Читать книгу Atlantean - E.N. J.D. Watkins - Страница 4

Moving wasn’t hard for me. I wasn’t really fond of New York City; it was much too cramped for my liking. Being homeschooled all my life made my social life nonexistent, so I didn’t have any friends and there were no sad goodbyes.

Though easy, my homeschooling was nothing more than a farce for me; it was just a way for my parents to show the world that we were a normal family—while in actuality we were anything but.

In only a few days, I was sitting in a limousine with my parents being driven to the airport. Packing takes little time when your family has several servants succumbent to your every desire.

While on the way, my mother thought it amusing to jab a knife completely through my hand. It wasn’t a large, just a simple pocket knife.

Of course that didn’t make it any less painful.

It was excruciating. So much so that I cried all the way to the airport. And as weird as it sounds, my crying was exactly what my parents were after.

You see, when I cry my eyes don’t shed normal tears. They shed crystals. And for reasons I cannot fathom my parents enjoy ingesting these crystals. It’s almost as if it gives them some weird sort of high.

But maybe that’s just my imagination.

When we arrived at the airport, my mother removed the knife. Causing me more pain and bringing about more tears. While my parents ate these tears, I watched my hand heal itself.

This was another phenomenon that I could not explain: whenever my parents would brutalize me, my body would rapidly heal itself. This is why I couldn’t tell anyone what my parents were doing to me.

My body removed all the evidence! And I do mean all the evidence; both physical and emotional. For all intents and purposes I was perfectly normal. Well . . . almost normal anyways.

“Come along, Amadeus,” called my mother in her annoyingly beautiful voice.

That was it.

There was no love in her voice, just command. All my parents ever gave me were commands. Short and simple. Like I was their pet or something. Even when we were in public, we never conversed. After all, it wasn’t my voice they wanted to hear—only my sobs.

Not wanting to give my parents an excuse to punish me some more I flexed my hand once and hurriedly joined them outside of the limousine.

We didn’t have to wait long before another one of our servants came to greet us. I knew, before he opened his mouth, that he was here to expedite our navigation through the airport. My parents hardly did anything without the aid of a servant or two.

Before walking inside, I caught a glimpse of our reflections in the glass doors of the airport. To the onlookers we probably looked more like siblings. For my parents were very youthful in appearance. In fact, both of my parents didn’t look a day over twenty one. Though I knew they were much older, I could not for the life of me figure out why they never aged. All three of us were dressed in the very latest designer fashion. The figure in front was a tall, inhumanly handsome man with dark hair and silver eyes; He was my father, William Angel. Standing next to him was my mother, Catherine Angel. She was a stunningly beautiful woman whose hair was golden blonde and eyes just as silver. But unlike the man standing next to her, this woman had pointed ears and slit pupils in her silver eyes, giving her an almost demonic appearance. Stranger still was the peculiar marking that covered the right side of her face. Then there was me.

There wasn’t anything significantly noticeable about me. Though I was constantly told how good looking I was, I didn’t think much of my appearance. I was tall and slender. I had long blonde hair that was pulled back with a ribbon at the nape of my neck. You couldn’t see the ribbon in the reflection but I knew it was there. My eyes were also silver. But it wasn’t my natural color. My natural color was lavender.

My parents never told me why they made me where contacts. I figured it was so people would think we were related.

Secretly I hoped we weren’t.

The door opened and the reflection disappeared.

It took us no time at all to pass through security. And soon we were on the plane—first class of course.

Six hours later our plane touched down on the tarmac in San Francisco, California. We could’ve flown to a closer city but my parents wanted to use the trip to extract more tears from me.

They didn’t tell me this, but I knew. I could always tell when my parents were about to pump me for tears because their harshness toward me would always increase.

So I wasn’t surprised when, after I had gotten into the limo, my parents pulled out their favorite torture tools. For my mom it was the pocket knife she pierced my hand with. For my dad it was a shock collar.

It was going to be a long trip.

