The Blood Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 2)

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The Blood Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 2) Page 10

by Luanne Bennett


  “Are you so sure she didn’t?”

  I stared at his profile as we drove through the campus entrance, not really knowing how to respond to that. I’d survived some strange and unpleasant things between the time Ava disappeared and I came back to this place. Maybe he was right.

  We parked in one of the metered spaces and headed out to the campus. A couple of students directed us to the physics department. Our only plan was to find Dr. David Oxford. After that, we’d wing it.

  When we arrived at Clark Hall, we were stopped by a security guard who offered to call Dr. Oxford’s office. “Your name, sir?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Greer replied. “It might as well be Albert Einstein.”

  The guard and I both looked at him like he’d lost a few screws.

  “Just tell me where his office is.”

  I practically choked when he leaned over the desk and stared the guard down.

  The guard’s face went blank as he wrote a room number on a piece of paper and directed us to a set of elevators.

  “Thank you.” Greer leaned in to inspect the man’s nametag. “Ted.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Sinclair,” the guard said in a monotone voice.

  We got on the elevator and headed for the fifth floor. “How’d you pull that off? And how did he know your name?”

  “Talent, Alex. Persuasive talent.”

  The elevator opened at the fifth floor, and we made a random guess on the direction of Dr. Oxford’s office. When we found it, the door was open and the doctor was standing at a whiteboard, feverishly scribbling numbers and symbols, stepping back every few seconds to examine what he’d written. He mumbled and nodded his head in agreement with his own thoughts.

  Greer tapped his knuckle against the doorframe and David Oxford turned around. His eyes flashed a brilliant blue—or maybe it was green—and then dulled to a normal radiance. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  “I hope so,” Greer answered, flashing the doctor a friendly smile to put him at ease.

  Oxford cocked his head. “Well, all right then, come in.” He put his marker down. “Made it past Ted. Clever.”

  His face was clean-shaven, but a plume of wiry hairs stuck out from each ear cavity. Other than a thin spot on his crown, his hair was thick and looked like a grenade had gone off in the center of it. He kind of reminded me of a mad scientist without the bushy mustache.

  “Sit, please.” He looked at the marked-up board and then at the two of us. “Do you know what this is?”

  I studied the random numbers, barely recognizing a few of the symbols from high school math class. “No. Can’t say that I do.”

  Greer shook his head as well. “Over my head, too.”

  “Good,” nodded Oxford. “Then I won’t have to kill you.” He chuckled at the cliché and took a seat on the other side of the desk. “So?”

  Greer got right to the point. “We believe you have something that might be of considerable value to us.”

  “Oh? And what might that be?”

  I don’t know what came over me, but I just blurted it out. “Beyond ultraviolet glasses.”

  Greer glared at me and I sank into my chair. If we were planning on a sneak attack, I’d just ruined it.

  “A pair of what?” Oxford stood up and went to the window. “Who did you say you are? I don’t believe you introduced yourselves.”

  Greer met him at the window and extended his hand. “Apologies for our rudeness. My name is Greer Sinclair. My friend with the overzealous nature is Alex Kelley.”

  I watched his reaction to hearing my name, because everyone seemed to know it. Either he had a damn good poker face or had no idea who I was. Considering that Isabetta said he knew about the prophecy, I found that hard to believe.

  “I can see you’re a busy man, so I’ll get to the point.” Greer began to pace in a short line. “Do you know a woman by the name of Isabetta Falcone?”

  Oxford stroked his hand down the sides of his chin, bringing his fingers together at the tip as if smoothing an imaginary beard—a nervous habit. “You’re from the city?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Greer said, waiting for the doctor to come clean. When Oxford remained mute, he continued. “Ms. Kelley and I had an interesting conversation with Isabetta last night.”

  “About?”

  “About you, Dr. Oxford.”

  “The prophecy,” I clarified. “We know you’re looking for it.”

