worse, and Michael thought Kano was going to transform right there and pounce on him for staring at his boyfriend. But he was wrong.
As he turned his gaze toward Jean-Paul, Nakano’s face straddled the fine line between human and vampire. The whites of his eyes remained, but his irises practically emanated a black light. His teeth vibrated and fought the urge to allow his fangs to descend, while his fingers gripped his desk so tightly that the flesh on his hands turned into a swirl of red and white. Although Michael was impressed by Nakano’s self-control, he wished he could think of something to say to let him know it wasn’t necessary. He was forced to speak, however, but only in response to a question posed to him by Professor Joubert.
“Do you believe in resurrection, Mr. Howard?” his professor asked. “Or do you think it’s merely biblical hyperbole?”
Michael didn’t want to sound flippant, but he had to speak the truth. “Sir, I’ve come to believe that anything is possible.” Stealing a quick glance outside, Michael saw that Jean-Paul was gone; the field was empty. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw through the small circular window on the classroom door that Jean-Paul had merely changed position. He was waiting in the hallway. “No matter how impossible it might sound.”
A bit surprised by Michael’s reply, Joubert smiled and slowly sat on the edge of his desk. “Spoken like a true student of the arcane.”
Before Joubert could continue to admire Michael’s tolerance for the unknown, the bell rang, and the students grabbed their books, scrambling as one determined crowd toward the door. “Read chapter three for tomorrow’s class,” Joubert shouted over the din of voices and activity. His words were barely out of his mouth and the room was suddenly empty except for Michael, Nakano, and an unlikely visitor.
“ ’ello Michael,” Jean-Paul said, his French accent still thick, his voice friendly.
“Hi,” was all Michael could muster in response, since he knew Nakano’s eyes were drilling daggers into his back.
“Eet eez good to see you again,” Jean-Paul added.
“Um, yeah, good to see you too,” Michael mumbled. “Bye.” Without looking back, Michael left. He didn’t want to know why Jean-Paul was lurking around their theology class, and he definitely didn’t want to know if his vision was going to come true. It wasn’t his problem; it was Nakano’s.
“Are you going to say ’ello to me too?” Kano asked. “Or are you just going to ignore me?”
Jean-Paul leaned against the wall, his head scraping against the arch of the doorway, his hair falling into his eyes. “Kano you ’ave become so ... teedious,” Jean-Paul sighed. “Eet eez time for you to grow up.”
Shocked, Nakano actually took a step back. Jean-Paul had become aloof lately, but not snippy. But maybe he was right? Maybe Nakano should just be happy to see him? It’s not like he had run off after Michael, nor did Michael really look that happy to see him. No, it was obvious, Jean-Paul had come to see him because he missed him and he wanted to make up for lost time. Or not.
“I ’ave come ’ere to see your professor,” Jean-Paul announced.
“Why in the world would a chauffeur need to see a theology professor?” Kano blurted.
Jean-Paul’s beautiful lips curled into a sneer filled with loathing and contempt. “Because we ’ave a lot in common. We’re both French,” Jean-Paul retorted. “And we’re both vampires.”
What?! Professor Joubert—a vampire!? The revelation shouldn’t have surprised Nakano, but it did.
Turning to the man he had always known was old, but never imagined could be ancient, Nakano asked, “Is that true?”
A slight nod of his head confirmed it. “May God strike us dead if my fellow countryman is telling a lie,” Joubert replied. After a moment of silence, he added, “Either Jean-Paul speaks the truth or once again God has proven his powers to be greatly exaggerated.”
And now the theology professor was mocking the very religion he spent hours every day teaching.
Nothing made sense any more. Nakano heard himself mumble some lame excuse that he had to leave or he’d be late for lunch, and thanks to his supernatural hearing he heard Jean-Paul laugh in response.
“I forget ’ow childeesh children can act sometimes,” he snickered.
Luckily, Nakano could get to The Forest on autopilot, so in a few seconds he was deep in the woods, away from Jean-Paul, away from his face, his smell, his stupid chauffeur outfit. All he wanted was to be with someone who didn’t think he was a jerk, someone who wouldn’t judge him for every stupid thing he’d ever done, someone he could trust. The only person who even remotely fit that description was Brania.
“We have a visitor,” she announced before Nakano even entered the cave. “How lovely.”
Ever since she had voluntarily sequestered herself in these primitive quarters, Brania’s preternatural senses had become even more heightened and her typical suspicious nature sharpened. She was constantly on guard for intruders. Or guests.
“Welcome, Kano,” she said, crossing to greet him properly. “And to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?”
Fighting the impulse to let his tears flow freely down his cheeks, Nakano replied hoarsely, “Just needed to see a friendly face I guess.”
Brania was willing to accommodate. Imogene was not.
Sitting in her coffin, her back pressed into the corner of the casket so severely the wood cut into her flesh, Imogene saw two images simultaneously, one from the present, the other from the past. Nakano was standing there in front of her talking to Brania, but he was also crouched on all fours like a wild animal ripping Penry’s throat apart with his fangs. Imogene didn’t care which image was current and which was memory, they were both real to her. And after months of doing nothing but sitting and singing and obeying, she was beginning to feel strength and courage once again invade her body, and she was determined to use them.
“Noooo!!!!”
In mid-scream, Imogene sprang from her tomb like a coil that refused to remain pressed down any longer. She flew through the air with incredible speed and landed on top of Nakano before he even had a chance to defend himself. His back crashed into the hard earth with such force that his body buckled, head and legs flying upward. Imogene used the momentum to her advantage, clinging onto his shirt to pull him close to her face, then slamming him back down onto the ground.
Unable to hide her amusement, Brania chided her ward. “Imogene! Is that any way to greet our guest?”
Poised on top of Nakano, Imogene held tightly to his shirt and pressed her knees into the sides of his stomach. She turned to Brania, her face a mask of rage. “He killed my Penry!”
Brania wished she didn’t understand the fury that was causing Imogene to act so violently; she wished she didn’t comprehend the need for revenge that was turning her into something unrecognizable, but she understood all too clearly. She was no different than Imogene, except she had learned during all the centuries she had lived how to be patient. “Yes, he did,” Brania said, her voice as calm as if she were telling Imogene a bedtime story. “But that was an unfortunate mistake.”
Imogene, however, wasn’t in the mood to be consoled. “It was no mistake!” she shrieked. She lifted Kano’s body again and slammed him down once more, his head thumping into the ground. “He wanted to kill him, and he left me for dead!”
Underneath the girl, Nakano struggled to get free.
Uninspired by Kano’s appeal, Brania stood motionless and watched him thrash about, wriggle his body as best he could, as Imogene held firm and hardly reacted to the movements underneath her. As disturbing as it was to see her daughter act so callously, so viciously, it was also amazing. Her actions were completely out of character. But then Brania felt the blood drain from her face as she realized she was wrong. Imogene was doing nothing out of the ordinary. She was merely acting like her old self.
As Nakano continued to fight for his freedom, Brania remembered how heroically Imogene had fought against her and Edwige, before Edwige ultimately won and infused the girl with her own hybrid vampire blood. She
