by Ramy Vance
When I dashed out of the library and came around the corner of the building, I stopped short.
Before me, one of the bare trees on campus was full to the gills with a flock of stymphalian birds, their bronze beaks gleaming in the wisps of light between the clouds. At this distance, I could gauge their true size: as large as pure black cranes, talons longer than my fingers wrapped around the branches. They sat silent, immobile, their dark eyes surveying me from twenty feet away.
I took one step back, my boot barely tapping on the sidewalk. As I did, one of the largest birds jerked to stare at me straight on, its wings parting to reveal a terrifying span, a series of serrated bronze feathers stretching to six feet at either side.
I took another step, not taking my eyes off it, then another. It rose to its full height, legs straightening, and let a screech so tremendous I clapped my hands to my ears, bracing myself. All at once, I felt wind across my body, and I looked up to see the entire flock pulling toward the sky, thirty of them airborne at once.
My lips parted in silent awe as the black cloud swept over and past me, traveling north toward Mont Royal. They hadn’t attacked me, and I realized as I watched them disappear over the buildings that I hadn’t sensed real malice from them.
Not this time, at least. My eyes lifted to the sun behind the clouds. Were they nocturnal? I hadn’t seen any mention of it in the mythology book, but it was, after all, ancient mythology. Another reminder of how, given our newfound coexistence, we knew frighteningly little about Others and monsters. Even I, as an Other, didn’t know much about most species of Others.
But right now, I was out of time to ponder stymphalian birds. I ran toward the Stewart Biology building.
PROFESSOR ALLMAN’S office door was shut. His door was never shut, and right now we were supposed to have a meeting. I knocked, but it didn’t open. So I spent five minutes sitting on the tiled floor, my back against the wall. I felt tired, colorless after yesterday, and encountering that flock of stymphalian birds again hadn’t helped.
As soon as I closed my eyes, his excited voice echoed down the hall, and a woman’s returned. Their shoes clicked on approach, and I pushed myself up the wall. Twenty feet away, a fabulously tall woman in the kind of professional getup I’d thought was the sole realm of magazine models—red heels, black, fitted slacks, an equally black blazer with a white undershirt peeking through—walked in animated conversation with my professor.
When he spotted me, the woman followed his gaze. “Ah, Isabella,” Professor Allman said. “Sorry to be late.” He wrung his fingers—a gesture I’d become familiar with over the many months we’d spent working together. It was a nervous tic. But this time it was also paired with a faint line of sweat on his brow.
Something about this woman made him nervous.
“This is Isabella?” The woman turned crystal blue eyes on me. I swallowed. Did I ever mention that I prefer men? Well, I’m a bit of an anomaly among encantado, who tend to be equally equally enchanted by both genders. But right now, this woman’s hair looked like a black waterfall.
“Yes—the one and only.” He gestured between the two of us. “Isabella, this is Dr. Serena Russo, who I’ve been showing around our research facilities. She’ll be the lead scientist on the Other triple helix mapping project, and specifically asked to meet you today. Serena, this is Isabella Ramirez, the undergraduate who’s been studying Other DNA since she arrived at McGill, and a brilliant biology student.”
It was only when I processed her extended hand that I realized I’d been staring at her hair. “Isabella,” she said, and as we shook hands, I didn’t even have time to consider all the implications of Dr. Russo’s sudden appearance on campus; I was still overwhelmed by her presence. “I’m so much looking forward to working with you on this critically important project.”
“You’re not a professor here.” The thoughtlessness of my statement didn’t hit me until I glanced at Professor Allman, whose gray eyebrows had gone up.
Dr. Russo laughed. “No—I’m employed by the Other Anti-Extinction Initiative. As part of the grant afforded to the biology department, I’ve been asked to head up the research here.”
“Serena would very much like to see the work you’ve been doing, Isabella,” Professor Allman’s hand touched my back. “If you wouldn’t mind showing her now.”
