Fallen Angel Part 9

The girl lowered her hands. At first, all I could see was the welt on her cheek from a hard slap and a long, b.l.o.o.d.y scratch on her arm, undoubtedly from a fingernail. Only then did I realize that the girl was Piper.

I almost left. Another thankless encounter with Piper wasn't what I needed. And anyway, it was my special night with Michael. But then I smelled a strong metallic odor, and I realized that I couldn't leave, even if I tried. The smell was Piper's blood, welling up from the deep scratch on her arm. It mingled with the distinctive smell of someone else's blood. Maybe the blood of the other person she'd fought with. How I could detect and discern the presence of two distinct blood scents was beyond me.

More than anything in the world, I wanted to touch and taste the blood, and not just because I sought information about her and Missy's scheme. My instinct compelled me to do it. No matter the promise that Michael and I made about not tasting anyone else's blood.

As I reached into my purse for a tissue, I asked her, "Who did this to you?"

"It doesn't matter," she said with a sob.

"Of course it matters, Piper."

Tissue in hand, I leaned forward as if to dab her wound clean. As I did so, I touched some of the blood from her wound with my fingertip. Then I turned away slightly-ostensibly to reach for another tissue from my purse-and licked it.

The blood burned like liquor as it coursed down my throat and made me woozy immediately. Then two separate flashes struck. Their force nearly knocked me off my heels, and I reached for the wall to steady myself. Stronger than any flashes I'd received from anyone but Michael, they told me everything I wanted to know. And much, much more that I didn't want to know.

Chapter Twenty-four.

Without a word to Piper, I kicked off my shoes and carried them with me as I ran back down the hall. I didn't have a spare second to make excuses to Piper, and she didn't deserve them. I needed every moment to get to the gym and stop the figurative bloodshed.

The hall seemed to have doubled in size since I walked down it a few short minutes before, like some hazy, frustrating dream. I longed to fly down the hall, but had to rely on my gangly legs to propel me. The slower gait gave me all too much time to think about the malevolent images I'd culled from the blood. And it gave me too much time to think of Vanessa, Missy and Piper's victim.

Why hadn't we thought of Vanessa? This summer, she'd been on the outs with the group for trying to unseat Missy from her veritable throne. Since then, Vanessa had been relegated to the "reject" lunch table, below Missy's notice. Michael and I had believed that Missy had deemed the cafeteria demotion adequate punishment for whatever wrong Vanessa had inflected on Missy. Not so.

The first flash from Piper told me that, just before Vanessa would be crowned Fall Queen, every single Tillinghast junior and senior would receive an email on their cells inviting them to be Vanessa's Facebook friend. The perfectly timed invitation would be irresistible to nearly everyone at the dance, who presumably would accept and be transferred immediately to Vanessa's page. There, via a dummy account, Missy and Piper had posted not only a montage of horrific drunken photos of Vanessa but-worse-entries purportedly from Vanessa that revealed a litany of awful, humiliating secrets about many of Tillinghast's juniors and seniors. It wasn't normal dirt in those entries, but terrible things like cheating and hidden pregnancies and familial meltdowns. The whole plan was designed to disgrace Vanessa and, through her supposed revelation of so many people's closest-kept secrets, make her the object of everyone's hatred. The only redeeming second of the flash was the disgust Piper felt for partic.i.p.ating in it. Not that her distaste stopped her, mind you.

But it was the second flash that transmitted a sense of evil so palpable that I felt sick. The flash seemed to come from Missy, the source of the other blood. Through her eyes, I saw her in a tight embrace with some guy. Because she had her head nestled on his shoulder, I couldn't see the guy's face, just the fine black fabric of his suit jacket. But I could hear his voice. In the most enticing whisper imaginable, he told her that she was beautiful and deserved the Fall Queen crown more than anyone in the world. Though his words sounded like innocent flattery, somehow they had spurred Missy on to this plan and made her want to bathe Vanessa in metaphorical blood at the moment of her crowning. I saw-in her soul, it seemed-a desire for wickedness and destruction worse than my worst nightmares.

