I was sitting on the floor playing with purple and green play-doh when I heard a whump. I looked up just in time to watch another book fall off the bookcase and land on my foot. I began bawling, loudly.
“Don’t cry, dumpling,” Dad said. “I’ll show you a secret.”
I shake off the memory and gulp some air to keep from crying. I cross the room to the built-in desk and the Eiffel tower clock still resting on the top of it.
“This is it,” I say. “This little decoration is the key.”
“The key to what?” King Solomon’s brow furrows. “That clock contains the cure?”
“I hope it’ll reveal the cure. The tip of the tower has a small reservoir.” I reach into my pocket and slide my hand into the hole in the liner. I slide the fountain pen out and unscrew it. At the same time, I blow into the tip of the Eiffel Tower clock to distract everyone else. Dust flies up into my eyes. I wipe them off and blow on it again, and again. The third time, no dust flies out. “If my blood matches my dad’s, this safe will open.”
Sam keeps King Solomon and Josephine near the back wall with a looming stance, giving me the space I need. Adam and four other guards array themselves on either side of King Solomon, glaring at Sam and Job. I press my finger to the top of the reservoir, but I don’t press down hard enough to break my skin. Instead, I squeeze on the pen until blood squirts through the nib. I turn my face toward the bookcase full of battered, scientific treatises and journals expectantly.
Nothing happens. My heart pounds in my ears.
I came all this way. I’ve lost so many people—Wesley, Aunt Anne, Rhonda.
All for nothing.
Then it happens. Books fall from the bookcase several shelves up as the safe door swings open. I catch two of them, but the third falls to the ground right next to my foot. Heart in my throat, I crouch down to look inside the open safe.
A hardback leather journal, larger than the ones I read back in Port Gibson, rests in the safe. A small wooden box sits on top of it. My heart constricts—Mom’s ring box. I forgot about that in my fervor for the cure. I open the box.
The enormous diamond heart, surrounded by canary yellow diamonds, sparkles up at me, undimmed by time or dust.
“My ring,” Josephine says.
I turn to look at her as if for the first time. She really is my mom. I smile at her and she beams back. I’m not sure whether the journal holds the cure, but I feel like it was almost worth the trip, just for this moment of connection.
Then I think about Rhonda, Wesley, and Aunt Anne and I feel guilty for ever thinking it.
I’m completely shocked when King Solomon grabs me by the back of the neck and shakes me like a terrier shaking a snake. Before I can guess his reason, what with my brains being scrambled like eggs, he’s grabbed my mother by the shoulder.
“A slut and her whelp.”
He shoves us both toward the door and we sprawl to the ground. The ring skitters toward the wall and I lunge for it, forgetting entirely about the journal that slid under the desk. I hear Sam struggling with the guards and hope he’s okay.
“You told me you hadn’t been with him,” King Solomon says. “You swore there was no possibility that Ruby was anyone’s daughter but mine. You’re a lying whore.”
Solomon kicks my mom in the ribs. She doesn’t make a sound. She should’ve cried out. Why doesn’t she? I tuck the ring in my pocket and watch my mom. Solomon kicks her again, and this time she curls into it, still not making a peep.
This isn’t the first time he’s beaten her.
I stand up. “Leave her alone, you filthy pig.”
He turns toward me. “Or what? Your boyfriend can’t help you.”
One glance shows me he’s right. Adam and his men press guns to Job and Sam’s temples.
King Solomon’s been in absolute power in Galveston for so long, I don’t think he even considers that I might not curl up into a ball and accept whatever he orders. Like his guards. His people. My mom. He’s missed every part of my life, so he doesn’t know one major thing.
I am nothing like my mother.
I pull the tranq gun out of my waistband and pull out a pouch, the one labeled T. “I don’t need my boyfriend.” I put a dart in the gun.
“No!” Solomon leaps backward, slamming into the bookcase in his efforts to back away.
“If your guards take those guns off of Sam and turn them on me for one second, Sam will kill you all.” I smile. “But what’s the big deal? It’s just a tranquilizer. It’ll wear off and you’ll be fine.”
“That’s not a tranq,” he rasps. “It’s Tercera.”
I look down at the dart with horror. T for Tercera. He keeps a gun with Tercera darts in his desk to infect people at will?
“You wouldn’t dare to question God, huh?” I ask. “Because you play God already. Is that it? You infect anyone you don’t like, anyone who questions you?” He shakes his head, but I ignore it. “You beat my mom. You shot my dad. You murder whoever you want, and you plan to murder all the Marked? You’re irredeemably evil.”
Then I realize that if T means Tercera . . . what does A mean? Antidote? Or Accelerant?