“Absolutely.” I set both hands on the strap of my purse. I started walking, my eyes glazed. What was the Other Anti-Extinction Initiative, and why did they have so much money to funnel into my work? After all, PR for Others hadn’t exactly been great ever since we’d come crashing—as in, some Others had quite literally fallen from the sky when the gods left—into humans’ lives.
We came to the lab where I’d been spending half my free time for the past year and a half, and my hands went clammy. Only Professor Allman had really shown any interest in what I’d been doing up until now, and what if he’d only been trying to encourage a naive, short-sighted undergrad? How could I possibly contribute on the level of a woman like Dr. Russo?
We stepped into the lab, and I brought the two of them over to my workstation. “Here it is.” I swept an arm out. “All of it.”
Dr. Russo stepped forward, surveying the array of equipment. “Tell me what you’re trying to do here, Isabella.”
I took my deepest breath, set my hands together. Even though I’d spent mountains of time on this work, I hadn’t prepared for this moment at all. “As you know, while human DNA forms a double helix, Other DNA forms a triple helix. I’ve been attempting to map this strand to gain a better understanding of Other DNA.”
“To what end?” Dr. Russo asked.
“It’s theorized that the third strand on the helix is what allows Others to tap into magic.”
Those blue eyes surveyed my face. “But you don’t believe that, do you?”
“No, I believe that when the gods made Others, they used the third strand as a way to mix traits of all of creation into one being. The simplest examples are centaurs, minotaurs and sphinxes—the half-human, half-animal beings.” I paused. “But it goes beyond that. A popobawa has spider-like features, but is somehow human, too.”
She appeared impressed. “Human? Yes, I’ve heard the theory. Human emotions, human logic, the human capacity for love, and hate. ”
This was my favorite subject, and I couldn’t stop myself. “Maybe it’s humans who have Other traits. After all, we were created before you.”
She chuckled. “I see what Professor Allman meant about you. Sharp, passionate. Determined. But also reserved.” Then, “Isabella, what I want is the real reason why you’re mapping the Other genome.”
“For the same reasons scientists mapped human DNA—to learn more about the species.” Though that wasn’t exactly true, and I didn’t meet Dr. Russo’s eyes as I said it. But I wasn’t willing to divulge the full truth. Not yet, at least.
“That’s awfully altruistic of you.” A faint smile had appeared. “But that’s not why scientists mapped the human genome. And forgive my forwardness, but an encantado doesn’t come all the way from Brazil to the frigid north to conduct her research at McGill just out of curiosity.”
My eyes darted to hers. A clear-eyed one, this Serena Russo—probably in more ways than one.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear the real reason,” she said, blue eyes close on me. “Why are you studying the DNA of your fellow Others?”
I discovered my lips moving—words coming out of them—before I’d even fully processed her question. “Because we’re dying out,” I breathed.
GoneGodDamn, I hadn’t meant to say that, but something about her compelled me to share my true motives.
One of her coal eyebrows went up. “Ah, so you know. Well, the ‘Other Anti-Extinction Initiative’ isn’t exactly off the nose, is it?”
“We need to cure Other cancers.” The words spilled out of me now. “And alzheimers, and multiple sclerosis, and Parkinson’s.” That was the hard truth of my research: no
w that we were mortal, Others had become vulnerable. As members of our species now aged and died, we would slowly go extinct.
All of us.
“And of course,” I said, nearly out of breath, “we need to be able to procreate.”
There it was. My truth. I—and every other Other alive—couldn’t have babies. We couldn’t perpetuate our species, and as soon as the last of us died of old age, we would all be gone.
After the gods left, it was this knowledge that had led me to study at McGill. Because more than anything else, my mortal life’s desire was to have a child. To know the possibility of motherhood.
But to do that, I first needed to map the triple helix.
Dr. Russo was nodding at me; her smile had grown, her eyes lit. “There it is. That’s why we funded your work, Isabella. It’s that passion you feel that earned you a grant for your research, and it’s why I want you here Monday through Friday, four to nine. Can you do that?”
