piece of forbidden fruit from the vine. Now it merely filled him with disgust and disappointment. It was exactly how he felt about Ronan.
Why did he lie to me again? Why does he constantly make me feel like an idiot? Michael wanted answers; he wanted to know why he wasn’t here with him in the blackness of the fog so he could scream at him. Pound his fists into him. Throw his arms around him so Ronan would know how thankful he was that he was safe.
Stop it! Stop thinking about Ronan and concentrate on shielding Saoirse from Jean-Paul in case he attacks in this confined space. He hasn’t made a move, but he simply can’t be trusted. That’s what Michael told himself because as long as he and Saoirse were locked in the fog with Jean-Paul, they couldn’t waste time hoping that Ronan would rescue them. They would have to rely on themselves.
As he swam deeper into the ocean, Ronan forced himself to push thoughts of Michael and Saoirse out of his mind. The Well had sworn that they would be safe and he had no choice but to believe that. He knew The Well could do many things; lie was not one of them. It was just so hard being separated from those he loved, he wanted to be with them, especially Michael, just for a moment, just so he would know that Ronan was doing something wonderful, something important, and that he had not abandoned him, he would never, ever abandon him. But in the darkness, it was hard not to have doubts. Surrounded by the black, impenetrable water, it was hard not to feel scared.
Imogene stopped singing when everything turned black. She was afraid that her world was changing again, that she was dying and maybe this time she would be dragged into hell. She reached out and was grateful to feel Brania hold her shaking hand, put her arm around her shoulder, and promise that everything would be all right. She wasn’t sure she believed it, but it was comforting to hear nonetheless. “There’s nothing to worry about now,” Brania said softly to her newfound ward. “It’s only the moon playing a trick on the sun.”
Using her vampiric vision, Brania could see that her words were calming Imogene. She was still nervous, wary, but she was accepting the fact that she had a new guardian, a new mentor who would treat her with kindness and compassion, like a parent should. She could sense that Imogene knew she wouldn’t use her as a pawn, collateral, a way to make sure her unpleasant tasks were completed without Brania having to get her hands dirty. Unlike her father and Edwige, and, for the most part, Vaughan, Brania was used to getting her hands filthy, which is why she wasn’t afraid when Nurse Radcliff burst into the crypt, begging for blood.
“Give me the child!” the nurse screamed through the darkness. “I need to feed while the sun is black!”
Rubbing Imogene’s shoulder reassuringly, Brania slowly stood up in the coffin and watched the slovenly nurse practically hyperventilate as she followed the curious scent of Imogene’s blood, a unique mixture, half life and half death. She bent down, took Imogene’s still-shaking hand and kissed it. “Mother will be right back.”
Nurse Radcliff was so delirious from the intoxicating and unusual smell of Imogene’s blood that she actually thought Brania was stepping out of the way to give her a wide berth to feed. When she saw Brania’s face more clearly, she understood her mistake. The girl was unrecognizable, her fangs as sharp as stilettos and her outrage as black as the sun.
The first slap against her face took the nurse by surprise; the second made her realize Brania was not going to make it easy for her to feed; after the third, she decided she needed to fight back. Scurrying on the floor, Nurse Radcliff grabbed Brania’s ankle and swung her body into the cold, notched wall. For a fledgling vampire, she was surprisingly powerful and had learned how to corral her new strength faster than most. However, she lacked experience and that’s why Brania was able to quickly get the upper hand.
Wiping away some rock dust that clung to her chin, Brania grabbed the nurse by her throat, cringing when she felt her sharp nails penetrate the clammy skin near her shoulder. She hurled the nurse forward and heard a sucking noise as her nails withdrew from her plump flesh. When the ground shook, she knew the nurse’s back had rammed into the other side of the crypt. With one eye watching Imogene cowering inside the coffin, Brania swiftly ran to Nurse Radcliff’s side before she could get up. Unfortunately, it was what the nurse was expecting her to do.
