by April White
The book closed with a thump that snapped me out of my hand-gazing trance. “Charles Darwin,” Mr. Shaw announced with finality.
“Marie Curie,” I said, with just as much certainty.
The look both guys gave me made me laugh. “What? His non-sequitor gets a pass, but mine gets the ‘she’s finally cracked’ look?”
Archer ignored my self-deprecation and raised an eyebrow. “On the Origin of the Species was published in 1859.”
“Wilder’s father might have known Darwin when he studied at Cambridge.”
Archer shook his head, his eyes widening. “When I first got to King’s College, Francis Galton was lecturing on eugenics, much of which was based on his cousin, Darwin’s studies. Bishop John Wilder had just taken over the theology department at King’s, and I remember seeing him at the lecture. That was in 1883.”
“Were you already working with Wilder then?”
“Not for three more years.”
I’d heard of eugenics, but it was usually associated with Nazis and selective breeding, so I didn’t really follow the logic. “What does eugenics have to do with whatever it is Wilder’s trying to do?”
“You mean besides all the horrors that have been committed in the name of eugenics science?” Archer scoffed, and I realized he had a pretty strong opinion about something I hadn’t given a lot of thought to.
“Well, yeah. Wilder wasn’t around after 1888, so he wasn’t the one sterilizing people he thought shouldn’t breed.” I’d read enough on the subject that I could contribute to the conversation, but Archer way outclassed me in the Victorian science department.
“Not that I wouldn’t put it past him, but no, I think his interest must have been in the arena of positive eugenics – selecting the traits one wants and breeding specifically to achieve them.” Archer suddenly reminded me of the student he’d been when I met him.
“But Vampires don’t breed, right?” I looked at Mr. Shaw instead of Archer for confirmation. That wasn’t a conversation we’d ever had before, and I was trying to treat it like scientific theory, not boyfriend fact.
Mr. Shaw shot me a strange look that I deliberately didn’t read into. “Their cells are in a state of permanent stasis, so no, but that’s not what he’s talking about.”
Archer clarified. “If the idea came more from the Darwinist school of thought, Wilder could have intended to treat his own blood much like a plant or animal breeder does, combining the genetic traits from others to see what skills he could acquire.”
Mr. Shaw contemplated Archer for a long moment. “So, was the genealogy a way for Wilder to find potentially interesting genetic traits to exploit, or was it a Monger political power play?” His voice rumbled quietly in the room.
Neither of us had an answer for him, and the Bear picked up the book with gentle hands, then looked at me. “Your mother must know some of the people listed in here.”
“She’s in there herself.” I remembered Archer telling me that a very long time ago.
“Are you?” Mr. Shaw’s voice was quiet, like he didn’t really want to know the answer.
Archer answered quietly. “I kept Saira’s name out, but it was in my personal notes.”
I held my hand out to Mr. Shaw. “May I?” He handed me the genealogy and I opened it carefully. The stiff, vellum paper crackled under my fingers. I turned the pages slowly, catching glimpses of other family names I itched to read, but continuing until I found the Elian Family tree.
It wasn’t a big one, and had only two or three different branches every generation. My finger moved down near the bottom of the page. There was my mother, Claire Elian born in 1850, and her sister, Emily, 1852. And next to my mother’s name, in the same handwriting, was the name William Shaw. There was no notation about his family and no date. Just the name.
“I knew the significance of his family name, of course. The Shaws have their own tree in the Shifter section. But at the time I wrote that, I was ignorant of the mixed-blood moratorium, and it was all still just an academic exercise, a scavenger hunt to track down the obscure connections between people. It wasn’t until I connected the first Ripper victims to Clocker Families that I realized how dangerous the knowledge in this book could be.” Archer’s voice was so quiet, and in that moment I got that he’d been carrying the guilt of this genealogy with him for more than a hundred years.
I turned the page. There were no further Elians. The Clocker Family tree ended with my mother and Emily. “But Emily had a child, didn’t she? I mean she’s Millicent’s grandmother.”
“Actually, your aunt Emily was pregnant with Tallulah when your mother went back to see your father in 1888. But Claire didn’t go to Elian Manor to see Emily then for obvious reasons. I began keeping an eye on your family soon after you left, but as far as I know, I didn’t see Claire again.”
I stared at Archer as the cold pit of certainty hit my stomach. My mother stopped traveling because of what Wilder did to her. She never met her niece, Tallulah, or her grandniece, Millicent. Nor did she see her sister Emily again. I knew my own part in that, and it felt like a piece of ice I would carry with me forever. But the full extent of the fear and horror that Wilder’s abduction of my mother had left with her didn’t hit me until I realized what it cost her.
I closed the genealogy and put it back on the table in front of Mr. Shaw. I started to shake and I thought it might be rage. It must have shown in my eyes when I looked at Mr. Shaw because he tensed. “She has to go back. She has to travel again.”
“But he said she didn’t.” Mr. Shaw sounded confused.
“That’s not how it works. He doesn’t remember it because she hasn’t yet. But if she does, his memory will open up to include it.”