Finally, finally, I reached the gym door. I pulled it open and ran over to Michael, who was still leaning up against the same spot on the wall. I struggled to speak; it was amazing how running tired me out so quickly, when I could fly for hours with ease. "I know what Missy and Piper are going to do."

Gaping at my disheveled state, he grabbed me by the shoulders. "Are you okay?"

I brushed aside his hands. "I'm fine. Michael, I don't have much time. Have they announced the Fall Queen yet?"

"No, Vanessa and Keith are still standing over there. I think the crowning ceremony is supposed to start in a few minutes."

Still panting, I said, "Good, I still have time to stop it. Or defuse it, at least."

"Defuse? As in a bomb?" From the terrified look on his face, I saw that he thought-by my unfortunate choice of the word "defuse"-I meant something much worse.

"Don't worry. It's not a literal bomb, but it's still really awful."

I wanted-no, needed-to save Vanessa and all the other kids from the virtual bloodbath about to rain down on them. And there was only one way to do it in the time I had available. To sacrifice myself by naming myself as the creator of the Facebook entries and deem them fiction. To point the finger at anyone else as the architect of this scheme left too much room for denial-and possible belief by the viewers in the horrific stories they'd see on the Facebook page. I couldn't let that happen.

I didn't have enough time to explain my intentions to Michael before the room started buzzing with cell phones containing Facebook invitations from Vanessa. Leaning down, I quickly strapped my shoes back on. I reached into my purse and slid out my brush and lipstick. As Michael stared incredulously, I hurriedly fixed my hair and makeup. If I was going down like a phoenix into the ashes, I wanted to look presentable-even good-doing it.

I gave Michael a kiss, and whispered, "I'm so sorry that I'm about to ruin our night."

Turning toward the stage, I heard him call out, "Ellie, what's going on?"

I could hear the apprehension in his voice, but I couldn't look at him. His concern would only make me hesitate, and I couldn't afford to falter.

Squaring my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I walked to the front of the gym. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Vanessa and Keith preparing to go on stage. Ignoring them as best I could, I started up the stairs. A couple of kids and at least one teacher tried to discourage me. But I just smiled and plowed ahead.

Once on stage, I searched around for the mike. The white-knuckled student council president held it tightly in his hand as he reviewed the note cards for his speech. I sidled up to him and said, ever so sweetly, "Can I borrow that for a minute?"

Surprised at the request, he said, "Um, I'm about to make a speech."

Smiling agreeably, I said, "I know. I just have to make a quick announcement first."

"Sure," he said with a smile and handed me the mike.

"Thanks so much. You can have it back in a second, I promise."

Mike in hand, I stared out at the crowd. My self-a.s.surance-real and pretend-left me as I surveyed the nearly two hundred kids on the dance floor. But I couldn't succ.u.mb to my fears; I had to move forward. I was moved by a compulsion that was more powerful than anything I had ever felt. Even my desire for Michael.

I cleared my throat and said, "Hi. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Ellie Faneuil."

Even though the kids had stopped dancing, they continued to mill around and talk. They appeared as uninterested and unimpressed with the Fall Queen and King crowning ceremony as Michael. I half-waved and tapped the mike. A loud screech reverberated from the speakers, and suddenly I had everyone's attention.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your night. In a few minutes, you will all receive a Facebook invitation from Vanessa Moore, our Fall Queen. If you accept the invitation, you will be directed to a Facebook page that contains several pictures that seem to be of Vanessa and some posts allegedly by her hand. But the page is complete fiction. The pictures are Photoshopped, and the entries are made up." I paused; the next words stuck in my throat. "I created the entire thing."

In the crowd, I saw Ruth's face staring up at me in disbelief. The magnitude of my actions. .h.i.t me, and my voice cracked. "I want to apologize to Vanessa and everyone else named on the Facebook page. Even though I know none of you will ever be able to forgive me."

