This is far from simple. “No matter what I feel for Fritz, I don’t think I can turn my back on my heritage, on you,” Phaedra admitted. “I was put on this earth to protect you; that’s all my race understands.”
Michael wanted to reach out and hug his friend, comfort her, but he didn’t want to draw attention, make the others think they were having as serious a conversation as they were, so he grabbed her hand tightly. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need your protection any longer, I’m getting stronger every day,” Michael declared. “Plus I have Ronan.” Whispering into her ear he added, “He really gets off on being my protector.”
Looking into the eyes of the child whose mother had called her gave her purpose to rise from the fog, to carry out the will of her God, Phaedra wasn’t sure she could forsake her legacy, no matter how strong her feelings for Fritz were, especially since she sensed Michael’s good spirits were a cover-up. “I’m not the only one who looks different, you know,” she said. “There’s something wrong that you’re not telling me.”
Michael knew exactly what Phaedra was talking about. This morning he noticed there were dark circles under his eyes, thanks to a series of sleepless nights. Even vampires need a good night’s rest before it starts to show. “Well . . . let’s just say this immortality thing doesn’t mean all your problems disappear overnight,” Michael said, then decided to be candid. “I guess it’s been a rough couple of weeks.”
“That solves it,” Phaedra replied. “You still need me.”
How to make her understand? “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, Phaedra, but I know what I have to do,” Michael started. “Stand on my own two feet.” Suddenly, he felt very wise. “Hey! Maybe your destiny is to become mortal, just like mine was to become immortal.”
And suddenly Phaedra felt very calm. “I never thought of it that way.”
She wouldn’t be able to think about it at all because Ronan and Ciaran’s spirited debate over the merits of the upcoming Carnival for the Black Sun carried over to their side of the room. “Bollocks! It’s hardly a ruse to conceal some wicked plot,” Ciaran cried. “It’s a school outing.”
Could he actually be that mental? “Do you seriously believe that?” Ronan asked. “You know what David’s capable of.”
“Mate, the guy’s not all bad just because he’s one of Them.”
Jumping off the couch, Ronan turned to the rest of the party gobsmacked, arms widespread, hoping for support. “He’s not one of Them, he’s their bloody leader!”
Ciaran wasn’t about to bad-mouth the only adult who’d ever shown an interest in him, in his abilities, and treated him with respect. “Which doesn’t automatically make him evil.”
“Yes, it does!” Ronan cried. “And I’m telling you right now, he’s up to no good with this bloody carnival!”
Standing between her brothers like a very petite referee, Saoirse stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. “This is supposed to be festive!”
Right on cue, Edwige entered the living room, her singing drowning out the arguing. By the time she finished the last line of her song—Happy birthday, dear Saoirse, happy birthday to you!—they were all dumbfounded, not because of Edwige’s poor singing ability, but because of her poor timing.
“My birthday isn’t until the end of next month!” Saoirse declared.
“Why wait until then when we’re all here now?” Edwige replied, placing the chocolate frosted cupcake in front of her daughter. “Now make a wish and blow out the candle.”
Never one to give up a chance to be the center of attention or to make a wish, Saoirse leaned over to extinguish the flame. “Now this is more like it, people,” she said. “Roney, take notes. A party should have singing, not shouting.” After both Ciaran and Phaedra declined a bite, she shoved half the cupcake into her mouth, but before she was finished chewing, she just had to share with everyone what she considered to be a brilliant idea. “Let’s make this a real family celebration!” she exclaimed. “Somebody get the daddy-in-the-box!”
Now who needs a class in party etiquette?! It took Ronan about a minute and a half of telepathic begging to convince Edwige not to slap Saoirse’s face and that she wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. She didn’t witness Saxon’s death, she didn’t live through the horror. All she believed was that her father was cremated and his ashes were kept in a beautiful mahogany box on a side table. “I think Dad prefers his place by the window,” Ronan said nervously. “He was never one for big social gatherings anyway. Isn’t that right, Mum?”