A few painful hours later we arrived at Pebble Beach. My wounds were gone but the blood wasn’t.

My “loving” mom had gone a bit overboard with her knife.

There was no reason to hope that the limo driver would come to my aid. After all I learned long ago that the servants of this family did whatever my parents told them to do. And as none of these sniveling maggots had ever tried to assist me, I could only assume that they were told not to interfere. The effect my parents had on them was sickening. As soon as they laid eyes on my parents it was like love at first sight. Like they had been struck by Cupid’s arrow or something.

While we were waiting in the limousine for the driver to open the door—my parents being too proud to do it themselves—something very strange happened. My father actually spoke to me, rather than at me. His tone wasn’t even commanding. It sounded—worried.

“Now, son . . .”

Son?

That was a first. Never in the fifteen years of my existence did he ever acknowledge me as his son.

“. . . I want you to stay close to your mother and I. Don’t wander off.”

Wander off? When have I ever wandered off?

“Yes, Father,” I answered mechanically.

He smiled. Or at least tried to smile. Actually, it looked more like a grimace.

My mother took my hand and squeezed it. Not painfully, though. And that was a surprise, too. I looked into her eyes and was surprised to see fear radiating from them.

It was both weird and pleasing to see my parents in such a state of terror.

The door to the limousine opened and my mother was the first to exit. I wasn’t far behind, as she was still holding my hand. My father got out last.

We were standing in the driveway of a magnificent home. It dwarfed all the homes I had previously lived in, which were castles in their own right.

Was this going to be our home?

I didn’t think so, somehow.

My parents didn’t move; it was as if they were rooted to the spot. Then the front door of the home opened and out walked the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes upon. And I had seen a fair share of beautiful girls. But there was something about this girl that captured my attention. I couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t her looks—even though she was sight to behold. From what I could gather, she was about as tall as I was and had a kind of majestic beauty about her, like she was a princess or something. Her eyes were a stunning blue; her hair was raven’s-wing black, cropped short, and stuck out in every which way; her clothing was just as elegant as my own. But there was a sour expression on her face as though she had bit into a lemon. Of course this expression in no way dampened her good looks.

She pranced toward us and came to a halt a few yards from where we were standing. Our eyes met and her expression changed from sour to one of pity, as though she could see what my parents had been doing to me all these years.

I didn’t know how that was possible.

Then her gaze traveled to my parents and her expression changed to one of disgust and loathing.

It was my mother who spoke first.

“Hello, Victoria.”

Victoria? Was that this girl’s name?

I guess it had to be, because the only other woman present was my mother.

“Catherine,” replied Victoria coldly.

Her voice was much like my mother’s: angelic. But Victoria’s was so much more . . . alluring—seductive, almost.

“Why have we been summoned here?”

My father’s voice was respectful but wary.

Victoria stared stonily back at him.

“We will no longer stand idly by while you and the rest of the Fallen do as you please.”

The Fallen?

She took a menacing step toward my parents, causing mother to release my hand and stumble backwards.

Victoria snorted insolently.

My father didn’t move—and I wasn’t about to come to my parents’ aid. Besides, I was much too intrigued by the strange power this girl seemed to have over them. This girl didn’t look much older than I was and yet she spoke down to them as though they were the inferior ones.

“My father is waiting for you inside. Now are you going to come quietly or will I have to force you?” asked Victoria in a commanding voice.

A small smile passed over my face.

If I was certain about anything I was certain about this: my parents were not going to come quietly. I was absolutely certain that they were about to make a scene. And I wanted more than ever to watch them being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the mansion.

Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out that way.

The usually inflexible nature of my parents had been completely stripped away by Victoria. So it goes without saying that I was extremely disappointed at my father’s fearful response.

“N-N-No need for that, Victoria. C-C-Come, Catherine.”

He then extended a trembling hand to my mother, who grasped it fearfully. It looked as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

My father looked at me. There was sadness in his eyes, like he wouldn’t be seeing me again.

