by K. K. Perez
“Your friend works for some very dangerous people,” said her father.
“And you don’t? I’ve been defending you! I was going to give you the chance to explain. But you came to my graduation armed!” Lucy’s bottom lip quivered. Don’t cry, don’t cry. “I guess that’s all the explanation I need!”
Her father’s expression softened. “The Archimedeans have no doubt told you many lies about the Order of Sophia, Lucy.” Glancing up and down the corridor, he said, “I’ll explain everything once we’re on our way.”
“On our way where?”
“Somewhere safe.” Lucy snorted at that. She was getting pretty tired of vague statements and assurances. Her dad squeezed her upper arm. “I’m sorry you’re missing your big day. Truly.” Regret stained his words. “Your mom and I both wanted to see you get your diploma.”
Indecision rooted Lucy to the spot. This man looked like the dad who’d invented Einstein Time, who’d tucked her in at night, and taught her to tie her shoelaces. But he wasn’t. This man …
She didn’t know what to think of him.
“Before I go anywhere with you, I think we should talk about the fact that you’re not my father.”
He flinched as if she’d sucker-punched him. “I’m your father in all the ways that matter, Lucy. I love you,” he said, and pain glimmered in his eyes. But he had successfully lied to her for years. “So does your mom.” And so had she.
Lucy spun one of the tourmaline bracelets, sorrow cramping her heart.
“She’s not my mother.”
“Elaine raised you. She would do anything for you.”
“Except tell me the truth. Are you two really married or was it all an elaborate ruse? Were you ever going to tell me I wasn’t yours?” she said, temper igniting.
“Goddamn Archimedeans!” Her father cursed. “You are ours, Lucy. We are a family. You’re the most important thing in our lives. We’ve tried to give you a normal life.”
“Normal?” She scoffed. “By hiding me away? Making me scared of my own shadow? You’ve always treated me like I’m broken. Damaged.”
“That’s never what we intended—”
“And all the time, you knew I had the lightning gene.” Lucy’s pulse continued to rise but strangely her hair remained in place, and the lockers didn’t jangle. Not even a little bit.
Her father didn’t need to say anything. The answer was written on his face.
“Dr. Rosen was in on it too,” Lucy realized. “He’s a Sophist, isn’t he?”
He nodded. At least now she understood why Dr. Rosen had told her the EEG was normal. He’d been lying.
Which meant the Sophists had known her powers had been developing for months.
“You knew I’d decoded the photo, that I’d found the Tesla Suite. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth? Do you have any idea how scared I was?” Lucy said, voice trembling. Her father’s features tightened. “Families are supposed to trust each other.”
Lucy’s eyes darted to Ravi. He looked like he was sleeping. “At least the Archimedeans were honest with me.”
“I very much doubt that. Honesty isn’t their policy.” Her father crossed toward her, and Lucy backed up against a bulletin board. “When we discovered you’d found the lab,” he said, “we waited to see how you would react. Your mother and I were hoping the medication would be enough to keep you stable.”
Like an experiment. They’d been observing her as if that’s all she was. Lucy’s whole life was one giant experiment.
“What was in the pills?” Lucy said roughly. “I’m betting the prescription didn’t really come from CVS!” She wouldn’t tell him she’d stopped taking it weeks ago.
“A formula the Order has been trying to perfect for years, to—”
“To suppress my abilities,” Lucy interrupted. He gave a curt nod. Lucy had had more than enough of being suppressed. “And now that you know the meds weren’t enough? That I’m … whatever I am. You’re going to lock me up and throw away the key, is that it? At this undisclosed location?” she demanded, raising her voice. “You stole me from my real parents because you think my mutation makes me a monster, after all!”
His expression grew bleak. “We didn’t steal you, Lucinda. It’s complicated,” he said. “And I’ve been working for months to convince the more conservative members of the Order to allow you to attend Gilbert in the fall.”
“Because it’s a Sophist institution?”
