by K. K. Perez
Professor T exchanged a conspiratorial smile with Ravi, who obviously knew how the story ended. “When Archimedes submerged himself, water sloshed over the sides. Eureka!” The professor jabbed a finger in the air. “Archimedes realized that he could test an equal weight of gold to see if it displaced more or less water than the crown. If it did, the crown was not pure gold.”
“And was it?” asked Lucy.
“No, indeed. That was the end of the goldsmith’s career. As well as his life.” Another laugh. “Archimedes also invented great war machines. The catapult, for instance. Once, he defended his homeland from invading Roman ships by arranging a series of mirrors on a cliff and harnessing the power of the sun to set them on fire.”
Lucy hadn’t known that. Goosebumps irritated the back of her neck.
“I suppose you’re wondering what Archimedes has to do with why you’re here,” said Professor T. “Ravi?” An arched brow was all the prompt he needed.
Ravi put down his teacup and turned toward her, a distant look in his eyes. Lucy chewed her lip. Way to drag out the tension.
He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the eight-pointed star.
Then Professor T did the same.
“We belong to the Order of Archimedes,” Ravi said. He weighted each word, speaking reverently as he always did about the alchemists. “And like him, we believe that science should be used in the service of the state, or the people as a whole.”
Lucy flashed back to the crown on the columns outside. Hieron’s crown.
“Was Archimedes the founder?” That would make the Order thousands of years old.
Ravi shook his head. “We were founded by John Dee, an adviser to Queen Elizabeth the First. He was an alchemist, philosopher, mathematician. A true Renaissance man. He thought Archimedes a fitting tribute.”
“Right,” Lucy said, unsure where he was going with this. Apparently she hadn’t been totally wrong to think the teapot could have served the British royal family.
Five hundred years ago.
“The alchemists had reached a crisis point in the Middle Ages after being persecuted for generations,” Professor T explained.
Lucy kept her expression placid as he talked. She didn’t want to let on she’d already learned this from her mother.
“They were divided into two camps. Those who wanted to hide, squirrel their knowledge away. And those who wanted to find a way to work with the great rulers of Europe for the benefit of everyone.”
“I take it John Dee belonged to the latter camp.”
“Just so. He demonstrated to Queen Elizabeth that scientific progress was not something to be feared but rather essential to good governance.”
“Also maintaining power,” Lucy added. Immediately, she felt Professor T’s gaze land on her.
“John Dee laid the foundations for the Invisible Colleges and the Royal Society that followed.” There was a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
“Are you saying Sir Isaac Newton belonged to the Order of Archimedes?”
A rare smug smile from Ravi. “Him and many more. Edison. Roger Bacon.” The smile deepened. “Even your Volta.”
Disbelief washed over her. “Why haven’t I ever heard of you?”
It was Professor T who answered. “While we believe in sharing our knowledge, we do not like to advertise ourselves.”
“But you’ve told me.” She paused. “Are you going to kill me now?”
His laugh was meaty. “On the contrary, we believe you’d make an excellent recruit.”
The room seemed to spin. Was Lucy really being offered the opportunity to join a secret society to which all of her scientific heroes had belonged?
“Because of my lightning gene,” she inferred.
“Not only that. But yes, we believe it is the key to completing the research I had been conducting with Ravi’s parents.” Professor T regarded his godson with true fondness.
Lucy’s gaze returned to Ravi. She felt a prickle in her heart. As an aspiring researcher, she could think of nothing worse than leaving her work unfinished, her legacy uncertain. He must not have told her because he didn’t want her to feel obligated.
She inched her hand toward him on the sofa, then stopped herself. “How would I be able to help?” she asked.
“We believe that your mutation might provide answers to the cause of a variety of neurological conditions,” Ravi said, meeting her eyes.
“Like Alzheimer’s,” she said, thinking back to the article about the fire, and he nodded. “Then why am I in danger? Who could have an issue with curing disease? And what does it have to do with Tesla?”