My face betrayed no such emotion; I wouldn’t be sorry if he or my mother happened to disappear from my life forever.

“Go with Victoria, son.”

Again with the “son” thing.

“Yes, Father.”

I hope you get what’s coming to you, you disgusting parasite.

My parents then walked hand-in-hand into the monstrous home, leaving me alone with Victoria.

She stared at me, meeting my gaze once more. Her expression was peculiar as though she was fighting to keep it pleasant. I wondered what it was about me that was so distasteful.

There was an awkward silence.

Had she been like the other girls I’d met before today I probably would’ve come right out and asked her what was wrong with me. But there was something about Victoria that was catching me off guard.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

Was I ok? What was that supposed to mean?

I settled on shrugging.

Shrugging was good. Very cool.

She giggled.

It sounded nice. Like wind chimes in a light breeze.

She then grabbed my hand and led me toward her house. At least I assumed it was her house. It seemed to fit, really: only a palace would befit a girl of such beauty.

I wondered where we were going, but then I realized that I didn’t care. As long as I was with her I didn’t care where we went. Besides, she was the one who had liberated me from my twisted parents.

“They aren’t your parents, Amadeus.”

I started.

It wasn’t so much the fact that she knew my name that’d taken me by surprise. I mean, if she knew who my parents were, she definitely knew who I was. No, what startled me was her knowing what I was thinking.

Had she been reading my mind?

“What do you mean?” I asked curiously.

Her pace slowed.

“I mean that you are not related to William and Catherine Angel in any sense of the word.”

More relieved than surprised, I was overjoyed that I could finally hate William and Catherine without feeling guilty.

“How do you know this?” I asked curiously

“Your—eyes.”

Her slight pause made me think she wanted to say something else.

“I know you’re wearing contacts, Amadeus.”

“You seem to know a lot.”

Actually, you seem to be psychic.

She laughed.

Was it odd for me to enjoy her laughter?

We were now at the front door of her palace. But we didn’t go inside. She took me around the side of her house and into the backyard—and what a backyard it was! There was a huge lawn that stretched from one side of the house to the other. The lawn was surrounded by a white-picket fence. But that wasn’t what caught my attention—no—what caught my attention was the beach on the other side of the fence.

I knew at once that this is where she wanted to go. I didn’t know how I knew—she hadn’t said anything—but I was sure that she wanted to head to the beach.

She let go of my hand and bounded gracefully toward the fence and lightly jumped over it. She then turned ’round and eyed me expectantly.

Now, common sense would have dictated that I simply walk over to the fence and either climb over it or just go through the gate—especially with the effect Victoria was having on me. But common sense was the last thing on my mind. And besides, the fence wasn’t that high.

I sprinted toward the fence and tried to hurdle it as Victoria had done. But instead of leaping over it gracefully, my shoe caught on the fence and I did a sort of face-plant right in the sand.

It hurt—a lot.

The sand was a bit rockier than I’d expected.

I didn’t want to cry but the tears came anyway. Tears always welled up in my eyes at even the slightest bit of pain.

Sometimes it would save me from the long hours of torture. But right now it just made me seem weak.

“Are you okay?” I heard her ask in her velvet voice.

Thankfully there was concern in her voice instead of humor.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled getting to my feet.

I could feel the sand still on my face and I hurried to brush it off, causing a few more tears to escape from my eyes. I heard the thuds as they hit the ground. Victoria had apparently heard them too because she bent down to pick them up.

Crap! How on earth was I supposed to explain that I cried tears of crystal?

But if she was surprised she didn’t show it. Her sour expression was back, however. I wondered how many teenage boys she had seen cry.

Without another word, she flung the crystals into the sea. Of course, they flew a good hundred yards before landing in the surf.

She looked at me again, her expression pleasant once more.

“Tears come easily for you, don’t they?”

“It’s a defense mechanism,” I said defensively, “You know—against the pain. The pain stops when the tears come.”

Why was I telling her this?

