by April White
Mr. Shaw continued. “The development in France of Archer’s injury spectrum has given us a new direction into which to look.”
I shuddered, still a little shocked at the memory of how every wound Archer had ever gotten had begun blooming on his body each time he got hurt. It hadn’t always been that way, but since I’d known him, each time he’d been wounded it got a little worse. Mr. Shaw continued.
“We now believe we understand Archer’s relative immortality. The key is in his debilitation while the old injuries resurface and the longer healing time afterward.”
That was news, and I held my breath.
Connor’s voice came from behind me as he entered the lab. “Am I too late? Can I give them the news?”
Mr. Shaw smiled affectionately. “You discovered it. It’s yours to share.”
Connor stood next to Mr. Shaw, his cheeks flushed from running, and his eyes bright with excitement. “You have extra-long telomeres.” He was looking at Archer.
He grinned. “Is that a compliment?”
I giggled, mostly because of nerves. Connor didn’t even rise to the bait. “It is if you don’t want to age.”
“Okay, what are telomeres?” I asked.
“They’re the caps on the ends of your DNA chains that protect the chromosomes. Normal aging happens because the chromosomes don’t regenerate all the way to their ends during the DNA replication cycle. Telomeres protect the information in those chromosomes; telomerase is the enzyme that activates the telomeres to replicate and replace themselves as they fall off. You have extra-long telomeres protecting your chromosomes, which might have already been genetic, or it might have come with the porphyria mutation when you were infected. We think that infection locked onto your DNA and has super-promoted your telomerase. So even if your telomeres were inclined to fall off as they normally would – a process that would allow the chromosomes to alter and change – your rocket-fuel telomerase makes new telomeres so fast there’s no time for apoptosis.” We must have looked stupefied because he tried again. “Apoptosis is cell death. Your cells don’t have a chance to age.”
I looked at Mr. Shaw. “I think I get it, but can you translate what wonder-boy just said?”
Connor smirked and shook his head at me as Mr. Shaw laughed. “Okay, you know our super-promotor for our rock star Descendant genes? Well, Immortal Descendant genes are just one of the bands in the whole music industry that is human DNA. Now imagine that some garage band fails every day, and the fact that they fail keeps the whole music scene in a constant state of change. You don’t want to be the next band to fail, so you’re always innovating, taking risks, and making new music. What if a high-powered music producer came along and halted the failures. No matter what, bands wouldn’t fail. There would be no reason to change, no reason to take risks, and no reason to innovate. Music would become a static industry that would have no reason to evolve to stay alive. That high-powered music producer is the infected telomerase in Archer’s DNA. It has stopped the death of garage bands and caused the music to go static.”
I grinned at Mr. Shaw’s analogy. “So, Mr. Shaw, what instrument did you play?”
He chuckled. “I had a drum kit. And I was very good.”
Connor scoffed. “Not according to Mum.” He turned back to Archer. “We also believe your need for blood protein and your vitamin D intolerance is a product of the need to fuel the telomerase. Shut down the factory and the fuel requirements disappear.”
Archer was looking from Connor to Mr. Shaw intently, and I noticed that Ringo had moved his seat closer.
“Can you shut down the telomerase so that it returns to normal levels?” Archer asked quietly.
Mr. Shaw’s expression turned serious. “We’re still working on it, but we think so, yes.”
“How?” I asked.
“We’re looking at a couple of viruses to do the trick.”
I stared. “An infection to fight an infection? But won’t the porphyria-lock fight it?”
“Not if it’s busy fighting something else.”
My heart sank. “You mean like an injury.” They’d brought up the old wounds that had bloomed the last few times Archer had been hurt, so that had to be what they meant.
Mr. Shaw sounded grim. “It’s what led us to telomeres in the first place. If the sheer magnitude of Archer’s accumulated injuries is resurfacing with each new one, perhaps it’s like the kick-back on a discharged weapon. When the telomeres get kicked into re-growth, there’s an instant of pure weakness just before the shot of telomerase. Perhaps if the virus attacks during the ‘porphyria-lock’s’ moment of weakness, it might have a chance to shut the telomerase down.”