“There are always those who fear progress,” Professor T answered.
Something worse than darkness shone from the professor’s eyes. Bleaker. Lucy was very, very glad he wanted to be her ally rather than her enemy.
“The other alchemists?”
“They’re called the Order of Sophia. They believe that the general public should be protected from technological advancement.” Lucy thought the professor might spit. “Craven zealots.”
His enraged response stunned her into silence.
More quietly, Ravi said, “The Sophists consider your genetic mutation to be dangerous.”
“To whom?” she demanded.
“Humanity.”
“Humanity? And that means what, exactly?”
“The ignorant seek to destroy that which they do not understand,” replied Professor T. “But we won’t let that happen.”
Destroy?
Lucy’s guts twisted.
“Lucinda.” The tenderness infusing Ravi’s voice pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. “We’ll protect you. I’ll protect you.”
Which was all well and good, but he wouldn’t always be around.
“I need to be able to protect myself.”
“Yes, you do,” Professor T agreed. “Come work with us. We will study your powers together, hone them. The Sophists will have much more to fear from you.”
Lucy didn’t think that sounded any better.
“There’s no way to get rid of my powers?” she asked with a trace of desperation.
He frowned. “Lucinda, they’re part of who you are. I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner. That you have lived your life until this point believing you were damaged. Somehow less. You are far from damaged.” The compassion in his statement matched the ferociousness moments before.
How did he know that was how she’d felt? The way her parents treated her?
As if he hadn’t rocked her world enough, Professor T let slip, “We believe you are the next stage in evolution.”
Holy. Frak.
“If that’s the case, why aren’t there more people like me?” Lucy asked, a strange calm descending on her. Shock, she guessed. “Why are we so hard to find?”
Neither of them answered. The quiet became oppressive. It weighed on her chest. Ravi and Professor T exchanged a glance.
Of course. They weren’t responding because the answer was blindingly obvious.
“They’re dead, aren’t they?” she said in a hush.
Professor T slid to the edge of his seat. “The abilities caused by the genetic mutation can be unpredictable.”
“Unpredictable,” she repeated. “You mean maladaptive.” Lucy knew enough about biology and evolution to know that species with maladaptive traits went extinct. “The nervous system can’t withstand so much electricity.”
The human brain wasn’t built to cope with the amount of electricity she could produce. Eventually, her mental faculties would be compromised, and she might even stroke out.
Lucy looked from Professor T to Ravi. Ravi coughed.
“Tesla’s mutation is to blame for his increasingly erratic behavior, right?” she persisted. “Will the same thing happen to me?” Shock transformed into panic.
“We want to make sure it doesn’t,” Ravi told her firmly. She dropped her eyes to the floor.
Lucy’s thoughts whirled, searc
hing for some kind of solution. “But, but … Tesla was in his eighties when he died. How did he survive so long?”
“We believe Tesla discovered a method to diminish and amplify his powers at will,” Professor T told her. “Perhaps even replicate them.”
Hope kindled inside her. “How?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” Ravi said apologetically.
Wait a minute. The Order of Archimedes might not know how Tesla had amplified his powers, but maybe Lucy did. An egg-shaped amplifier.
“Lamentably, Tesla was eliminated before he could share his findings with my predecessors.” Professor T released a sigh. “His research stolen.”
Lucy’s head snapped up. “Tesla’s death was an accident. He was hit by a taxi.”
“Right after he’d sent an ecstatic telegram to the Order saying he’d made a substantial breakthrough.” He spread his hands. “What are the chances?”
Another realization hit Lucy like a brick.
“Tesla was murdered. Because he was like me.”
She raised her chin, daring—wanting—them to contradict her.
“So, let me get this straight,” Lucy said. “These Sophists killed Tesla and stole his research—research that allows carriers of the lightning gene to live to a ripe old age.” The words gushed out of her, and she felt ill. “And you haven’t been able to replicate Tesla’s discovery. Whatever it was.”