“Yes.” Ravi had been telling the truth about that too. “All the business trips—that’s what I’ve been doing. Negotiating. Believe me, kiddo, nothing matters more to me than your welfare.”
Lucy swallowed a lump in her throat. Her father wasn’t denying that a faction of the Order of Sophia did want to contain her. Possibly eliminate her. Why should she be surprised? They had murdered Ravi’s family to achieve their aims.
“It would be easier to believe you if you and Mom hadn’t been lying to me for my entire life,” she retorted.
On the floor, Ravi groaned. Her dad spared him a glance, and then clutched Lucy’s shoulder. “We can discuss my mistakes later,” he said, gritting his teeth, “but I need to get you away from the Archimedeans. And the Freelancers. Now.”
Her lungs emptied of air. “You know what happened on prom night,” she said as he yanked her towards the fire exit. “You did erase Claudia’s memory.”
“I had no choice. It was too dangerous for her to know the truth about you—about our world.”
He’d admitted it. Her father was responsible for violating the mind of the person Lucy loved most. While part of Lucy would be willing to excuse her parents’ lies, she’d never condone hurting Claudia. Ravi had also thought the memory erasure prudent, but he’d at least respected Lucy enough not to go through with it.
Because of her father, however, Lucy would never have the chance to earn genuine forgiveness from her best friend.
“And Cole?” she rasped.
“It was for the best.”
If it was that easy to play with people’s minds, how could Lucy be sure her parents hadn’t altered her memories over the years? How did she know what was real and what wasn’t? Her whole life might be a total fabrication.
Fear curled inside her and she felt sick. The Sophists were ruthless, and her fa—Victor was a Sophist. Was Victor Phelps even his real name? And did Lucy dare cling to the hope that her mother didn’t know what he’d done?
Lucy tried to wrench herself from his grasp.
“Lucy, I swore to protect you with my life. You can hate me if you want to—but I’m getting you out of here.” Victor’s tone brooked no compromise. “Don’t make me knock you out.”
Her eyes went wide. He’d already tased Ravi; she had no reason to doubt he wouldn’t make good on this threat. Ravi had said she needed to be smart, and she couldn’t fight back if she was unconscious.
“Okay,” Lucy agreed. She would pretend to cooperate until the opportunity to escape presented itself.
Victor kept an arm clamped around her shoulders and broke into a brisk pace. Lucy had to take two steps for each of his to match it.
“I keep having this dream,” she began as they walked, partially to distract him, partially because she needed to know. “I’m in this tropical garden. Mom is there. I mean, Elaine,” she corrected herself in a pointed tone. “It’s like the garden in Kleopatra’s Pharmakon. A storm is coming. There’s lightning overhead.”
She angled her head to stare Victor in the eye.
“It’s not a dream. Is it?” The question came out hollow, which was precisely how Lucy felt.
He stopped short. Good. Lucy would keep stalling him.
“You were so young. I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Did you erase the memory?”
“No.” A harsh syllable. “It was when we first saw … saw that the lightning gene had expressed itself.”
Anger filled the hollowness inside Lucy. Her younger self had been joyful, carefree.
“So you started suppressing my powers,” she concluded. Her impostor parents had taken that away.
Victor raised a hand to her cheek. “We’ve been looking for a cure, Lucy.”
“Maybe I don’t need to be cured,” she said hotly. She almost added, Dad, but stopped herself. “The Order of Archimedes doesn’t think I need fixing.”
“They’ll exploit you. It’s what we’ve been trying to prevent all these years.”
“Seems to me there’s little difference between your protection and imprisonment.”
Victor’s chest contracted and he dropped his hand. She’d landed a blow.
From outside, the roll call of graduates blared over the loudspeakers. It was almost enough to blot out the noise of someone running toward them from behind.
Both Lucy and Victor wheeled around to see who was coming, and hope swelled inside Lucy that Ravi had regained consciousness.
But it wasn’t Ravi. It was a woman with short auburn hair wearing a dark pantsuit. Lucy didn’t recognize her. An Initiate?