It wasn’t like she had any idea what I was talking about.

I buried my hands in my pockets and strolled out into the surf, not even bothering to take off my shoes.

Now, I’d been expecting both my shoes and socks to be instantly saturated with sea water, but I was startled to find that they were, somehow, completely dry.

Curious, I waded farther into the water, allowing it to rise to my knees. When the water was at my waist I plunged my head beneath the waves. The sensation was far beyond anything I had ever experienced. The ocean felt warm, as though I had just plunged into a hot bath. I felt the ribbon holding my hair fall off, and that took me by surprise. I felt my clothes again: they were completely dry! I felt my hair: it was acting as hair normally does underwater, floating this way and that. But it, too, was completely dry. Stranger still was the fact that my eyes were penetrating the murk and gloom of the water and I could see everything around me quite clearly. But my vision was lavender as though I was staring through a colored lens. Weirdest of all was the fact that I was breathing.

I was actually breathing underwater!

I was baffled. This phenomenon never occurred when I took showers or swam in pools.

I stood up again, letting my hair drape over my shoulders. My lavender vision vanished. It seemed my sight was only colored underwater.

I put my hands back in my pockets and walked back onto the shore completely lost in thought.

I hadn’t realized before how windy it was. The wind ruffled my hair as it blew out behind me.

Victoria stared at me with a distasteful expression as though she knew my real reasons for entering the ocean.

I strode past her not meeting her gaze wondering how I was going to explain my being completely dry.

I continued walking and didn’t stop until I reached the white-picket fence. I then sat down and brought my knees to my chest. Wrapping my arms around them, I stared out at the ocean.

Victoria sat down on my right side. It was nice having her so close. She leaned her shoulder against mine and began to absentmindedly play with my hands as though she wanted to see them.

Once again even though she hadn’t said anything I somehow knew what she wanted—almost like we shared some sort of weird bond.

Victoria was curious about my palm lines, and truth be told, I was curious about them too. I mean, it was more than a little strange to have palm lines that were knotted together. And why were both my palms that way?

I sighed and showed Victoria the palms of my hands. I suppose I could’ve lied and told her that the knot was really a tattoo, but as much as this girl seemed to know about me, that was probably a bad idea.

After staring at the knot for a moment, Victoria interlaced her fingers in mine and held my hand. She looked as though she wanted to tell me something but was struggling to find the words.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, a black cat cantered past staring directly at us. I didn’t give the animal a second thought, but Victoria looked at it in horror.

She yanked her hand out of mine and jumped to her feet.

I looked up at her with a quizzical expression.

“What?”

Victoria didn’t answer; she simply hopped over the fence without a backward glance and disappeared.

I pursed my lips.

I’d often wondered what it would feel like to be blown off by a girl. Now I knew: it hurt. But I’d long since grown accustomed to pain.

So, letting my mind wander, I stared out into the sea and was surprised that I was thinking about my false parents. I wondered what was going to happen to them; they seemed to be in some sort of trouble.

Serves them right.

But what was going to happen to me? And what was that about the Fallen doing as they please?

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought me out of from my brooding.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but your presence is requested.”

I didn’t have to look up to know it was a servant speaking; they all spoke in the same manner.

I sighed and got to my feet. I didn’t bother jumping over the fence this time; there was no one around to impress. I simply walked through the open gate.

Victoria was waiting for me with a stern expression.

“You will need to change before you meet my father,” she said in a hard voice.

I guess she wasn’t into me. Huh . . . I wonder why that bothers me?

I nodded. Victoria turned away from me stiffly and walked inside. I followed her without saying a word.

The interior of the house was just as impressive as the exterior. It was bright, spacious, and luxurious. Several oil paintings ornamented the white walls. The floor was completely covered in ivory-colored marble. The ceiling was high and inlaid with wood of the finest quality. It was also dotted with several large chandeliers. The staircase was wide and intimidating. It stood proudly in the entryway. From what I could tell, the majority of the rooms were on the upper floors.

