Maybe I really have spent too many hours locked alone in this lab, Ciaran thought. The tiniest act of kindness makes me feel like I could cry. Wait a second, was that even a kind thing to say? “Um, thank you . . . I think.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, Saoirse looked serious. “This room isn’t bugged, is it?”
Ciaran had forgotten how infuriating privileged teenage girls could be—one second funny, then sincere, then just a little bit insane. “No, of course not.”
“Don’t say it like you think I’m crazy! You know these vampire folk cannot be trusted.”
For a split second, Ciaran thought about David. But no, he wanted Ciaran to work with him, he wouldn’t be spying on him. “No, this room isn’t bugged.”
Relieved, Saoirse continued. “Okay, here it is. I started cutting myself to do some experiments on my blood to figure out, you know, why I am the way I am. But I’m no good at science. That’s why I came here, so you can do some tests on me.”
Take that, Ronan. Our sister didn’t come to Double A to see you, she came here to see me, because I’m the only one who can answer the riddle of who she is. Wildly excited, Ciaran kept his expression flat; he didn’t want to make Saoirse think he wasn’t cool, after all. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he said. “Of course I’ll help you.”
This time when Saoirse hugged Ciaran, he hugged her back even harder, crying was the furthest thing from his mind. First David, now her. Finally people were discovering that he had talent, that he was worth talking to, that he was worth hugging. “I only have one stipulation,” Saoirse said. “This is our secret. You can’t tell anyone. Not Ronan, and definitely not Edwige.”
Amazing, just as soon as a feeling of pride and happiness fills you up, a wave of sadness comes to knock it out of your system. “Well, you know, she and I hardly ever speak, so that . . . that really won’t be a problem.”
If Saoirse could tell that her words hurt her brother, she didn’t let on. She had a day of adventure ahead of her, a day filled with freedom to do whatever she wished. She didn’t want to waste any more time in a stuffy lab. “Thank you, Ciar!” she cried, hugging her brother again before racing for the door. “I’m going to tour the campus and check out my new home. Let me know when you want to get to work!”
“Make sure nobody sees you,” Ciaran cried.
Standing in the doorway, Saoirse turned around. “Don’t worry, I may be a scientific curiosity,” she replied, “but I ain’t stupid!”
Ciaran waited several minutes after she left before moving. Her new home? Oh, how he’d love to see Edwige’s response once she heard that news. But since Edwige didn’t dwell on him, he wasn’t going to dwell on her, he was going to do what he did best—what helped him feel worthwhile and important—he was going to use his mind. Reaching under his desk, he pulled out his notebook, found a clean page, and started to write some words: Saoirse, experiment, bloodline.
His sister was back and it was about time he discovered why she defied human nature.
chapter 12
Michael was trying hard to concentrate, he really was. He was trying to understand the difference between mid-segments and perpendicular bisectors of triangles, he was calling upon The Well’s strength to focus on what Father Fazio was saying, but his class work held no interest. All he cared about was what was happening in his personal life.
He heard the priest’s words, but they made no sense to him, they were just sounds, clusters of vowels and consonants that held no meaning. He saw the diagrams the priest was drawing on the large white Smartboard at the front of the class, but again they meant nothing, they were just a bunch of lines that intersected at various points. It was as if a cloud were descending in front of his eyes, replacing his teacher with an image of Saoirse, then Phaedra, Imogene, his parents, anyone except the person who should have been commanding his attention.
I’m really trying, Ronan, Michael told himself. I want to do well in school, but there’s too much other stuff going on.
When his mind wandered, as it was doing now, he couldn’t believe just how much stuff there really was. So much was happening to him so quickly, he just wanted to make it all stop. Near-death attacks, visions, ghostly apparitions, new questions about his past, old issues about his father, the intensity of his feelings for Ronan—the combination and culmination of all these things were beginning to make Michael wish he had never come here, wish that he was back home, secluded in his bedroom. Well, almost wish, not fully. He wouldn’t want to be without Ronan, but all the other things, yes, those other things he could do without. Except maybe the vision of his mother. Learning the truth about her or at least a portion of her truth was remarkable, one of the good things that had happened to him that wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Imogene and, boy, it was nice to see her again even if the circumstances cemented the fact that she was dead. And of course Phaedra, for the most part, was a godsend. Even if she couldn’t protect him like she used to, she was still an amazing friend and someone he definitely wanted in his life. On and on and on the thoughts came, circling his brain, pulling his mind away from the classroom until he felt dizzy. Clutching his forehead, Michael didn’t even hear himself scream, “Stop it!”
“Dude, I just want to show you my first solo effort.”
When the haze lifted from Michael’s eyes, he saw Fritz standing in front of his desk, the first post-Penry issue of Tales of the Double A in his hands, the rest of the students mostly ignoring him as they hurriedly exited the classroom. I didn’t even hear the bell ring, Michael realized, not a good sign. “Sorry, Fritz, it looks great.”
“You didn’t even look at it!” Fritz yelled, slamming the comic book on Michael’s desk.
Apologizing again, Michael inspected Fritz’s latest endeavor much more closely. He was right the first time. The cover was a depiction of Archangel Cathedral during a snowstorm with the self-explanatory title “Archangel Avalanche.” “It really does look great.”
Convinced that this time Michael was being honest, Fritz beamed. “You really think so, mate?”
The artwork was not as imaginative or as detailed as Penry’s, but it was a close-enough imitation, plus Fritz had included some of his own technique, with the edges of the church softer and rounder, the colors just a bit more intense so they popped against the white, snowy landscape. The total look was more primitive than Penry’s efforts, different. But that was to be expected. It was, after all, the beginning of a whole new chapter in the series, and some degree of change was necessary. Keeping his eyes on the comic and not on Michael, Fritz asked, “Do you think, um, do you think Penry would approve?”
Without a doubt Michael knew the answer to that question. “Wholeheartedly.”
“Are you sure?” Fritz asked again. “I decided not to put Double P, you know Penry, the superhero, on the cover. Thought it might be too sappy.”
Michael smiled. “Afraid you’re getting too sentimental?”
Scratching his tight curls, Fritz replied, “You know how it is when you, you know, really like someone.”
Michael couldn’t help teasing his friend. “Phaedra?”
Fritz whacked Michael with the comic book. “Who else, ya git?! Of course Phaedra!” Trying to keep his voice as gruff as possible, he continued, “I was pretty upset when she was sick. I didn’t want it to affect my work, you know, detrimentally.”
Michael surprised himself by maintaining a straight face, “Oh, of course not, that would’ve been devastating.”
“I know,” Fritz replied. “It is, after all, a comic and not some daft romance novel.”
Laughing heartily, Michael commented, “No chance of confusing one with the other!”
Good! Relieved, Fritz blew out a breath and then instructed Michael to read the issue tonight and give him a critique in the morning. “But don’t let Ronan read it.”
“Why not?” Michael asked, surprised by the dictate.
As they walked to the classroom door, Fritz shrugged his shoulders and crinkled up his forehead. “Because he’s posh, that one.”
“Posh?” Michael asked, stopping in the doorway.
“He’s always reading big books, what do you call them?” Fritz replied. “Classics! He’s always reading those
