Unafraid

Ciaran wanted to do was make sure the headmaster knew that he had put his trust in the right person and that Ciaran could deliver as promised. The more Ciaran tried to fight against going to see David, the quicker he ran.

Taking a shortcut from St. Albert’s, Ciaran came around the back of David’s office. There was only a light dusting of snow on the ground, so while his footprints were recorded, they made no sound. Just as he was about to turn the corner and move along the front of the building, where he’d be in plain sight of anyone entering or exiting the Archangel Academy gate, Ciaran noticed something strange partially buried in the snow.

He bent down and saw a black feather, jutting out from a mound of white powder. Not that strange, but for some reason he was drawn to inspect it further. Picking it up he expected it to be an inch or two in length, probably a loose feather from a crow’s wing. He never expected it to be several feet in length and almost a foot wide. The thing was huge and had definitely not fallen from a crow.

Tracing his fingers along one side of the feather, Ciaran couldn’t believe how soft it was to the touch. It couldn’t possibly be real; it had to be fake, part of a costume, part of somebody’s get up for the Tri-Centennial Celebration. That’s what he thought until he saw the dried droplets of blood clinging to the edges near the end of the feather, the part that had once nestled against skin. Whatever creature this feather had once belonged to had been in a fight.

Ciaran look around to see if the bird was nearby, but he couldn’t see anything on the ground except snow. He was about to start digging to see if the animal or its nest had been covered by the snowfall, but his curiosity was interrupted by voices. Looking up he realized he was crouched just below a window, and the voices were coming from David’s office. He was still curious, but no longer about the bird and its lost feather.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Ronan was my ... my ...” Morgandy stuttered, his voice travelling in an angry staccato rhythm just over Ciaran’s head.

“I believe the word you’re choking on is boyfriend, ” David replied.

Was that David? His voice was off. Maybe it was because Ciaran wasn’t looking him in the eyes, he wasn’t in his magnetic presence, so he could hear the sound for what it truly was. It wasn’t that different; it was still deep, commanding, imperious, but underneath all that was something Ciaran had never noticed before: anxiety. David didn’t sound like he was upset with Morgandy. It was more like he was gravely concerned about something else. Ciaran knew that he would only be able to determine what it truly meant if he continued to listen.

“And I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t necessary for you to know,” David replied. There it was again. His voice was a little strained, the cadence of his speech a little quicker than normal. The headmaster might be addressing Morgandy, but there was someone else on his mind.

“Not necessary?!” Morgandy cried. “This is my life you’re talking about! I have every right to know, and it wasn’t your decision to make!”

Whoa! Morgandy must be certifiable. Nobody talked to David like that, not without serious repercussions. It took a few seconds, but it came. Ciaran heard the sound before he saw the silver decanter crash through the window, and he had just enough time to raise his arms to shield his face and eyes before the shards of glass started to shower down upon him.

While flying through the air, the decanter twirled on its side, and just as it began its descent the top detached from the long, swan-like neck and flew in the opposite direction, landing near the entrance to The Forest. The decanter itself continued to twist in the air, its contents spilling out from its spout like a lasso of blood. Crimson drops decorated the side of the building, the snow, even Ciaran’s body until the decanter finally landed on an embankment, blood pouring from its mouth, turning the snow pink, and burrowing into the hungry earth.

Then there was silence, no sound, no voices, nothing. Ciaran stood still so he wouldn’t make a noise, wouldn’t step on a piece of glass from the shattered window. He saw that his jacket and hands were speckled with blood, but even in his frozen position he was able to see that he hadn’t been cut.

That was a relief. Then again maybe not. With two vampires a few feet away, he wasn’t exactly comforted to know that he was stained with blood. Ciaran’s discomfort only grew when David spoke again and he noticed that the timbre of his voice was even more unrecognizable. What the hell was wrong with the headmaster?

“Your past was destroyed by the cruel hands of time,” David growled. “And time is an evil mistress! She lurks, she waits, but she never disappears! Never! She always comes back, and she always comes back wanting revenge!”

Time is an evil mistress out for revenge? David must be reading one of Ronan’s potboilers.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Morgandy asked, rather impudently. “Time had nothing to do with my losing my memory. It was taken from me by that Well.”

Another eerie silence passed, and Ciaran imagined that David was either searching for the right word or something else to fling out the window. “Yes, yes, of course, I know that The Well has been cruel to you,” David rambled.

“And so have you.”

Oh okay. Now Ciaran understood. Morgandy was a vampire with a death wish. Why else would he keep attacking David if he didn’t want him to strike back? How stupid could he be? Didn’t he know how powerful David was, how incredibly strong, unpredictable, and evil? If all that was true—and Ciaran knew that it was—then wasn’t he even stupider than Morgandy? The urge to flee, to run back to the safety of St. Albert’s, was overwhelming, but no, he must have come here for a reason. That’s right, Ciaran, treat this like a routine experiment, wait it out, wait for the result, and maybe you’ll finally be able to comprehend what is happening.

“How dare you speak to me in that tone!” David bellowed.

“Then don’t talk to me like I’m a fool! Like I’m some human!! ” Morgandy spat back, his voice even deeper and more repugnant than David’s. “You told me when you found me wandering through the back alleys of London, filthy, alone, feasting on sewer rats to stay alive that you were my salvation!”

“I am your salvation,” David whispered, his voice hoarse, strained like it was about to snap.

“Then start acting like it!” Morgandy howled. “Stop forcing me to take on these stupid roles... .

Saoirse’s boyfriend, where did that get me? Nothing but a waste of time.”

“Do not question me!”

Ciaran seriously thought he was going to have a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or be killed. David was breathing so heavily that when Ciaran looked up he was certain that he would find David gazing down at him from the window, but no one was there. Even still Ciaran could hear David panting, struggling to control his breathing. Was this the real David? A frightened man instead of a frightening ruler?

“I’m not an idiot, David! I know that you didn’t stumble upon me in London accidentally,” Morgandy stated. “I know that somehow we were partners before that damned Well wiped my memory clean. Why don’t you just admit it?!”

This time when Ciaran heard the crash he knew nothing was going to fly out the window because he felt the side of the building shake. Whatever David had hurled against the wall, it hit low to the floor, and the vibration sent Ciaran heaving forward, his hands slamming into the ground, a jagged piece of glass piercing the fleshy part of his left hand between his forefinger and his thumb. “Ahhh!” Ciaran cried. The only thing that saved him from being heard was that David cried even louder.

“YES!!! We were working together!” David admitted, his voice positively tremulous. “You were destined to be The Guardian of The Well, but you were also destined to be its destroyer.”

“So you used me,” Morgandy replied, his tone more a statement than a question.

“I guided you after you came to me!” David corrected. “After you begged me for my help! We are kindred spirits, you and I, of the same mind, and so few ... SO FEW understand our desire, our destiny!”

“Then let’s destroy it once and for all!” Morgandy shouted.

“It will be destroyed!” David declared. “Together our ranks will find The Well, obliterate it, and celebrate the end of all water vampires!”

Ciaran couldn’t stop shaking. None of this was new, not really, so then why was he acting as if he was learning it for the first time? Sure, hearing Morgandy possessed with vengeance was startling, but Ciaran had known what David’s intentions were all along, and until now he had been willing to help him with his plan. Mouth agape, he fell back against the cold stone wall. What in God’s name am I doing?