Victoria didn’t look at me once as we walked. Staring at her back, I couldn’t help notice how much more rigid her movements had become. In fact, she was walking a lot like my paren—no, that’s not right—she was walking like my false parents.

I had to remember that Catherine and William weren’t my parents.

Victoria didn’t stop walking until we reached the base of the staircase where another servant was waiting for us.

How many servants did she have?

“Take this boy to the room we have prepared,” Victoria said in a lordly tone.

This boy, huh? So I was this boy now.

“Make sure he’s ready in a timely manner; we haven’t got all day.”

She seemed to be trying really hard to convince everyone that she didn’t care for me. Though it hurt, I was hardly surprised. No one ever really cared for me. So it shouldn’t have stung so much that this girl didn’t either—but it did. Despite how I felt, I was able to keep my face composed. Victoria departed without a second glance, and I didn’t bother looking at her.

The servant to whom Victoria had been speaking bowed to me. I barely inclined my head in acknowledgement.

“This way, sir.”

I followed the servant upstairs. The second floor had just as many paintings as the first. I was also right about the rooms: the hallways were lined with doors. It didn’t surprise me that the level of craftsmanship was far beyond anything I’d ever seen. The servant stopped in front of an open door and bowed me inside.

The room was elegant, yet plain. Across the room from where I stood was a large west-facing window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The view of the ocean was almost breathtaking. To my right was a large bed—king sized from the looks of it—on which were a clean set of clothes. I walked over to them and heard the door close with a snap. The clothes were simple: khakis and a white button-up shirt. They looked about my size. I still had no idea why I was supposed to change. I mean it wasn’t like I was dirty—a little sandy perhaps.

Oh well.

I changed quickly and walked back to the door. Upon opening it I came face-to-face with Victoria. She was tapping her foot with an air of impatience as though she’d been waiting a long time.

“About ti—”

But I cut her off. I was at my wits end with her little attitude.

“Look, you can stop trying to show the world that you hate me. As a matter of fact, you can stop talking altogether. Your voice is becoming quite irksome.”

That shut her up. She pursed her lips and eyed me beadily. Then abruptly she turned on her heals and walked away without another word. I sighed, sticking my hands in my pockets and followed after her. We walked in silence. The whole time I kept wondering what I had done to turn her against me so suddenly. I didn’t know why but for some reason I was still attracted to this girl.

Victoria came to a halt in front of a huge set of double doors. She reached for the handle, and as she did so, I saw that her palm lines were knotted exactly as mine were knotted.

Had this been the reason behind her strange behavior toward me?

I noted that Victoria had yet to enter the room and I got the distinct impression that I was supposed to go alone. But before I entered the room Victoria and I locked eyes once more and I knew the attraction was still there. It was almost tangible. Victoria looked away from me quickly. But I knew that she had felt it too. I walked into the room and she shut the door behind me.

This room was both large and eerie. There were no windows either and the only source of light was a large stone fireplace. Not too far from where I stood there was a massive round table that appeared to have been carved out of pure marble. Around this table were nine thrones that were both ancient and intimidating. Many of the thrones had engravings of some sort on the back of them. I didn’t recognize the language but I could read it as easily as if it were written in English.

Whoa.

I wasn’t expecting that.

Staring at the lettering I saw that the throne nearest me read Seraph. As I pondered the significance behind the word I heard the distinct sound of breathing.

Someone was in here with me.

My eyes quickly roved around the room and I soon spotted a person standing next to the fireplace.

I blinked.

I was certain that there was no one there a few minutes ago. The guy must have been lurking in the shadows. I only saw his back but I knew at once that this must be a relation of Victoria’s; like her he had a majesty about him that could not be ignored.

“Come closer, Amadeus,” he said in deep, strong voice.

I walked forward apprehensively not knowing what to expect.

