by K. K. Perez
Lucy’s fingers slipped over the keyboard, water dripping from her messy curls. She hadn’t bothered changing yet. Her skirt showed the outline of her bikini bottoms and her desk chair was growing soggier by the second. The night-hued stone rested beside the mouse.
Ravi Malik. Malik, Ravi. R. Malik.
Where was he?
The all-seeing eye that was Google had no clue.
Nothing but his very uninformative profile on the staff page of the Eaton High website. It gave his school email but Lucy couldn’t say what she needed to say by email. And she couldn’t wait. She was well aware that tracking him down where he lived was outside the bounds of what was socially acceptable.
But at this moment, Lucy didn’t care.
She jammed her eyes shut, trying to summon the numbers and letters of the Land Rover’s license plate. Nada.
How could Ravi have no social media presence? He didn’t seem like the type to give a running commentary of his breakfast on Twitter (he probably ate something British like crumpets), but any self-respecting fanboy would have a Tumblr or participate in some kind of online forum. Nothing popped up on the Heron College website either.
Lucy rocked back in her chair, clutching the ebony stone and lifting it to her heart.
Think, Luce. She clicked her mouse.
Ravi’s face stared back at her from the Eaton staff page. He looked on the brink of the laugh she liked too much. Bright sunshine splashed across a green lawn in the background. Lucy squinted. And … was that a river?
A trick she’d picked up from the coder forum struck her.
She right-clicked on the photo and copied the URL while opening a new browser window. If Ravi had used this photo for any other online account, then a reverse image search should find it. A ripple of unwarranted jealousy passed through Lucy just thinking about finding a dating profile.
It took less than a second to produce a result.
Ravi’s face had been cropped from a larger photo. An older gentleman with a white beard and gunmetal eyes had his arm around him, beaming a paternal smile. He looked like the actor hired to play “distinguished professor” in a movie.
Clicking on the photo took Lucy to the website for a newspaper called the Cambridge Evening News. The article was talking about some bicentenary at Trinity College, but that wasn’t what made Lucy’s blood run cold. What iced her to the core was the caption beneath the picture.
Professor Tarquin Weston-Jones, left; Dr. Ravi Singh, right.
Ravi Singh! No wonder she couldn’t find a Facebook account. He’d lied about his name. And hold the phone, he was Dr. Ravi Singh? Which meant he already had a Ph.D. How was that possible? Why would he conceal his identity?
Lucy bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted a coppery tang. She’d never felt paranoid before.
You’re not paranoid if someone’s really after you.
She rubbed her temples. She couldn’t afford to panic any more than she already was.
Why would Ravi lie about his name but not about Professor T? If he already had a Ph.D., why was he pretending to be a college student? Didn’t he think Lucy would work it out? No, Ravi probably didn’t think she’d be playing detective on the Internet.
Well, too bad.
Ravi Singh, Cambridge, she tapped with fevered fingers. There were too many results. She refined the search. Ravi Singh + Cambridge + Mathematics
Jackpot.
Heart pounding, she pored over matriculation and graduation records. Lucy was torn between wanting to get to the bottom of his deception and wanting to make plausible excuses for him.
She spun the stone in her hand, light from the computer screen glimmering off its diamondlike ridges.
Ravi must have cared about her to give her something like this. But why? Why did Ravi care about Lucy? She’d been too flattered to question it.
Returning the cursor to the search results, she swept toward the bottom of the page, where there was another link to the same newspaper. Only, this article was dated from 2007.
TWO UNIVERSITY SCIENTISTS KILLED IN FIRE, read the headline.
Lucy skimmed the first couple of paragraphs.
Two university geneticists were killed yesterday afternoon when a fire broke out in the Old Cavendish Laboratory on Free School Lane. Dr. Seema Singh, 39, and Dr. Amit Singh, 42, a married couple working together on a cure for Alzheimer’s succumbed to their injuries at Addenbrooke’s Hospital. They are survived by their son, Ravi Singh, age 9, who was treated for smoke inhalation by paramedics at the scene along with Professor Tarquin Weston-Jones, 59, of Trinity College, Cambridge, who rescued the boy.
