Chapter Thirteen
Moira woke feeling less then herself. Even after several hours of sleep, she could feel the stress of the last few days deep in her bones. Her body’s reaction to stress or exhaustion was to produce more iron. She’d certainly had her share of stress of late. Jess going off-grid had not helped. There was also the constant internal battle she waged to keep any unpleasant emotions bottled up tight. The inability to emotionally release came at a price.
Since her Becoming she not only needed the CPT and diet control, she also needed to be bled. That was a benefit to her daughter’s needs as well. Jorie had never known a moment of iron weakness, a battle that Moira had watched Marja go through. Drinking a glass of the iron-inhibiting drink, she hooked the IV to her arm and lay down, letting gravity drain her excess iron into the waiting bag. Her memories took her back to that time.
Their mother, Marjorie, was covered in weeping boils and was racked with a cough, her throat swollen up. So was much of the village they lived in.
Right after that, Moira and Marja developed different maladies. Neither of the girls had boils or a cough at all. Moira couldn’t stop bleeding from her eyes, nose, mouth, ears, even in her urine and vaginally. Marja seemed to be wasting away, dehydrating to dust. Dumb luck or divine intervention saved them. Moira got Marja a drink of water, and a few drops of her blood fell into the water. Marja became stronger after drinking it.
Luckily Marja had been able to taste a difference in the water. Between the two of them they figured out what it was. The first time Moira had pricked her finger and Marja had sucked on it had felt sacrilegious to them. Their mother had always told them that they were devil’s spawn, born of sin. Blah blah blah. Moira sharing her blood with Marja had saved both their lives.
Just before their mother had died, she’d given the girls the diaries she had stolen from their father and shared how she’d come to possess them. None of them could read. It wasn’t until years later that they realized it was more than illiteracy that kept them from reading the diaries.
Their mother had told them about being a servant within a lord’s castle. The castle lord was admired, respected, even loved. A member of the household staff, Marjorie became infatuated and sought his attention. One night she found him clutching a book to his chest. There were several more just like it on the floor scattered around him: his mother’s diaries, he’d told her. Marjorie had offered him comfort and ended up doing far more than that.
She swore he turned into a devil when he joined with her and drank blood from her. The next day when he spoke to her, his words made her feel like he had climbed into her brain. He’d told Marjorie that it was a dream, that it had never happened, that she was to forget.
In fear she told no one, played along, acted as if she remembered nothing, until she realized she was pregnant. Marjorie stole the diaries and fled to a distant relative’s land in Italy. Centuries later, Moira still resided on the very land she was born on.
After the death of their mother, Marja and Moira found themselves dependent upon each other at fifteen years old. With no family to speak for them, they were forced to leave their family’s land in Italy or risk being forced into a guardianship or, worse, a marriage by the village leaders.
They mostly lived and learned in military camps following the way many other women had survived in those times. Following the army troops, they nursed, cooked, and did laundry, always maintaining one personification, never exposing themselves as twins. Eventually they came to the attention of a very alert French artillery officer who took them under his wing, groomed them and turned them into a female spy team.
They helped Napoleon stage a coup that made him First Consul, then secretly supported and pushed buttons, using the skills learned from him, they vanished the day before his coronation as Emperor. Moira still used some of the same skills acquired during that time in her life.
It took them over a century to transcribe the diaries their mother had stolen for them from Ancient Babylonian to English. It was only then that they were able to understand some of what they were, and from where they came.
At twenty-five they’d gone through the Becoming together, falling into the change on the same day. Neither of them had gotten all the Volaticus traits that Hulven usually got. As twins they’d split the traits, probably the pain too, though they were unaware of the differences at the time. The Becoming stimulated Moira’s reproduction, and she suffered her first estrus. She was fertile for a two-week period every twenty-five to thirty years. It would take even longer now that she had given birth to Jorie.