I could see a whole host of issues with that idea, and I opened my mouth to protest, but Archer cut me off. “What do you need from me?”
Connor answered. “For now, just keep giving us blood. We’re narrowing it down, but there’s still too much theoretical and not enough practical information.”
Mr. Shaw gazed steadily at Archer. “We’re working up a list of risk factors to mitigate the surprises. We’ll try to be as thorough as possible.”
Archer nodded. “That’s all I can ask for.” He turned to Ringo as he reached for my hand. “I need to talk to you both. Can you come running with us?”
“‘Course.” Ringo set down the tiny screwdriver he’d been using and brushed invisible dust off his perfectly clean jeans as he stood.
Archer nodded to both Mr. Shaw and Connor. “Thank you for everything you’re doing.”
Mr. Shaw reached out and clasped Archer’s shoulder. “It’s not just a research project, you know that.”
“I know.” Archer’s gaze was direct, but there was something very guarded in his eyes. We left the greenhouse quietly, and he started running the moment the door closed behind us.
The old barn two fields over was our unspoken destination, and the moonlit run was silent except for the crunch of grass and the sounds of our breath. It wasn’t until we were all sitting on the roof of the stone structure that I spoke.
“I don’t like it.”
But Archer was already talking. “I want to find Tom.”
That wasn’t at all what I thought he was going to say, and I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs. I had spent the last few weeks since we returned from France trying very hard not to think about Tom. The guilt and regret that laced my memories of him made my soul ache and my conscience itch, and his name was definitely not a comfortable topic of conversation.
“Ye think a cure can save ‘im from ‘imself?” Ringo didn’t sound surprised.
“What does Tom have to do with anything?” I said.
“I don’t trust the Monger in him.”
I turned to Archer. “You think now that he’s a Vampire he’ll suddenly turn into a bad guy?”
Archer gazed back at me without blinking. “He’s full of Wilder’s blood, Saira. He’s everything that Wilder was, and more. I think he’s angry, and I think he could be stronger than Wilder was too. He started as a mixed-blood and that makes him a wild card.”
“Tom’s not a power-hungry maniac bent on ruling the Immortal Descendant world.” I refused to accept that he could ever be anything other than the lonely and misunderstood boy who had been my friend.
“Saira, Tom put ‘imself on the path to ‘is own destruction when ‘e sent Léon back to kill ‘is ‘uman self. And ‘e’s a ball of self-loathin’ for ‘avin’ murdered the one person ‘e loved, which means ‘e’s either curled up in a corner somewhere waitin’ to die, or ‘e’s engineerin’ that death.” Ringo’s voice was quiet and confident, as if he’d figured all of this out long ago.
Archer spoke calmly. “He tried to commit suicide in France and failed. I’m afraid the only people strong enough to end him permanently are other Mongers or Vampires, which means he’d have to go looking for that kind of trouble - or causing trouble to come to their notice.” His voice held such certainty it made me flush with anger.
“Wh
y don’t you believe he could have found some peaceful place in time to live out a life of books and art and whatever else doesn’t involve heights?” I believed that was possible. I had to.
“Because he doesn’t believe he deserves happiness.” Archer’s simple words were like a punch in the gut.
“So, you want to find Tom and get him whatever cure Mr. Shaw and Connor have cooked up?”
“Yes.” Archer’s gaze didn’t waver from mine.
“And if the cure doesn’t work, or he doesn’t want it?”
Archer said nothing, but his eyes said everything I didn’t want to hear. I turned to Ringo. “Have you already been looking for him? Is that why you don’t seem to be surprised by all this?”
Ringo shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve been lookin’. I’m startin’ to think ‘e could ‘ave made ‘is way to World War II.”
I stared at Ringo. “Why?”
“Every war ‘as its legends. A couple of the ones in Russia and Germany might fit a self-‘atin’ Vampire.”