Before I handed the mike back to a stunned student council president, I glanced out at the crowd. There, at the center, I saw Missy, murderously furious that her plan had been thwarted. At her side stood a guy-a blond, good-looking guy who had to be her date. A guy who had to be the shadowy Zeke from the flashes.

Something about him seemed familiar, and not just from the visions I'd gotten about him. In the split second before I left the stage, I looked at little closer, and realized that he was the guy from the coffee shop. He noticed my stare, and smiled that strange, bemused smile of his. As if he'd expected me to be up there on that stage all along.

I dropped the mike and ran.

Chapter Twenty-five.

Over the next few days, darkness seeped into my soul.

Maybe it came from the hatred of me I saw in my cla.s.smates' eyes and minds. When I returned from my three-day suspension for my Facebook prank, as it was dubbed by the administration, I'd become the object of loathing for every student at Tillinghast Upper High School. My locker was vandalized, my homework destroyed before it reached the teachers' hands, my face spit upon. G.o.d forbid that I accidentally touched someone; the abhorrence seared my fingertips. But I could speak not a word in my own defense: I conceded that right on the gym stage.

Maybe the darkness came from the evil that I'd witnessed in Missy's heart, or the blood I'd sampled from her via Piper. In the flash from her blood, I saw the desire for such unspeakable acts that I couldn't allow myself to revisit the images. It was like becoming a character in one of Hieronymus Bosch's paintings of h.e.l.l.

I didn't know the source of the darkness. I knew only that the Good Samaritan compulsion all but disappeared the night of the dance. Looking back, I had no idea why I did what I did. Once I'd realized that I had the capacity to spare all those kids all that pain, I just had to take the fall. Was this part of who I was? It certainly didn't sound like the impulse of a vampire. But really, what did it solve, my taking the fall? Although it wouldn't have fixed anything to point the finger at Missy.

Regardless, all that had vanished. I filled the void left in its wake with me and Michael.

Ruth hadn't spoken to me since the dance, and I wasn't sure why. Since I was certain that she must know that I didn't create the Facebook page, I could only guess that she was furious that I'd ruined her dream night. I couldn't even tell her why. Whatever her reason, her abandonment of me made my own submission to the darkness easier. It was one less tie to my old self.

The only ones who didn't detest me outright were Piper and Missy, who were uniform in their disbelief and confusion even though they were no longer in league as friends. Instead of hating me, they seemed to be frightened of me. And with my urge to act charitably gone, I certainly felt no impulse to reach out toward Piper and encourage her better nature.

Only Michael stood by my side, even though part of him wished that I'd tell the truth about Missy's act. Only he understood what I had done and why. The knowledge brought us closer. So close that there was no longer any room for anyone else.

By day, Michael and I strode down the Tillinghast school hallways impervious to everyone but ourselves; I felt powerful in a way I'd never experienced. By night, we flew through the skies like G.o.ds. Like the vampires that I guessed we were. We surrendered to each other. And to the blood.

"Come on," I urged Michael. Where he used to push me along, I now dared him to follow me. The darkness had filled me with a recklessness I'd never before experienced. I now acted with abandon-without concern for anyone other than Michael.

He didn't move.

"Come on," I said again.

"Are you sure there's no one inside?" Michael didn't sound convinced.

"Positive. I can't sense anyone." Ever since I'd submitted to my powers, my skills had grown. I could scan a building or a room to discover how many people were present. With certainty, I knew the charming little townhouse, which dated from the eighteen hundreds, was empty.

Without waiting for Michael's agreement, I slid open the third-floor window and flew inside. Narrowly missing a stack of boxes, I landed hard on the rickety wooden floor. Another thud ensued, and I knew Michael had followed. My eyes adjusted to the pitch-blackness and I saw a clear path to the attic staircase. I took Michael's hand and led him downstairs.

