Unwelcome

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Authors: Michael Griffo
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are not our enemy. Are you forgetting the truce?”
    â€œThey broke the bloody truce when they killed Penry!”
    â€œThat human was not one of ours!” Edwige hated to lose her temper with her son, but she also hated to hear her son talk like an idiot, she had raised him to be so much better than that. He has such potential, she thought. His destiny could be limitless, if only, if only he would end this asinine fascination with the lower classes. Rising from her chair, looking as statuesque as her petite frame would allow, she softened her voice and approached her son. “I know you are fond of these people; you consort with them and you find them to be useful, entertaining, which I will admit they can be, at times, but you must remember that we are not like them.”
    â€œBut we used to be,” Ronan said, sounding more like a child than he cared to admit.
    â€œPast tense,” Edwige stressed, then added with unequivocal authority, “We are unto ourselves.”
    The space between Ronan and his mother was suddenly drenched in shadows and silence. Could their differences ever be bridged? Ronan thought. Yes, of course, we’re different, better in so many ways, but the reason we’re better is because we’re connected to our past, to our humanity. Has she really lost sight of that? Does she really think we exist, that we could exist, without that link, without being bound to humans? Staring out the window of Edwige’s flat to the world below, Ronan saw some people walking in the darkness, scrambling to get somewhere, to someone, and he thought of Michael sleeping alone in his bed, and he suddenly ached to be alongside him, breathing in his smell, drifting off to sleep, secure, loved. He thought of his friends and his teachers, the people he spent his days with and learned from, and it was so clear to him that a contract was broken when two of those people were murdered. Why couldn’t she see that?
    â€œThey killed both Penry and Alistair without cause and there was no retribution from either side,” Ronan said quietly. “They hate water vamps, and now their leader is in control of Double A. This cannot be good for us.”
    One minute stupid, the next perceptive. Edwige didn’t know if her son was contradictory because he was a child or a man. “David’s kind has always hated us; that is nothing new,” she allowed. “But the murders of your friend and your former headmaster, while unfortunate and unnecessary, were not declarations of war.”
    â€œJust the first steps toward the acceptance of one.”
    She was not going to win this argument. She was not going to convince her son that there was nothing to worry about, that David was just playing an innocuous game because he woke up one morning and decided that he wanted to do something different. So she chose a new tactic. “You have a point.”
    â€œI do?”
    â€œA muted, not entirely substantiated point, but a point nonetheless.”
    Oddly, Ronan felt ambivalent at hearing Edwige agree with him. That is what he wanted, confirmation that his instincts were correct, but if they were, if he did understand what was going on, what David was trying to orchestrate, it only meant that they were all in serious trouble. “Really? Are you sure?”
    He was definitely more of a man. Give a man exactly what he asks for and still he’s not satisfied. Honestly, would she ever understand that gender? Would she ever be given the chance again? Edwige caught sight of herself in the oval, frameless mirror that hung over the bar, and inspected her reflection with a bit more intensity than usual. Her hair, still very short and very blond, was flattering, and her unlined face looked youthful without appearing innocent. She knew she was enticing to men, she wondered, however, if she would ever find one man who could entice her and satisfy her needs.
    She heard the din of Ronan’s voice

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