Suddenly I understood why Missy had been so friendly to me at the beginning of school. It was an effort by this Ezekiel to get to us through her.
And I thought I knew what he meant by the “other purposes” that Missy served.
“Did you put Missy up to the Facebook stunt?” I asked, having seen him in those flashes. Not that he’d know about them, of course.
“You showed yourself to be quite the savior in that incident, El speth. And you showed me quite a lot about yourself in the process.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Did you orchestrate that whole sickening thing?”
He sighed, as if disappointed by the inquiry. “No, El speth. I did not force Missy to perpetrate the Facebook stunt, as you have cal ed it. Missy did not act outside her own nature and she did not act at my behest. I wil admit to fostering her nature and her Facebook plan as the incident afforded me an important insight. . . . It al owed me to see how you would behave when faced with a truly soul ess act. And I saw that, while you were wil ing to sacrifice yourself to protect the potential victims of Missy’s game, you were not immune to the lure of the darkness that emanated from it.” Ezekiel smiled, evidently pleased by his remote handiwork and my reaction to his test. “But you should know that I was no puppeteer of Missy, El speth. You must have seen that she acted of her own accord—in your visions.”
Like ice, my blood froze in my veins. “How did you know about those?”
“I know what you are and what you can do. Therefore, I assume you saw how her plan unfolded, El speth.”
Michael final y spoke. “El ie, listen to what Ezekiel just said. He knows what we are and what we can do. He can help us understand who we are.”
Was this the reason that Michael was acting so deferential y toward this Ezekiel? Even if Michael believed that Ezekiel had the answers, it was no excuse for his iron grip, for his betrayal of me.
Ezekiel interjected, his tone stil becalming. “It is quite al right, Michael. I think you best release El speth from your embrace.”
As if obeying a command, Michael’s arms slackened. I faced Ezekiel alone, thoroughly exposed to his fear-someness.
Ezekiel spoke to Michael, but stared directly at me. “El speth’s reaction is perfectly understandable. She does not know who I am. She does not even know who she is. Yet. But I am very much looking forward to sharing with her the uniqueness of her—”
“I don’t need you to tel me who I am.” It was my turn to interject. Thanks to my parents, I had some understanding of my identity. Some.
“El ie, please,” Michael begged me—to listen and defer. I felt like I didn’t even know Michael. He seemed almost drugged by the very presence of this Ezekiel.
I spun around toward him. Drugged or not, how dare he? “Why should I? You’ve dragged me to Ransom Beach under false pretenses—once again. I have no reason to trust you, or him.” I was so thankful that I hadn’t shared my parents’ secrets with him.
Michael started to stammer out another objection, but Ezekiel interrupted. “Michael, of course El speth is mistrustful. Once she learns everything that you have learned, she wil undoubtedly relinquish her suspicions. She wil come to understand—as you have—that I am only here to help you both.”
Even though my instincts told me to flee, I knew I would stay. I wanted to hear Ezekiel’s explanation of my “uniqueness,” to compare it with the story my parents had told me. So I stood firm in the face of his devouring gaze, and waited. I would listen to what he had to say but I would not react.
I would take the knowledge I’d garnered from him and return to my parents—with my new information in hand. And they would help me make sense of everything; they would tel me al the details they’d withheld last night. That was my plan, anyway.
Ezekiel acknowledged my momentary acquiescence with a self-satisfied smile. It was the smile of one used to getting what he asked for.
He began. “Last night, I came upon Michael. Alone. He was scared and ful of queries, so I answered them. Much as a parent answers the pleas of his child. Because, in many ways, Michael is my child. As are you, El speth.
“You and Michael are born from the same source as me. You fly. You can read and influence the thoughts of others, through touch and blood. You know you are different from the others. Better. But what are you?
“Michael tel s me that you have resisted the label of vampire, though al the characteristics seem to fit. How right you were to resist this moniker.
The name ‘vampire’ is given by humans to beings such as ourselves—out of ignorance. You can see, of course, from whence the vampire legend sprung. The flying, the blood, the sheer incomprehensibility of our powers, would give rise to the fairy tale of the vampire.
“But you and Michael are not vampires. Nor am I. El speth, we are select beings, born to lead mankind. And I wil show you and Michael the way.”
Ezekiel paused dramatical y. I guessed that he wanted me to swoon or gush excitedly over his speech. Maybe those were the reactions he usual y received. But, in truth, it sounded like the story my parents had told me the night before. Minus the bit about leading mankind. Yet that bit was beginning to give me a good sense of who Ezekiel was. He was sounding more and more like an unrepentant fal en angel, and I was getting more and more frightened.
As Ezekiel waited for my response, he stared into my eyes. “Your parents have told you a different tale about your origin,” he final y said. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“It is certainly not as if they told me. It has been years since I’ve had contact with your parents, and they have no idea that I’ve been in Til inghast. I know that they’ve told you a different tale about your origins because I have had centuries—no, mil ennia—of experience reading faces. I can see that you are not surprised by what I am sharing with you. Your parents are the only ones who could have told you part of this tale.”
“Her parents?” Michael asked, as if jolting awake from his trance.
Ezekiel turned to him. “El speth hasn’t told you?”
“No,” Michael said slowly.
“I had planned on tel ing you, Michael. Before you sprung al this on me,” I said defensively. I didn’t know why I felt the need to justify myself to him, after the stunt he pul ed.
“Be wary of what Hananel and Daniel tel you, El speth,” Ezekiel said. “After al , they are not your real parents.”
Hananel. That was what Michael’s mother had cal ed my mom. “Of course they’re my real parents.”
“To be sure, they have raised you since your birth. From the looks of you, my dear, they have performed that role wonderful y. But Hananel and Daniel played no hand in conceiving you, carrying you, or birthing you.”
“You’re lying.”
He sighed, as if it pained him to bring me such distressing news. “I wish I were lying, my dear El speth. But you see, I was there on the day of your birth. And neither Hananel nor Daniel are your parents.”
I needed to know for certain if he was tel ing the truth. Even though I shivered at the thought of getting close to Ezekiel, I needed to touch him. I needed to see inside his mind.
I wondered if he would al ow it. Then I remembered my dad’s description of the fal en angels’ powers of persuasion and realized that Ezekiel was probably trying to gain control over my mind. Just as he’d seemingly done to Michael. Ezekiel was continuing to use that sing-song voice, certain that he was influencing me.
I saw my opportunity. Acting as if he swayed me, I approached him.
“There have always been inconsistencies in their stories of my birth, discrepancies that never made sense,” I said.