Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  Solomon wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets it on his lap. “Ruby, all joking aside, I owe you an apology.”

  This should be good. “You do?”

  “I overreacted badly when I thought your opening of the safe meant your mother had been unfaithful to me. I should never have let my anger take over like that. Although I know this doesn't excuse my behavior, I think it was a case of an old wound that hadn't quite healed. I hope you'll accept my apology. Although I didn't physically harm you, I did harm to your mother in front of you and I’m sure that was quite upsetting and distressing to watch.”

  “I’d say she had it a lot worse than me.”

  He compresses his lips. “I can never make that up to her. Luckily, she's a Godly woman and has been generous enough to forgive me. I don't know what I did to deserve her, but I've been blessed.”

  It’s godly to forgive the unforgivable? I don’t think I’ll ever be Godly. “She is a forgiving woman.” It’s the best I can manage.

  “Better than I deserve,” Solomon says.

  A lecherous hag would be better than he deserves. I meet his eyes. “We agree on that.”

  He clenches his napkin. “I'm sorry you felt you needed to act as you did. Of course I don't blame you for defending yourself and your mother. It was exactly what you should have done. In hindsight, I recognize the nobility in your behavior.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I was raised to stand up for myself.”

  “Although.” He blots at his lips. “If you hadn't deceived me, none of that would have happened.” He takes a bite of soup. “But I'm sure you weren't taught any better, and your mother has helped me to see that.” He inclines his head. “So, I've forgiven your rash actions. I think your education is more to blame for that than the Devil's influence.”

  “Uh thanks,” I say. “I'm glad to know the Devil hasn't taken full control of me quite yet.”

  He stares at me intently, but incorrectly decides I'm not mocking him and nods. Apparently in his mind, the matter is now settled.

  I make small talk about the commerce and trade channels of the various WPN ports until the second course arrives, grilled swordfish. I take a dutiful bite, and it's better than I expect, but I've waited long enough. I try my hardest to be diplomatic this time.

  “This swordfish is fantastic,” I say. “I really wish Sam could try it. Any chance he could join us? If there isn't any more, I'm happy to share the rest of mine.”

  “I'm delighted you like it,” Solomon says. “It makes people who aren't accustomed to eating seafood sick from time to time.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “How are you feeling, Dad? You seem fine. Swordfish agrees with you?”

  “I've been better.” He glances around the room. Ralph's standing near the door. “Please leave us, Ralph. I'll call for you when we're ready for the third course.”

  Ralph bows and exits, pulling the doors closed behind him.

  “Now that you ask, darling, I can tell you. Thanks to your assault with that dart, I've contracted Tercera.” He removes his crown, exposing the rash on his forehead. He leans toward me, and places his hand on mine. As he extends his hand, his suit coat pulls back and I notice the edge of a sore on his forearm. So he is sick, and it's progressed to the point of second year symptoms. “You don't seem nervous at the prospect of my touching you, darling. Why is that, I wonder?”

  I snatch my hand back and roll my eyes. “Ready to talk for real at last? Then no, I'm not nervous. My dad made sure I couldn't contract Tercera.”

  “Yes, thanks to your carelessness in fleeing after you assaulted me, you left Donald’s journal. We know you've been supercharged with antibodies. What we don't know is whether it will treat my illness now that it’s established. Do you happen to have the answer to that one?”

  I'm walking a fine line here. I wonder how long they'll insist I stay after he takes my blood. “We've treated a handful of individuals, and they have all responded positively to the antibodies in my blood. Wesley here was Marked prior to treatment. He was the first recipient of my blood, ingesting it actually, and he's been clear of any rash for weeks, despite constant contact with those actively infected with Tercera.”

  Solomon's eyes fly wide. “You knew about your immunity before you came looking for the safe?”

  I shake my head. “I didn't, no. His treatment was. . . inadvertent.”

  Josephine sighs. “I bet that's an interesting story.”

  Wesley grins. “Let's just say I was Ruby's first kiss, and we got off to a bumpy start.”

