True Born

by L. E. Sterling

  He nods. “You’re asking about the True Born genetic mutations, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” I swallow. “I mean, isn’t it against evolutionary biology that a species could evolve by regression?”

  “Great question.” He flips a book up in the air and catches it, his signature move. “Under ordinary circumstances I would agree with that claim. But with the levels of pollution found in all aspects of our environments and bodies, I think our DNA decided that if we didn’t adapt, we’d go extinct, so some of our genetic sequencing chose very specific strands to replicate for survival. It appears that some of the DNA needed to survive our new environment just so happened to have existed before. Likely, this is because most animals lived without the sanitation and cleanliness that we humans have grown accustomed to, grown soft over. My personal theory is that all of us contain the DNA of our antecedents. We just don’t all have it triggered. But, to be completely honest, we haven’t collected enough data to be certain. So far, not many True Borns will allow themselves to be tested.”

  So it is possible that Storm is right. They may not know. Or they could be hiding the truth.

  “The way you’re talking—it almost sounds like you think our DNA is alive and aware, like people,” I muse.

  “That’s an interesting thought,” he says with a shrug. “Something to pursue.” The last of his books disappear into his knapsack, and he walks me to the door. Margot waits just outside.

  I pause at the threshold. “We.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You said, ‘we haven’t collected enough data.’ Sir, I was just wondering who ‘we’ is? Who says what tests can or can’t be done on True Borns?”

  “The government regulates everything, Lucy.”

  “But who, exactly?” They never talk about the True Borns. Not if they can help it.

  “All True Born issues are handled at the state level. And if I’m not mistaken, it falls under the portfolio of the Minister of Health.”

  An icy shiver whips through me. “Senator Kain’s portfolio?”

  “Yes, I think that’s right.”

  I nod, only vaguely aware of Mr. Hobart’s hasty retreat and parting words. “I have to dash, Lucy, but we can continue this next class if you like,” as Margot tugs me to our next class.

  “Catatonic,” she whispers, furious at me.

  “Thinking,” I reply a little too sharply as we sail, lost and adrift, through the wide halls, only to be swallowed by a sea of identically clad bodies.

  ...

  At lunch I sit alone with Margot at one of the long oak tables in the dining hall. I feel hot eyes on us. We’re being unfriendly. On a typical day we’d sit with Deirdre Phalon and Jenny Smythe, three tables away. This is not a typical day.

  Margot keeps her head down, nibbling at the salad and baguette I purchased for her since she wasn’t up to standing in line. Margot taps a code on her knee. I look around to see who she’s talking about. In this way we keep up with the tidal life of the school. I rap a finger once on the table, pointing toward the washrooms at the far end of the school. She nods, taps once in response, indicating she’ll be fine staying put.

  I’m not more than a few minutes, but by the time I walk back to our table, Robbie Deakins is leaning over my red-faced sister. I pick up the pace, arriving just as Robbie leans too close to Margot.

  “Hey!” I manage to startle Robbie so badly he jumps. Margot’s eyes, big and haunted, bore into me.

  Robbie Deakins exudes the kind of sexual confidence that, until just a few weeks ago, had Margot very intrigued. He’s charming, sophisticated. Worse, he and my sister have been waltzing around each other for a year now.

  “Luce,” he says in his casual way. “Where’ve you guys been?”

  I shrug. “Around. Where’ve you been?”

  He barks a laugh. “Avoiding my pops, that’s where.”

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “Well”—he leans in conspiratorially—“you know how this insurrection is because of the preachers, right? Well, my pops is on the warpath. He’s going to ‘clean up the streets of Dominion by any means necessary.’”

  “What, has he got you enlisting in the army or something?”

  “Practically.” He turns to Margot with a laugh. “But you never returned my call,” he tells her, picking up on some thread of conversation I missed.

  “Busy,” Margot evades with a shrug.

  “Well, when you get over being busy”—he gives her a cool look—“give me a call. Let’s hang out or, I know—you can make it up to me by making me your date for your Reveal.”