Witnesses reported hearing an explosion before flames engulfed the second floor of the building. No immediate source of the blast was confirmed. The Cambridgeshire Fire Brigade is investigating the electrical wiring of the 133-year-old structure as a possible cause.
The article went on to discuss the Singhs’ research and questions of fire safety in the laboratory, but nowhere did it mention terrorism or foul play. What would make Ravi think that? Who could possibly be against a cure for Alzheimer’s?
Lucy was relieved Ravi’s story about being saved by Professor T checked out. And yet, it didn’t explain why he would be using a false name. If he was so traumatized by his parents’ deaths that he wanted to forget all about it, surely he would have changed his name years ago?
Be a scientist. Drawing down a lungful of air, Lucy began to type up a list of indisputable facts.
1. Ravi Malik does not exist
2. Ravi Singh received his Ph.D. in mathematics from Trinity College last December
3. Ravi’s parents were killed in a fire (Accident? Arson?)
4. Ravi was saved and mentored by Professor T
What was she missing? It didn’t add up.
Her gaze skittered back to the photograph. What did she know about Professor T? Biologist. Nobel Prize winner. Started his own biotech firm. Shouldn’t be hard to find.
A few keystrokes led Lucy to his company’s website.
The logo appeared and her adrenal gland worked overtime.
“Ouroboros,” she muttered under her breath, despite the fact that no one could hear her. They couldn’t, could they? Stop, Lucy. She wasn’t about to start believing in an omniscient, omnipresent they.
A sleek, digital serpent encircled the company name: Chrysopoeia Tech.
Lucy played another round of hyperlink leapfrog and found the definition of chrysopoeia: transmutation.
That explained how Ravi had been exposed to alchemy. Of course he’d take up his godfather’s interests. From their body language in the photo they seemed close. She moved her cursor to the About Us link on Professor T’s website.
Chrysopoeia Tech was founded in 2010 by Professor Tarquin Weston-Jones, Fellow for Life at Trinity College, Cambridge. Professor Weston-Jones became a Nobel laureate for his pioneering research in the field of quantum biology, specifically DNA mutation. Perhaps the world’s most renowned proponent of biophysics, Weston-Jones launched Chrysopoeia Tech to strengthen the links between science, medicine, and industry. Recognizing the paucity of university-level departments for the interdisciplinary field of biophysics, Chrysopoeia’s privately funded laboratory is a haven where neuroscientists, mathematicians, physicists and biochemists can work together for the advancement of technology and the eradication of genetic diseases.
Lucy thought back to her botched Voltaic pile experiment. The way Ravi had challenged her about Galvani’s theory of animal electricity suddenly made sense. Galvani was probably the grandfather of quantum biology.
She lurched away from the computer, afraid to cause another power outage.
Ravi knew. He must. Or at least suspect.
How? She gripped the armrests of her chair so hard she thought they might snap. Mentally, she added to her tally of facts.
5. Ravi somehow stumbled upon her in the middle of New York City
6. Ravi chased after a mugger without a seco
nd thought
7. Ravi showed up at Eaton High right after Lucy broke into the Tesla Suite
Burning plastic wafted through the air as molten puddles appeared beneath Lucy’s fingers. Ow!
8. Ravi had come to Eaton for Lucy
She didn’t know why, but Ravi better believe Lucy was going to find out. Before she risked exposing Claudia to whatever was going on, she needed to confront him.
It would just have to wait until Monday.
AMBUSH
Lucy’s eyes were ringed with shadows. She’d been too keyed up for more than a couple hours of sleep. She’d needed to arrive at school before Ravi so she risked riding Marie Curie and, miraculously, arrived without incident.
The hallways were freshly mopped, the tang of Lysol in the air, and she skidded a few times over the linoleum on her way to the physics lab. The door to the classroom had already been unlocked by the janitor and she turned the handle gingerly, as if expecting an ax murderer to jump out from behind the blackboard.