“Do you already have the cure? Or do you infect people and then accelerate the disease?” He either uses Tercera to execute people, or he’s been sitting on a cure all this time without sharing it. I don’t know which explanation is worse.
“What, no answer?” I lift the gun. “Then let’s find out.”
My mom cries out, but it’s too late. I shoot the dart, and my aim’s true. It hits Solomon squarely in the chest. His eyes fly wide and his hands claw at the edge where it protrudes. My mom lunges for me, but someone stops her. I glance sideways. Sam used the distraction to disarm the guards, all of them. Job leaps across the room and stops my mom from touching the newly infected King Solomon.
I pull out the other pouch.
I load a dart marked A into the gun, and aim it at King Solomon. “Which is it, Daddy? Will this cure you? Or accelerate your death, like you accelerated thousands?”
Before he can answer, I fire the second dart. King Solomon raises one arm to block and the dart hits his forearm.
I smile darkly. “Now tell me again about how the people who die fulfill God’s will.”
King Solomon begins to froth at the mouth. I’m guessing that’s not the effect of an antidote. I turn and walk out of the room.
By the time I reach the elevator, Job appears, forcibly hauling my mom with him. She struggles against him, pulls at his shirt and cries pitifully, but he gently tugs her toward the doors all the same. Sam’s only a step behind him, the leather journal safely under one arm.
Bless him. Sam does everything right.
Chapter 25
By the time the elevator reaches the bottom floor of the building, my mom’s sobbing wordlessly on Job’s shoulder. At least it’s mostly quiet.
Sam slides into the driver’s seat, so I take shotgun. He wastes no time putting the van in gear and driving down Beach Drive toward Seawall. I hold my dad’s journal in my hands. For a moment, I can’t bring myself to open it, but after we hit Seawall, I crack the cover.
I discover pages and pages of unintelligible notes and equations. Great. It might contain the cure, but how will I know? Panic grips me. We can’t leave the island without it. If we make it out of here, there’s no coming back. Impatient and scared, I flip to the end.
There it is, the last entry, just like before.
I’ve done it. Ever since I developed that disgusting virus in my attempt to create a universal vaccination, and my partner decided he wants to sell it knowing it had a long lead time, I’ve been desperate to formulate a solution. Recently, I tested my designer virus against it. The Triptych virus transmits by touch, and it replicates fast, faster than any other virus I’ve seen. My new virus doesn’t replicate as fast and it doesn’t transmit by touch, not yet anyway. It requires a blood transfer, but my new virus eats the old one up.
I know because Jack
and I got in a fight and a vial broke. I caught Triptych myself. I thought I might not catch it when the vial broke because that strain needed to bind to blood to operate properly, but because I’d cut my finger, the sample I had bound to mine. I could’ve infected the whole world. The strange mark I coded into it appeared on my forehead within half an hour of exposure, just like I intended. Ruby was watching TV in the other room. She came in when I cried out, in spite of my warning.
I’ve never been so afraid.
I dosed myself with my attack virus. I almost dosed Ruby too, but it hasn’t been properly tested. I don’t know what side effects it may have. After my blood tested clean again, I dosed a frantic Ruby with the antibodies I developed first. I made them to protect her from Triptych, but they’ll boost her immune system across the board. It should be enough to keep her safe forever. I gave her triple the load I calculated she would need to be safe. She had a pretty bad reaction last night after I dosed her, but she’s fine, now. I know my actions were paranoid, but I can’t help it. Since her mother left me, she’s all I have.
Jack called me a few minutes ago, irate. He’s calling my bluff. The funds from selling Triptych will fund our ongoing research he says, including fine-tuning the cure. He knows I’ll work night and day if he does release it. Jack knows nothing about my success with the antibodies I gave Ruby. He only knows I’ve been formulating a cure, not the form it takes. I told him I’ll never agree to sell, no matter what, but it may not matter. He stole a sample of Triptych before I installed my new safe. I told him if he sells it, I’ll report him, even if it means they come after Ruby and me.
It might have been a lie. I don’t think I can risk her. I don’t care whether Ruby’s my biological daughter, so I never checked. I took her to punish her mother at first, but I kept her to protect her from the monster that stole Josephine from me. That awful action, the worst thing I’ve ever done, has filled my life with light. She’s the best thing I’ve ever taken part in. She’s everything to me. Her blood now carries something that’s more mine than any DNA. She holds something I made to protect her. And I’ve hidden the key to Jack’s mess in the one place I value above all others. In the body of my daughter.
I drop the journal and it slides to the floor of the van.