She could never understand how animals survived the rut, and estrus for Elven and Hulven was similar. The hurting, aching, swollen, weeping between her thighs took on a life of its own. During the first one she had suffered through, when she and Marja were Becoming at the same time, the agony had blended into all of the changes she was going through, and it did not take on the same urgency. After that, well, thankfully human males could not fertilize the Elven egg ovulated in estrus, not that she would have cared at that point.
If she had been a normal Hulven, she might have inadvertently gotten pregnant with a human fetus. In fact Marja had been the one to have human ovulation. Moira was able to satisfy her estrus needs using human men without the risk of pregnancy. She used the men and a large amount of alcoholic beverages. It was a great day when science created better narcotics, enabling her to knock herself out.
A natural Hulven like Jess had to deal with both reproductive cycles, ovulating monthly and falling into estrus every twenty-five years or so. If a human fertilized her monthly ovulation, she would have a human child; if fertilized by an Elven, she would give birth to a Hulven. Only during estrus could an Elven young be conceived. Like Jorie.
Moira couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to have a human child and watch that child age and die, or watch that child’s children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren all age and die while Moira stayed young and healthy.
Hulven and Elven carried the capacity for immortality. Granted, she’d heard that the passage of time and yearly aging means different things to Elven. Hell, they could take long naps, lie dormant, and hibernate, in effect, with a heartbeat only once a month. They required so little oxygen; they could absorb it through the skin. She’d never heard whether Hulven had inherited that particular ability, but she couldn’t do it.
Hulven were a relatively new race within the Volaticus species and discovered only three thousand years ago. According to Napoleon, Elven had not always been accepting of them, either, treating them as abominations, denying their part of creation, leaving them to the mercy of humans and the barbaric way they treat that which they don’t understand. Their acceptance took many centuries combined with the amazing forward-thinking of people like her grandmother, Etana, and the intervention of the Oracles.
Then came the inevitable, those who wanted to use the other species to boost their own agenda. The rogues who figured out that Hulven and the Heredity bloodlines could produce baby Hulven’s nearly as fast as human reproduction. A human ovulation and Elven fertilization, shaken not stirred, and voila: You have an army. The implications terrified her.
The things she’d heard about the cages breeding females were kept in, sounded like underground concentration camps. The children were raised in a cult-type environment. The males were all soldiers to some level. She believed the rogues were capable of killing the females. Giving the children a Jonestown massacre suicide “punch.” Sending the males on kamikaze missions. If brainwashed completely, intelligent people will die or kill for you simply because they don’t know anything different, good or bad.
Moira set down her empty glass and removed the IV from her arm, she heard the front door slam shut, followed by the singsong voice of her daughter. “Mmooooooooom.”
“I’m right here, Jorie.” Jorie bounced into the room, and Moira reached out to ruffle her curls. “Why are you yelling?”
“I have the coolest i
dea on how to double the greenhouse produce using the same space.” She was rocking onto her toes between her steps as she followed Moira into the kitchen. “It is so genius!”
“Let’s hear it,” Moira said, laughing at her daughter’s enthusiasm. Jorie’s ideas generally had merit. She had an even better grasp of agriculture than Moira. Etana’s diaries had defined many farming techniques, and the original bio-structure they lived on was based almost entirely on her grandmother’s farm-layout designs. Maybe that is where she and ultimately Jorie came to be in tune with the best way to work the land to keep the things they grew healthy. Using nature’s way to the best advantage rather than manipulating Earth’s gifts with hormones, herbicides, and pesticides. Where was Jess? Why hadn’t she returned yet?
“Are you listening?” Jorie drew her attention back to task, cutting up veggies and fruit for smoothies.
“Sorry, Jorie. I am concerned about Jess’s absence.” Jorie’s brows wrinkled in a very grown-up look of concern. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Her Jeep’s still parked at the Ryu.” Jorie offered up the information before moving right back into her concept. “So if we stack hydroponics of low-growing plants …” The rest of what Jorie was saying trailed off. Moira couldn’t help her distraction.