Ravi grabbed her hand. “We’ve found you now,” he said, eyes blazing. “Everything will be okay.”
Everything was pretty damn far from okay. She was living on borrowed time.
“You can’t promise that.” Lucy turned to Professor T. “I should be getting home soon. My mother will start to worry.”
“Of course.” He glanced at Ravi. “Continue working together in Eaton until you graduate. Afterwards, I can offer you a summer internship at my company.”
“In England? My parents would never let me go.” Lucy didn’t even have a passport.
Professor T’s brow creased in a momentary scowl. “I can be quite convincing.”
She didn’t doubt it, but, “I—I need to think about it,” she told him.
A month ago an internship at Chrysopoeia Tech would have been her dream come true. But now … maybe Lucy didn’t want to know more. She’d come here for answers and they’d turned out to be more terrifying than she could have imagined.
“Naturally. I don’t want to pressure you,” the professor replied. “Just remember, you’re not in this alone. Not anymore.”
Lucy released Ravi’s hand and pushed to her feet.
“Thank you for inviting me to your home, Professor,” she said, remembering her manners.
“You’re always welcome here, Lucinda.” He smiled. “This place belongs to all Archimedeans. We take care of our own.”
YOU WOULDN’T LIKE ME WHEN I’M ANGRY
As Lucy hurried to the principal’s office the next morning, she had no clue what he might want with her. She’d never received a summons before.
She had only come into school at all to sort out the last of the colored gels for the spotlights. If she were being hunted by assassin alchemists, she would at least make sure Claudia’s speakeasy was illuminated in living color before she took the long dirt nap.
Sheesh. Her bestie’s mobster talk was rubbing off on her.
Lucy’s palm was slick on the doorknob. Why was she so uneasy? She hadn’t done anything wrong. A small green flame appeared where her skin made contact with the brass. Crap. She concentrated on steadying her breathing and willed her nerves away.
Mrs. White, Principal Petersen’s secretary, didn’t smile at Lucy as she entered. She was an older woman, late sixties, known for her seasonal collection of brooches. Today’s was an enamel cherry blossom.
“He’s waiting for you,” Mrs. White said, her voice nasal and disapproving, and pointed a finger toward an inner door branded PRINCIPAL GEOFFREY PETERSEN in black letters.
“Um, thanks.” For nothing.
Exercising caution, Lucy used the sleeve of her sweater to twist the doorknob. No need to alarm the secretary with her superpowers.
The last person she expected to see as the door creaked open was Ravi. Or Mrs. Brandon. Her physics teacher smiled sympathetically.
Principal Petersen, on the other hand, glowered from behind his desk.
Not good.
Oh no, had he found out about the kiss somehow? Was Ravi in trouble?
“Miss Phelps,” said the principal. “So glad you could join us. Have a seat.” Who knew he could bring the snark? Lucy had hoofed it as fast as humanly possible when she’d received the note. Although she might not be entirely human.
Don’t think about that.
The chair scraped against the linoleum as she pulled it out and slanted a questioning gaze at Ravi. He simply adjusted the cuffs on his tweed jacket. Mrs. Brandon folded her hands together.
Really not good.
“It has come to my attention, Miss Phelps, that you and your fellow students have done exceedingly well on this year’s physics final.” Principal Petersen smiled condescendingly, tipping his head in Mrs. Brandon’s direction. “In fact, there were numerous perfect scores. Some might call that miraculous.”
Lucy’s brow crimped in confusion, her interest briefly drawn to the glass apple on his desk. She doubted any of his students had given him that.
“Miss Phelps?” the principal snapped, regaining her full concentration. “Do you know why I asked you here?”
“No, sir.”
“We take the honor code very seriously at Eaton High.”
An anvil dropped in Lucy’s stomach. Had Megan made good on her threat to turn her in? Why now? Ravi noticed her chest rise and fall rapidly, and he rubbed his thumb against the inside of his palm.