Archer nodded. “It is true that there have been gaps in my memory. They used to worry me; a sign of having lived too long. Then I realized they were holes to fill in with memories of Saira. Things she hadn’t done yet.”
That was a startling bit of information to Mr. Shaw, and he chewed on it for a moment. Then he sighed. “I don’t think anything I say is going to erase your mother’s fear. The fact is, I can’t protect her there, or rather, then. And there’s no real closure for her. She survived, yes, thanks to you. But Wilder almost killed her.”
“And he’s still out there.” I said it out loud, but I knew it was the key to unlocking my mom’s terror. She hadn’t said it, but she knew, like we did, that Wilder had escaped the Bedlam cellar cave-in. And he’d done it through a portal because he had her blood. I caught Archer’s eye as I stood up to go.
“I’m going to see my mom first, then I’ll raid the kitchen and head back upstairs.”
“You’re staying here in school?” Mr. Shaw sounded hopeful, but wary, and I nodded.
“I need to talk to my cousin, and I asked him to meet us here. But I’m not sure how long we’ll stay, and the Mongers can’t know about it. I’m sure Seth Walters will be by daily looking for us and this book.”
Mr. Shaw’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded. “Where--?”
“Clocker Tower.”
“Right. And you?” He looked at Archer expectantly.
“Wherever she goes.”
Mr. Shaw nodded again, apparently satisfied. “Will you leave a note or something if you leave?”
That made me smile. He couldn’t help himself. “Top drawer of the desk. But I’ll go see Mom now too.”
Mr. Shaw stood and wrapped me in a tight hug. It was as unexpected as it was comforting, and I hugged him back. “I’ll keep the bastards away on my end, but you guys don’t go swimming into their nets either, okay?”
“I don’t swim.” Archer delivered the line so dryly that Mr. Shaw and I both stared at him for a second. And then I saw the gleam in his eye and I started laughing. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and headed for the door.
“See you in a bit.”
I was sort of dreading the conversation with my mom, and after Archer took off for his cellar I had to make my feet point i
n the direction of her rooms. But there’s only so long a free-runner can procrastinate before the urge to really move overrides snail tendencies.
I scratched at my mom’s door. She was a light sleeper so I knew she’d hear it. The door opened almost immediately and she pulled me into her arms.
“I was sure they’d taken you.” She spoke into my neck, since I was almost a head taller than my mom. I could feel her tremble with the effort of keeping her tears back, but she managed it, and I was glad. I already felt horrible for not calling her the minute I could, and guilt made me nauseous.
Our voices were quiet and we sat close together, partly for noise, but also because I think she wanted to touch me, to confirm I was actually there.
“Mom, I’m okay.”
“Are you? Because Camille said Tom had gotten hurt.”
My voice was choked when I answered. “I thought I could do it myself. I thought I could keep them away. But it was my stupid weapon they used on him. If I hadn’t broken that bottle…” I’d been being tough and capable for so long that the tears, when they came, burned like acid down my face.
My mom pulled me into her arms and held me. She didn’t try to shush my sobs or wipe my tears or tell me anything was going to be okay. She just held me and stroked my hair and was my mom. I had no idea how much I’d been missing her until that moment.
Because crying sucks and sobbing sucks all the air out of a room, I made myself stop. Not before the snot joined the party, but Mom handed me a tissue wordlessly and waited until I could breathe without gasping.
“Guilt is sort of pointless, isn’t it?” It’s true, my mother should have been a Seer the way she could read minds. I nodded and swiped the last of the tears off my cheeks.
“I get headaches when I feel guilty. How about you?”
“Nausea.”
“Did Camille feed you?”
I smirked. “We walked out before dinner.”
“Hungry?”
“I will be, when my stomach unclenches. I was going to raid the kitchen.”
My mom stood up. “I’ll go with you.”
There had been times in my life when the lines between adult and child had been blurry. When she disappeared for a week every few years and I had to take care of myself, I was the adult. When I faced down Jack the Ripper and Bishop Wilder to save her life, I was definitely the adult. Crying in her arms right now I’d been able to be the kid, which was as unsettling as it was comforting. But as we snuck our way to the enormous kitchens of St. Brigid’s, I felt like we were friends.
We whispered to each other as we filled up a couple of cloth bags with bread, cheese, fruit, and some leftover chicken pasties. I filled her in on Ringo’s presence and on the conversation we’d had with Mr. Shaw. She told me about yelling at the Rothbitch in front of Miss Simpson, the Rothchild brats being suspended from school, and the Were being sent away by the furious headmistress.
Then I asked about the Clocker necklace.
My mom looked at me for a long moment. “It’s in a safe in the keep at Elian Manor. Why?”
“Because I think I need to get to 1554.”
“No.”
And just like that I went back to being the child.
I packed up the cloth bags and slung them across my body, refusing to speak until I had my temper back in check. She might talk to me like a kid, but I wasn’t going to lose it like one. No matter how much I felt like throwing a tantrum. She sensed it too, because she started trying to justify the ‘no.’
“Even if I would allow it, Millicent would never let the necklace out for something like that. It’s too dangerous, and you’re the last—“ her words faltered, so I finished for her.