I’ve been the cure all along. That’s why Wesley’s kiss didn’t Mark me. It wasn’t lip-gloss—of course it wasn’t. I should never have believed that.
I could’ve saved Wesley, Rhonda and my aunt. I gasp when a horrible thought hits me. If my dad hadn’t been murdered, or if I hadn’t been stolen, or if my Aunt and Uncle hadn’t run and left his research, or if any of those things hadn’t happened, they could’ve used my blood to keep the world from dying. My cowardice killed my dad, and my dad’s death doomed everyone in the world, even more than I already thought.
My breathing accelerates, and I close my eyes and focus on slowing it. I can’t hyperventilate until after we’ve escaped the island.
I focus on the good news. David Solomon has no idea what this journal says. If we get off this rock quickly, he never needs to know.
Sam reaches over and takes my hand with his big, strong one. Sam’s my rock, and he’s with me. Job’s safe, and hopefully Rhonda and Wesley will be soon. And after seventeen years without her, I found my mom. We freed her from the monster—who might actually be my biological father.
As much as I wish we’d known what Dad hid in my blood all along, for the first time in a decade, today’s a better day than the one that came before it. I have Sam, my mom, my dad’s journal, and we’re leaving Solomon to die in the same way he’s doomed so many others to suffer.
I’m still scared, but I know how to move past that fear and do what needs to be done. For now, maybe that’s enough.
***
You can grab the next book in the Sins of Our Ancestors Series, Suppressed, right now!
If you want to chat with Bridget or other fans of her work, check out her facebook reader group here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/750807222376182
If you’d like a FREE full length novel, sign up for my newsletter at www.BridgetEBakerwrites.com! I’ll send you a free copy of my novel, Already Gone, a twisty, complicated YA romantic suspense. Or you can just buy Already Gone. ;)
If, like me, you’re always looking for a new series, you can check out my other two series right now. The Finding Series (starting with Finding Faith) is like a warm hug for your heart. And the Birthright series (starting with Displaced) is like Marked: twists, turns, shocking reveals, and hopefully a satisfying ending.
Finally, if you enjoyed reading Marked and have a moment to leave me a review, it really helps me! THANK YOU for being the best readers in the world. You mean more to me than you know.
THE END
Acknowledgments
My family: My mother has been my number one fan for thirty-seven years. She helps me in every way possible. My big kids, Eli and Dora, have read draft after draft with enthusiasm. My sister Emma has been there to pick me up whenever I need it.
My friends: Erin Shepard waves her pom poms whenever I’m drafting. Rachel Fordham checks in religiously and keeps me going. Nacoree Elsdon reads quick and gives excellent feedback. Last but never least, Shauna Holyoak is the best writing friend a girl could ever ask for!
My developmental editor, Peter Sentfleben, is AMAZING! His feedback is clear, clean and always spot on. He’s been supportive every step of the way, and without his help, my blurb would have read: Pretty please read my book. (I wish I was kidding. )
Big thanks to Linsey Stuckey for handling my cover photo shoot, and Ashlyn Holleman for being my model! (And to Marie for sharing her daughter.)
Thanks to The Writing Gals for making a wonderful home and sharing their enthusiasm, knowledge and talent. It inspired me to take the plunge, without which, MARKED would never have been read by anyone other than my family.
Finally, a Texas sized thank you to Whitney for being the best husband, father, and book writing supporter of all time. No one compares to you. Really.
About the Author
Bridget loves her husband and all five of her kids (most days). She has a springy dog, backyard chickens, three goofy horses, and two demanding cats. Every day is a battle between playing with kids, riding her horse Leo, and writing. If her publication speed has slowed down, you can blame the kids and the horse.
She makes cookies all the time, and thinks they should have their own food group. In a possibly misguided attempt at balancing the scales between overconsumption and exertion, she kickboxes every day. So if you don't like her kids, her cookies, or her books, maybe don't tell her in person.
Also by Bridget E Baker
The Finding Home Series:
Finding Faith (1)
Finding Cupid (2)
Finding Spring (3)
Finding Liberty (4)
Finding Holly (5)
Finding Home (6)
Finding Balance (7)
Finding Peace (8)
The Birthright Series:
Displaced (1)
unForgiven (2)
Disillusioned (3)
misUnderstood (4)
Disavowed (5)
unRepentant (6)
Destroyed (7)
The Sins of Our Ancestors Series:
Marked (1)
Suppressed (2)
Redeemed (3)
Renounced (4)
A stand alone YA romantic suspense:
Already Gone
My Children’s Picture Book
Yuck! What’s for Dinner?
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Marked (Sins of Our Ancestors Book 1) Page 26