Almost under his breath, Ciaran muttered, “Well, I have figured something out.”
Saoirse almost snorted whipped cream through her nose. “You did?!” she exclaimed. “When were you going to tell me, ya dumbarse?”
Now that he had his sister’s full attention and interest, Ciaran finally raised his head from his work and faced Saoirse. “I wanted to make sure I completely understood my findings before I said anything.”
“I don’t care if you don’t completely understand it!” Saoirse shouted. “Tell me what you found!”
Ignoring her outburst, Ciaran continued speaking as if he were a lecturer who had unexpectedly found himself with a captive audience. “Before making any sort of announcement, a good scientist always repeats his experiments several times to make sure he comes up with the same result,” he replied. “The most disappointing thing in the world is to find out that you have a false positive.”
“No, Ciar, the most disappointing thing in the world is to find out your boyfriend is an amnesiac who shagged your brother,” she declared. “Now tell me what you know or I swear to God I’ll start breaking things!”
If Ciaran hadn’t believed his sister would follow through on her threat, he would’ve laughed. Instead he disclosed his scientific findings. “I’ve isolated an unknown gene that I found in your blood.”
“Unknown?”
“Yes, unknown.”
Saoirse took another sip of hot chocolate. She wasn’t thirsty; she was merely trying to collect her thoughts, take a moment to see if this news was as incredible as she thought it might be. “So what you’re saying is that it’s something that can’t be found in any of those really big books you read all the time?”
“Correctomundo!” Ciaran loved when his work sparked curiosity in someone else, when his findings piqued another person’s interest and for a moment they shared a common bond. It was nice not to be alone in his own fascination even if that other person was only fascinated by her own celebrity.
“So that means I’m the only person in the world to have this unknown gene?” Saoirse reasoned. The way she posed the question it was clear that any response other than “yes” would greatly disappoint her. Unfortunately, Ciaran had to do just that.
“No.”
Outraged, Saoirse felt as if Ciaran had slapped her in the face just as Morgandy had. Why was nothing turning out the way she wanted it to? Boys totally sucked. All they did was play games. “What do you mean ‘no’?!”
“The gene is unknown to the scientific world,” Ciaran explained. “But you’re not the only person who has it.”
“Which doesn’t make any sense!” Saoirse cried, slamming her mug onto the countertop.
So much for trying to create an air of intrigue. If Saoirse just wanted the bottom line, well, then that’s what Ciaran would give her. “I found the same gene in Michael’s blood.”
Disregarding the complex ramifications of this discovery or the physiological randomness that she and Michael could both possess the same scientific anomaly, all Saoirse could think about was how cool it was that she and Michael were somehow linked. She really liked her brother’s boyfriend and was thrilled that they had grown close this past year and that Michael had become more like her sibling than just her friend. How wild that they might be even closer than anyone had ever imagined! Maybe science wasn’t all boring, complicated experiments after all. “So tell me more about this unknown gene.”
It worked. Ciaran had hoped Saoirse’s interest would skyrocket when he mentioned Michael’s name. He had done what every smart scientist did who wanted to create excitement about his discovery; he had made his findings personal. He hoped to make them irresistible as well. “It’s water-based, so I call it Atlantium.”
“Oooh Atlantium,” she cooed. “That’s brill!”
Now that it was clear that Saoirse was as excited as he was, Ciaran didn’t have to hide his true emotions. “It gets even more brilliant.” He pulled out a small metal box from the cabinet drawer and placed it on the countertop. Unlocking it, Ciaran turned it around so Saoirse could see what was inside. “These are all the samples of your blood that I’ve taken.”
Resting on her elbows, Saoirse peered into the box as if she were fawning over a particularly fine piece of jewelry. “And all of that contains the mysterious Atlantium?”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?” she snapped. “Ciaran, you’re really starting to tick me off! You just said ...”
“I said that I found the gene in a sample,” Ciaran interrupted. “I didn’t say that I found it in every sample.”
Saoirse scrutinized her brother to see if he was testing her. She would never become a scientist, but even she knew his statement sounded wrong. “Doesn’t that like defy the laws of nature?”
“Completely,” Ciaran said, a bit surprised that Saoirse had gotten it so quickly. “It makes absolutely no sense at all. It goes against the human physical composition,” he said, unable to control his enthusiasm. “Every sample of a person’s blood should be the same; it should all carry the same DNA and genetic breakdown.” He pushed the box closer to Saoirse and waved his hand over it like he was conducting a magic act. “Yours doesn’t.”
Ciaran might be smiling, but how could this possibly be good news? Yes, Saoirse had always known she was different, a freak, but all the people around her—the vampires, water vamps, efemeras—they were all a little freaky too, so what did it matter? In the grand scheme of things she was a lot more normal than they were, and she had always found comfort in knowing that she was human. Now her brother had uncovered confirmation, proof, that she might not be that human after all. She wasn’t just an honorary member of an inhuman race; she might very well be their missing link. “So what does all this mean?” she asked, not certain she wanted to know the answer.
Ciaran hated being vague, but he had no other choice. “I don’t know yet.”
“You have to know!” Saoirse screamed, slamming her mug onto the table once more. “You’re a lab rat. This is what you do!”
Quickly, Ciaran closed the metal box and returned it to its storage, worried that it would be doused in Saoirse’s drink if she got any more excited. “What do you think I’ve been doing?! Running tests, retesting, comparing your blood to that of other species.”
“And what did you find?!”
“There’s no evidence of Atlantium in my blood or even in Ronan’s, but I found traces of it in all of the samples of Michael’s blood that I’ve been able to examine. Every one of them is the same.”
“Unlike mine,” Saoirse said.