She rooted around her bag, jangling the keychain at the bottom. In any other situation she wouldn’t even consider breaking into a teacher’s office. But needs must.
Thank you, Mrs. Brandon.
Lucy flipped through her house keys, garage keys, spare key to Claudia’s house for emergencies …
No science-office key.
Weird.
She couldn’t remember taking it off her Death Star keychain. Not that Lucy hadn’t been distracted lately. Dammit. She should have double-checked before she left home. Her eyes cut to the wall clock: 7:55 A.M. No time to go back now.
Arms at her sides, Lucy stood sentry-straight, counting the seconds.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Ravi ambled in a few minutes later, head bopping to whatever was blasting from his earbuds. He had his phone in one hand, a thermos in the other. Stubble was scattered along his jaw. She liked the scruffiness.
Lock down those hormones. Lucy had to stop thinking there was anything cute about him. He had lied to her—to everyone at Eaton High. She ignored the voice reminding her that she was no better.
His eyes lifted from the screen. When he recognized her, he grinned in an endearing way.
No, not endearing. Ingratiating. Weaselly.
“Morning,” he said, taking out the earbuds. He gestured at her [Fe]male T-shirt, chuckling. “I like it. Apropos.”
Fe was the chemical symbol for iron and it seemed appropriate to Lucy that all females were inherently iron men.
When she didn’t laugh or smile, Ravi furrowed his brow.
“Did we have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Okay.” His face gave nothing away. Hooking an ankle around one of the stools that lined the rows of desks, he took a seat. Lucy remained standing.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, and took a sip from his thermos, totally relaxed. He had no idea what was coming.
Now or never.
“I want to talk about what you’re really doing at Eaton High.”
The thermos slipped from his grasp but he caught it again with quicksilver reflexes. Lucy had been hoping for shock, indignation, recrimination. What she got was eerie composure. Ravi set the thermos on the desktop and met her disbelieving gaze.
“You’re not going to tell me I’m wrong? That you’re not a liar?” She attempted to copy his emotionless façade but incredulity saturated her voice.
He tipped forward, took her hand deliberately, and interlaced their fingers. Lucy should have resisted. She didn’t. The moment their skin made contact she felt like she was flying.
“The only thing I lied to you about was my name,” he said, his voice strained.
“What about your Ph.D.?”
He glanced down, setting the thermos on the desk. “And my Ph.D.—it was on tessellation, though.” Looking up again, he said, “Everything else was one hundred percent me.”
“How do you expect me to believe that?”
“Because you feel it. I know you do.”
His eyes pulled her in like a homing beacon.
“I don’t know what I feel,” she protested.
Ravi reached toward her. “Lucy, believe me when I say I’m here to help.” He glanced toward the door, then swept his gaze across the windows as if he were doing reconnaissance. “We can’t speak openly here.”
She snorted. “You think Eaton High is bugged?”
His demeanor said he did. “Meet me later.”
“So you can make me disappear? Or whatever you Area 54 types do?” Lucy may have watched more space operas than spy thrillers, but she knew this scenario didn’t typically end well for the unsuspecting schoolgirl.
Forcing a laugh, Ravi said, “You’re not an alien, Lucinda.”
She hated how much she liked the way he said her full name.
“But you know what I am,” she countered.
“Meet me and I’ll explain.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Like where no one can hear me scream?”
“Anywhere you want,” he said. Then he added a caveat, “Somewhere outside and private would be better.”
Meeting a guy with a secret identity somewhere secluded was mind-crushingly stupid.
But what choice did she have?
“After school. There’s a popular hiking trail. Bear Mountain. I’m going to let my friend know where I’ll be,” she told him as imperiously as possible. “If I go missing, people will know.”
Darkness passed over Ravi’s face and he took a labored breath.
“I would never hurt you, Lucinda.”
