My heart stopped at the question. It chilled any smug feeling I’d had of being able to level the playing field. He stilled at the response, as if he could hear my heart’s reaction. He probably could.
‘You should really talk to Emerson.’ Grayson took a step back, like he was finally giving up the chase.
Yep. Emerson had definitely been speaking about me to him. That was Emerson’s number one complaint if he spoke to me at all: that I should have just talked to him.
‘I’m not a fan of talking.’
‘No? I suppose you’re not a fan of answers, either.’
I didn’t respond.
‘Are you not curious as to why your injuries are healing so quickly? Why you sense our presence before you see us? Your strength and speed… None of that makes you wonder in the slightest?’
‘What-?’ I didn’t finish the sentence.
‘Talk to Emerson,’ Grayson said. And then he just disappeared.
Talk to Emerson. As if Emerson weren’t infuriating. As if just being in his presence didn’t give me some serious ass symptoms of anxiety that I’d been going into the freaking forest to help get rid of before the annoying second Son had to bring up the damn cause right in the middle of my mindfulness retreat.
I’d stomped all the way home and slammed my bedroom door. Maybelle and Ken were still out, probably socialising with their church buddies – I hadn’t asked what time they’d get back.
Grayson’s words played again in my mind mocking me.
Ever been bit?
Healing so quickly?
Sense our presence.
Strength and speed.
I loaded my laptop back up and opened the Grimm files.
The first question about my bite was one I’d only ever asked about once before. I’d asked Ali why I hadn’t turned.
When a vampire bit a human, but didn’t feed, the bite was infected with a virus. It was this virus that spread the vampirism to the human host. Cassidy had written an entire section on the biology of the vampire: from those that chose that power, to those that were turned.
A vampire’s anatomy is far more complex than that of a witch. This is down to one simple reason: a witch’s power is of the mind. A vampire’s power is of the body.
Whether a vampire is a chosen vampire (lamia who made the choice on their eighteenth birthday) or turned vampire (a human later bitten by a vampire and infected with the venom), both have the same anatomy, with no deviations from the “standard” vampire biology.
The first stage when a human, or lamia, goes through the change into a vampire is the “virus” stage. Aptly named as the vampiric venom acts in a similar manner to a natural born virus.
After the attachment and penetration of the venom; the vampiric “virus” biosynthesises; matures and spreads throughout the system. The venom uses the white blood cells and the immune system to spread throughout the body. The harder the body attempts to fight of the virus, the more it spreads.
The “goal” of the venom is to spread into EVERY single cell of the human/lamia host. From the inside-out, the venom breaks down muscle, bone, any tissue it finds, to create a bio-vat of stem cells.
From these stem cells – the venom then builds the new body from the host.
I remembered pain, but I never remembered being fed on. Ali had said that I must have passed out before it had happened. If it hadn’t, then the venom I would have been infected with would have catalysed the change.
My memories were foggy at being five years old, but I would have remembered my entire body breaking down into stem cells (the mind was apparently the last thing to be adapted, Cassidy said, and the pain was excruciating before the host fell into a coma). As I’d managed to age these past twelve years and didn’t feed on human blood, I was guessing I wasn’t a vampire. Those being the two defining qualities and all.
The changes happening in my body now were another question. Grayson asking whether I’d ever been bit was probably his way of trying to suss out the cause. If I had – then it would have had to have been recent for the changes to be showing themselves now. But from what I had read in the Grimm files, the change wasn’t something that happened whilst a host was conscious. I wouldn’t be having flashes of preternatural abilities whilst still in an otherwise human body… not unless I was lamia.
The lamia came into their powers around puberty. They showed varying degrees of supernatural gifts until around the age of eighteen where they could make the choice between being a witch or a vampire. Supernatural or preternatural.
The human mind is the most powerful thing on this planet and, like a human, it is the witch’s greatest source of power. Through direct comparison, the activity of a lamia brain compared to that of a human is much evolved. The brain power and energy potential that a lamia brain holds surpasses a human’s brain almost 13 times over. It is the centre of their power and can physically change the rest of their body’s biology at will.
Unlike the myth of sorceresses (which have yet to be proven into existence) a witch never has to use tools or objects to cast. The power is inherited: innate.
Because of this, half-lamia (the offspring of a lamia-human coupling) will have the same DNA and power potential as a lamia-lamia coupling and may never need to LEARN their power as such. They need not even KNOW they are other than human.
From the external, it is impossible to distinguish between human and their kind.
It would have only taken one of my parents to be lamia for me to be one, too.
But if I was – then why was I exhibiting signs of choosing to be a vampire? Because vampires had been the only lamia I’d ever really known about in life? Because my body needed to have more preternatural strength than supernatural power? The witches had created the vampires to save their offspring from Death. Considering his close proximity to me, it would make sense for me to subconsciously choose a power that would keep him at arm’s length.
How would I know if I were lamia? Would I not until I was eighteen and had to make the choice? Would I wake up the next day and simply be another creature – something other than human? Or when Cassidy said “choice” was it something I had to actively participate in? Some sort of ritual or confirmation…
My brain hurt. Grayson’s and Cassidy’s words floating around in a mind I wasn’t even sure was human anymore.