The man turned towards me when I was a few steps away. At first I thought I was beholding Victoria’s brother for he was young—probably no older than twenty-one—and was more or less the same height as she was. They even shared similar facial characteristics and his hair was just as raven as Victoria’s, but his eyes—his eyes were silver.

I froze and recollected with vivid clarity the last time I had met another silver-eyed adult other than my false parents. Not too long ago the Angels had brought several of their silver-eyed friends to visit. Actually, “visit” was a bit of an understatement. They had come for one reason and one reason alone: to extract tears from me. These group torture sessions had occurred on and off for the last fifteen years and now it seemed they were about happen again.

I removed my hands from my pockets and balled them into fists.

If this man wanted to taste my tears, so be it. I wouldn’t run. I learned long ago that there was no running from those with silver eyes.

“I am not a member of the Fallen, Amadeus,” he said reassuringly, “Your tears are of no interest to me.”

But I was hardly reassured. Several silver-eyed people had pretended to befriend me only to betray in the end. At times I found this emotional torment far worse than my physical sufferings. I still had no idea what the Fallen were. And this man’s assurance that he wasn’t one hardly put me at ease.

The man seemed to want to come closer, but kept his distance and I was grateful.

“My name is Alexander Seraph. And the building in which you are standing, is my home—Seraph Manor.

Seraph? Well that explains the word on the throne.

“You are right about not trying to run away. It would be futile and for the time being I cannot allow you to leave Pebble Beach. But unlike William and Catherine, you are not our prisoner. ”

So my false parents had been detained.

Interesting.

I wonder what laws they’ve violated.

“They’ve only violated one law, Amadeus—our single and most sacred of laws—the taking of human life.”

So my false parents were murderers. I was hardly surprised by this revelation.

“While you are here you will be attending school alongside my daughter, Victoria,” continued Mr. Seraph.

I gawked at him.

Daughter?

So this was Victoria’s father.

Like my false parents this man seemed to be blessed with agelessness.

“We have taken the liberty of having your school grades transferred here,” he continued, “They’re quite impressive. High school will hardly be a challenge for someone of your caliber.”

Hardly a challenge was a bit of understatement. After all, for reasons that eluded me completely, my false parents educated me well into the college level. Attending high school classes again would be nothing less than a cakewalk.

I wondered what grade I was going to be put in.

“I think the twelfth one will suit you nicely.”

My eyes narrowed. It seemed that this man could read my mind as easily as his daughter.

Fantastic.

The corners of Mr. Seraph’s mouth twitched as though he was trying not to smile.

“Where shall I be staying when I attend this school of yours?” I asked warily still certain that this man wanted to torture me.

Please don’t make me stay here.

“You will be residing on campus.”

Thank God.

“There is a limousine outside that will take you to the school. Victoria will show you the way out.”

Was that it?

I guess he truly didn’t want my tears.

I sighed with relief. I still had questions but they could wait. I stuck my hands back in my pockets and strode casually toward the door. I stopped myself however when my hand touched the handle. It seemed improper to leave without giving this man some sort of thanks.

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Seraph said in an amused sort of voice.

Mind readers.

I left the room and found Victoria waiting for me. I wondered what she thought about us attending the same school.

“I don’t like it,” she said coldly in her velvet voice.

I pursed my lips.

“I’m going to figure out how you and your father do that.”

“Good luck with that one, kid,” she retorted smugly.

Kid?

“Do you remember the way out or do you need me to hold your hand?”

That’s when I sensed it. There was sadness behind her words, as the though she was trying hard not to show how much pain this was causing her.

I chuckled darkly.

“I can find my own way out. Besides, your little tough-girl act is beginning to bore me.”

I strode past her without another word or a backward glance.

There was a limousine waiting outside for me just like Mr. Seraph had said. The driver was waiting next to the open door, clearly expecting me to get in. I climbed inside and let my mind run over today’s events.

