by Jes Battis
It had been only two years, but suddenly she seemed impossibly older. Her hair fell in soft curls across her face, and I’d wager that she’d actually combed some anti-frizz product into it. She wore jeans that fit and stylish black boots. Her red sweater had a neckline that, although not technically sloping, was definitely low enough to expose her neck and a bit of her shoulders. She wasn’t thirteen anymore. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t entirely human anymore, since the vampiric retrovirus was swimming through her bloodstream. But nobody else living here was 100 percent human either, so at least she was in like-minded company.
“Did you take your meds yet?” I asked.
Mia made a face. “I was going to after I finished this quiz. I hate doing it in the school bathroom. It’s like a Turkish prison in there.”
“I can do it. They changed your dosage, and I want to make sure it’s okay.”
“Sure.” She sounded resigned. No teenager wanted to take daily injections. But, to her credit, she rarely complained. Derrick and I had explained to her that she may have to inject the antiviral medication for the rest of her life, or at least until they refined it into a transdermal patch.
I opened the fridge and withdrew a vial of the medication, which needed to be chilled so that the plasmid inhibitors didn’t separate. It was clear, like water.
“Where’s your pen?”
“In my bag.” She gestured to the chair. “Under my spare shoes, I think.”
I reached into the depths of her bag, rummaging around until I found the hard black case with the pen. It resembled a similar hypodermic pen for injecting insulin, and included separate ports for mixing two different chemicals.
“They just changed the short-acting antivirals,” I told her, refilling the pen. “The long-acting are still the same.” I turned the knob on the end of the pen, adjusting the dosage to two units of antiplasmid. “Okay, lift up your shirt.”
“Wow. Just what every girl my age longs to hear.”
“I know you. The only words you long to hear right now are ‘early acceptance’ from Stanford and Brown.”
She chuckled, lifting up her blouse to expose her abdomen. “That’s true.”
“You’re whiter than me. Maybe we need to do some fake-and-bake tanning.”
“Ooh, and can we read Hello while we’re doing it?” She glared at me. “I don’t care how white I am. Nothing’s going to get me into one of those cancer-pods just so I can look like I spent my weekend at Jericho Beach.”
“Fine. You don’t have to give me stink-eye.”
“That wasn’t stink-eye.”
“Oh, yeah?” I pinched her belly and swiftly injected the needle. She didn’t even have time to grimace. “Looked like stink-eye to me.” I counted to five silently, then withdrew the needle. “There. Done. Make sure to keep using this setting, and if you feel any side effects, let me know so that I can adjust it.”
Mia smiled. “It never hurts as much when you do it.”
I replaced the pen and put the case back in her bag. “I’ve got magic.”
“We all do. That’s kind of the problem.”
I filled my coffee mug and sat down across from her. “Shouldn’t Patrick be getting ready as well?”
“It’s like seven. He won’t be awake for another half hour at least.”
“And when did you wake up?”
She sipped her coffee. “I’ve barely slept. I had two essays to finish, plus a photo assignment for yearbook. Most of the girls don’t actually know how to use their cameras, so only a few of us are actually doing any real work.”
“Does it have a theme? Our yearbooks always had a theme.”
“Mediocrity.”
“Ouch.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I’m trying to be a bitch. It’s just—most of the kids I know aren’t exactly gunning for grad school.”
“You’re fifteen. I don’t think you should be gunning for grad school either.”
“But I have plans. They don’t.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“You don’t go to school with these kids. I do.”
“But I went to school with kids just like them. And that was only ten years ago. No. Eleven.” I blinked. “Man. I guess eleven years is a long time. Does everyone still listen to Pearl Jam?”
She stared at me as if I’d just grown a second head. “Not really.”
I heard a thump on the floor above me, like a bowling ball or a dead body hitting the ground.
“Sounds like he’s awake.”
Mia shook her head, returning to the textbook. “He’s just getting up to go to the bathroom. He’ll go back to sleep for another twenty minutes at least.”
“As long as he gets to his classes on time.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. Like it matters.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m pretty sure you mean something.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t.”
“Mia.”
“Tess.”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know like what.”
Mia sighed, finally looking up from her book. “If you want to be a parent, then be a parent. Ask me whatever you’re going to ask me. But don’t try to be all friendly about it, like, stealth-parenting or something. Just ask.”
And… now we’d returned to our regularly scheduled teen programming. I was the bitch monster from hell, and she was the hapless victim, forced to put up with me. Had I really done this to my mother for eighteen years?
Of course, my mother had also performed psychic surgery on me without asking. So maybe we were even.
I exhaled. “Fine. What did you mean earlier, when you said it didn’t matter if Patrick made it to his classes on time?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Why not?”
She looked at me as if I were impenetrably stupid. “Because he’s failing.”
“Failing what?”
“Everything, as far as I can tell. Except for PE. He’s so strong and fast that the teacher’s probably scared to give him a bad mark.”
