at eight P.M. If I real y hustled, I might make it.
I fol owed a serpentine pathway leading away from the professor’s building, then made a sharp left and right. By my calculations, I should have spotted Harvard Square in the distance, but I didn’t. Instead, I found myself in a quadrangle of nearly deserted science buildings. I backtracked a little and tried out another right turn I’d considered. It led me right back to that science quadrangle. How could I be so lost? Desperate, I asked one of the few students I passed, and then diligently fol owed her directions. But I found myself in the science quadrangle once again. Was this another of Ezekiel’s games? Or just another unfortunate turn of events in my nightmarish life?
I heard footsteps behind me, but didn’t make much of them at first. Then I started to notice that the footsteps were matching my stride. So I took an unexpected sharp left turn as a test. The person fol owed.
I was scared. What if it was Ezekiel or Michael? I could handle pretty much anyone else. I pivoted and started running in the other direction. I could hear the person gaining on me. I had no choice. I had to fly.
Almost instantaneously, my back expanded, and my body streamlined for flight. My feet had just started to levitate, when I felt a hand pul at my foot. I struggled to kick it off, but the person was strong. I fel down to the ground on top of my pursuer.
“El ie, it’s me. It’s Michael,” he said, as if that was supposed to be a comfort.
I shoved away his outstretched hand, and pushed myself off him and onto the hard concrete of the pathway. “I can see that. Why would I want to see you?”
“You have every right to be furious with me, El ie. But it’s me—the real Michael.” He looked at me with those familiar green eyes, and it did seem as though my Michael stared out through them. But how could I be sure?
“I thought I went to Ransom Beach with the real Michael. But unfortunately, it was Ezekiel’s underling.”
Very, very gently, he reached for me. Even though it seemed a gesture of comfort, I pul ed away. It would take a lot more convincing before I’d let him touch me. “I understand, El ie. I didn’t like what I became either. Do you know how scary it is to watch yourself say and do things you’d never imagine, and be unable to stop?”
From witnessing the transformation of Professor McMaster, I knew that Michael’s words were entirely possible. I wanted it to be true. But I stil didn’t trust him. After al , he’d seemed like my Michael when we flew down the cliff to Ransom Beach—right into Ezekiel’s waiting arms. Ezekiel must have turned him the night before.
I crossed my arms, and gave him a thorough once-over. No glazed eyes, no deadened speech, but stil , I wasn’t certain. “How did you change back to yourself?”
“Last night, your parents came over to my house—to talk to my parents. It was real y late, and they didn’t know I was stil awake. So I eavesdropped on them. For some reason, hearing them talk about you snapped the connection between me and Ezekiel.”
I wanted to know what my parents had said, but assessing Michael’s truthfulness was far more critical just now.
“If you aren’t aligned with Ezekiel anymore, why are you here in Boston with him?” I asked the obvious question.
“I knew Ezekiel would find you. So I snuck out of the house and cal ed to him—pretending that I was stil in his sway. Though it was quite a trick making sure I didn’t come into physical contact with him, so he wouldn’t discover the truth. He kept saying we should hold off until you reached out to us, but I knew that he’d try to find you. He just couldn’t stay away from you.”
“Why aren’t you with him right now?”
“I knew Ezekiel wanted to meet with that professor you found—to find out what he knew and what he told you. When he went into the professor’s office, I told him that I would meet him outside afterward; Ezekiel didn’t want me in there anyway. That was my opportunity to break from him and track you down.”
“Why did he let me leave the professor’s office?”
“Ezekiel probably wanted to finish what he started—either getting information from the professor or turning him into one of his minions. I think he liked the irony of having a vampire scholar in his ranks. Anyway, he can find us again whenever he wants us.”
“How does he track us?” This question figured prominently on my big list. I needed to know how Ezekiel could find me, so I could figure out to hide from him.
“Once I started using my powers, I became like a blip on a radar screen to him, as he described it. He and I are somehow linked through our blood. That’s what he told me, anyway.”
Michael had only answered one-half of my question—the part about him. “But that doesn’t explain how he tracks me.”
He averted his eyes before responding. “You have my blood in your veins. So he can track you, too.”
I felt sick. There was nowhere to hide from Ezekiel because I’d tasted Michael’s blood and now it ran in my veins? No wonder Michael didn’t want to look me in the face when he delivered that piece of news. “Great.”
Michael paused and then pleaded with me. “Please, El ie. Give me another chance.”
I hesitated. I wanted to believe Michael, and it sickened me to think that Ezekiel had put him up to this little reunion. I didn’t want to go on this crazy, scary journey al by myself. But after everything I’d been through, I couldn’t believe him. Not without proof.
I tightened my crossed arms. “How can I be sure you’re tel ing the truth, Michael?”
“There is only one way to know for certain,” he said.
Michael was right. There was only one way.
This was no gentle kiss. This was no soft exchange of tongue and teeth. Michael didn’t deserve any tenderness or affection. I was mad at him for his betrayal, whether or not it was consciously done. I leaned over and bit him. Hard. Like a vampire.
Chapter Forty-one
