by ReGi McClain
He nodded, looking satisfied with this concession. He rested his elbows on the desk, laced his fingers, and set his chin on them. “The problem is not that the fae are not really immortal. The problem is, iron is poison to fae.”
He waited, watching her as if he expected her to puzzle the whole thing out based on this snippet of information. She’d heard about the iron thing somewhere, an old cartoon featuring nocturnal monsters or something, but its application refused to make itself obvious. She shook her head to indicate her confusion.
“I imagine you’ve been prescribed extra iron in your diet by most of these doctors.” He tapped her records.
“Every one of them. It never helped.”
“I’d wager it made you worse. Think for a moment. Humans need iron. We depend upon it to carry oxygen from our lungs to the rest of our bodies. We use it in the production of red blood cells and several enzymes, the conversion of glucose to energy, and the list goes on. As a human, your body needs iron. The fae, on the other hand, use another mineral, ruthenium or copper, perhaps. I don’t know. Whatever the element is, they cannot tolerate iron.”
“So, iron makes me sick?”
“It’s an over-simplification but, yes. Your conflicting genetics created an autoimmune disease unique to your family.”
She searched her memory for tidbits from previous doctors to refute or support Dr. Brown’s words. Most of them diagnosed her with an unrecognized form of anemia, so the iron problem made sense. Dr. Brown hit the nail on the head with the supplements as well. She felt awful when she took iron, for days afterward, and got sick if she ate red meat, chocolate, or any other high-iron foods.
Still, the theory was stupid.
She picked up the sheet with her DNA sequence to give herself something other than the doctor’s serious eyes to focus on. “How can you possibly…” say that with a straight face? “Know any of this?”
“I study cryptozoology in my spare time. Before my knees went bad, I spent my summers doing charity work in remote areas and seeking rare species, such as the sasquatch, whenever I wasn’t needed in my professional capacity. I had the opportunity to study a few, in fact.”
She nodded to cover both the offense she felt at being compared to sasquatches and the incredulity trying to burst out of her. “I see. Do you know how to treat it?” She managed to get the words out without sarcasm.
“Well, the Gigantanthropus genus is similar enough to humans to respond well to most ”
“Gigantopus? Is that like faeries and mermaids or…?”
“Ah. No. I thought you were asking if I knew how to treat Sasquatch ailments.”
Harsha squeaked half a laugh and turned it into a cough.
“I believe the only ones who can cure you are the faeries themselves, but they are rather difficult to find these days.”
I’ll bet . She coughed and rubbed her mouth to cover her bitter smirk. “Doctor, you’re talking about mythical creatures. I imagine they’re impossible to find these days.”
His lips pulled back into a mirthless smile. “I’m offering you an option. A slim one, I’ll grant you, and you’re well in the majority with your doubt, but it’s an option. Look at it this way: it can’t hurt to look for faeries. Your friends may laugh, of course, but you don’t strike me as someone who cares much what others think.”
Harsha blushed, thinking of the hilltop incident.
“If nothing else, a cryptozoological expedition or two will take your mind off the inevitable for a little while.”
Harsha considered that. He made a good point. The only good point of his argument, but a good one. She had given up hobbies when she started working to support her family at fourteen years old, unless she counted doing taxes for her neighbors or going to doctors. Looking for faeries wouldn’t prolong her life or improve its quality, but if she had to die young anyway, she might as well do something amusing in the meantime. Besides, faerie hunting ought to be a source of endless hilarity. If not for her, for Jason. She pictured him laughing himself silly teasing her about it.
“Okay. Where do I get started?”
Dr. Brown’s smile broadened until it touched his eyes. He snagged a sticky note and printed a name and website across it, forming each letter with care. “This fellow is one of the greatest pioneers in cryptozoology of our time. If anyone can find a fae, it’s him.” On a sheet of prescription paper, in typical doctor chicken scratch, he scrawled the names of two medicines unfamiliar to Harsha. “In the meantime, take these. They ought to alleviate some of the discomfort.”