We'd broken into Rose's, the nicest restaurant in town, the one that all the undergrads dragged their moms and dads to on parents' weekend. It was our two-month anniversary, and Michael wanted to celebrate with a really special dinner even though my parents had grounded me indefinitely. He had scouted out the restaurant during the day to crystallize his plan.

After we got to the ground floor, he directed me to a private room that contained a table for two, as well as a fireplace, a few scattered club chairs, and a couch upholstered in ivory damask. He seated me in one of the chairs and lit the silver candelabras at the table's center and on the mantel. After which he disappeared into the kitchen.

Within a few minutes, Michael returned bearing a large waiter's tray. Delicious aromas wafted from the silver-lidded plates on top. With a flourish, he unfolded a linen napkin and laid it in my lap. Then he placed before me a vase br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the restaurant's signature variegated red roses. Finally, he brought the two plates to the table. In a grand gesture, he lifted the lids simultaneously, revealing lobster with asparagus and risotto, dishes that he'd ordered earlier that day. My favorite.

Before he sat down, he knelt next to me and whispered in my ear, "Happy anniversary." We tucked into dinner, talking and laughing-even giggling-as if we were any normal couple. But all the while, we knew that it was only playacting. Michael and I were anything but normal.

After we finished the last bites of a molten chocolate cake, I stood up and stretched out my hand to Michael. He rose, and I led him to the couch facing the fireplace. We hadn't dared light a fire-the chimney smoke would be a giveaway-but we had no need. We could see each other well enough in the dim candlelight; we were used to much less light.

I lay down on the couch and motioned for him to join me. Lowering himself down, he molded his body to mine. Our lips rested up against each other, and for a long moment, we just breathed each other's breath. Through his breath, I experienced every aspect of his day as if I'd been with him the entire time. He did the same. We had no need for words.

Then I kissed him. At first, the sensation was simple, pure pleasure. My lips, his lips, our lips, our tongues. In time, the bloodl.u.s.t began to build, the same urge we first experienced at the fateful Fall Dance. But we no longer fought it. We yielded to its power.

I ran my tongue along his teeth at the same moment he ran his tongue against mine. Tiny droplets emerged on the tips of our tongue, and our blood mingled. Intense waves of physical delight washed over us. Then, like a slow burn that becomes more intense over time, the images came. I saw Michael and myself with wide swaths of light at our backs and letters of light emblazoned on our chests. I saw us flying through places and times I could not identify or comprehend. I saw us battling and helping and fighting and saving. Much as I didn't understand who or what we were, I didn't comprehend many of the images; indeed most of them seemed vaguely futuristic. Yet I reveled in them.

The visions and the pleasure slowly receded. I lay in Michael's arms, peaceful and content; we never discussed the images, and we rarely talked about our natures. But I knew that, from the instant I awoke until nightfall of the next day, I would wait for this moment. I lived in-and for-it. As did Michael. We had become addicted to each other's blood.

Chapter Twenty-six.

The next night, I stared at the clock. The hands seemed frozen at 11:50. I prayed and prayed for them to move. I desperately wanted that minute hand to hit the eleven and the twelve. Only then, only at midnight, could I rise from my bed and fly out to meet Michael. I didn't think I could hold off the craving-for Michael and the blood-a minute past twelve.

My countdown had started as soon as I woke up that morning. Every day progressed that way now. As I got ready for school, as I sat in cla.s.s, as I walked alone down the hallways trying hard to ignore the hateful stares, as I sat at dinner with my parents, I thought about my upcoming night with Michael. Knowing that the sweet release was only hours away made the daytime misery of school bearable.

The clock's hands finally joined at the twelve. Midnight. I wanted to leap from my bed, but instead I peeled back my quilt quietly, careful not to rustle the sheets. After I lowered my feet to the floor, I stuffed the bed with a blanket and then tiptoed across the notoriously creaky floorboards. I carefully modulated every step I took and every move I made to minimize noise; I didn't want to risk awakening my sleeping parents.