She didn’t wait to find out. She stomped on Victor’s foot with all her might and ran for her life. He might be waylaid for only a second, but it was enough to give her a head start. Lucy legged it to the fire exit. Even if her parents truly believed they were protecting her, she couldn’t trust the rest of the Sophists.
As she burst into the faculty parking lot, alarm bells sounded.
Over the high-pitched wailing, Lucy heard the distinctive sound of a shot from inside the school.
Who had shot whom? Her thighs throbbed but she didn’t stop running.
“Lucy!” shouted Victor, not nearly as far back as she was hoping.
Glancing behind her, she barreled straight into the hood of a stretch limousine.
That certainly didn’t belong to any of the teachers.
The door swung open and Professor T stepped out. He was dressed immaculately in a three-piece suit and leaned his weight against a walking stick topped by a golden ouroboros.
He trained his eyes on her pursuer.
“Victor Phelps, I presume,” said Professor T. “You didn’t expect me to miss my own granddaughter’s graduation, did you?”
REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST
Granddaughter?
Lucy searched Professor T’s face for any trace of her own. Maybe beneath the bushy eyebrows and beard it would be easier to see herself.
Professor T met her questioning gaze. “I have longed for this day,” he told her. “I had almost given up hope. And then you walked into the Tesla Suite.”
“I-I…” Lucy stuttered. Thunderstruck didn’t begin to cover it. Oh. So that was how Ravi had performed his DNA test—checking hers against a sample from Professor T.
In less than thirty minutes, Lucy had lost two parents and gained a grandfather.
Victor caught up to them and drew to her side, hands balled into fists.
“The infamous Professor Weston-Jones,” he said with loathing.
“The very same.”
The driver’s-side door of the limo opened and a tall, freckled man stepped out. He held a gun with a silencer in his hand. Frak. Way more than a chauffeur, it would seem. Maybe another Initiate.
“Lucinda,” Professor T said. “You remind me so much of Quentin. My son. Your true father.”
Quentin. The name was like a relic from a lost world. Next to her, Lucy felt Victor flinch. He began reaching his hand inside his suit jacket, and Professor T’s driver raised his weapon.
“Be so kind as to leave your hands where I can see them,” Professor T said to Victor as if he were beneath his contempt. “I’m speaking with my granddaughter.”
Lucy’s heart swelled with panic. Her first impulse was still to protect the man she’d called Dad until a few minutes ago. She looked between him and Professor T.
“You’re nothing to her,” Victor growled while keeping his hands at his sides.
The professor raised his eyebrows. “Do you deny that Lucinda is my blood?”
“That’s all you share,” Victor spat. Lucy had never heard such hatred in his voice.
Professor T took a step in her direction. “I was told you were stillborn, but I never believed it.” He sneered at Victor. “The Sophists aren’t nearly as clever as they think.”
“Does Quentin have the lightning gene?” Lucy asked. “Do you?”
He shook his head. “You inherited the lightning gene from your mother.”
Her mother. Her birth mother. “Ravi said you’d been working with a female carrier of the mutation, but that she died. Was that her?”
Her grandfather inclined his head solemnly. “I’m sorry. She died in childbirth.” He paused. “She wanted to name you Nikola, after Tesla.”
Nikola. That’s what had been encrypted in the photo. But she’d never divulged that information to Ravi.
“And my father?” Lucy asked. Victor lanced her with an agonized look, and she sucked in a breath. “Quentin? Where is he?”
“My son was killed by the Order of Sophia,” Professor T replied. “Your mother went into hiding when she learned she was pregnant. Quentin wouldn’t give up her location. He loved her beyond reason.” He drilled the walking stick into the pavement. “I will always regret that the Sophists found you anyway, and that I missed the first eighteen years of your life. But Lucinda, I promise you, I won’t miss out on the next.”
“Bravo!” Victor began to clap, slow and venomous. “What a performance. Encore!” He clasped his hands around Lucy’s shoulders, rotating her to face him. She heard a click as the man with the gun released the safety.