“That could be any Vampire,” I said angrily. Then my eyes shot to Archer’s face as I realized what I’d said. “Not you.” My heart clenched. It was too much all at once, and I was handling it badly.
Archer reached out a hand to my face. “Wherever Tom is, he’s only half Monger. We know there’s good in him too.”
I shifted backward, away from Archer’s hand. “There are Mongers here, now, who are taking Descendants. That should be our priority.”
But Archer wouldn’t let me out of range of his touch, and he twined his fingers through mine with a wry smile. “Because we’re the only ones who can find them and save the day?”
I huffed dramatically. “You know what I mean.”
Archer’s expression became serious again. “Yes, I do. Your self-sufficiency has become a finely-tuned sense of responsibility, which I share.”
“I don’t,” Ringo smirked, “but I’m not lettin’ either of ye do yer rescuin’ without me.”
I shot him a perfect twelve-year-old sneer, and he crossed his eyes back at me. Because sometimes adolescent behavior is a necessary part of one’s repertoire, and at least it lightened the mood.
Archer gave me a pointed look. “But we have allies in the search for the missing Descendants – people to help share the burden and responsibility of it.”
I finished the part of his sentence that he didn’t say. “And if we locate Tom, we’re the only ones who can go back for him.” Archer didn’t even need to agree. I saw the certainty of it in his eyes. I sighed. “Okay, fine. But I’m going to London tomorrow to find the brother and sister who witnessed Tam’s kidnapping. They must have seen something that could help us out. The Armans are back from Paris and they’ve invited Mom and I to tea, so we can detour to the address Olivia gave us before that.”
Archer gave me a sharp look. “Jeeves will drive you?”
I barely held back an eye-roll. “As if he’d let anyone else drive Lady Elian anywhere.”
Archer schooled the concern out of his expression and stood to help me up. “Be careful, Saira.”
I knew what it cost him not to mention the fact that it would be daytime, so he couldn’t go with me even if he wanted to. I kissed him lightly on the lips. “Last one back’s a rotten egg.”
Because sometimes adolescent behavior is the only thing that trumps fear.
A Trap
After we got back to the manor house, Archer left us to go back into London. He wanted to scout Olivia’s friends’ address before we went, and would stay the day at Bishop Cleary’s unless there was a problem. He and Ringo discussed random car stuff that Ringo had helped Jeeves do to service the Aston Martin, and then they made a plan to explore St. Brigid’s before school went back into session. The mood I was in, I could barely follow their conversations, much less contribute more than a distracted good-bye kiss when Archer drove away.
Ringo turned to head toward the library, and I followed him. The big room had floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, complete with wheeled ladders and massive wooden tables, and was one of my favorite rooms in the manor.
When the door was closed behind us Ringo turned to me. “Okay, spit it out.”
I almost denied anything was wrong, but the look on his face was already impatient so I didn’t bother sugar-coating it.
“I don’t want to find Tom.”
He crossed his arms in front of him. “Why not?”
“Because if he’s bad, Archer will kill him.”
“Not if the cure works and ‘e can become ‘uman again.”
My voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if I want Archer to try the cure.”
Ringo stared at me in shock. “But ‘e wants it.”
“There are risks—”
“There are always risks, and ye know it. Saira, ye can’t deny ‘im this. If ‘e’s willin’ to take the chance, ye ‘ave to support ‘im.”
“What happens to me if something goes wrong?” I could barely get the words out.
He looked me straight in the eyes. “Ye’d go on and live the life ye were meant to live.” Ringo gripped my upper arms and made me look at him. “Ye ‘aven’t told ‘im any of yer fears, ‘ave ye?”
I shook my head no.
“Good. Ye can’t.”
“Why not? We’re supposed to share things that matter to us. He’d understand.”
Ringo let go of my arms and ran his hands through his hair. “Saira, it’s like the man who admits to ‘avin’ an affair. The admission makes ‘im feel better for tellin’ the truth, but ‘e ‘ands it to ‘is wife to carry around as ‘er own. It isn’t fair. Ye know Archer’ll never do a thing to ‘urt you, so ye get to walk around feelin’ just fine, but what ‘e wants gets buried in makin’ sure yer ‘appy. Ye don’t get to tell ‘im this one. I’m tellin’ ye, it isn’t fair.”