When Brania hunched over to grab the nurse’s shoulders and hoist her up so she could finish her off, she was only partially successful. On her knees, Nurse Radcliff took the rock that was concealed in her hand and swung her arm overhead, bashing it into Brania’s temple with such force that Brania spun around, arms wide, free, useless, and slammed onto the stone floor. Breathing hard, Nurse Radcliff watched Brania’s motionless body for several moments, remembering what David had said about the importance of reveling in each victory. Eager for another celebration, the nurse cocked her head to the side so her eyes could fall on the young girl too afraid to leave her coffin.
Even though she was protected by the darkness, Nurse Radcliff crouched low to the ground and moved toward Imogene stealthily. Imogene couldn’t see, but she sensed a presence coming toward her and she knew it wasn’t Brania, it smelled sickly, sour. When she felt a hand grab her knee, she kicked her leg out and scrambled into a corner of the coffin. She knew she was no longer safe, but she didn’t have the courage to leave. She would simply have to pray that Brania would protect her, that she would be true to her word. She was.
“Don’t touch my child!!”
The force of the words was nothing compared to the force of Brania’s fist striking the side of Nurse Radcliff’s face, so strong that her cheekbone splintered underneath the skin, fragments of bone pierced her flesh, causing her to howl in agony. Brania ignored the nurse’s pleas for mercy. Any feelings of empathy, compassion, were lost in the confusing rage that swirled around her brain and her heart, the rage against her father, his injustice, his duplicity. Killing the nurse wouldn’t be as satisfying as killing her father, but it would be a start.
Lifting the nurse like an overstuffed rag doll, Brania held her up high so she could get a good look at her victim. She wanted to see her fear, she wanted her to be fully aware that there was no escaping the horror that was about to befall her. Nurse Radcliff understood. She also understood the ramifications of Brania’s impending actions. “You’ll burn in hell for killing your own kind!”
“Where do you think I’ve lived for the past two centuries?!”
Those were the last words Nurse Radcliff heard before her body was hurled into the air, stopping only when a long, jagged rock pierced her back, splicing through her heart, and she erupted in flames.
Stepping into the coffin, Brania sat behind Imogene and wrapped her arms around her as the crackling fire warmed their skin. Thankful that her fierce protector brought comforting light back to the crypt, Imogene began to sing. Brania was so content, so joyful, that she hummed along.
Fritz wasn’t joyful, but the two glasses of spiked punch he gulped down were making him feel much less despondent. He and Phaedra had planned on spending the denouement of the carnival together. When the sun was completely black, Fritz had planned on caressing the soft skin on the back of her neck, twirling his fingers through her falling curls, and kissing her more deeply than usual, but all those plans were shattered now that Phaedra had decided not to show up, now that she had chosen not to be with him.
Stuck in between Ciaran and Alexei, a part of the crowd of students and faculty watching the eclipse from within St. Sebastian’s, Fritz felt like a complete loser. The only way he knew how to shake that feeling was to have another drink. And to make sure he didn’t drink alone.
Fritz poured some whiskey from his flask into Ciaran’s plastic cup. “Now taste that.”
“What is it?” Ciaran asked.
“Don’t worry, mate,” Fritz advised. “It’s Irish, you’ll like it.”
Ciaran could smell the alcohol before he lifted the glass to his mouth and hesitated. He had no idea what was happening to his sister or to Michael or where Ronan was, he attempted to contact Edwige, but she was nowhere to be found either. He tried not to think about what could be taking place because he had no power to stop it. He was the human, the limited one; they were the ones with unnatural gifts. The pungent smell of the whiskey made him wince, but that first whiff grew more tempting. Besides, there was nothing he could do to help them; there was nothing he could do to make their lives better or safer, and it was time he understood that. Maybe he would continue with his experiments, then again maybe not. He decided right then and there that he would only resume his research if it’s what he wanted to do, not at the behest of some lying headmaster or some troublesome sister. From now on, he wanted to put himself first, think about his own happiness, and what better way to commemorate that resolution than with a drink.
Coughing, Ciaran felt the rough liquid erupt in his stomach and gurgle up into his throat like a volcano. Even