“The last Clocker. And if I don’t have kids we’re all S.O.L.”
She watched me with worried eyes. I guess maybe she realized that saying no to me was pretty much a guarantee of defiance. But I didn’t give her anything; no expression, no anger, nothing. Which scared her more than a tantrum would have. But hey, if she didn’t trust me with the proven way to travel, I didn’t need to trust her with my plans.
“I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
“Saira …”
I hesitated just long enough not to be rude, but she must have changed her mind because the words got hung up somewhere else. “Good night, Mom.”
I saw her wince when the sadness returned to my voice.
Preparation
I slipped away from my mother’s rooms and tried to define the awkwardness our relationship had become. I was in a strange gray area with her. She’d raised me in America, where legal adulthood was age eighteen, and it was still pretty automatic for both of us to think that way. But in England I’d reached a weird adulthood at sixteen. I could legally work, pay taxes, get insurance, have sex, and I had to pay full adult fare on all public transportation. The full-fare thing chapped me the most.
But it all came down to the fact that I had been making decisions for myself for a very long time. She was my mother, so I would always give her the courtesy of listening, but she couldn’t choose for me, and her word was no longer law where I was concerned.
On the heels of that thought came the realization that I probably needed to figure out how to pay my own way if I was going to be so openly independent, but I tucked that away to contemplate later.
I didn’t run, the food bags were too heavy. But I was as quick and quiet as I could be as I crept into the boys’ wing of the dormitories. Connor shared a room with a kid named Max, so I was counting on his Wolf senses to hear me tap the door with my fingertip. He answered, squinting into the dim light of the hallway, hair spiked up all over his head. His eyes widened fractionally at the sight of me, and he gave me a lopsided smile.
“I need a pair of your jeans, some socks, a t-shirt, and a sweater. You might get them back, but maybe not, so don’t give me your favorites.”
And this is why I loved Connor the Wolf. He thought about my request for about half a second, disappeared into his room, and came back less than a minute later with everything I’d asked for.
“There’s an extra pair of socks. They’re new. Came two to a pack.”
“You’re awesome, thank you. Come up to the Clocker Tower when you wake up. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
He yawned hugely and nodded, already closing the door to go back to bed.
After quickly grabbing my own bag of stuff and a pair of combat boots I didn’t wear much anymore, I made it back to the Clocker Tower just as Archer was rounding the corner. I took the key inside with us and locked the door.
The main tower room was dark and silent, and we crept up the stairs to the upper room. Just like I figured, Ringo was crashed out on the twin mattress. Asleep he looked like the boy he probably hadn’t been in a long time, and I resisted the urge to tuck the duvet around him. We silently made our way back downstairs and closed the wardrobe door behind us to muffle the noise of our conversation.
I dropped down to sink into the big old Chesterfield sofa my mother had moved into the tower during the five minutes she thought it would be her office. The art studio upstairs had sort of always been mine. I kept the twin mattress on the floor covered in a quilt and an old, super soft duvet for the times I just needed to be alone. Archer had never spent any significant time in the Clocker Tower with me before, so having him here felt like hanging out at ‘my place.’
Archer sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulders to draw me into his chest.
“Did you see your mother?”
I nodded. “She told me I couldn’t have the Elian necklace.”
Archer tipped my chin up to look at him. “You knew that would happen though. It’s why you left a message for Doran to meet you here.”
I sighed. “Knowing something doesn’t always take away the wish for a different outcome. The whole conversation did make me realize something though.”
“What’s that?”
“I need a job.”
He laugh
ed quietly. “Because saving Immortal Descendants isn’t enough?”
I chuckled. “It doesn’t pay the bills. And if I’m not going to do what my mother and Millicent want, I better be able to pay my own way. Because it’s just a matter of time before they cut me off financially.”
“You know, of course, that everything I have is yours.” His voice got softer, and I looked into eyes that gazed back with total seriousness.
“I know you say that, Archer. And I know you probably mean it too.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up wryly. He knew what was coming, even before I’d formed the words in my head.
“I need to know I can take care of myself in all ways; financially, physically and emotionally. Because if I can’t count on myself to do it, I’ll never be confident enough to accept anyone else’s help.”
“So by your logic, you have to give up your resistance to accepting my physical help.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve never met anyone more physically capable in my life. You can clearly keep yourself safe, so it shouldn’t be a problem to accept someone else’s help with that too.”
He was teasing me, but I also knew he meant it. I’d been resisting any and all safety conversations pertaining to me, but what was I really afraid of? That accepting help might mean I was weak and unable to take care of myself? I knew that wasn’t true, so what was I holding onto so hard?
I nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
That surprised him. “I’m right? Would you mind repeating that in front of witnesses?”
I laughed and snuggled up against him. He held me close to him and I let myself relax into his arms, breathing in the warm spiciness of his skin.
“Part of me wants to ignore the visions,” I whispered into the dark, and Archer stilled.
“Mine?”
I looked into his eyes. “If we don’t go back, he’ll never get Ringo.”
“But he’s not after Ringo.”
I closed my eyes against the truth of Archer’s words. “I know. But why is it our problem to solve?”