  I roll my eyes. “Robbie. You know we can’t.”

  Our father would never let Margot or me bring a date of our own choosing to our party, not even someone on our “safe” list. Not for this milestone. When they tell you, it’s public. You need to be aware of your public face. Robbie knows this.

  Robbie thinks the world of our father.

  “Hey”—he flashes a pearly white grin at us—“never hurts to ask.” He leans back to look me up and down, his shirt and collar bunches like grapes at his neck. “You’re keeping pretty interesting company these days, Luce.”

  “Just doing my duty,” I shoot back with a tight smile.

  Robbie leans over and kisses Margot on the cheek. She flinches, and I feel her momentary shot of panic, but it subsides as he skips off toward a rowdy table of boys.

  “Sorry,” I breathe in our quiet-quiet way. Margot shakes her head. We float there for what feels like a long time, utterly alone amid the noisy din and press of bodies in the long, cold room.

  ...

  At the last bell we skip down to the large entrance floor, its floors shiny again, and are confronted by rows of security. Home security, not school. Many are the mercs we’ve seen chauffeur our friends to school every day. Some new faces. My sister stops in front of me at the bottom of the stairs. I cast around for Fritz or Shane, but in the sea of buff bodies I spy only the tall, thin True Born I saw on the day of the attack, just a few meters away. He nods to me as I step carefully toward him.

  “You think I’m going to pull a sword, Miss Fox.” He bows slightly and smiles a faraway smile. “Or maybe, as the saying goes, bite you?”

  “No, sorry—I just didn’t want to disturb you.”

  He waves this away. “No bother. What can I do for you?” Up close, he has the rangy build of a fighter. His skin is not so much blue as clear, so translucent you can see the blood circulating underneath, as though his skin is the surface of a pool. It’s his eyes that are the most interesting, though: a blend resting somewhere between a washed out yellow and green, a color our mother would likely call “savannah.”

  “Have you—” I break off, question forgotten. I feel the eyes pinned to my back even before the True Born tracks his attention to someone standing behind me. That crackling, burning presence that won’t let me be.

  “Jared”—I turn and look down my nose at him—“what are you doing here?”

  “Coming to fetch you, your Highness.” He graces me with a mocking bow. The True Born raises an eyebrow at us.

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes and turn back to the tall, thin man with the strange green eyes. “Here’s my ride. I’d better go. Thank you anyhow.”

  He nods, solemn, before giving Jared a thoughtful look. “True Born,” he mutters.

  “What was that?” Jared says, his hand clamped on my upper arm as if I’m a rabbit about to bolt.

  “I did not know the Fox family kept True Borns.”

  Jared gives the man a big, lazy grin. “They don’t,” he cheerfully tells the guardian as he whirls me out the door.

  Outside, the whirring of choppers fills the air like dead weights. I press my hands to my ears as one chopper sets down on the building across the street. Grayguard disallowed choppers on their own roof some time ago. Jared grabs my hand and shoves me into the Oldtime car before disappearing around the other side. Margot is already inside.

 
; Our eyes meet before flickering over the scene outside. More than one family has sent two or more escorts, and from the sheer numbers of men with escort badges, I’d say a few of the families who’ve been lax about security in the past have changed their tune. A dozen academy security lines the perimeter of the school. More, I’m sure, behind and above. Their semi-automatics are drawn, a sure sign they’re expecting trouble. But there’s something different about the way they’re standing, a pattern that catches my eye and nags at my memory.

  “What are they doing, Jared?” Forgetting my annoyance at the True Born, the question has flown from my mouth before I can take it back.

  But he surprises me by answering. “Standard military op.” He nods to the front line of bodies. “Stagger lead guards with rear. If you’re hit with artillery or dirty bombs, the leads will act like shields, allowing the rear to retaliate and disarm the attackers.”

  Margot inches her way to the front of the seat. “They’re expecting another attack?”