  I glared at Greer before he had a chance to admonish me. I was the one responsible for the prophecy so I had every right to speak my mind, and he was doing a poor job of cutting to the chase. I was just moving the conversation along.

  “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you I wanted no part of it,” the doctor said.

  “No, we wouldn’t,” Greer shot back. “And you’d be wise to consider whom you’re working for.”

  “Working for? I’m not working for anyone.” Oxford crossed the room and pulled a letter-sized envelope from the desk drawer. “See for yourself.” He handed it to Greer. The letter was addressed to Isabetta. He opened it and removed its contents. A check floated to the floor as he unfolded the sheet of paper encasing it. It was made out to David Oxford in the amount of fifty thousand dollars.

  “Cheap,” I mumbled.

  The piece of paper had two words written in large capital letters—KEEP IT.

  “I have no desire to get into bed with that woman,” Oxford said with a touch of disgust. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

  “That may be true, Doctor, but why haven’t you mailed it?” I asked.

  He looked at me like I’d just asked him why the earth was round. “Because I didn’t have a stamp, Ms. Kelley.” He scratched his head and looked at the ground. “Need to get to the post office,” he muttered as an afterthought. “The market, too. I have to pick up toothpaste.”

  He mumbled off a list of mundane items he needed to purchase, and I realized we were losing the brilliant doctor. “Dr. Oxford…the prophecy.” That seemed to bring him back from the distraction of his grocery list.

  “Yes, the prophecy. Fantastic discovery, isn’t it?”

  “Isabetta Falcone thinks she’s getting a fifty-thousand-dollar pair of superman glasses. Why would she think that?” I asked.

  “Well, I believe she’s right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “About the vessel being invisible to the human eye.”

  I looked at Greer who was being unusually quiet for a man who liked to dominate the conversation, but he just listened as Oxford spoke.

  “Are you saying you have developed a pair of glasses that can see it?”

  He laughed at my question. “Ms. Kelley, are you familiar with cone cells?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, and I hoped he wasn’t about to go off on another tangent.

  Greer finally piped up. “You mean the color sensitivity of the eye?”

  “Exactly. The human eye has three types. Most of us are trichromats, meaning we have three types of color receptors in our eyes. To simplify, think of them as the three primary color receptors. It also means our perception of the world around us is limited to a specific range within that electromagnetic spectrum. But we still have to be able to see those wavelengths of color in order to identify an object. Isabetta is correct that I’ve been working on something that can see certain wavelengths that otherwise might not be detectable.”

  “I’m curious, Dr. Oxford.” Greer wasn’t buying the whole story. “Would you like to tell us how you even know about the prophecy? Isabetta is a smart woman, but I doubt she made the connection between your work and the vessel and just looked you up to see if you wanted a little freelance work. I also doubt she told you the real reason she was interested in your research.”

  “I’d heard rumors about the vessel—or vessels—for years,” Oxford said. “The spectral research community is very tight. Our ears are always up, so something as exciting as a prophetic vessel d
oes not remain underground for long. When Isabetta approached me and said she was looking for some kind of invisible container, I made the connection myself. I was point blank with her about my suspicions, so she talked.” His face took on a more serious note. “But let me assure you, Mr. Sinclair, my research was started for very different reasons. Once it’s complete, however, it can easily be applied to the hunt for the vessel.”

  “Then you do have something she wants?”

  “Oh, I have something she wants, Mr. Sinclair. She’s just not going to get it.” He took a deep breath and looked at the two of us. “The question is, will you?”

  I wasn’t worried about that part because Greer had a way of making people do anything he wanted. But before he could compel the good doctor to give up his invention, we needed to know what it was.

  “Have you ever heard of a place called Lochaber?” Dr. Oxford asked.

  “In the Scottish Highlands?” Greer seemed to be less clueless than I was.

  “There’s a village there called Glenfinnan. You may be familiar with their famous monument to the Jacobite clansmen. But there’s a little secret they aren’t quite as public about.”

  “I’ve heard of the place,” Greer said. “Continue.”