“But he’s flunking his other classes?” I suddenly felt like the mother who learns that her kid is doing drugs. How could this have happened? The truth was that Patrick could have been moonlighting as the school mascot, and I still wouldn’t have known anything about it. I couldn’t watch him 24/7. I couldn’t even watch him 7.
“He stopped trying, like, three months ago,” she said. “He goes to that creepy vampire club every night, where they teach him, like, how to smell humans from a mile away or something. It’s way more interesting to him than calculus.”
“But he can’t possibly be failing everything.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s not like he’s studying.”
“I saw him studying math the other day.”
“Yeah? Did you see him writing anything down?” My stomach sank. “No.”
She nodded. “Uh-huh.”
I stared at my coffee cup. There was no online forum with tips on how to raise paranormal teenagers. I needed help. Derrick did everything he could, but we were both working long hours. My mom stopped by often, but she was mostly focused on Mia. Patrick often fell beneath her radar. Maybe intentionally. I suspected that, like me, she felt a bit uneasy around him.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said simply.
To my surprise, Mia looked directly at me, and her expression was one of sympathy rather than irritation. “Tess. You’re doing fine. It’s not like we’re the easiest kids to deal with. We’ve both got issues. But you’re doing the best you can, and we totally understand that.”
“If I was doing my best, I would have realized that Patrick was failing.” I shook my head. “He’s gone most of the night, and when he comes back, he looks like—”
“Like a vampire?”
We both stared at each other for a second.
“Yes,” I said
. “Exactly like that.”
“And it’s scary.”
“Yeah. It is.”
Mia stared at her hands. “He’s kind of like my big brother. So it freaks me out, too. Because I don’t want him to change.”
“Me neither.”
“But there’s nothing we can do, right? I mean—it’s who he is. And, like—” Her voice fell slightly. “I mean, it’s sort of who I am, too, right? On some level. I’m just a version of him that’s all doped up and medicated.”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“You’re not doped up,” I said. “You’re managing an illness.”
“But to him, it’s not an illness. It’s everything.”
“Is that what you want? To be just like him?”
She sighed. “Not really.”
“Being a vampire isn’t the easiest thing in the world. You need blood to survive. You can’t go out in the sunlight—”
“But he can. I mean, he stays in the shade, and he doesn’t sit next to the window, but he can manage during the day.”
“That’s because he’s the magnate. He has abilities that other vampires don’t.”
“Maybe I do, too.”
I didn’t know what to say. My cell rang.
“One second.” I flipped it open. “Hello?”
It was Selena. “They’re here.”
“Who?”
“The necromancers. They’re in the lab.”
My stomach flipped again. I wanted to ask her if Lucian was one of “them,” but I couldn’t risk sounding too interested.
“Why are they here?”
“Because of you. They said that they’re very concerned about your incident in the park.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced. “They want to reassure us that we’re working together, not in opposition. And they want to talk to you personally.”
I swallowed. “Really?”
“Yes. Get here as soon as you can. They brought something for you to look at.”
“What did they—”
But she’d already hung up.
“Urgent business at the lab?” Mia asked.
I nodded. “I have to brave a shitstorm.”
“Sounds like a weekday.”
“Lately. Yeah.” I gave her a look. “Let’s chat when I get home.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not. I just want to play catch-up.”
“Do you want me to spy on Patrick for you?”
“Would you if I asked?”
“Probably not.”
“So is this a trick question?”
“Possibly.”
I got up and placed my mug in the sink. “Then my answer is maybe. But don’t get caught.”
“Do you think I’m an amateur?”
“No. Just don’t follow him anywhere.”
“That’s no fun.”
“Seriously. Don’t.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Fine means you won’t follow him?”
“Fine means fine.”
I grabbed my jacket. “You’re both going to drive me crazy.”
She’d already returned to her textbook. “That’s the plan. Then we can force Derrick to do whatever we want.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Whatever. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I closed the door behind me. Even this early in the morning, the sun was bright and clear. The air chilled me. For a moment, all I could do was stand there, breathing in and out slowly.
Sometimes, I loved them so much that it paralyzed me. They weren’t even my kids. All that bound them to me was a stack of papers. But they still felt like a part of my own body. A breath that I was always taking in. I didn’t want to let it go. I wanted to hold it in my lungs forever.
And then I got scared.
What if they got hurt or broken? What if they needed me and couldn’t reach me? Or what if the opposite was true? Maybe I was doing irreparable damage to them. Maybe I was a pathetic guardian, a monstrous parent doing everything wrong, and someday they’d talk about me with a goblin therapist.
Chances are, my brain said, you’ll be dead before that happens.
With that thought turning itself over and over in my mind, until it was polished smooth, I headed off to meet the necromancers.
13
Selena was giving the necromancers a tour of the lab facilities when I arrived. My stomach seized a little when I saw Lucian, accompanied by a young man and a middle-aged woman. At least that was what they looked like on the outside. Who knew how old they really were? Lucian caught sight of me, but didn’t smile or acknowledge my presence, aside from a brief second of eye contact.