The detaining of my parents had been a definite high point. I did find it interesting, however, that my parents were being held here, at Seraph Manor, and not some ordinary prison. Then I remembered how Mr. Seraph had said my false parents had taken human life. I didn’t notice it before, but the way he said “human” made me think that he and my false parents might be more than human. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I mean if they were more than human I definitely was. My crystal tears and accelerated healing were evidence of that. Then there were these Fallen people. Mr. Seraph had said that he wasn’t one. And if that was the case, then what was he? I had thought him to be an enemy but now I saw that he was a friend. And what about this high school thing? Was this Mr. Seraph’s way of keeping me detained? It sounded like it. But what was the significance of twelfth grade? If it was to keep me here, shouldn’t any grade do? A fifteen-year-old senior was bound to raise more than a few eyebrows. And what about Victoria? What was with the total 180? I had a feeling it had something do with our matching marks—but what? Was the connection I felt between us no more than my male desires running wild? Or was it something more?

Lost in thought, I stared out the limousine window and took in the landscape of Pebble Beach for the first time today. The road on which I was traveling was lined with trees on both sides. Behind those trees were the rolling fairways of a picturesque golf course. There were several golfers out and about today—no doubt taking advantage of the fine weather. I also spotted several buildings in the distance. Some of which appeared to be homes, while others appeared to be resorts. Pebble Beach seemed to be the polar opposite of New York City. I could definitely learn to love a place like this. I was so taken in with my surroundings that I didn’t realize the limousine had come to halt. So it took me by surprise when the door opened.

Stepping outside I gazed on the building that would be my new home. The school was massive. I had expected the dormitory and the school to be separated, but this wasn’t the case. This place was a true castle. There was no other word for it. There were towers and turrets and many windows. I couldn’t be sure, but the architecture looked French. The thing that struck me the most, however, was the stone. It was ancient. This was no modern building. If I had to guess, someone most likely plucked this castle from Europe and brought it here to Pebble Beach.

As I stared at the building a portly man came out to greet me. He was wearing a pinstripe suit that looked far too expensive to belong to a normal teacher. This was most likely to be the head of the school—the principal perhaps—or maybe headmaster.

When he was a few yards away his face broke into a smile.

“Ah this must be young master Angel,” he said in a buoyant voice.

Master Angel?

Apparently the Seraphs didn’t feel like sharing the fact that I wasn’t an Angel. I struggled to keep the chagrin off my face as I inclined my head.

The man beamed.

His purpose at an end, the limo driver bowed and then departed.

“I am Professor Stone, headmaster of Eden Prep. I have spoken to Mr. Seraph and all your arrangements have been taken care of.”

I bet they have.

“So if you would just follow me, I will guide you to your room.”

He turned and began walking toward the school and I followed suit. The whole time we were walking he kept on rambling. Telling me about the history of the school and the many things this school had to offer me. Blah blah blah. I wasn’t really listening and I really didn’t care. All that mattered was that I was no longer living with my false parents. Before long, we entered a hall lined with doors on both sides of the walls. We walked a ways then stopped in front a door with the number seven engraved upon it.

I was glad to hear that headmaster had finally stopped talking. He was pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking the door. Once it was open he stepped inside the room and I followed suit.

The room was small—well, small by my standards anyway. I suppose there would be some impressed by its size. But my closet back in New York City was bigger than this. I kept my distaste for the room off my face. I also noted that the headmaster had begun speaking again.

“Your room has been completely stocked with clothing. So you don’t have to worry about the uniforms.”

Uniforms. Ugh. I hate uniforms.

“Thank you, sir,” I said politely.

I wanted more than ever to get this guy out of my sight.

“Um, professor, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long day and am really quite tired.”

I yawned dramatically, emphasizing the point.

“Of course. Of Course. I understand completely,” he replied jovially.

He grinned, bowed, and was about to walk through the door when he stopped.

What now?

He tossed me the keys he used to unlock my room.

“You’ll be needing these.”

Then without another word, he left, closing the door behind him.

Sighing I lay down on my new bed and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow I would be starting high school.

Fan-freakin’-tastic.