I made it across the floor to my window with only a modic.u.m of sound. Then I paused to listen for any stirrings from my parents. The house was silent.

Bit by bit, I opened the window. Even my gentle efforts caused the ancient window sash to groan. I winced and forced myself to wait a moment before pus.h.i.+ng it up the rest of the way. Part of me wondered why I cared so much about my parents catching me. Most of the time I didn't, which was probably one reason I'd never mentioned to Michael that conversation between our parents that I had overheard. My powers had grown such that my mom and dad couldn't stop me from meeting Michael, no matter what tactic they tried. Yet, I guessed that enough of the old Ellie remained to make me protective of my parents. More specifically, I guessed that I wanted to protect them from me, from the vampire, or whatever it was, that I'd become.

Kneeling on the window seat, I created an opening wide enough to slip my body through. I planned on closing it once I made it into the nighttime air, as nothing would awaken my parents quicker than a cold blast. I worked my head, arms, and torso through the aperture and was just about to slide my legs through when I felt a hard tug on my ankle. For a second, I thought that my leg had gotten tangled in one of the blankets folded on my window seat. I shook my leg a little, trying to loosen it from the blanket. But the grasp only tightened.

I froze. The blanket felt distinctly like a hand.

Part of me wanted to just kick my leg loose and fly off, but I knew I couldn't. I had to face him or her. Or worse, I suspected, them them. Terrified, I slowly slid my body back through the window opening. I delayed sliding my head through until the very last second.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to turn around. There my parents sat, looking oddly vulnerable in their pajamas. My dad settled on the window seat-his hands must have been the ones to pull at me-while my mom perched on my bed. Right on top of the blanket I'd stuffed it with, as a matter of fact. We stared at one another in complete silence. I didn't know what to say or do, and they didn't seem to either.

"Just where do you think you are going, Ellspeth?" my dad asked, breaking the silence. His tone sounded hurt, and he was using the formal "Ellspeth."

"Nowhere," I whispered.

"Does this 'nowhere' include meeting Michael?" my mom asked. Her voice bore none of the soft, injured qualities of my dad's. She was furious.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I sounded unconvincing, even to my own ears.

"We may be trusting, Ellspeth, but we're not fools," she said.

I didn't know how to respond. Obviously I was trying to sneak out, although I hoped they hadn't witnessed the flying piece. I had no idea what they knew or for how long they had been aware of my nocturnal activities. Given that I had no desire to educate them about the details if they were blissfully unaware, I kept quiet.

"Ellspeth, allow me to make clear to you what seems very apparent to your mother and me." My dad's tone started to match my mom's-less hurt and more angry.

"All right," I said.

"We have grounded you for that Facebook incident, which mystifies your mother and me. But you still want to see Michael. So you two thought you'd sneak out of your respective houses late at night and rendezvous somewhere. Am I right?"

I wondered whether I should just cop to my father's tale. After all, his theory was pretty close to reality, and it was far less d.a.m.ning than the full truth. Plus, I could feel the need for Michael's blood pulsating through me. Maybe if I just came clean, they would leave me alone, and I could still meet Michael. Even now, Michael was my focus.

As I considered my response, my mom interjected, "Is Michael waiting for you out in the yard?"

"No," I practically shrieked. Michael and I had planned on meeting in town. But I was late, and I couldn't take the chance that he'd come to my house looking for me. And I absolutely couldn't risk my mom peering out the window for him, only to witness him flying by in search of me.

"Do you admit that you made arrangements to meet him somewhere? Just not here?"

"Yes."

My dad shook his head. "Ellspeth, we are so disappointed in you. This behavior is so uncharacteristic for the daughter we've raised and loved." He looked over at my mother, who nodded in encouragement. "We can't help but think that Michael is somehow influencing your actions. For your own protection, we have decided to ban you from seeing Michael."

"No!" I cried out.