  “For centuries, the villagers stood at the shores of Loch Shiel and never knew they had a visitor. Then one day, there was a storm and all hell broke loose in the glen. It’s a beautiful place, but on that particular day it must have been terrifying.” He stopped talking and wandered off again.

  “Dr. Oxford.” I managed to corral his attention back to the story.

  “Yes, sorry. As I was saying, a storm rolled in. But this wasn’t just any storm. Lightning flashed through the glen for hours, and the thunder it created—” He shook his head and paused as if he’d been there to see it for himself. “Witnesses say it was like the hand of God was cracking a whip through the valley. They could see a giant figure appear on the shore each time the lightning struck. Some sort of statue about thirty feet tall. It would appear and then simply vanish with the lightning.”

  “This is all very interesting, Dr. Oxford, but what’s the relevance?”

  “The relevance, Mr. Sinclair, is that it keeps happening. Every time lightning strikes, the statue appears. No one has been able to pinpoint it, but I believe the lightning is being reflected off of a natural prism hidden somewhere in the glen. That prism is taking the source light and separating it into the usual wavelengths—primary colors the human eye can see—but it’s also separating out a new one—a hybrid that has never been documented. A hybrid that the human eye can see.”

  My gaze shot to Greer’s. He was already thinking what I was. The prism in my pocket was a tool to find the vessel.

  “Pardon me, Dr. Oxford,” I interrupted. “Science and math weren’t my strong points in school. Can you dumb it down just a hair?”

  “Of course. Sunlight, or white light, is a composition of all the colors of the spectrum. When light hits an object, say…a lemon, the lemon will absorb some but not all of that light. What doesn’t get absorbed gets reflected to the human eye. In the case of our lemon, the color yellow is not absorbed and gets reflected. Our brain translates those reflected wavelengths as color. Hence, we see the object and our brain knows that it’s yellow.”

  He studied my face for signs that I was getting it. “Does that make sense, Ms. Kelley?”

  “Yes, thank you. But I still don’t understand what makes the statue invisible.”

  “Ah, that’s the good part. I believe the statue is capable of absorbing one hundred percent of the light hitting it. There simply is nothing reflected for the eye to see, so it’s invisible. That is, until the lightning hits this mysterious prism which separates and creates this new wavelength of light that the statue can’t absorb.”

  “And this ‘hybrid’ light that isn’t absorbed is reflected for the whole world to see,” Greer added.

  “Exactly, Mr. Sinclair. But it’s only visible for a few seconds as the lightning strikes, and then it’s gone again. I’m convinced that the vessel is made up of the same particles as the mysterious statue of Loch Shiel. My research has been to replicate this mysterious anomaly in the form of a lens containing a prism—a very unusual prism. Can you imagine how many things are out there just waiting to be seen with the right lens?”

  “Is your research complete?” Greer asked.

  “Not yet, but I’m getting very close. Isabetta Falcone contacted me and offered me money for the technology. I have to say, it took some convincing to get her to tell me why she wanted it.” He lowered his voice. “I mean no offense, but I doubt Ms. Falcone was capable of making the connection between my work and the vessel. As you said, Mr. Sinclair, she’s smart but not that smart. I suspect she’s working with someone who is.”

  “We agree on that.” Greer glanced at me while I replayed the science lesson in my head. “And I intend to find out who that is.”

  “May I ask, Dr. Oxford, where are these magic lenses?” Even if they weren’t finished yet, I was a little worried about the glasses sitting in a university lab just waiting to be stolen.

  He appeared benign enough, but the question seemed to invoke a man much more cunning in nature. “Ms. Kelley. The technology for filtering out a new wavelength of light that has never been documented before is not as simple as throwing on a generic pair of prism-imbedded glasses. It’s true that we all share a common range of sight, but something of this sensitivity would require the finest tuning of the individual wearing them.”

  He leaned in closer and looked me in the eye. “Do you really think all that power can be put into a one-size-fits-all lens?”