I really didn’t want to hear this, not from Ringo, not at all. I spun away and headed toward the door. But guilt made me angry and I turned back to him. “You didn’t fight for Charlie, and now you’re telling me I can’t fight for Archer? Go wipe your conscience on someone else, Ringo, because that’s not fair.”
The door was too heavy for me to slam behind me effectively, but it wouldn’t have made anything better anyway. I passed Sanda on the landing as I raced up the stairs to my room.
“It’s hard t’ outrun yerself, lass.”
I wanted to keep going until I could shut myself away in my room, but somehow I couldn’t do that to Sanda. I turned to face her. “What about fear. Can you outrun that?”
“Only if ye stand still and face it do ye have a chance against fear.”
I made myself square my shoulders and walk the rest of the way to my room.
After a couple of hours of very fitful sleep, I finally gave up the idea of rest as a waste of time. It was still dark outside, and I guessed dawn was only about an hour away. I dressed quickly and slipped down the hall to the other wing where Ringo slept.
I knew he’d hear me the minute I opened his door, so I didn’t bother knocking. His eyes were open and looking at me as I sat on the end of his bed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He looked at me in silence for a long moment. “Ye lash out when yer scared, ye know? Like a wild thing, ye are.”
“It wasn’t right, what I said about Charlie. And I’m so sorry I said it.”
He finally sighed and sat up, wrestled the bedside light on, and scrubbed his palms across his eyes. “Wipe my conscience?” he scoffed. “Ye pick an ungodly time to wipe yers, ye wench.”
I bit back my smile. We were good, but I still tread carefully. “I think about Charlie all the time, and how she’s doing as Valerie Grayson’s protégé. No matter how clever Charlie is, the sixteenth century isn’t easy to navigate, and Henry Grayson’s death in France hurt his mother in ways I can’t even imagine.”
I tried to picture what it would be like to live in a noble house in Tudor times. Hygiene issues alone were enough to send me running, not
to mention court politics and Immortal Descendant intrigue. I shuddered.
“Charlie’s braver than I know how to be.”
“Ye might say that. Though sometimes bein’ alone becomes what ye know, and choosin’ otherwise is the ‘ard part.”
I looked into his gray eyes and saw the pain in them. “Did she run away from a life with you, or run toward one with Valerie?”
He watched me for a long moment, then finally shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter, does it? We’ll either find each other in the end, or we won’t.”
“How can you be pragmatic about that, Ringo? It sounds so lonely.”
He smiled gently. “We’ve all been alone in our lives. Ye’ve ‘ad yer mum, but ye’ve only relied on yerself. I ‘ad a mum for five years, and Archer never ‘ad a mum at all. But all of us ‘ave known what it is to be loved, and that makes us lucky. But the thing about love is it’s like the wild thing ye are – when ye ‘old on tight ye frighten it away, but when ye open yer ‘ands and yer ‘eart and trust it, ye can always find it no matter ‘ow far it flies.”
“I trust Archer.”
“No, ye don’t. If ye did, ye would trust ‘im to do what ‘e needs to do for ‘imself, and ye’d take yer own fears out of it.”
I looked away from his eyes and searched the room for something else to focus on that didn’t see me so clearly. There were bookshelves against every wall, and they were bursting with books and parts of electronics. Tools covered the desk under the window, and a diagram of an engine was pinned to a corkboard. “What are you going to do with your life?”
“Learn everything I can.”
“And then?” I looked back at him curiously.
“I’ll know when I’ve done it, I think.”
I nodded and stood up to go. “I’m sorry about before.”
He smirked at me. “But not sorry about wakin’ me?”
“Nope. My conscience is all clean now.”
He hurled a pillow at me and I ducked out of the way, laughing, before I left his room.