“Listen to me, kiddo. Your father wasn’t killed by the Sophists.” His words were low, urgent. “He brought you to us—asked us to hide you. The photo you decoded was sent by your father.”
Lucy’s head swam. “You knew him?”
“No, Quentin sent it to one of my superiors. He’d been on the run with you, but it was no way to raise a child. And the Archimedeans were closing in. The photo—I didn’t know that was how he’d communicated with the Order until recently.”
“Liber librum aperit,” Lucy said in a hush, and Victor nodded.
“You’re far smarter than me, kiddo.” An almost-smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I never thought to scan the photo for a message.”
“All alchemists know that motto,” Professor T interjected. He was right. The phrase didn’t prove it’d been sent by her father. Although the fact that whoever sent it had called her Nikola indicated they knew who she was, what her real parents had named her—before she became Lucy Phelps.
“But the photo was sent to the Sapientia Group before you started working there,” Lucy said to Victor.
“True,” he replied. “The Order funded my Ph.D. research and it was my professor who approached me. Your mom—Elaine—and I had been married a few years and we couldn’t conceive.” He brushed a hand against Lucy’s cheek the way he had so many times over the years. “When he showed me the photo, I took one look and knew I would love you as my own.”
His story sounded so convincing. “But why—why would he do that? Why would Quentin give me to his enemies?” Lucy asked.
“Because your father didn’t want you to spend your life as a test subject in one of his”—Victor jabbed an accusing finger at Professor T—“research facilities.”
“Professor T isn’t the one who’s treated me like a test subject.”
“We’ve dedicated our lives to keeping you safe. To helping you.”
“Help?” Lucy slapped his hand from her face. “That wasn’t your decision to make. You never asked me what I wanted—because you don’t care.”
“Kiddo, you know that’s not true.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything about anything, apparently. And that’s your fault!” Lucy folded her arms. “Besides, you failed. My heart stopped on the High Line despite all of your attempts to cure me!”
Victor paled. “Lucy.” She could see in his face that he hadn
’t been aware of that detail. He looked devastated. Haunted.
“Lucinda,” said Professor T. “Your mother belonged to the Order of Sophia, and their experiments to suppress her powers hastened her death. She grew too weak to survive childbirth. The Sophists convinced Evangeline she was a monster and she believed them. They’ll do the same to you—I won’t stand for it.” He pounded his walking stick on the ground.
Evangeline. Evangeline and Quentin. It sounded so formal, so Victorian. Were those really her parents? Rick had been a Sophist and he claimed he’d known another woman with the lightning gene. Was it her mother? Could Rick have been aware of Lucy’s true parentage the entire time? She hated that there might actually be a reason for her to contact him.
Lucy’s eyes traveled from Professor T to Victor. “Please,” said the man who had raised her. “You can’t believe a word that viper has to say.”
She tore at her curls. “I can’t believe anything you’ve told me.” Lucy felt utterly paralyzed, and Victor was so adept at shielding that she couldn’t read him at all. There was too much information. Lucy wished her powers included freezing time.
“Unlike the Order of Sophia, the Archimedeans make offers, not threats,” Professor T told her. “Lucinda, you are my last remaining family. I would like the opportunity to get to know you better, to work together, but the choice is yours.”
A new voice joined the fray.
“I understand your confusion, Lucy. But I can’t let you go with the professor.”
She flashed her eyes toward the intruder and found herself looking down the barrel of a gun.
“Mom?”
Lucy gaped, trying to reconcile the woman who smelled of peppermint and agonized over the precise amount of gluten in her organic banana bread with the woman aiming a gun at her.
“Mom?” she repeated. It was a cracked, jagged sound.
Her mother stood statue straight, her chignon pinned precisely to the top of her head like a crown. The breeze didn’t dare ruffle the flyaways framing her face. She seemed equally at ease with the weapon in her hand as she did poring over manuscripts.