Lucy got the message: Use the tourmaline. Don’t sauté the principal. But Claudia was still fashioning the necklace for tomorrow night.
“Having consulted with Mrs. Brandon and Mr. Malik, the only explanation for the perfect scores is that the students had access to the examination ahead of time.” Principal Petersen rested his elbows on the desk. “Neither of them distributed the exams, which leaves only one other person with access to the science office. Mrs. Brandon’s student aide. You.”
He made the pronouncement as if he’d solved the murder of the century.
Lucy would have snorted if the situation weren’t so dire. Her parents would flip if they found out. She’d be grounded until she was forty.
The words I would never! died on her lips because she’d helped Cole cheat one too many times. But Lucy hadn’t done this.
“Mrs. Brandon trusted you when she gave you a key to the office,” the principal said gravely.
Oh. Frak. The key. Lucy hadn’t simply lost it. Cole must have swiped it.
“Principal Petersen,” she said as calmly as she could. “I have no need to cheat.” Which was the truth. She’d become an expert in sins of omission.
Mrs. Brandon nodded in agreement.
He sighed. “Your academic and disciplinary record have thus far been exemplary, Miss Phelps. Which is why this behavior is so very disappointing. These are grounds for expulsion.” The word echoed in Lucy’s cranium. “And of course,” he continued, “I would have to notify Gilbert College. It would be up to their admissions office whether or not to withdraw your acceptance.”
College. Freedom. Everything Lucy had worked for. It couldn’t just all be yanked out from under her like this. It couldn’t.
Lucy’s gaze darted from Ravi to Mrs. Brandon, pleading.
Her fingers latched onto the edge of the desk. “But I didn’t do it! And you don’t have any proof!”
The principal’s nostrils flared. That had clearly been the wrong tactic to use.
“I will give you the weekend to rethink your position. On Monday I expect you to do the honorable thing and either turn yourself—or the other responsible party—in.”
Lucy trembled in response
. Not with fear.
With rage.
“You’re dismissed, Miss Phelps.”
She stormed from the room, clenching her fists at her sides, before she could turbocharge any of the office supplies. She wouldn’t mind melting Principal Petersen’s god-awful woodpecker tie clip and see what he had to say about that.
Damn you, Cole Hewitt.
She should have known a leopard didn’t change its spots so easily. How gullible was she? Actually believing Cole wanted her to tutor him! Did he steal the key from her purse before or after their study session?
Typical Cole. No thought for consequences. No thought for how it might affect the girl he professed to love. That must be the internal conflict she’d been picking up from him in the hot tub that night.
And she had blamed herself! She should have listened to her instincts.
Lucy was near the front lobby when she heard a loud bang.
She twirled around to see one of the locker doors hanging off its hinges.
Her hands shook. From the other end of the hallway, Ravi saw it too.
This time Lucy did run. She needed to be where other people—and metallic objects—were not.
RED SKY AT MORNING
“Sorry about the ambush.”
Lucy’s gaze traveled from the lake toward Ravi’s soft, lilting voice. She’d booked it to their training spot without thinking. Well, maybe some part of her wanted him to find her. The drive back to Eaton yesterday had been awkwardly silent as Lucy tried to process everything she’d learned.
Ravi dropped down next to her on the boulder. The breeze ruffled his sable-colored hair and Lucy sat on her hands so she didn’t smooth it back.
“I know you wouldn’t steal the test, Lucy.”
She blew out a shaky breath. “It’s hard to prove a negative.”
It was also hard to feel anything but defeated. After she’d hulked out at the school, Lucy’s rage slowly burned off. Assassin alchemists, deterioration of her mental faculties, ripping a locker from its hinges with an electromagnetic field she wasn’t supposed to possess … all of these things were more terrifying than being expelled. Objectively. But it was the possibility of being denied college—the chance to strike out on her own—that scared her most.