  Solomon frowns. “Now I want to hear the details. And I'd like to get to know you a little better too, son.” He places his fork on his plate. “And I'll admit that I'm confused. I thought Samuel Roth was your boyfriend?”

  “It's complicated,” Wesley says.

  “I see that,” Solomon says. “Luckily, we have some time to sort through all of this.”

  Uh, no we don't.

  “No offense,” I say, “but we're actually in a hurry. One of the reasons I asked for Donovan's journal is that Job's running tests on my blood as we speak. The data in that journal would help a lot. I'm happy to come back for a longer visit soon, but I'm needed to aid in a solution to the infection of the Marked as soon as possible. I'd love to donate some blood to you, collect Sam, and head back to Baton Rouge. Some of them are quite sick, and with the suppressant failing, they’re running out of time.”

  “Yes, yes, we are aware of their problems,” Solomon says. “Young people are always in such a rush. For now, try to enjoy the sliver of time we've got together.”

  I slam my hand on the table. “Enjoy my time here?”

  “I assure you, we'll provide the best food and accommodations,” Josephine says.

  My hand fists on the linen tablecloth. “I've asked and asked, and no one's answered. Where's Sam? Is he being treated? Is he on a respirator? I'm a big girl and I can take it, whatever his status, but I don't want swordfish, or chowder or steak, or a big, fat slice of chocolate cake. I want to see him. Right now.”

  Solomon sniffs. “I don't believe I've heard any kind of apology from you yet for your role in all of this.”

  I stiffen. He wants me to apologize for what? Making him beat my mom? I seethe inside, but I remind myself he's holding all the cards.

  “Uh, I am sorry. I shouldn't have deceived you with my blood swap.”

  Wesley says, “Ruby told me she was scared, afraid to face the truth of her paternity. After what she learned about Donovan Behl, she was afraid, and she thought Job's blood would surely open the safe. She didn’t want to know whether her own would yet.”

  Solomon takes a bite and chews slowly. “Is that true, Ruby? Were you afraid to face the truth?”

  I nod. That much at least is true. “I still am, if I'm being honest.”

  “Honesty is good,” Josephine says. “But I assure you that I have no doubt. I never have.”

  “Why did you think my blood would open the safe, then?” I ask. “Or did you assume I'd fail?”

  “I thought you'd fail,” Solomon says. “But I planned to remove the safe forcibly afterward.”

  Josephine shakes her head. “I assumed it would open. Donald was a geneticist. He'd have known you weren't biologically his after a simple test, and he might have added your blood sample to the safe, allowing you access. That's what I assumed happened when your blood worked. Or when I thought it did.”

  Solomon beams and reaches for his wife's hand, pulling up short when he realizes he’d Mark her, presumably. He sets his hand down and settles for saying, “You're so brilliant, darling.”

  I frown. Why hadn't either Solomon or I thought of that possibility that night? He could have given things a lot more thought before beating Josephine. Although in the journal entry, Dad said he didn't know if I was actually his daughter biologically, and he didn't care.

  I realize Solomon's sidetracked me again. “No distractions this time. Where's Sam?”

  Solomon shoves his
chair back from the table and reaches below for a black box. “Call me paranoid, but I think I'd like my blood sample first.” He sets the box down next to his gold ringed salad plate, and opens it. A silver syringe rests inside a velvet lined box. How perfectly, melodramatically corny, like everything in his opulent and impractical life.

  He reaches for my arm, but Wesley stands up, reaches over me and blocks his hand. “Where I'm from, we were taught to ask permission before assaulting someone's body.”

  Solomon shakes Wesley's hand off of his arm with a snarl. “My, my, you certainly have found plenty of boys willing to threaten violence on your behalf. Perhaps you should recall that an entire city stands ready to act at my beck and call.”

  “Would that be true if I knocked that crown from your head in front of them?” I ask.

  Solomon’s cheeks flush bright red.

  Before he can repeat the beating from a few nights ago on me, I reach over and pull the elastic band out from the box, where it rests under the syringe. I shove my sleeve up and loop the band around my own left biceps, knotting it tightly. I grab the syringe next and plunge it into my own vein in the same hole I used for Libby, Rose and Job.