  “It’s a likely scenario,” Jared answers a little too cheerfully.

  Fritz frowns at Jared through the rearview. They don’t like it when we know things. They prefer us to exist in ignorance.

  “Then why did they reopen the school?” Margot asks.

  Jared turns around in his seat. “Don’t you want to get smart so you can marry a rich Upper Circle jerk?” he mocks. I roll my eyes. Now his insults are just getting lazy. I can tell he’s losing energy for the fight.

  “I wouldn’t need to be smart to do that,” I murmur. I’m not sure he’s heard me until he turns back around in stony silence.

  Increased security is everywhere: snipers crown the tops of buildings, shops have their metal shutters down, caging them in. And everywhere I turn a painted pair of red eyes stare back at me, Evolve or die, written sloppily beneath the mystifying pictogram.

  ...

  As we step out of the car and enter the house, Jared calls to me in a steely voice. “Lucy, a word.”

  Margot shoots me a worried look as she and Fritz melt away. But, traitor, she heads for the stairs. I send her a reassuring half smile. I can handle Jared Price, the smile says. Although whether or not that’s true is another matter, I think, as I follow him into the living room.

  He waits for me to enter, then saunters over to me like a predator. His eyes are green, a sure sign he’s worked up.

  “We’re going to get a few things straight,” he snarls. I nod and clasp my hands in front of me, patiently waiting for him to get to the point. It unbalances him. He stops, as though his prey has done something unusual, and tilts his head back to look at me from beneath hooded eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking forward to hearing what you have to say, of course,” I shoot back with my most charming smile, one I’ve learned from my socialite mother.

  Jared’s low growl fills the room with menace. “You stay away from that True Born,” he snipes.

  “I was just about to ask him if he’d seen Fritz.”

  “I don’t care what you were doing. You stay. Away. From. Him.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a stranger. You don’t know him. We’re not a solid tribe where you can trust any one of us. He may be different, but he’s not like you. And he’s not going to tell you what you need to know.”

  How did he know? My nose twitches. I rub at it, momentarily closing my eyes. I had wanted to speak to the True Born. I wanted to get friendly, perhaps even strike up an acquaintance that would allow me to throw out an awkward question or two without being rebuffed. Clearly that part of my plan won’t pan out, I realize as I stare back at the moody man before me, face alight with some kind of fire. I look down at my feet as Jared’s voice turns softer, almost compassionate.

  “Storm and I can answer any questions you might have.”

  I decide to take him at his word. “When did you know you were True Born?” I fire back.

  His breath hitches. “You don’t waste any time, do you, Princess?” But when I just continue to stare, Jared tells me, “I always knew. Always. As far back as I can remember.”

  “How? How did you know?”

  The dismissive shrug of his shoulders is not the answer I’m looking for. “I just—knew. I guess it’s the same as knowing whether you like girls or boys.” As I ponder that answer, Jared leans against our mother’s chintz-covered sofa and crosses his arms. “And I was early for a shifter.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means”—he leans closer to me—“that I changed into a panther kid and scared the pants off everyone.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve. Why do you want to know?” Jared’s face clouds over. I feel a pang, imagining Jared shifting for the first time. He was so young. Just a kid, really. It makes sense now, why he’s so threatened by the outside world… True Born is all he’s ever really known.

  “How old are most when they shift?”

  “Most True Borns discover their—uh—gifts just past puberty. There’s a reason why you all have your coming out parties at eighteen.”

  “Is it possible to not know, do you think?”

  Jared rubs his chin, but his eyes shadow with suspicion. “I couldn’t say.”

  “What about those born with fins and such?”

  “Most of those are killed at birth.”

  “Oh.”

  “I think you should go to your room now and do your homework like a good little girl,” he tells me quietly, reducing me to nothing more than a child in his care.