“That remains to be seen. Three fifteen P.M., sharp. If you’re late, I walk.”
Chin high, Lucy strutted from the physics lab hoping he didn’t notice the trembling of her lips.
THE BODY PIEZOELECTRIC
An overcast sky swirled above Bear Mountain. Lucy had hiked it countless times with her dad. She’d had many a lesson on flora and fauna in these woods.
It must be three or four o’clock in the morning in Tokyo right now. How was her dad doing? Lucy couldn’t remember ever going so long without seeing him in her entire life. Her mom didn’t seem worried but she’d barely lifted her head out of the Pharmakon over the last few weeks. All she said was that he’d be home as soon as he could.
A twig snapped and Lucy teetered forward, hopping up from the boulder on which she was perched. Her muscles tensed as if expecting a body blow.
“Hiya.” The late-April breeze mussed Ravi’s hair as he patted it down, testing out a lukewarm smile.
Lucy would not be charmed. “Two more minutes and you would’ve been talking to yourself. So spill.”
He took another few steps toward her, hands outstretched in surrender, as if Lucy might bolt at any moment. Which was pretty accurate.
“That’s close enough,” she warned him.
Ravi scratched his temple, coughed into his hand.
“I was going to tell you the truth, Lucy. I was working up to it.”
Been there, done that, she thought. First Cole, now Ravi. Were all guys the same?
“I—I can’t imagine how confusing this all is for you.” His mouth twisted in agitation, his words sandpaper. “You shouldn’t have found out like this.” He clenched his fists.
“The cat is out of the bag, so quit stalling.”
“You have a right to be angry.”
The way Ravi studied her made Lucy feel like a lab specimen. She’d had a lifetime of doctors looking at her that way. She was sick of it.
“Thanks very much for your permission.” Sweat beaded her hairline and she willed the simmering beneath her skin to cease.
“If you have the stone I gave you,” he said. “I suggest you take it out.”
“Why? It didn’t stop me from nearly roasting my boyfriend alive!” she shouted, losing her cool. Was Lucy hallucinating, or did Ravi wince at the word “boyfriend”?
“Black tourmaline is piezoelectric. That’s why it helps ke
ep your condition in check. Just try it.” He fidgeted with his glasses, making his statement half entreaty, half academic lecture.
“What do you know about my condition?” Lucy huffed. “And don’t pretend to be a concerned citizen.”
Annoyance streaked Ravi’s face. “I care about you, Lucy.” He moved forward, taking two long strides. “I care about your … welfare. And I know more about your condition than you do.”
Lucy laughed in his face.
“I know you don’t have epilepsy, for one.”
Her knees went weak. She wanted to yell at him, tell him he was totally off his rocker. But something stopped her. She sagged against the boulder, the fight leaching from her.
“Why would you think that?” Her question came out frustratingly childlike. She watched as Ravi’s face smoothed, shoulders relaxing a fraction.
“The tourmaline wouldn’t affect you if you had standard epilepsy.” His tone was patient. “You only experience similar symptoms.”
Ravi might as well be positing that night was day, and day was night. Her whole life was built on the simple fact that she had epilepsy; that’s the way her parents had built it.
“Then what am I?” She wished she didn’t sound so broken.
He dipped his head, a quarter-smile teasing his mouth.
“Wonder Woman.”
She straightened up. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait—” Ravi grabbed her elbow. “Tell me what you feel. Right now.”
Ticklish. Like a thousand fireflies were lighting her up from the inside.
“Nothing.”
He frowned. “Have you been getting queasy feelings around anyone lately? Maybe something worse?”
You could say that again. “Why? What does it mean?”
“Your powers allow you to read people’s emotional states.”
Lucy ripped her elbow from his grasp and folded her arms.
“I do not have powers.”
“You and I both know that’s not true.” Ravi spoke in deadly earnest and it was enough to wipe the sneer from her face. “What you register as motion sickness, for instance, is actually internal conflict. You’re reacting to the other person’s state of mind.”