  I have easy veins to find, or so I've heard. I ignore the pain, and pull back on the loop with my thumb slowly, filling up the entire thing. I rip the elastic band off with my teeth, and pull the syringe back out. I slam it down into the case and shove a napkin against my arm as tightly as I can manage. “How's that? Satisfied?”

  Solomon nods. “Do I inject it in my arm?”

  I shrug. “We've had some success with oral transmission, but only in early cases. I'd recommend intravenous, myself.”

  “Do you mind helping me?” Solomon asks.

  I do. I mind a lot. This much blood could be used for dozens of tests. It seems wasteful to let this monster have even a single drop. I can’t exactly say that.

  “I’d be happy to help,” I say, “but I would like to know where Sam is. Any chance you'll ever answer me? It was part of our bargain. And I've fulfilled both my parts. I'm here, and I've given you my blood.”

  “After you've injected me, I'm happy to take you to see him. He's not in good enough shape to come and sit through a meal with us, I'm afraid.”

  I bite my lip. “Will I be able to take him home with me?”

  “Oh you'll be able to take him wherever you'd like once we're through with our visit.” Solomon's smile seems oddly sincere.

  “Can you help me tie this?” I ask Wesley, indicating the linen napkin on the inside of my elbow.

  He rolls his napkin into a long line and I remove mine, recoiling at all the wasted blood soaking it. He ties his long, skinny one tightly around my elbow. The puncture wound is small enough. It should be fine soon.

  Once the makeshift bandage is secure, I hold the syringe out to Solomon. He shrugs out of his jacket, and rolls up his sleeve. There are two sores on his arm. The one I saw is quite small, but the one near his elbow is larger and already weeping. It looks painful. I suppress a smile.

  I inject Solomon's arm with my blood, begrudging him every last drop. After I finish, he sits back in his chair and sighs. “How long until we'll know whether it's working?”

  I think about Libby and Rose. “The others showed significant improvement within twelve hours. None of them had been accelerated, and I'm not sure how that will impact the results. I've never seen any data on it.”

  He grunts, and then yells out quite loudly. “Ralph, call Adam, Dave, Paul and Derek. I'd like my daughter and her friend escorted to the Grey Room, please.”

  Sam.

  My hands shake, but I stand and smooth my hands down my jeans. I breathe in and out deeply. If he's okay, this was all worth it. The apologizing, the blood donation to save a monster, the long trip, leaving Job alone to work on the cure, all of it.

  Four men in matching grey uniforms with hair cropped close to their scalps walk through the door, salute and bow to Solomon. I notice he's donned his crown and suit coat again. I assume none of these men know their precious king is Marked. It wouldn't do for them to think he'd fallen out of favor with God, I suppose.

  The men aren't military, but they look like they’re formed from the same mold. I imagine an assembly line like they used Before, plopping men out, both soldiers and guards, some going down a line for grey guard uniforms, some for dark navy military uniforms. Same hair, same build, same training, different color clothing. I shake my head. I need to focus.

  I stand up, my chair legs scraping on the wooden floor. Wesley stands too, but his chair makes no sound. He's had more practice with fancy furniture and fine flooring.

  “I'm ready. Thank you for taking me.”

  The four men bow to me as well. As I leave the room, I notice Josephine and Solomon have both risen and are following. “Oh, don't let my eagerness ruin your meal. Please stay.”

  Solomon shakes his head. “I wouldn't miss this.”

  Josephine's twisting her napkin in her hands frenetically. It worries me, but I have no idea what it might mean. I close my eyes and imagine the worst. Sam on a ventilator, Sam barely breathing, his heart damaged, pale and sickly.

  He's still Sam. I won't care. I didn't only like him because he was strong. But if he survived six shots to the chest, he can survive anything. I'll do whatever it takes to get him home safely.

  No one speaks as we walk down the halls, and then leave the enormous house via a back door. We climb down a large set of stairs behind the house.

  I glance back at Josephine. “This is the right way to the Grey Room?”

  She swallows and nods nervously, glancing at Solomon as if for confirmation.

  “Uh, okay. Where are we going, exactly?”