Jorie sighed loudly, bringing Moira’s attention back to her. “Go see if you can figure out what’s up. I’ll finish the smoothies.” Jorie of all people was used to Moira’s one-track mind. She was convinced it was what made Moira brilliant, but Moira felt bad that it also made her less available to her daughter.
Nodding, Moira turned and left the room without looking back, heading to her office. What could Jess still be doing at the Ryu at 8:30 p.m.? Granted, it wasn’t unheard of for her to work late; it was actually pretty common. So why wouldn’t the foreboding feeling go away? She didn’t have any psychic ability, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have instincts. Ever since Jess’s vanishing act, she hadn’t been able to shake that feeling.
Her eyes were drawn to the two alerts flashing on her main screen. The first was information and a reminder for the interview she’d set up for later that morning. With a mouse click she started a reader download to see what her Trojan had picked up from the potential support-group candidate’s computer. One of many safety precautions, during the interviews she monitored the candidate’s computer remotely the entire time, every process, every keystroke. It was how she was able to synchronize the random changing IP algorithmic patterns to maintain the communication. Sara and her other group leaders had an automatic system. Moira handled it manually, changing the IPs at random times.
The other alert was the motion sensors from the parking lot of the Ryu—no surprise since people came and went all afternoon. Just to be safe, she split the lot screen, setting half the screen to show current time. The other she set to show reverse time lapse at a increased speed with auto stops on motion trip points. That would mean watching for potentially hours to bring herself up to the time she’d stopped watching yesterday. At least she would know if Jess had left at all during the day, returning to park in the same spot.
Jorie came in, handing her a smoothie. “That screen started flashing and beeping right after you went to bed.” She pointed at the Ryu parking screen.
“Did the Jeep leave?” she asked, taking the frosty drink.
“No, I would have came and got you if she’d left,” Jorie stated. “I didn’t see anyone on the screen. I silenced it. Hope that was okay.”
The screen slowed to normal speed; the time showed 7:15 p.m. Aymee’s car came on the screen, parking a few places down from Jess. Aymee got out of the car backward, walked backward, and put her keys into her purse.
Moira increased the speed to fast again. “I appreciate that. I should have silenced it before I went to bed. I usually do during business hours, otherwise neither of us would ever get any rest.” She kept her voice light, knowing her worry was seeping over to her daughter through the one-sided bond Jorie had with her. She really tried to keep herself calm at all times to make things easier on her daughter. Jorie felt Moira’s emotions almost as strongly as Marja had.
Did the mother-child bond remain as sensitive throughout a child’s entire life? Nathan, being only a year older than Jorie, had the same bond with Sara, but Sara was able to shield her less desirable emotions from Nathan, being a normal Hulven—the advantage of having psychic abilities. She envied Sara. She would love to be psychically tuned to Jorie’s emotions, to know when she was afraid. To know without a doubt that she was happy with her life. Moira could qualify as a zen master from all the time she spent meditating to keep her emotions on an even keel for Jorie’s sake. “Tell me this hydroponics genius idea,” she prompted.
With the quick return of her earlier enthusiasm, Jorie trotted over to the white board on the wall and drew a series of boxes and rectangles. “If we use twenty-four-inch-deep water reserves at the floor level, with double the cubic feet of water required for one built over the planter box, then we could build planter boxes at twelve inch increments above the first and then the second. The three levels would only require the same amount of water as two if you pump to the top and second levels and let the bottom be watered only by the runoff of the first two.” She was drawing pumps, lines, and sprayers at a rate so fast human eyes wouldn’t have been able to follow.
The detail was amazing, better than professional engineer plans. Moira smiled as she watched Jorie draw from only her imagination the beginning of a plan for the future of their farm. She opened her mouth to voice a question, but Jorie cut her off.
“OH WAIT! What about lighting? You were about to ask. Admit it.” Jorie pointed at her.