Looking at her eldest son, then her middle child, then her youngest, Edwige slumped into the chair next to the box that contained her husband’s ashes and nodded her head.
“Will you look at the way she’s sitting there?”
Brania was complaining about Nurse Radcliff. Standing next to her father in the anteroom to his office, she was looking in the mirror, watching the nurse sitting at her desk as Lochlan tottered in and out of the room. “She’s an absolute pig!” Brania cried out. “Slumped over, hair a mess, and I have no idea how she’s done it, but she’s actually gained weight since you had a lapse in judgment and brought her into the fold.”
Crossing his arms, David’s black eyes narrowed. “I think she looks lovely, like the women immortalized by Raphael in his oil paintings.”
“Which is the sophisticate’s way of saying she’s fat,” Brania corrected. Unable to gaze into the mirror any longer, she turned away and started to pace around the room. She noticed a few marks on the walls where the green paint had chipped away, a few places where the plaster peeked through the dark brown crown molding. Her father was getting careless, his typically fastidious nature pushed to the side while he continued on with his plot to restore Double A to its former glory. Brania wasn’t sure if she was impressed or disappointed. When she looked back at the mirror, she was merely disgusted. “She is slovenly, Father! A fat slovenly hog!”
Nurse Radcliff, still a newly converted vampire incapable of controlling her cravings, was holding her finger over her head and squeezing it so her own blood dripped onto her tongue, thanks to the paper cut she had given herself moments earlier.
“It’s quite resourceful really,” David said. “It will keep her satiated until she can properly feed.”
She knew her father was trying to be stubborn, but his attitude still infuriated her. Why is he constantly taking someone else’s side? Why is he defending this heifer instead of agreeing with me, his own daughter? Why can’t he just leave here so things can return to normal?! When Brania realized how she had let her mind wander in her father’s presence, unguarded and without caution, she was surprised that he didn’t react to her silent tirade. Was he not listening? Did he no longer care? Could he actually find this abominable excuse for a woman more interesting than me? she thought. “I cannot believe you slept with that hausfrau,” Brania spat.
Chuckling at his daughter’s envy, David thought one unwarranted comment deserved another. “She’s an educated woman, dear,” he said. “Maybe if you had spent more time in school as a child, you would know the difference.”
Staring at her father’s profile, Brania thought she could lash out and rip the flesh off his cheeks, slash her nails against his throat and expose the muscle and veins underneath. Not caring if he heard or ignored her, she let her mind react with all the fury she felt in her heart. How dare you?! How could I go to school when I was constantly doing your dirty work?! When I was acting like your henchman instead of your little girl!
“No!!”
Too bad if you can’t accept the truth!
But David wasn’t responding to Brania’s accusations, he hadn’t even been listening, he was calling out to his fledgling creation. “No, Margaret, I have bigger plans for the good doctor; he’s to be the centerpiece of the carnival.”
Confused, Brania looked into the mirror and saw Nurse Radcliff, her back to Dr. MacCleery, her fangs beared, her fingers in her mouth, and a look of ecstasy consuming her face. What Brania didn’t witness was the nurse giving herself another paper cut, this one much more severe, so when the blood oozed out of her finger, it overwhelmed her. She couldn’t stop her fangs from descending, she couldn’t stop herself from sucking the red liquid from her own finger even as the doctor watched. When she saw his horrified face, she knew it was too late. She knew he had uncovered her secret, and like any creature who wants to remain hidden in the shadows, she prepared to attack. Until David’s command prevented her from taking action.
“Leave the room, Margaret,” David ordered. “Leave now and come here so we can feed together.”
Together!? Now he’s going to feed side by side with this, this . . . thing! Brania couldn’t remember the last time she fed alongside her father, and as a result, she couldn’t remember why she was wasting her time standing next to him now.
When Nurse Radcliff left the doctor’s office, and the mirror returned to its natural state, David wasn’t surprised to see only his reflection staring back at him, Brania no longer by his side. “Oh, Zachariel,” he said. “Why