After spending nearly a week wondering where the hell he’d disappeared to, I felt like I was entitled to at least a nod. But in truth, I already knew—or at least suspected—where he’d been the whole time. Trinovantum, the hidden city. That was where he always vanished to. It was like a necromancer time-share.
Selena gave me a look as I approached. I couldn’t tell if it was a shut up and let me do the talking look, or a help me because I’m exhausted and overwhelmed look. I decided to play it safe and take her lead.
“Sorry I’m late.” I extended my hand to the necromancers. “Tess Corday. I’m the senior officer assigned to the Ordeño case.”
The older woman took my hand. Her grip was firm and cold. “Deonara Valesco. Third Solium of the Dark Parliament, and tactical advisor to Lord Nightingale.”
She had graying black hair and blue eyes that seemed only mildly interested in my presence. The rest of her attention was occupied by the lab itself. I, in turn, was fascinated by a kind of black shawl that she wore, which had delicate silver stitching around the edges. If I looked at the embroidery for more than a few seconds, I swore that it moved a little. But maybe it was just me.
“Thanks for meeting us here,” I said. “We appreciate your cooperation.”
“Not at all.” She was staring at a mass spectrometer.
“This place is fascinating. I’ve always wanted to visit, but never had the opportunity until now.”
“There’s plenty to look at,” Selena said. “Hopefully we can learn a bit about each other’s analytical methods.”
“Yes.” Deonara tore herself away from staring at the equipment with some difficulty. “Of course.”
I didn’t buy it, though. She wasn’t interested in sharing information. She’d learn as much about our resources as possible without actually telling us anything useful about her side of the investigation. Then she’d have plenty of information to take back to Lord Nightingale, whoever he was, and we’d be left with nothing. If we wanted to learn anything about her world, we’d have to pull it forcefully out of Deonara’s brain. And Derrick was nowhere to be found.
Luckily, we had Selena, who was excellent at gleaning information from uncooperative sources.
The young man took my hand. His touch was actually warm. “Braxton Tel. Fourth Solium of the Dark Parliament. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tess. You come highly recommended to us by your supervisor, Detective Ward.”
He had glasses and short brown hair. Kind of cute, actually.
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Braxton. What exactly does a Fourth Solium do for the Dark Parliament?”
“Mostly dull things. I wouldn’t want to bore you with an explanation. Deonara gets most of the fun jobs.”
“Of course. If you call delicate treaty negotiations ‘fun.’” She was staring at one of the scanning electron microscopes. “Are any of these tools powered by what you call ‘materia’? Or are they strictly electronic?”
“Most of them are just sophisticated devices for microscopy,” Selena said. “We’re working on engineering a few hybrid tools. But that’s far into the future.”
Actually, we already had hybrid tools, like the Nerve simulation chamber. But she wasn’t going to tell them that.
I suddenly realized that I was still shaking Braxton’s
hand. It was surprisingly soft. I let go of it, smiling awkwardly. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem.” He smiled back.
Lucian was staring at both of us. I couldn’t tell if he was jealous, or simply annoyed. At this point, I didn’t really care. There wasn’t even much to be jealous of anymore. We barely saw each other, and when we did, things were awkward at best. We were supposed to be working on the same case, but he’d frozen me out practically from the beginning.
I held out my hand. “Lucian. It’s nice to see you again.”
Confusion flashed across his eyes. But he took my hand all the same.
“Likewise. Thank you for lending us your expertise.”
He searched my face briefly to see what I was feeling, but I kept the mask on. It seemed like the most appropriate thing to do.
Deonara turned to me. “It was brought to our attention that someone attacked you and your ward. Are you all right?”
“Just some bruises and scrapes. Could have been worse, though.”
“Indeed. The individual in question broke protocol by transporting a Vorpal gauntlet out of the city. Military tools such as those are strictly regulated. We’re quite disappointed by the situation.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. Were they actually going to do something about it, or did they simply plan on shaking their finger at someone?
“It’s sad that someone felt the need to endanger your safety in this manner,” Braxton added. “But we do have some dangerous factions within the Parliament. Rogue cells and whatnot. There’s little we can do to control them.”
I chose my next words carefully. “Do you see any chance of apprehending a suspect? Or is it going to be a hit-and-run?”
“Well,” Deonara said, “that will depend on how sophisticated your detection equipment is. We don’t have the means of identifying a suspect, but you might.”
“I’m not sure I follow you. We weren’t able to recover any trace from the scene, and it’s been days since the attack.”
“They found the Vorpal gauntlet,” Lucian explained. “It’s here.”
“Yes. Someone disposed of it on the outskirts of Trinovantum.” Deonara seemed to have lost interest in me again. Her eyes were elsewhere. “In the interest of political harmony, we thought it best to bring the evidence to you.”