big, classic novels. I just don’t think he’s going to get Tales of the Double A, you know, not like you and me do.”
As they continued on down the hallway, the noise of the crowd forced Michael to raise his voice. “You may have a point there.”
“He’s a good mate and all, don’t get me wrong,” Fritz clarified, speaking even louder than Michael. “He’s just not like you and me.”
“Is that so, Fritzie? Didn’t know you were switching teams.”
Walking past them was Alexei, the junior who could never make it past the B team in swimming. Despite being a few inches taller and wider than Fritz, he could never intimidate him either. “Say that to my face again, Russkie, and I’ll knock you on your arse!”
With a chuckle and a wave of his hand, Alexei disappeared into Father Fazio’s classroom. When Fritz turned back to face Michael, he realized an apology might be in order. “Sorry, mate, but, you know, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
Far from being angry, Michael knew that Fritz didn’t care about his sexual orientation and that his comment wasn’t hypocritical or hateful, it was merely Fritz being his boyish, obnoxious self. “No worries, Germany.”
Again Fritz’s forehead got all crinkly. “What?”
“Germany,” Michael repeated, then explained, “You call me Nebraska ’cause that’s where I’m from, so I called you Germany ’cause that’s where you’re from.”
Amused, but not willing to show it, Fritz felt the need to put Michael in his place. “Nice try, but that’s just not going to work.”
“Why not?” Michael said, disappointed that his catchword wasn’t accepted.
“Because I said so,” Fritz replied. “That’s why.”
The phrase made Michael’s head start to spin again, not because it made him angry but because it reminded him of his father. That’s what Vaughan always said whenever he didn’t want to explain himself, whenever he didn’t want to have a conversation with his son, which was pretty much every time they spoke. The anxiety Michael felt during class rushed back, flooding his body with the same intensity as this morning’s feeding, but without any of the exhilaration. It was the same sensation he experienced during his vision, a foreboding, a feeling that while unknown pieces of his mother’s life had been revealed to him, more elements of his father’s life were being concealed. Right as they were about to leave St. Albert’s and dash to their next class, Michael made a decision. “Fritz, could you cover for me?” Michael asked. “Tell Joubert I got sick and went to the infirmary.”
Shocked at the implication, Fritz’s jaw dropped. When he spoke, his tone of voice was as indignant as his expression. “You want me to lie? In theology?”
“Oh, like it’s gonna be the first time,” Michael said honestly, destroying any chance Fritz had of keeping up his ruse.
Good-naturedly, Fritz replied, “Can’t argue with that, Nebraska. So why are you ditching class? Afternoon rendezvous with you-know-who?”
I wish. “No, I just have to take care of something and it can’t wait any longer.”
“Okay, I’ll take notes,” Fritz said. “That is, if I can stay awake.”
Michael started to feel the adrenaline bubble under his skin. He had never cut class before, never been so consciously defiant. Maybe he was reacting to the new energy pulsating throughout his body; maybe he just had to quell the nagging doubts he had. Whatever the reason, he had to confront his father, he had to put together a few more pieces of the puzzle before things got too out of control. Feeling almost as powerful as he did when he knelt before The Well, Michael remembered there was another task he needed to complete. “One more thing, Fritz.”
What now? “Seriously, mate, I’m not your personal secretary.”
“I know, I know,” Michael appeased. “Tell Phaedra I need to see her later. It’s important.”
Fritz nodded and then started to walk down the hallway, but made it only a few steps. “What’s so important that you have to talk to my girlfriend?” Fritz asked, spinning around. His question, however, wasn’t heard. Michael had vanished and was already in front of St. Joshua’s trying to act as if he were rushing to his next class and not rushing toward a long-overdue confrontation.
Even though he knew it wouldn’t be easy—talking to his father never was—it felt right, his bones tingled, and he felt his spirit lift. This is why Imogene had come to him; this is why she allowed him to see his mother, hear what she had really said. It was all so he could make his father admit the truth, whatever that truth was, no matter how hard it was going to be for him to hear.
Stopping near the oak tree that he and Ronan would sit under during the spring, Michael questioned the rationale of his spontaneous decision. Maybe the truth is something I really don’t want to know, maybe it’s something that should stay buried. No, no! I want to move forward, I want to let go of the past, and I can’t do that if I keep treating myself like a child, like a scared kid. Whatever my father is hiding, whatever he doesn’t want me to know, I’m going to make him tell me. And I’m going to make him tell me a bunch of other things too, like why he never called when I was growing up and why he didn’t protest when my mother moved me halfway across the world—and why the heck Brania is walking across campus?
A few yards away from him on the other side of the tree, Brania looked like a St. Anne’s student who was trying awfully hard to get detention. Her red platform shoes were an inch too high, her skirt was hiked up an inch too short, and her bare legs were in violation of dress code policy. Michael had heard Phaedra complain countless times about how uncomfortable their mandatory navy blue stockings were, but the way Brania was walking, almost prancing, each step more of a strut, it was as if she wanted to be noticed instead of trying to blend in. It was so weird. Up close she really did look like a teenager, like someone who belonged here, but from where Michael was standing, she looked very much like an outsider.
Where was she going anyway? She was moving in the direction of St. Martha’s, but she had less of a reason to go to the dining hall than he did. Curious, Michael wanted to follow her. There was absolutely no reason for her to be at Double A, so obviously she must be up to no good. She must be in the middle of some plan, some plot, something that was probably against him and the water vamps. But if that were so, why would she be walking in plain sight? She was capable of a stealthier approach; in fact Michael realized she was probably capable of more things than he could imagine. Maybe if I keep my distance and follow her, he thought, I can figure out what she’s up to, but no, no, do not stray from your purpose! Concentrate! I do not need to channel Agatha Christie and follow Brania into the woods. I have more important things to do.
Brania completely agreed. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she tilted her head slightly and cast a sideways glance. Yes, her gut instinct was correct; she was seen by a water vamp. She only saw a swatch of blond hair, but it was enough for her to deduce that her watcher was Michael. Thank God there aren’t that many of them, she thought; otherwise they might be harder to keep track of.
Bounding across campus, her arms swinging freely by her sides, she relished the feeling of being observed. It was nice to be the object of someone’s attention even if that someone was an enemy of sorts. A hint of danger always put a little lilt in her step, but allowing more than a hint to creep into her world was simply the act of a fool, and Brania was many things, but not foolish.
When she came to a fork in the road she stopped and bent down, acting as if she was tying a shoelace that had come undone. Looking all around her, peering into every crevice, within every shadow, she saw that she was alone. Michael was nowhere to be found. Good, no need for him to see me visiting Father. Not that she was even certain that Ronan had informed Michael of their connection; it was just that every once in a while, Brania liked to play it safe.
The safe route, however, was not the road Michael wanted to take today. Banging on the door to his father’s hotel suite, he didn’t even know if anyone would answer. He had merely called his father’s office, said he was a client who needed to see him immediately, and was told by a chatty secretary that he was conducting business out of his hotel in Eden today. He took a chance that the information he was given was correct.
“Michael!” Vaughan exclaimed, then quickly recovered from the unexpected sight of his son. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Deep breath, Michael, say what you practiced on the way over. “I had some free periods and I wanted to see you,” he said quickly. “It’s been, you know, a really long time.”