Harsha took the pieces of paper.
Dr. Brown gave her hand a farewell shake. “Welcome to the cryptoenthusiasts club, Ms. Mooreland.”
In the waiting room, Harsha found Jamala sifting through a home improvement magazine. She looked up when Harsha came out. “How’d the appointment go?”
Perfect. I’m not an alien. I’m a mythical creature. Oh, wait. I’m two mythical creatures, and I’ve decided to take up cryptomania, or whatever it’s called. “About as well as I expected.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Oh, yes. Because I love being told I’m crazy. “No.”
Either her tone warned Jamala off or her assistant had gotten the hint earlier, because the barrage of questions she anticipated never came. Instead, they talked about Jamala’s classes on the return drive. Harsha offered tips and explanations where her expertise allowed.
At home, Jason’s caregiver went out the door as she came in. Jason sat on the couch, playing World of Warcraft. Tired and sore after the long drive, Harsha flopped next to him with a groan.
“That bad, huh?”
“We’ll talk later.”
“Okay.” The drone of video game noise went on.
Chapter 5
The next afternoon, Harsha lounged with her back to the arm of the couch and her legs thrown over Jason’s lap while she worked a Sudoku puzzle. Jason tapped away at his laptop, which balanced on Harsha’s shins, chatting with one of their numerous Craigson relations. Now and then he remarked on someone’s Facebook status or asked Harsha whether she felt his response to be appropriate or not.
Harsha shrugged or made noncommittal noises. She’d washed her hands of her father’s side of the family after Ami died and no visitors, no letters of condolence, no phone calls came, and she’d taken her mother’s name as soon as the law allowed. Jason assured her most of them seemed like nice people from the safe distance afforded by shallow virtual acquaintance, but until he sought them out on social media, they may as well have been phantoms. Harsha and Jason’s father, however, remained estranged. Nevertheless, Jason kept the Craigson name, hoping to reconcile before he died.
“So,” Jason said, breaking the relative silence when Harsha finished her puzzle. “We never did talk.”
She wilted. These moments of confessing the hopelessness of their case hurt. “No. We didn’t talk.”
“And?”
“And…”
She considered her response. He needed to know her latest diagnosis, however insane, and she needed to work her way around to the idea of a faerie hunt. She planned to try it if for no other reason than to trick herself into taking a vacation. The problem lay in how to word her announcement to avoid causing Jason death by laughter. Given his love of gaming and comic books, she tried for a geekishly-cool spin.
“We’re freaks.”
“Awesome!”
“Yeah.” She made no effort to mask the oozing sarcasm.
“No, really. I can put that on all my profiles and I’ll totally be a chick magnet.”
“Right. For virtual chicks.”
“Hey, virtual chicks are hot. They do virtually whatever you want and never ask you to take them to dinner.”
She wrinkled her nose as her mind conjured images to fit his implied meaning. “Ugh, Jason. That’s disgusting.”
“At least I have a life, Miss Workaholic.”
“A virtual life. That’s not living.”
He shrugged. “Anyway, what do you mean?”
“We have…” she paused to think of a good word, “ enhanced DNA.”
“Whoa! Seriously?”
She envied his enthusiasm, half-wishing she shared his positive view of the situation. “Seriously.”
“Wait.” He deflated. “Define enhanced .”
His capricious mood changes pulled a giggle out of her. “I mean, we have four extra proteins. Hold on. I’ll show you.”
He lifted his laptop off her legs to let her get up.
She fetched the file from her purse, calling over her shoulder as she went, “You remember that file someone sent us?”
“Yeah…”
“It included a printout of my DNA sequence. Did you see it?” She returned and set the innocent piece of paper that had caused her so much trouble on the TV tray nearest him. She commandeered his laptop to do a search for normal DNA sequences for comparison.
He glanced at both pictures before turning a scathing expression of pity and superior wisdom on her, with his eyebrows lifted and his mouth turned further down on one side than the other. “This is a bunch of nonsense those quacks came up with to justify slicing you.”