Talk to Emerson.
God. Would I have to? Was he really the only one with answers about what was going on with me? And now that I wanted to talk to him would he still be willing?
I doubted it held much substance: Grayson’s entreaty to go talk to the other Son. Bitchy Emerson, whilst entertaining, didn’t exactly inspire me with confidence at the thought of having a heart-to-heart about our possible species connection.
For once, I was regretting breaking into his car. If I hadn’t, he wouldn’t be avoiding us all at lunch and being such a massive pain in my ass and it was likely that if I approached him to talk, he would have been up for it.
But it was all swings and roundabouts at this point. If I hadn’t broken into his car, I never would have had access to the Grimm files and learnt about lamia enough to know there was a possibility I might be one.
Gi picked me up from Maybelle’s the next day. Apparently, Gi had overheard my foster mom talking to her friends at church about how dropping me off had been messing with Maybelle’s schedule since she was constantly having to get to work late and finish early. She’d had to work for at least three hours in the evening at home to make up the time. Gi had graciously offered to be my ride until my car came/my CAM boot was removed. Since I was committing to this whole social experiment deal, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little extra time with her so I didn’t argue like I would have before.
‘Are you sure you’re up for school?’ Maybelle asked. ‘You’re not looking very well, Olivia.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said.
Since Saturday morning, I’d looked like absolute shit. But like hell was I going to
admit to anyone it was because I’d started dreaming of something new after twelve years and that was only when I could sleep since my mind wouldn’t shut off thinking so much about the vamp-Sons and Grimm files.
I’d chugged three consecutive cups of coffee. Maybelle eyed me wearily.
‘I stayed up too late reading,’ I said. That wasn’t exactly a lie. I’d gone over Cassidy’s files with a fine-tooth comb. ‘I’ll go to bed early tonight, promise.’ That probably was a lie.
I left, almost running down the drive and hopping into Gi’s little Mini.
‘You look like Death,’ Gi said, starting the car and driving the way to our high school.
‘He’ll be thrilled,’ I said sarcastically. Gi didn’t get the joke. Not that I expected her to.
‘I wanted to remind you that you need to watch out today,’ Gi said as we exited the car together.
‘Watch out for what?’
‘Emma.’
Oh, that again. It had only been a couple days ago but that was so far out of my mind it was unbelievable that some people actually worried about normal, human stuff still in their day to day lives.
‘Yeah… honestly, Gi. I’m not that worried. Cheerleader-bitch-face is like so far down my list right now.’
High on my list was whether I was even human.
‘Just for me: watch out. I don’t want to see you have to go through what I did.’
‘It’s sweet you’re looking out for me, kiddo,’ I said, patting her head like she was the age she dressed and not a couple weeks younger than me.
She batted me off and straightened her hair like I’d messed it up, but didn’t bother trying to warn me again.
Monday and Tuesday went by without incident – as in Emma hadn’t suddenly summoned a demon to take my soul down to hell for refusing to bow down to her cheerleader status. That wasn’t to say that it was completely painless.
More than simply refusing to talk to me until I gave his sketch back and answered his questions, Emerson had upped his ignore-Liv game to actively messing with me in class: distracting me when the teacher was about to ask me a question so I looked like I wasn’t paying attention; moving my place in my book; stealing my pens and papers putting them back in my bag… petty shit that didn’t really mean anything but was annoying AF. Jenny was the only one who noticed it, since he was on his best behaviour whenever Gi was around.
On Sunday, the AA Team had convinced him to spend lunch with us again. Clearly being a pain in my ass in class was the trade-off. He made me look like the bad guy at lunch for staring daggers at his back or the snide comments I’d lash out when he would say something seemingly innocent but both of us knew it was to rile me up.
Truly, by Wednesday, he’d made me so focused on his own petty behaviour that I’d completely forgot that I was supposed to be waiting for Emma to crawl out from her dragon’s lair and rear her perfectly hair sprayed head. The thing was, at first, I had to wonder whether it wasn’t Emerson once again messing with me – but there was a difference in how Emma messed with me. Emerson’s aim was never to humiliate me. And that was Emma’s one goal.
It happened after gym. Our coach and Maybelle had finally had their talk the week before about how I could still get in my gym class despite my injury. They’d settled on me swimming at the high school pool – since Maybelle had found a waterproof alternative for my CAM-boot since I’d wrecked my old one walking home in the rain after church the week before. It made sense since it wouldn’t disrupt everyone else’s class. Plus, Maybelle had been talking with my doctors about what types of activity would be safe for me after surgery and during my healing process. As my stitches had already dissolved and my lungs and chest no longer felt any pain, they said light swimming might be good rehabilitation for me. As long as I didn’t push myself and always made sure to check in with the lifeguard about how I was feeling, I would be able to get my gym credit.
At first, I was simply shocked that the school had a pool – could this place be any more different from any place I’d gone to before? I came around to the swimming when we agreed that I could do laps alone, with only the lifeguard there. The last thing I wanted was to be in a state of undress around strangers.