  “Just up here Ruby, don't fret,” Solomon says. “He needed care and equipment we couldn't provide as easily in our home.”

  That makes sense.

  We walk across a two lane road behind the non-palace, and fifty feet down another small street. It's only a hundred steps to the ocean from here, and I don't see another soul anywhere. Quite a difference from the bustle of the other WPN streets I saw last time I came. Finally, we stop in front of a long, brick building with only one window on the front, high enough that I couldn't reach it, even if I jumped. No sign, no address, no mailbox, nothing to indicate it's an active residence of any kind.

  What is this place? “This is it? Sam's in there?”

  “You'll find what you're looking for inside,” Solomon says.

  I fold my arms. “And if I say I don't want to go in there? Will you bring him out to me?”

  “Ruby, be reasonable. If you want to be stubborn, I'm more than capable of taking you inside forcibly. I thought you wanted to see him, and were prepared for whatever you might face.”

  “I do and I am.” I listen quietly for any sign of medical care. Beeping machines, whirring, or the sound of nurses walking up and down the hall. I hear nothing. A tweet of a bird, the wind in the palm trees. Distantly, I can make out the sounds of waves crashing. Maybe it’s sound proofed so the patients aren’t disturbed. Maybe they keep it secluded for that very reason.

  Something feels wrong, but Solomon's right. If he means me harm, there's not much I can do about it. I'm weaponless, and so is Wesley. Plus, he's already got my blood. “Fine. I'll go inside.”

  Solomon inclines his head and one of the guards unlocks the door. Why is the door locked from the outside? My heart jumps into my throat, but it’s hammering so hard at the prospect of seeing Sam I ignore it.

  I rush into the doorway, expecting a hospital bed with Sam lying prone on top of it. Wesley cries out, but with four guards, even if I hadn't already run through the doorway, there's nothing I can do. I stare down a white hallway, the only light in the building streaming in from the open doorway behind me.

  It's the hallway from my dream. Rows of doors stretch out in front of me, all of them white. The tile under my feet alternates white and black, just like the floor that went on and on in my
nightmare.

  I spin around. “Where's Sam? Where are we?”

  A short, stocky guard with greying hair shoves Wesley inside behind me. He puts an arm around me and drags me further inside.

  “I thought you might benefit from some time in WPN's prison block, such as it is,” Solomon says. “As you can see, you have the place to yourself right now. We have very little crime in Galveston. We raise devoted, God fearing people here. The only crime comes from outside forces.”

  I shake my head and pull away from the guard, who stinks like body odor. “Josephine, what's going on?”

  She frowns. “Your father didn't find your apology very convincing, and I'm afraid I didn’t either.”

  “Why bother lying about your plans to let me go? You obviously had no intention of doing that.”

  “You're so melodramatic. What they say about teens isn't the slightest bit exaggerated, sadly,” Solomon says. “As to the lying, I will let you go if you still want to leave, once you understand what it means to be my daughter. If you can learn to behave properly, you’ll be free to go.”

  “What about Sam?” I ask. “Is he even here?”

  Solomon barks a laugh. “Sam's dead, my dear. I can't believe you haven't figured that out yet. He had enough value that when he still had a heartbeat on that bridge, we tried to save him. Extraordinary measures and all that, but six shots to the chest? No one could survive that. I'm delighted you believed me, though. Perhaps I can convince his father, and get a ransom from the Unmarked too.”

  I collapse to my knees. “Why? Why make me sit and eat lunch with you, believing he's alive all that time? Why the charade, the lies?”

  “Two reasons, really. A punishment for your poor behavior, of course, but also a fatherly lesson. You’ve been lacking in guidance for seventeen years, so I have a lot of ground to cover. Pay attention. I abhor teaching the same thing twice. Disappointment stings more when it follows on the heels of hope.”

  “You’re a maniac,” I say.

  He sighs. “Not at all. Merely brilliant and dedicated to repairing the gaps in your education. I’ve illustrated this for you in a way you'll likely never forget. You see, you're far more upset about Sam’s death now that you believed it had somehow been avoided. Elevated disappointment follows when hope is squashed.”