“Probably. The doctor I saw yesterday has a different theory.” An impossible theory . “Besides, it’s the closest thing we’ve gotten to an answer.” Sort of. “At least he didn’t say, ‘I don’t know.’ If nothing else, it explains why no other doctor in the history of ever knew how to treat our condition." Or ever will.
“Is it something you can verify scientifically?” His know-it-all inflections lessened, but he left his eyebrows up in disbelief. She knew he was thinking of the many theories offered to her by practitioners with spiritualistic leanings.
“I can have my DNA sequenced by another lab, but if it is true, what’s to keep the people who do the testing from making me their lab rat? Or calling it a botched test, like the first two groups who tried to sequence it? Whether it’s real or not, it’ll still function as the babe magnet, won’t it?” Focus on that while I tell you the next part of my plan.
“Good point.” He looked at the pictures. His facial features relaxed into a speculative lip bite as he took time to study them. “If it is true, it’s pretty awesome. Too bad we have to die for it.”
“Well… maybe not.”
His head snapped up. “Whadaya mean?”
“I mean, the doctor I talked to, he says we’re…” She blushed and chickened out as a sudden wave of embarrassment for considering Dr. Brown’s theory with any seriousness washed over her. As stupid as dancing naked on a hilltop . “Never mind. It’s ridiculous.”
“What? What’s ridiculous?”
“Nothing. You’re right. The idea of enhanced DNA is stupid.” She reached for the DNA sequence. “Just… never mind.”
Jason held the printout away from her. “Huh-uh. You’re not baiting me like that and getting away with it. Spit it out, or I’ll sign you up for a dating service.”
Harsha’s stomach lurched at the threat. After her fiancé took off, she’d sworn off romantic relationships. “No, don’t.” She took a deep breath to steady herself before blurting, “Dr. Brown says we’re descendants of a fae-mermaid.”
Jason stared at her with an expression devoid of understanding. “A what?”
“A fae-mermaid. Like half-faerie, half-mermaid, or something like that.”
As expected, Jason howled with laughter. Harsha held her breath, scared he really might laugh himself to death.
“So, I guess we get used to dying, then, huh?”
He spoke without concern. No matter how often he asserted his acceptance of his own death, his nonchalant, almost playful, attitude toward it stung.
“I’ll never be used to it, Jason.”
“Aww, Harsha ”
“No. I’m serious.” She shrugged, hoping to look casual about what she planned to say. “I don’t care how dumb it sounds. I’m going to try and find a faerie, or someone who thinks they’re one, and get a cure.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Wow. I didn’t know insanity came with the territory. I don’t remember Mom or Ami going crazy.”
“Fine. I’ll be the first one.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Promise me you won’t give up until I have a chance to look. Anyway, it counts as a vacation, right?”
He went quiet, his eyes searching hers. He brushed his fingertips across the scar on her wrist and took her hand in his. “Okay, Sis. I’ll go along with your crazy mer-fayed idea.”
“Fae-mermaid.”
“Whatever. What’s the plan?”
“Really? Just like that?”
“Will it keep you away from doctors for a while?”
“Maybe?”
“Then, really. Just like that. What’s the plan? Even if this isn’t a boatload of nonsense, how are you going to find something that doesn’t exist?”
Harsha pulled the slip of paper the doctor had given her out of her purse. “He said this guy can help me find one. He’s supposed to be some kind of mythical creatures expert. Crypt-something-or-other.”
“Right. Well.” Jason ignored the website and googled the name. “Can’t be too many guys with a name like Zeeb Lowell. Yup. Got a few hits. Want me to check out his Facebook page? He might be single.”
She bumped his deltoid with her fist before leaning over to peruse the list of potential links. “No. Go to the website.”
“Okay. Ouch. That kinda hurt.” He rubbed the spot she hit.
When he removed his hand, she gasped.
“What?” He scrutinized the screen of his laptop.