  I gasped as the color of his irises shifted from blue to green, and then to red. “They’re in your eyes.”

  “Clever girl, Ms. Kelley.”

  “Oxford!” Greer commanded, compelling the doctor to look at him, confirming for himself that the lenses were indeed in the man’s eyes.

  “Surgically implanted. No one’s getting their hands on these.”

  “Why are you telling us all this?” I was surprised Greer hadn’t already asked the question.

  Dr. Oxford smiled. “Because I know who you are, Ms. Kelley. Everyone knows who you are.”

  We left Cornell University knowing two things: the true nature of Dr. David Oxford’s work, and that Isabetta Falcone had an accomplice.

  Dr. Oxford agreed to let us know if Isabetta contacted him for anything else. In the meantime, Greer was planning to find out who her accomplice was as soon as we got back to the city.

  I pulled the prism from my pocket and examined it closely. It was about two inches tall and long, nothing unusual as far as prisms go, I suppose.

  “Careful with your new toy,” Greer warned.

  I played with it for a moment longer before putting it back in my pocket. “She’s watching me.”

  “Who?”

  “My mother. It’s not a coincidence that she gave it to me now. She knew we were on our way to see Dr. Oxford.”

  The doctor had inadvertently filled in the blanks where my mother left off. The object in my pocket would allow my mere human eyes to see the vessel. Now I just needed to walk from the Battery to Harlem and point it at every square inch in between. If that turned up nothing, I’d start on the five boroughs. Should only take about a hundred years.

  “Greer,” I began hesitantly, dreading telling him the small thing I left out earlier. “She said something else to me. She said the Rogues are coming.”

  I woke up as we were driving down our street. I was happy to see the familiar buildings and green awnings. Even the sound of traffic and car horns was music to my ears.

  The clock on the console said 9:08 p.m. I had the day shift the next morning, which meant I had an hour or two before I had to hit the sack.

  Greer showed little reaction when I told him about my mother’s warning. I suppose it was because he already knew. Lumen said the same thing the day she showed up at the sho
p, and Greer, I suspect, took her warning as gospel. He didn’t want her anywhere near me, but her words clearly held a lot of weigh with him.

  Sophia greeted us as we got off the elevator. Greer had given her the day off, but true to her hardworking Italian nature and her loyalty, she came to work anyway to make sure food was in the oven when we got home.

  “That was really thoughtful, Sophia.” As usual, I was starving and grateful for her cooking.

  Greer offered to drive her home, but he’d been behind the wheel for more than three hours, so she insisted he let her take the car service.

  We served ourselves straight from the pan on the stovetop and sat at the kitchen counter to eat Sophia’s eggplant parmesan.

  “You don’t think Oxford is full of shit, do you?”

  Greer shook his head. “I think he knows exactly what he’s doing and told us everything he knows. He has no reason to lie to us. In fact, I think he’s betting on us as his second line of defense.”

  “Against what?”

  “Against Isabetta Falcone. When he does mail that letter, and I have a feeling it’ll be tomorrow, she’ll send someone else up there. No stamp, my ass. He was scared to send it.”

  “Do you really think she’d hurt him?”

  “If she finds out where his research is, I wouldn’t put it past her to try to dig his eyes out herself.”

  The image of David Oxford lying in a pool of blood with two butchered eye sockets jarred me. “Greer, we can’t let her do that to him.”

  “I already made a call. She won’t get anywhere near him.”

  We were cleaning up from dinner when Greer’s cell phone went off. He walked out of the kitchen to take the call. When he returned, he had a box in his hand.

  “That was Sophia. She forgot to mention the package that was delivered today.” He handed it to me. “It’s for you.”

  The box was about a foot long and half as thick. There was no return address and no reason for anyone to send it to me. “What should I do?”

  “I think you should open it.”

  I stared at the plain brown package and thought about all the bad things that could be inside. I hadn’t ordered anything. Packages didn’t just show up on your doorstep without a reason, and that reason was making my imagination run wild.

 

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