Five days a week, five hours a day? I ran through my schedule in my mind—eighteen credit hours of classes, eating, sleeping, Aimee, Justin (wait, was I already including Justin in my schedule? What did that mean?)—but my thoughts were cut short.
“Isa.” Professor Allman set a hand on my arm. “This is an amazing opportunity.”
I nodded, pushing everything else from my head. This was a huge grant and undertaking that would likely take a whole semester to implement, so I’d be able to scale down my classes anyway. “When do we start?”
Dr. Russo’s eyes flitted from Professor Allman to me. “Tomorrow.”
Nobody blinked. Nobody laughed. So I did, a little giggle. Then I realized she was dead serious. “Oh.” I tapped my knuckles on the edge of the workstation with an echo. “OK. Tomorrow.”
She smiled, and despite getting everything I’d wanted (and so much more), the blackness tugging at my mind didn’t dissipate at all.
CHAPTER 16
T he next day, I shut his office door and dropped into Professor Allman’s armchair. He was still going on about the research grant and the work I would be doing with Dr. Russo, but I had dragged him back here as soon as we could politely get away.
The truth was, I just wanted to talk about the murders. I felt somehow responsible for figuring out what had happened to the two students who had been killed. Maybe it was because I couldn’t get that agonized face out of my mind, or maybe it was because, ever since I’d taken on the illusion of Katrina Darling, a little bit of her had seeped into me.
Whatever it was, I knew the stymphalian birds were intrinsically connected to it all. And no one had a better mind than Professor Allman. Especially for creatures of lore.
I reached into my purse. “You have to promise me you won’t freak out when I show you this.”
He set his reading glasses on, sitting across from me. “You say it’s a bird’s feather? I can’t imagine why I would … Oh.”
When he saw what I’d pulled out, he went silent. I extended the bronze feather toward him, and he received it with two hands. “You say these were all over the street last night?”
“My boyfriend—I mean, friend—pulled this one out of a car. It went right into the metal.”
His eyebrows went up over the rims of his glasses. “And the rest?”
“They went everywhere—through windows, into the sides of buildings, even into the ground—except people. They didn’t hit anyone.”
He turned the feather from end to end, tipped it onto its side. “Curious.”
“That’s right. Professor, I did some research this morning—they’re stymphalian birds from Greek mythology.”
He nodded. “Oh yes, I suspected that right away. I can’t think of another bird species of lore described this way.”
“The part I can’t explain,” I said, “is why they didn’t actually kill anyone last night. But I’m sure you heard about the two murders.”
Now his eyebrows lowered, a gloom settling over his features. “Two students. One off-campus, and one right here outside his dorm. An awful thing.”
“I know—I was the first person to see the victim on Saint Catherine Street.” I took a deep breath. “His heart had been taken from his chest. It was almost like someone had reached in and scooped it out.”
Professor Allman eyed me. “Isabella, do you think it was the birds?”
“No,” I said. “I saw them attack. The birds didn’t actually hurt anyone—it was all a distraction. And you can see that wing for yourself … If they’d wanted to, they could have killed everyone on Saint Catherine.”
“Oh yes,” he said with more fervor than I liked. “The stymphalian birds were a terrible scourge in Greek mythology. They’re uniquely lethal.”
“I saw a flock of them in one of the trees outside my dorm this morning.”
“And what did they do?”
“They just … stared at me. And then they flew off.”
He nodded slowly. “That makes sense. They’re nocturnal killers—poor daytime vision.”
I leaned forward. “I didn’t see anything about that in my reading.”
“Think about it. Where did these birds originate?”
I thought back to my reading. “It was … the Stymphalian swamp.” Apollo was said to detest the place. And if Apollo—the god of sun—wouldn’t go there, then the swamp must have been a place where the sun literally didn’t shine.
If that was true, then it would make sense that they were nocturnal hunters.
His hands went out expectantly.
