owing the professor to divulge the truth behind the vampire legends; keeping the myth alive was one of his most useful weapons. But Ezekiel needed the professor, and he knew that this link between vampires and angels—paired with his formidable powers of persuasion—would sway Professor McMaster toward the darkness.
And away from the light of helping me.
As I stood by helplessly, Ezekiel continued with his campaign to procure the professor.
“As I was saying, a most fascinating case presented itself in Til inghast, Maine. One winter in the late 1800s, five of the fourteen children of a prominent farming family, the Stuckleys, suffered from tuberculosis. The family patriarch, Ezra, witnessed strange beings hovering around the first four of these five children on the eves of their deaths. So he watched over his pitiable fifth child, determined that these beings would not torment his sweet Honour. Unfortunately, one evening, he fel asleep during his vigil. He awoke to the horrific sight of a winged being drinking from the neck of his poor dying Honour—drinking her blood, that is. The creature fled when Ezra discovered him, but it was too late for Honour. You see, Professor, the creature was no vampire. It was one of the fal en angels I mentioned, cal ed Daniel. But even angels have an insatiable thirst for blood. Hence, the legend.”
I felt sick. My parents had mentioned an earlier visit to Til inghast. Could they have been involved in this Stuckley incident? I knew firsthand the powerful lure of blood. Or was Ezekiel just baiting me? More than likely, my parents had been there, trying to help bring the dying over to God.
As Professor McMaster listened to this nugget of history, his expression changed from mere excitement to utter devotion, and I knew Ezekiel had him. Watching as Ezekiel utilized his skil s on the professor made me unexpectedly sympathetic to Michael. Ezekiel’s talents were almost irresistible—to anyone but me, it seemed. Maybe Michael was more susceptible than I. Maybe his betrayal of me wasn’t a matter of free wil .
Witnessing this sick, soul-sucking process, a critical question formed in my mind. Why would Ezekiel go to al this trouble of turning the professor? Why wouldn’t he just persuade me—or, better yet, force me—to join his ranks? Suddenly the words of the girl from the courtyard came to me, and I realized that the answer lay in the question itself. Ezekiel went to al this trouble because he couldn’t force me to align with him. Unlike Michael, I had to choose Ezekiel.
This compel ed Ezekiel to take desperate measures. He had to close down al avenues of escape—my parents and Ruth—and al pathways to information about my identity. He had to remind me constantly of his presence and power by using the tricks I witnessed over the past day. He had to leave me with one choice only: him.
Yet Ezekiel unwittingly tipped his hand through these actions. By trying to shut down my access to information about my nature, he told me just how important this information was to my salvation. Why else would he go to such lengths to keep it from me? For about the mil ionth time, I wished that my parents had told me everything.
But they hadn’t. I would have to keep seeking out answers about my identity and purpose on my own— although I knew that Ezekiel would fol ow me wherever I went. Yet somehow, his actions didn’t scare me off my quest—as he undoubtedly intended—but made me more determined than ever to embark on it. Even if it meant daring to use Ezekiel’s own games against him to gain time and knowledge.
So I mustered up my courage and said, “Professor McMaster, Mr. Ezekiel, I’m so sorry to interrupt this captivating conversation. But I have to go.”
“So soon?” Ezekiel asked with that ever-present sneer. As if he knew what I was up to.
“Unfortunately, yes.” I turned to the professor. “Would you mind walking me to the door? It looks a bit like Fort Knox.”
Professor McMaster tore his eyes away from Ezekiel reluctantly and said, “Yes, yes, Miss Faneuil.”
I fol owed the now-spel bound professor to the door. Although I could feel Ezekiel’s eyes boring into my back, I didn’t risk a final glance at him.
But Ezekiel wouldn’t let me leave without a good-bye. And more. “Farewel , El speth. Give my best to Hananel and Daniel. If you risk a visit home, that is.”
I needed to get out of that room. I could feel the tentacles of Ezekiel’s evil start to wrap around me.
Slowly, so slowly I thought I would scream, the professor painstakingly undid each lock. When he finished, I touched him on the hand, seemingly out of gratitude. As I did, I looked at him directly in the eyes, and wil ed him to forget about any information he might have gathered for me.
Particularly anything he might know about this Professor Barr from Oxford that the Harvard student had mentioned. I prayed that the professor hadn’t told Ezekiel anything already.
I said, “Thank you so much for your help, Professor McMaster. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t know more about my situation. Or anyone who could assist me.”
When Professor McMaster answered, his voice sounded dazed from Ezekiel’s efforts. “Yes, it is unfortunate, Miss Faneuil. But you are a smart young woman, and I am certain you wil find your way.”
Brushing up against his hand one last time, I scanned his thoughts and saw that the professor’s mind was curiously blank. Had Ezekiel wiped it clean? Had I?
Racing down the hal away from the horror of Ezekiel, I heard Professor McMaster close his office door and then bolt al his locks. I wondered why he bothered. The professor had instal ed al those locks to keep out the malevolent creatures he studied, but now he had locked himself in with evil itself.
Chapter Forty
I ran as fast as I could down the two flights of stairs to the building’s exit. Only fear of detection by the remaining students or teachers prevented me from actual y flying down. Once I reached the main floor, I thrust open the heavy wooden doors and breathed the cold nighttime air, as if I’d been saved from drowning.
The evening sky had turned from dark to pitch-black. The neighboring buildings and businesses had closed, eliminating a major source of light. I couldn’t see a streetlamp anywhere. Even with my unusual y sharp eyesight, I found the odd, shadowy landscape hard to make out.
Stil , I was pretty sure of the route back to Harvard Square, where I could pick up the T to Logan Airport. It seemed that my next step must be meeting with this Professor Barr in London. I didn’t think I could just phone the scholar up and ask my questions without being considered a kook or a crank. Anyway, where else could I go?
If my experiment had worked on Professor McMaster, I needed to take advantage of my smal lead on Ezekiel and get the next flight to London. I had checked the schedule already and knew that a British Airways flight took off