“Your arm! I’m so sorry!”
He looked at his arm. A black and blue bruise shaped like Harsha’s fist, with each finger defined, marked her target. “Oh.” He shrugged. “Don’t hit me anymore.”
“But Jason, that means…” Tears welled up, joined by a sense of loneliness and despair.
He gave a short laugh but moisture stood at the edge of his lashes, too. “Yeah. I know. It means I have about six months left. Give or take.”
They sat in silence for a while, holding hands and sharing their grief without unnecessary words. The sun sank below the edge of the horizon before he let go of her.
“All right, Harsha. I’ll go to this guy’s website and set things up. But,” he looked her straight in the eye with uncharacteristic sternness, “I want you to be with me when… it happens. You have to promise not to let me die alone.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. Gently. “I’ll be here. I promise.”
“Whatever.” He took his hand back, his expression and tone returning to irreverent playfulness. “Go make dinner while I check this guy out.”
Harsha rolled her eyes but obeyed. When she came back with food, Jason was giggling. She nudged his laptop aside with his plate until both fit on his TV tray. He picked up the plate and started eating, chuckling all the time. She waited for him to let her in on the joke. When he choked on his food, she gave up on being patient.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s in Alaska.”
“So?”
“So… You? In Alaska? Here, get this.” He lowered his voice into a convincing TV announcer impression. “‘Sasquatch Tours with Zeeb. Let Zeeb Lowell and his lovely associate Seraph Owens ’”
“And I thought I had an unusual name.”
He snorted and continued, “‘show you the real Alaska in real Alaskan style. State-of-the-art bear and weather protection included as you backpack your way through majestic mountains and lush forests ’ You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Tromping uphill both ways through half-frozen, mosquito-infested mud.”
He guffawed, his eyes brimming with tears of amusement. Mini-fits of chortles strangled his words as he went on, “‘as you backpack your way through majestic mountains and lush forests on your quest to find Sasquatch.’”
“Good grief.”
“‘Ice-caving packages are also available for
those seeking Abominable Snowmen.’” He laughed so hard she felt compelled to hold his plate for him until the spell passed.
“I don’t see what’s so funny. Aside from the obvious fact that it’s crazy. Of course, anyone insane enough to live in a place like Alaska in the first place qualifies as certifiable in my book. Why shouldn’t they act like it?”
“Don’t forget the ‘state-of-the-art bear protection.’ I wonder if that means they have a portable tree for you to carry around.”
“What? You lost me.”
“You know, in case a bear charges you. So you always have a tree to climb nearby.” He dissolved into another round of chuckles with tears running down his cheeks. “These…” he struggled to enunciate his words, “these are definitely the nuts for you.”
“Agreed, but remember, I’m the one hiring them.”
“My point exactly.”
He kept laughing. She took a bite of his meal. If he kept making fun of her, she intended to eat the whole thing. Not that she blamed him. At least I’ll be dressed for this one.
The night she tried dancing away her condition, a group of intoxicated youths caught her. She hadn’t seen them until she attempted a pirouette and half a dozen people cheered. One of them offered to join her after wiping drool off his chin. Or her chin. Harsha couldn’t tell whether the person was male or female. She’d raced home to a reception much like Jason’s current glee at her expense.
When Jason calmed down to an occasional mild chuckle, she handed back the plate. “So, you think I’m a nut, huh?”
He nodded like an enthusiastic bobble-head.
“Fair enough. Find out how much this Zeeb guy wants to charge to find me a faerie.”
“Oh, I already know that. At least, I have a good idea. A standard Sasquatch Search costs fifteen hundred dollars per week. I figure the guy stretches out the search as long as possible before the poor dupes on the tour get to see one of his buddies go running by in a Chewbacca suit, two hundred yards away, in the middle of the thickest forest, during the one hour it’s darkish out. I’m guessing if you tell him you’re after a faerie, he’ll pull the same kind of stunt, but instead of a Wookiee suit, his buddy’ll use a flashlight and bell.”