“They prefer a lack of light,” I said slowly. “They’re nocturnal, as you say.”
He lifted the feather closer to his face, holding it before him like a blade, inspecting the edges and flat of it with reverence. “Remarkable.”
I took a deep breath. “What if they were commanded by someone else? The real killer.”
He glanced up from his close inspection. “How do you reckon?”
“The killings are too alike in profile. It was nighttime. One victim ended up missing a heart, the other his eyes. And they’re both young men. Professor, were there any creatures in Greek mythology who preyed on young men?”
His eyes drifted, thumb touching the scruff at his chin. He’d always done this when something captivated him, and I felt a surge of excitement that his mind was fully set on this mystery. “Yes,” he said finally. “More than one. But my knowledge of the Greeks isn’t so extensive as with South American creatures of lore. Have you researched it?”
“I just came up with this theory on my way over. I’ve only researched the birds.”
“I think you’re onto something, Isa.” He stood, paced two feet left, came to stand with his hands on the back of the armchair. “And if what you’re thinking is actually the case, that won’t bode well for Others.”
That hadn’t occurred to me, but he was right: if it was an Other perpetrating these murders—and it almost certainly was—whenever this individual was caught, it would reflect badly on all Others.
And that was the last thing we needed right now. For some reason, when it came to human violence, humans were able to distinguish between awful members of their species and the rest. But not Others—when one of us ran amok, we all got the shaft.
“So if I go to the local police, they’ll probably be on the lookout for an Other,” I said. And given how little information they probably had about the suspect, that could quickly devolve into a witch hunt.
“If you go to them,” he said, “I advise you to do your research beforehand. Be very specific about the Other you think is responsible for these killings.”
I nodded. We were clearly on the same page.
When I stood, he escorted me to the door. “Isabella,” he said before I left. I turned toward him, and he passed me the bronze feather. “Be careful. Don’t stay out alone at night.”
“I won’t.” Though if my theory was correct, it wasn’t me who needed to worry about being out alone at night.
Justin, I thought with a
squeeze of the heart.
↔
I arrived at the O3 house at mid-afternoon. No one answered until the third round of knocking, and then it was a Miss Doubtfire-esque woman with a feather duster staring back at me. “Yes?”
They employ a maid service? Really? There were some things I had to get over about Justin’s frat life, but this wasn’t one of them.
“Hello ma’am. May I come in to see Justin Truly?”
She shook her head. “All out.”
“They’re all out? Where?”
“Gym. McGill gym.”
She must have meant the rec center on campus. I raised a hand, thanking her before I turned away to make my way back onto campus and to where the whole O3 house was apparently doing a group workout.
Which, probably to their horror, struck me as deeply erotic. Twenty sweaty young men, grunting and flexing together? I mean, everything about fraternal tradition suggested as much, which made their absolute obsession with women a little hilarious to me.
But, I thought as I arrived at the gym and pulled open the massive doors, I wouldn’t even mind if Justin swung both ways. After all, few people were 100% straight, and as a distinctly sexual Other, who was I to stand in the way of someone’s desires?
Except all my illusions about a group workout were destroyed when I stepped inside and saw the big stand-up poster greeting me. WORLD ARMY CADET TRAINING, it read. TODAY AT 2PM IN ROOM 113.
Beneath the lettering sat the World Army’s logo, and I nearly gagged. I knew Justin had gotten involved, but was the whole O3 house in on this now? And how often were they participating in these trainings? I’d thought they’d meet up maybe once a week, but as I came to Room 113 and looked in through the door, I saw all twenty of them engaged in a very particular form of self-defense training.
I’d taken self-defense training before. It involved striking the most vulnerable points on a person’s body—a human’s body: the eyes, the groin, the neck. But they weren’t going for the typical places. In fact, they weren’t even fighting humans. Someone had drawn the short straw and now labored around the room in a three-headed dog costume, pretending to lunge at a few of them. In return, they swung at it with wooden practice swords.