joke that his whole body shook and he slipped on a piece of ice on the walkway in front of St. Joshua’s. If it weren’t for Michael grabbing his arm and steadying him, he would’ve fallen flat on his back. “Quick reflexes, Nebraska,” Fritz said. “I owe ya one.”
Another change. Michael noted to himself that Fritz was becoming a real friend. Ever since Penry’s death, they had been getting closer. And the closer they got, the more Michael realized his loud, abrasive exterior hid a loyal, thoughtful guy. He wasn’t as innately kind or amiable as Penry was—very few of the students he met were —but he was proving to have worthwhile qualities all his own, the most obvious one being the ability to make Michael laugh. But unfortunately, thinking about Penry inevitably made Michael think about his girlfriend, Imogene, which wasn’t a laughing matter. “So, do you have any news about Imogene?”
Fritz shook his head, his smile gone, in its place a look of concern and apprehension, his dark bronze complexion growing pale. “Looks like she really did run away.” Once again, Ronan remained silent while Michael and Fritz discussed how out of character that seemed. Imogene was not the type of girl to run from something. Whether it be a problem or an opportunity, she ran toward things. Even still, the police investigated the situation and concluded that that’s what had happened; Imogene ran away from the trauma center either because it was something she had always planned on doing or as a result of Penry’s death. It didn’t make sense to either boy, but since the only other alternative—that Imogene could also be dead—was too painful to consider, both Michael and Fritz chose to believe the police department’s official statement.
Let them believe in their own hypotheses, Ronan thought. Sometimes ignorance is preferable. It wasn’t a luxury he could embrace, but he had learned to hide darker secrets; one or two more wouldn’t matter. And what did he really know anyway? Only that Alistair was definitely not on his honeymoon, and Imogene wasn’t a runaway. Ronan shrugged. “We may never know where either one of them is.”
How did we get to talking about such unpleasant things? Fritz thought. Isn’t the first day back to school unpleasant enough? Must change the subject and must change it now; luckily, I always save the best piece of information for last. “True, but I do know where one of our friends has been spending all of his time lately,” Fritz declared proudly. “And the new and much older boyfriend he’s been spending all of his time with.”
What was that horrible smell? For a terrible moment, Nakano thought it was coming from him. He’d dressed quickly this morning, but he did remember to use deodorant, didn’t he? Yes, of course he did; he wouldn’t forget, not when he had an early morning date. Could the odor be clinging to his clothes? No, he just had his whole uniform washed; he felt like making a good impression for the first day of class. Oh, that was such a lie. He couldn’t care less about his classes, about Archangel Academy even. The only reason he remained enrolled was because Brania told him that her father revered education and rewarded those who demonstrated academic excellence. No, the only reason he washed his clothes was to impress his boyfriend. And despite whatever that offensive smell was, he seemed to be doing just that.
Nakano thought Jean-Paul Germaine was, without a doubt, the most attractive man he had ever met. And what made him so incredibly attractive was that he was a man, not a boy, not a teenager, but an adult, twenty- one years old in fact. And of course absurdly handsome and French and, as of three weeks ago, his boyfriend. He never would have thought someone like Jean-Paul would be interested in dating someone like him, but as they snuggled in the backseat of his car, kissing quickly and impatiently, while his fellow students raced to their next class, there was no doubt, his boyfriend was very interested in him.
“I weesh you had a free period every morning,” Jean-Paul said, his words sounding like the perfect lyrics to accompany the violin music that floated throughout the car.
“Me too,” Nakano said. His words sounded harsher, more like gasps, sharp intakes of breath. But that’s okay, he thought, I’m still sort of new at this; I’ll learn; I’ll learn to be just as perfect as Jean-Paul. The day’s