  My eyes skate over his tousled blond locks, his shoulders covered with a ratty old sweater, his moth-eaten shirt covering what my hands remember to be a spectacular chest, pants that only accentuate powerful thighs. I wonder what draws us, because I can tell from the rapid way his chest rises and falls that, even now when he’s so busy pushing me away, he’s drawn to me. Memorizing me and filing me away in that mysterious brain of his. But I won’t give him the satisfaction. I quickly turn and all but dash out of the room.

  And me? Can I forgive myself for recalling with searing memory what it was like to be kissed by him? The memory of dancing with him, my chest pressed tight against his, haunts my dreams. I’m so aware of Jared I can tell when he walks into the house.

  I try to forget his jibe about me being a little girl and head up the stairs. His eyes burn into my back as I puzzle over his answers. But I know I will turn his words over and over again as the dark claims me for sleep. And I know, equally so, that his confessions don’t bring me any closer to finding out what Margot and I are.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I awake the next morning to a sharp rap on my door before Margot peeks her head in. “Lu? You aren’t ready for school,” she accuses.

  Usually I am the one who shakes Margot awake after one of her marathon half-night phone sessions. But that Margot is well and truly gone, I realize as I take in my sister’s pin-neat uniform, hair pulled back with a simple brown headband. Even her eyes are serious this morning.

  She looks like me.

  “Lu, you’ve got to get up.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Father’s on the phone.”

  I leap out of bed and race down the stairs to the phone, ignoring the fact that I’m wearing blue pajamas and my feet are bare. Father’s face fills the small screen. He grips his black leather gloves impatiently. Uh-oh.

  “Lucinda,” he barks, “what are you doing in your pajamas? Isn’t today a school day?”

  “Yes, Father. My alarm must have shorted. We’re not late yet.” I can’t see much more than his head and shoulders in the screen, but it is enough to gauge the situation. He’s dressed in one of his best charcoal gray suits. A violet handkerchief pokes from his suit pocket like a stiff doll. But what I notice most is his sharp and disapproving expression.

  “I have already spoken to your sister,” he tells me, his words loaded with meaning. “I understand that several of the True Borns are staying with us.”


  “Yes, Father.”

  “Well,” he says with a sigh, “I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it for the present. No matter. Your mother and I will be home next week.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  His eyes are sharp enough to cut glass. “They’re behaving themselves?”

  “As much as you or I,” I say with honesty. Which is not to say they are necessarily behaving themselves. But our father accepts this as gospel.

  “Fine. Oh, and Lucinda,” he says. He rarely uses my full name, but when he does, he stretches it out like a complicated threat.

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Our guest will be with us. Be ready to properly welcome him.” The words are as loaded as a gun.

  “Of course, Father. Send us a message, and we’ll be sure to have a suitable meal ready.”

  “Good.” He reaches for a button and vanishes into a blank screen.

  My heart leaps in panic. I shudder at the thought of someone exposing us before our father’s “very important” business partner… Even if that doesn’t happen, how much freedom will I have to get the answers we need while we’re busy entertaining this mysterious stranger?

  Margot lingers at the door behind me. “Did you hear that?” I ask. She nods, her eyes clouded. I can feel throbs of panic between us. “Everything is going to be fine,” I tell her with a small smile.

  “Is it?” she asks with trembling lips. “Is it ever going to be fine, ever again?”

  “Yes,” I say confidently, stepping forward and soothing my hand through her silky brown hair. In the light of day it’s streaked with red, a fiery sunrise touching rock. She doesn’t believe me. I know this, accept this, even as it breaks my heart.

  Torch bounces up behind Margot. “Hey, Margot, there you are,” he says in an excited voice, his boyish features pink with pleasure. He comes to a crashing halt inches from her. “What’s wrong?” he asks, casting a professional glance around the room. Despite how close he stands to Margot, close enough that he could whisper sweet nothings into her ear, she doesn’t cringe. She’s not ready to bolt. Instead, she fills the cord between us with a sweet sense of safety. Interesting. And I wonder how much has been transpiring right before my eyes while I’ve hared after the mysteries of our blood.