“And you suppose they will survive if they stay with me?” Amory’s voice did not lose the sweet, soft tone, but his question was valid.
“They have to. This is a miracle, Amory, an unbelievable miracle. They have to survive for the sake of our people,” Angelica stood, walking to Amory and putting her free hand against his face.
Amory looked deeply into Angelica’s lavender eyes and knew that she was right. The hope he had lost so many years ago was suddenly ignited again by these two seemingly impossible infants. The children continued to sleep in their arms, but made little noises only newborn babies did, oblivious to their surroundings, innocent of the world they were entering.
“Then we cannot keep them together, Annie. They cannot have anything to do with each other if we hope to keep them alive.” Amory looked back at the little girl, already the spitting image of her mother. She opened her eyes at the sound of his louder voice and gazed up at him. She did not cry; she only stared back at the man now responsible for her future.
“Agreed,” Angelica nodded with resolve. “Then we will leave now.”
She covered the little boy again with his blue, fleece blanket and leaned over to kiss the girl on the forehead. The baby lifted her mouth to the human contact, looking for a bottle.
“I don’t think I remember how to do this,” Amory was suddenly swept with a different kind of fear as he realized the child, although necessary to the cause recalled in the old man’s mind, had needs of her own; needs that a lonely bachelor was extremely ill-equipped to provide for.
“I have no doubt that you’ll figure it out,” Angelica reached for Amory’s face again, offering an encouraging smile before kissing him on the lips.
“Where will you go?” he asked her as she walked towards the front door, that she had only just entered.
“Not home,” she said sadly. “You?”
“I have no choice but to stay here,” Amory said with all the malice he was capable of.
“Then what will you do with the child?” The fear in Angelica’s voice was unmistakable. She had made a choice in bringing the children to Amory, and it was too late to change her mind, but regret flooded her veins when she realized the danger she had put all of them in.
“I have a dear friend here that will help me, a human friend. She is young but immeasurably smart and capable.” A sly grin crossed Amory’s face; he felt confident in his plan.
“Ah. You mean she is in love with you,” Angelica watched the embarrassment color her friend’s face, but he didn’t respond; no matter how long the man lived, he stayed humble and private. “I will contact you when we have settled somewhere.”
She turned to leave, opening the door and looking out across the deserted neighborhood street.
“Angelica, these children are our only hope,” Amory said quickly with more passion than he had felt in almost a century.
“I know,” she replied with determination.
“Annie, wait. Please know,” his voice broke with emotion, “please know what they mean to me.”
“I know that too,” Angelica did know, but it was with a sadder determination that she responded.
The man watched his friend carefully load the child back into the black sedan. Their departure was bittersweet, tearing at his determination to keep these children alive under any circumstance and his unwillingness to ever be separated from them again.
If this plan, this plan of survival born in the midnight hours were to work, his resolve would have to be strong. Magic swirled around him, as he watched her twin brother be driven away to safety, not knowing when the next time the siblings would meet.
He looked down at the little girl, wrapped in pink and sleeping again and smiled. There was hope again for his people. There was something worth living for, worth fighting for. And she was the key to it all. She just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter One
“Well, here we go,” I said softly to myself. I took a big breath and stepped out of the car. I gave a cautious wave to Aunt Syl as I watched her drive away. She waved back enthusiastically. I felt anything but encouraged.
I had to go to school, right? I did not have a choice. I was pretty sure it was against the law not to go…. I tried to think of other reasons to postpone the inevitable but came up empty handed. Social suicide…. I was well on my way.
I cringed inwardly, knowing I looked like a hot mess. I could feel my tan skin, turning translucent with nerves, and my unruly, dark hair, tangled and wild as I stood too long in the wind. It whipped around my face in the hot, humid breeze, partially blocking the impending view from sight. I brushed my hair out of my face, but it refused to obey and with another gust of unbearably hot August air, I was forced to walk forward to maintain my sight.
I felt sick and nauseous; I was practically on the verge of puking. I closed my eyes for several seconds and then opened them again, hoping I’d be someplace else, any place else. But I was right where I was supposed to be: staring up at my new school. The tall, ominous buildings clustering together, stared back. Their dark, red brick laughed at me silently, daring me to run away. The central tower, with its golden bell, and deep sweet chimes taunted me, mocked me.
Ok, maybe I was being a little over dramatic, but school had never been my, um, thing. It could have been because I was a complete social spaz; or it could have been because this was my fourth school in two years. Either way, I always seemed to have trouble adjusting to teenage normalcy.
Kingsley Preparatory Academy was a last resort of sorts. Well, really, it was the last prep school that would take me; God forbid I would attend public school. As the niece and only surviving relative of my aunt, the doctor, I was destined for a higher education.
If only I could have gone six months without being expelled. Kingsley was the last prep school in Omaha that had given me a chance, and that was only after a very generous contribution from my aunt and a promise from me that I wouldn’t burn it to the ground. Although I harbored no ill will for the school itself, I was not sure if I could keep my promise.
Not that I would burn it down on purpose, but that kind of stuff just happened to me. The burning down of schools, the flooding of schools, and the infestation of huge, tropical insects of schools…. All fell into the category of been there, done that. It’s not like I ever did it on purpose; it all just sort of happened.
So after another deep breath, I began my death march to the top of the hill and the large, brass, double doors that led into the Administration Building. The doors slammed shut behind me, making me almost jump out of my skin. The lobby was dimly lit; it took a while for my eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight outside.
Kingsley was immaculate; beautiful marble floors and elaborate lighted sconces filled the lobby. An intricate, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and gave the room a warm glow that reminded me of dusk rather than 8:00 AM. Plush, crimson divans lined the lobby, and oil paintings of elderly people adorned the walls. I reminded myself that this was a school building and not the sitting room to a luxurious Victorian home.
I forced my feet forward and adjusted my backpack straps. I stopped to fiddle with my uniform, afraid to make the wrong first impression. The front counter, located directly on the other side of the lobby was crafted from a beautiful wood, probably mahogany, that expanded the width of the room and stood elbow-high. I walked the rest of the way tentatively, as this was like no other school building I had ever been in, and I’d had my fair share of experience.
An elderly woman, with snow-white hair and small-framed glasses, sat behind a small desk made from the same wood as the counter that partitioned us. Her posture was perfect and her legs crossed properly, as she focused typing at her computer. A name-plate that read “Mrs. Truance” decorated her desk, facing me. She glanced my way from the top of her spectacles and gave a little sigh.