Lesson 1: Nothing is ever what it seems...In the town of Eden in northwestern England stands the exclusive boarding school known as Archangel Academy. Ancient and imposing, it's a place filled with secrets. Just like its students...For Michael Howard, being plucked from his Nebraska hometown and sent thousands of miles away is as close as he's ever come to a miracle. In Weeping Water, he felt trapped, alone. At Archangel Academy, Michael belongs. And in Ciaran, Penry, and especially Ciaran's enigmatic half-brother Ronan, Michael finds friendship deeper than he's ever known.But Michael's only beginning to understand what makes the Academy so special. Ronan is a vampire-part of a hybrid clan who are outcasts even among other vampires. Within the Academy's confines exists a ruthless world of deadly rivalries and shifting alliances, of clandestine love and forbidden temptations. And soon Michael will confront the destiny that brought him here-and a danger more powerful than he can imagine...Michael Griffo is an award-winning writer and one of six playwrights whose career will be tracked by WritersInsight.com until 2010. He is a graduate of New York University, has studied at Playwrights Horizons and Gotham Writers Workshop, and has written several screenplays.PrologueOutside, the earth was wet.The rain had finally stopped, but it had poured hardand long during the night, the sudden storm catchingthe land unprepared for such a prolonged onslaught.From Michael's bedroom window he could see the dirtroad that led up to his house had flooded and the passagewaythat could lead him to another place, any placeaway from here, was broken, unusable. Today wouldnot be the day he would be set free.Ever since Michael was old enough to understandthere was a world outside of his home, his school, hisentire town, he had fantasized about leaving it all behind.Setting foot on the dirt path that began a few inches below his front steps and walking, walkingwalking until the dirt road brought him somewhereelse, somewhere that for him was better. He didn'tknow where that place was, he didn't know what itlooked like; he only knew, he felt, that it existed.Or was it all just foolish hope? Peering down from hissecond-floor window at the rain-drenched earth belowat the muddy river separating his home from everythingelse, he wondered if he was wrong. Was his dream of escapejust that, a dream and nothing more? Would thisbe his view for all time? A harsh, unaccepting land thatdespite living here for thirteen of his sixteen years, madehim feel like an intruder. Leave! He could hear the windcommand, This place is not for you. But go where?On the front lawn he saw a meadowlark, smaller thantypical but still robust-looking, drink from the weather beatenbirdbath that overflowed with fresh rainwater.Drinking, drinking, drinking as if its thirst could not bequenched. It stopped and surveyed the area, singing itsfamiliar melodious tune, da-da-DAH-da, da-da-da, andpausing only when it caught Michael's stare. Switchplaces with me, Michael thought. Let me rest on thebrink of another flight, and you sit here and wait.And where would you go? the meadowlark asked.You know nothing of the world beyond this dirt.Nothing now, but I'm willing to learn. The larkblinked, its yellow feathers bristling slightly, but I'm notwilling to forget everything that I know. Da-da-DAHdada-da-da.How wonderful would it be to forget everything? Forget that the mornings did not bring with them the promiseof excitement, but just another day. Forget that theevenings did not bring with them the anticipation of adventurebut just darkness. Forget it all and start freshstart over.The meadowlark was walking along the ledge of thebirdbath, interrupting the stagnant water this time with itsfeet instead of its b