Before he could find an answer the room tilted again to the other side and Michael flew headfirst into the wall at the far end of the room, barely missing the window. Kneeling on the floor, he reached up and held onto the windowsill. He looked over to his bed and was terrified to see that it was now empty. Ronan was no longer sleeping quietly under the covers, he was floating two feet above the bed, and yet still sound asleep.
“Ronan!” Michael shouted. He knew that it was probably dangerous to startle Ronan and force him to wake up, but he was unable to control his voice. He was no longer interested in and curious about what was happening all around him, he was scared. “Ronan! Wake up!”
Ronan’s only response was physical, and it had nothing to do with the urgent tone of Michael’s voice, and everything to do with the shifting of the room. As it plummeted deeper, deeper, deeper into the hole in the ocean, the room sloped sideways, causing Ronan’s body to bounce into the wall. His right hand that had been resting on his chest fell and dangled at his side, swaying slightly. It was the only visible movement he made.
On his hands and knees Michael started to crawl toward Ronan, desperate to reach him before whatever magic that allowed him to float in midair died out or before they crashed into the bottom of the ocean floor. The latter thought filled him with dread as he realized the room couldn’t fall forever; at some point it had to hit land, and at the speed they were falling he knew that such a landing could be deadly even for them.
“Ronan! Can you hear me?” Michael cried out, but again his words fell against sleeping ears.
From halfway across the room, Michael felt cold water spray over him, making his skin grow even colder and soaking his pants until they were dripping wet. He thought it was the rain whipping against his body, but he was wrong; the ocean water was gushing in through the open window at breakneck speed. They hadn’t landed; Michael could still feel the room descending. It looked, however, as if the waves had reconnected and the room was now submerged under the hostile ocean. One of the bedside tables slid across the room, stopping only when it got wedged between the bed and a bookshelf, stopping right next to Michael. Using the solid piece of furniture as leverage, Michael pulled himself into an upright position as the water kept rushing into the room. Pouring, pouring, pouring into the room so quickly that in seconds Michael was knee-deep in ice-cold water.
Standing in the middle of his plummeting room, Ronan floating in the air just out of his grasp, Michael couldn’t understand why he was filled with a crippling fear. This was only water, there was nothing to be afraid of.
The room started to shake even more violently and his terror grew, because even though the room was rocking back and forth, pitching up, then falling at an even faster speed, he no longer moved. The water had turned to ice and had locked him into place. He tried to move his legs, break free from the icy grip, but not even his vampire strength could shatter the ice. Despite the freezing temperature, Michael felt beads of sweat race down the sides of his face, down the insides of his arms. For some reason the ocean, the water, maybe even The Well itself were all rebelling against him.
“Don’t you know that I’m one of you?!” Michael screamed.
The ice started to rise and lock itself around Michael’s legs, then his waist. He looked out the window, desperate to find a way out, anything, anyone who could come to their rescue. In the distance he saw the meadowlark, watching, staring, not coming closer, not offering any help. A cloud of smoke erupted behind the lark and raced toward the room. Michael almost cried out in joy when he realized the cloud was fog and he knew that Phaedra must have returned to save him, to fulfill the pledge that she had made to his mother when she died. But he was wrong, the fog was nothing more than fog. It didn’t evaporate and reveal a supernatural being; it didn’t offer his salvation; it was simply the result of the cold air rising from the ocean. There was nothing left for Michael to do except to try and reach his boyfriend. Ronan had the same idea.
“Michael,” Ronan said calmly; his right arm that had been dangling was now outstretched, his hand, his fingers aching to be held. “You must protect me.”
Reaching his hand out toward Ronan, Michael stretched his body as much as possible, but there were still several inches of empty air between them. “I don’t know what to do,” Michael said. “I don’t know how!”
“You will,” Ronan said. His smile was warm, his expression in stark contrast to Michael’s mask of fear. “When the time comes, love, you’ll know what to do.”
But Michael had no idea what to do. He had no idea how to save Ronan or himself or stop the ice from rising up past his neck where it now rested or make Ronan stop floating in the air, so he did the only thing he could think of, he prayed. He begged The Well to make the nightmare end. He begged for their room to return to campus and for the water to recede and for the ocean to disappear. When he opened his eyes he wasn’t sure if The Well had consented to his plea or if he had just been dreaming.
He was back in bed lying next to Ronan who was still asleep, but now safely under the covers. The rain had stopped, the room wasn’t covered in ice, and Michael could see out the windows that they were back on Archangel ground, back where they belonged. Stunned but grateful, Michael turned to face Ronan. He placed his arm over his chest and shivered not because of the cold this time, but because of the beautiful warmth that emanated from Ronan’s body. For a few seconds all he could do was stare at Ronan’s face, christened by the shadows of the night, until he knew exactly what he needed to say. “Don’t be afraid,” Michael whispered. “I’ll always be here to protect you.”
Ronan clutched Michael’s hand and smiled in his sleep. Michael felt the breath escape his lips; he knew that Ronan heard him, he knew that he believed him. And Michael finally understood his purpose.
chapter 1
Those were the first words Michael spoke when he woke up. He whispered them to himself just as he had every morning on his birthday for as long as he could remember. Unexpectedly, he felt sadness sneak into his heart as he recalled that his birthdays had always started with promise and always ended in disappointment. When he turned and saw Ronan sleeping beside him, the sadness retreated; he knew this birthday would be vastly different.
He dressed quickly, one eye on Ronan, wondering if he should wake him. The urge to fulfill tradition, however, was too strong. Even though this birthday would bear no resemblance to any other that had come before it, he still felt the need to start the day the same way he had for so many years-alone.
As he passed by the window, he paused to remember his dream. He was greatly relieved to find that the land was dry and they weren’t floating in the middle of the ocean. It had been just a dream, nothing more. Catching his reflection in the windowpane, Michael scowled.
Standing outside St. Florian’s, solitude felt different. Back home in Weeping Water he had begun every birthday by himself. The custom had started out of necessity—he didn’t have any friends—but it soon became preference. Instead of vainly anticipating a day filled with parties, good wishes, gifts from someone other than his mother and grandparents, he would start the day with a quiet stroll, contemplating the year that had passed and wondering what the future would hold. Now, his annual ritual would merely be a prelude to a day filled with fun, laughter, and, best of all, company.
Walking across the Archangel Academy campus at dawn, Michael gazed upon the collection of stone buildings that at this uninhabited hour looked like the remnants of an abandoned village, not the revered educational institution that it was, and he couldn’t believe such a picturesque setting was his home. The flat, hostile landscape of Weeping Water might have been where he grew up, but this was his home, and no matter where he traveled to, no matter where he and Ronan chose to live after they graduated, Michael would always return here. Because he considered Double A to be the place where his life began.
In front of Archangel Cathedral, Michael looked up, exhilarated as he always was by the burst of light that radiated from the large round window. He closed his eyes, accepted the church’s offering, felt his face glow, and made his annual wish. This year he didn’t wish for a future away from Weeping Water; he didn’t wish to be rescued and taken somewhere else, he no longer had to. He also didn’t ask that his future only be filled with
