Unafraid by Michael Griffo Page A

hold of the doorknob and twisted. The door was open. “Are you sure of that, Ro?”
    Anxiety, curiosity, fear, all wriggled around inside Ronan’s head and in the pit of his stomach. If her door was open she had to be home and if she was home why didn’t she answer him? Was she that determined to stay out of his life? Was she that angry with him for some unknown reason that she wouldn’t even respond to his call? Or was it simply that she wasn’t home?
    They entered the living room, and it was like entering a morgue. The whole apartment in fact was still, quiet, and, after a quick look into every room, Edwige-free. “What the hell is going on?” Ronan asked, fear rising to the surface amongst all the emotions he was experiencing.
    â€œI ... I ...” Michael stuttered, searching for the right thing to say. Then he realized nothing he said was going to sound right. “I don’t know, Ro. It doesn’t make any sense that she’s ignoring you, it doesn’t make any sense that her door’s open, but she isn’t here.”
    â€œIt doesn’t make any sense that her painting’s gone.”
    Ronan’s comment made Michael look up at the living room wall, and he noticed that it, like the apartment itself, was missing something. “You’re right!” Michael exclaimed. “The painting’s gone!”
    The painting that depicted two men in the Atlantic Ocean, their bodies suspended side by side, their skin touching, forever connected, was indeed missing. It was one of Edwige’s most prized possessions and one that she would never part with; it reminded her of Ronan and Michael, of her own heritage, of her species’ future. “Do you think she was robbed?” Michael asked. “Somebody could probably get a lot of money for that thing.”
    It was a valid theory, but it was wrong. There hadn’t been a robbery; no one had broken into the apartment to steal that one item. Edwige had taken it with her when she left. Ronan was sure of it. “She’s gone.”
    Michael heard the certainty in Ronan’s voice, but he didn’t understand it. “What do you mean?”
    â€œLook.”
    When Michael turned around he saw what Ronan was pointing at. The only thing on the surface of the wooden table that stood next to the window was dust. Gone was the mahogany box that housed Saxon’s ashes and gone too—for the moment anyway—was any hope of finding Edwige. “Wherever she went she has no intention of returning,” Ronan said. “That’s why she took those two things with her.”
    Standing next to Ronan, Michael placed his hand in the small of his back so he would know that even though his mother had apparently left him, that she had apparently decided to take a leave of absence from his life, he wasn’t going anywhere. Michael also hoped Ronan knew that he would remain by his side and scour the earth until they found her if that’s what he wished to do.
    Â 
    â€œNooooo!!!” Imogene screamed in the middle of her song as if another set of fangs had been plunged into her neck, as if once again the life was being torn from her spirit. “Leave me alone!!”
    Climbing into the coffin, Brania took hold of Imogene and cradled her in her arms to try and comfort her, try to calm her down. “Imogene, what’s wrong?” Brania cried.
    Cold sweat poured down the sides of Imogene’s face, plastering her jet-black bangs against her forehead. Her body convulsed, turning her skin an even paler shade of white. “It’s Edwige,” Imogene said, choking on the words. “She’s here.”
    As she whipped her head around, Brania’s fangs descended over her lips as quick as the flick of a switchblade. Her eyes darted wildly, left, right, left, but she didn’t see anyone else with them in their cave. Since they were safe for the moment, her fangs retracted, and