Surprisingly, I did enjoy swimming despite the weight on my foot and how unusual the whole experience was. I hadn’t swum since I was younger and was in a borrowed swim costume from Maybelle. Since I knew most of my body couldn’t be seen due to the refraction of the light in the water, and the lifeguard seemed like a bored kid who wasn’t really paying attention anyway, it was kind of freeing.
It was only after I’d climbed out of the pool and was getting ready for my next class when I realised I’d been lulled into a false sense of security.
I was changing out of my wet costume when the lights were killed. Since there were no windows in the locker rooms, the whole place was almost pitch-black. No one else was in the room with me, so I waited for my eyes to adjust, reaching out for my bag to pull on my top. I fumbled around a few times, but couldn’t reach it.
The lights switched on. I blinked. My stuff was gone. The wet bathing suit and my normal clothes I’d been about to change into. I was simply stood in my underwear. I stayed there, entirely unsure what to do, for more time than I would like to admit. Long enough for Gi to come find me after changing back into her normal clothes after her own gym class.
‘Liv?’ Gi called, coming into the pool’s locker rooms. ‘You in here still?’
She poked her head around the corner and saw me standing in the middle of the locker room, alone.
‘My stuff’s gone.’
‘What?’
I told her a brief version of what had happened. She grabbed a spare towel from her own locker (she swam here apparently every Thursday evening) whilst we tried to see where my clothes could have gone. We checked my locker, but couldn’t find anything. We searched up and down the changing rooms; where I’d been sitting, the showers, but nothing.
Walking around in just a towel was becoming a problem. I always tried to change as quickly as possible, not just hating the feel of people’s eyes on me, but hating being undressed for long periods of time; my bare skin showing.
I’d had scars long before my motorcycle accident. I had a scar along my stomach from when they’d had to take a bullet out when I was fourteen and repair my injured spleen; along with the original scar the bullet left. My back had two small scars – from two separate times being stabbed. There was the one on my neck from the night my parents were killed. And now my arms, and the other one on my chest from my surgery. I was a battlefield of my run ins with Death.
‘You can borrow my kit,’ Gi said. ‘It’s a bit sweaty…’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.
With her being so small, the top rode up, almost showing all my lower back and my tattoo. I pulled on her shorts since the leggings she had wouldn’t have fit one of my thighs. I had to take off my cast to be able to slip into them.
Gi didn’t comment on my scars. I didn’t know if it was because she thought they’d all happened from the motorcycle accident, or whether she didn’t want to pry.
I think it was obvious, even to someone like Gi, who’d probably never had to have a stitch in her life, that the other scars were much older than the ones that still had a red tinge to them.
‘Do you want to call Maybelle to bring you some clothes?’ Gi asked.
I shook my head. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing,’ I said. It wasn’t nothing, but we both knew who did this and I’d be damned if I let her know she’d gotten to me.
My next class, thankfully, was one of the few ones I didn’t share with Emerson. The last thing I wanted was for some added teasing and general annoyance from him when literally almost every scar I owned was laid bare.
My teacher’s eyes practically bugged out at my appearance – this school was strict on dress codes – until I told her my stuff had been stolen. She offered me her jack
et which I thought was pretty nice. Then insisted I take it because it was fall, cold out, and I was distracting the boys in class.
At lunch, Robbie informed us that the Sons weren’t in school today. Gi checked her phone. Emerson had text her to say they had a cold or something. I called BS since vamps didn’t get sick, but I didn’t exactly know what they were up to. I was intrigued as hell since it was the first time they’d skipped class. I wondered if they’d caught on to me getting Ali and the Order involved to look into their story and they’d vamoosed.
I was interrupted from asking too many questions when Jenny burst into the theatre and told me she’d found my stuff. It was in the cafeteria: Emma having emptied out my bag and thrown my clothes on the floor for good measure.
That bitch. Clearly, she wanted an audience for my humiliation. Well, if that was what the bitch wanted, I wasn’t very well going to keep her waiting, was I?
Gi tried to persuade me not to go, Jenny, too – Martha was indifferent, and Robbie looked intrigued – but I wasn’t going to let Emma simply walk all over me.
When we arrived, everyone’s eyes swivelled towards us. Emma had clearly been waiting for this. My clothes and bag were covered in food and drink and god-knows what else. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of picking it up – though I badly wanted to get at least my wallet and phone.
‘You’re a little underdressed for school aren’t you… skank,’ Emma laughed.
I growled.
‘Is that a tramp stamp?’ Lisa, one of Emma’s sidekicks joined in. She looked like Emma’s mini-me, whereas Hope was the thick-eyeliner and mullet hair combo girl. ‘Could you be anymore trashy?’
I knew my tattoo wasn’t showing now, but it had been back in the locker rooms when I’d been changing. I guess I knew who had helped Emma steal my clothes.
Gi tried to pull me away, saying that she’d get a teacher so we could get my stuff, but I wasn’t backing down. I stormed up to Emma. Before I even had a chance to say anything, she dumped the entirety of her soda onto my head. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.
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