Moira bowed her head slightly, acknowledging that was her question. “Well, I think mirrors to reflect into the lower levels, placing them here, here, here, and here. Maybe even create a solar-powered light rotation device so they get light longer. You could come up with that easy, Mom.” Winding down, she flopped into the chair, feigning exhaustion. “What do you think?”
Biting her thumbnail, Moira studied the drawing, feeling proud and excited of what Jorie had come up with, aware Jorie could feel it. “I think it is brilliant, Jorjor. Absolutely brilliant.” She meant it in every way. “How long have you been working on this?”
“For a while. I couldn’t figure out the lighting thing. The mirrors were Nathan’s idea. The solar-powered motors to extend the light direction just popped into my head while I was showing you the rest. Maybe it was the motion sensors moving on the screen behind you.” She pointed the marker she still held.
Jorie began tapping the marker to end of her chin, not realizing it didn’t have a cap on it and was leaving little black marks. “Do you think it could create a cross-pollination problem?”
Moira tried to hold back from laughing at the marker beard Jorie had drawn on her face. “What?” Jorie demanded, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.
Moira busted out laughing, pointing at the open-ended marker in Jorie’s hand. “Mother!” Jorie rubbed her chin against her palm. “Did I get it off?” Moira shook her head, still laughing. “Damn it.” Jorie stomped out of the room.
Still chuckling, Moira looked again at Jorie’s drawing. Marja had been an amazing artist too, but she had lacked the speed Jorie demonstrated. That was Moira’s gift. The speed in no way negated Marja’s artistic eye, recall, and skill. Moira glanced up at the painting Marja had made of the two of them with their mother when they were fifteen. Marja had painted it one hundred and fifty years after their mother had died, using her memory of how Moira had looked at fifteen to depict both of their features. The image of them and Marjorie was perfect.
Turning back to the screens, she watched Eric walk backward into the Ryu at 5:45 p.m. along with ten or so young kids, who all jumped out of cars that had reversed into the lot. That would be the last class of the day for Jess.
When the time came for the interview, Moira felt tempted to reschedule. With a sigh she logged
on to her monitoring program, sending out the key for the first IP aligning to the candidate with one simple question: “What’s your name?” The web cam came up, showing Moira a young woman. Brown hair was loosely pulled back from brown eyes. Simple features, very forgettable by all accounts … until she took a look into her eyes. This woman was savvy, far more intelligent than the person who had written the first inquiry. Moira was about to terminate the connection when the lot camera from the Ryu caught her attention.
For one brief moment her entire focus was directed at the sight of her niece appearing out of thin air behind the Ryu with the most beautiful male Moira had ever seen withdrawing his fangs from her throat. He looked both ways and stepping backward into the door of the Ryu. Oh fates, the Elven had found Jess.
“Sofia.” Came the soft voice of the candidate imposter on the next screen. “Why can’t I see you too?”
“Someone’s coming … a lot of someones,” Jorie exclaimed, porting into her mother’s office from out in the farm.
Regaining her composure, Moira took control, pounding commands into her computer. “Hide baby. Don’t come out no matter what. If anything happens to me, call to Jess.” Sending another quick command into her computer, she said, “I’ve just made Sara and Napoleon aware there is a problem.”
“I’m afraid.” The tremble in Jorie’s voice reminded her to stay calm.
“I know, so am I. I’m sure I’m making your fear worse.” Reaching over, she pulled Jorie into a quick hug, kissing her cheek and looking her in the eyes. “I love you, Jorjor. GO. NOW.”
****
Jess was surprised to find Shane taking her into the same room she had ported from, the term they used. She stilled like “poofed.”
“Shut the door behind us, Beauty.” Shane whispered against her hair, sending shivers down her spine. She looked over his shoulder at the open door behind him. “You know how to do it.” She envisioned an arm of kinetic energy from herself to the door, and it slammed, loudly. Shane chuckled.
Immortal Becoming Page 12