“Yes, unlike yours,” Ciaran confirmed. “But don’t you see how bloody amazing that is?!”
He just didn’t get it. “No, Ciar, I don’t,” Saoirse replied. “And amazing is not exactly the word I’d use to describe what’s going on inside of me.”
She just didn’t get it. “Saoirse, it’s like your blood, your physiological makeup, is constantly changing!” Ciaran beamed. “Almost like it’s vibrating on a level no other human being has ever reached, vibrating like I’ve heard Ronan say The Well vibrates. So I don’t care what you think, but that’s bloody amazing!”
If Saoirse had wanted to be special, if she had wanted to be some sort of abnormal legend, she would have been happy to hear what Ciaran was telling her; she would have embraced it. She would revel in the fact that she was like Phaedra and her mother and all the others and wear her badge of inhumanity with pride. But it wasn’t what she wanted. Ever since she had come to St. Anne’s and especially since she had started dating Morgandy, all she wanted to be was normal. She wanted to be average. She wanted to go to school without worrying that people were staring at her or wondering if they could turn her into their kind of vampire or use her as a living specimen to uncover the unknown. Unfortunately, she also knew from experience that you could not escape who you are or what you were supposed to be.
“I don’t understand it in its entirety, but I believe Atlantiu
m is what connects you and Michael to The Well,” Ciaran said, his voice positively reverential. “And somehow this gene is what links The Well to the human world.”
“ ’Scuse me, Science Boy, but that’s fanciful talk, don’t ya think?” Saoirse quipped.
“When you’re presented with facts that make no logical sense,” Ciaran replied, “the next logical step is to think illogically.”
Gulping down the rest of her hot chocolate, Saoirse hoped the warmth would make her feel better, like she had no troubles. Concentrate on the sweet mixture of cream and cocoa and let it trick her into thinking they were just chatting about the nonsensical stuff siblings are supposed to talk about and not genetic anomalies and interspecies correlations. It actually worked, until Ciaran completed his thought. “I think you and Michael are somehow destined to play important roles in the world of all water vamps,” Ciaran said, “as well as in the future of The Well itself.”
Saoirse stared at Ciaran for quite some time, and she only replied when it was clear that he was serious. “You have got to be kidding me, boyo.”
Ciaran couldn’t help but laugh at his sister’s reaction. “I know it sounds daft,” he admitted. “But I’m convinced the only way to decipher why you are what you are is to think beyond science.”
Giving her hair a good, arrogant flip, Saoirse replied, “And belly flop smack dab into the middle of science fiction.”
It was time for Ciaran to play the game by his sister’s rules, time to act bored and disinterested instead of charged up like he really was. Bit by bit he started to put away his paraphernalia, and never once did he look Saoirse in the eye. “Be cheeky and call it what you want, science fiction, fantasy, whatever,” Ciaran said. “All I know is your body negates scientific fact in a way I’ve never seen before, and it’s my expert opinion—and we all know I’m an expert in these things—that the answer lies outside of the box so to speak.” He knew by Saoirse’s silence that he was starting to make sense to her, so he wrapped up his summation as succinctly and, hopefully, as enticingly, as possible. “And right inside that little round Well of theirs.”
After a few moments of silent deliberation, Saoirse figured she had come this far, why not take it a few steps further, even if she suspected her brother was leading her by the hand directly into Barmyland. “Fine, but no more needles.”
Ciaran resisted the urge to hug Saoirse and swing her around the room and fought hard to maintain his blasé composure. “I’ll only need to draw one more sample of blood.”
“One more and that’s it! I feel like I’m cutting myself all over again and not getting any of the attention!” Saoirse screamed, rubbing her hand over her forearm as if she was soothing a sudden pain.
“Since there’s no way we can get to The Well, the next test will be conducted at the pool at St. Sebastian’s,” Ciaran explained. “It’s a long shot, but I want to test your blood to see how it reacts after your body’s been in a pool of water.”
Could this get any worse?! “Blimey, Ciar! The chlorine’ll turn my hair green!” Saoirse shouted.
Laughing at his sister’s priorities, Ciaran remembered that she might be a rare, uncommon individual, but she was still a teenage girl. And he wasn’t against using that fact in his favor. “Morgandy is still on the swim team, remember?”
El Disgusto, Morgandy van der Liar, on the swim team? Who cared? Saoirse did. Despite everything she felt about her ex, whenever she had a daydream, she just couldn’t help herself and cast him in the leading role. It might be nice to accidentally bump into him at the pool and see him in his skimpy bathing suit, his curls plastered wet against his forehead. She wouldn’t talk to him, of course, never, not again. Why give him a chance to spew more lies? But it would be nice to look at him. And if she were standing there in her own revealing bikini, like maybe the blue-and-white-striped one that she totally rocked, she could show him what he was missing. No matter what kind of results the test produced, Saoirse thought it was what business people called a win-win situation. “Never let it be said that Saoirse Glynn-Rowley stood in the way of scientific progress.”
Taking that as a yes, Ciaran finally let his true emotions break through his deadpan veneer. “You won’t regret this, Seersh!” Hugging Saoirse tightly and swinging her in circle after circle after circle, he couldn’t believe that he was one step closer to finding out the truth about his sister. He was even closer to finding out the truth about himself.
Once Saoirse agreed to the next phase of the experimentation, Ciaran felt the strong desire, a compulsion really, to inform David that his plan was moving forward. It made no sense. He knew David was manipulating him, he knew that David wanted to use the information from his research to destroy instead of enhance, and yet all Ciaran wanted to do was make sure the headmaster knew that he had put his trust in the right person and that Ciaran could deliver as promised. The more Ciaran tried to fight against going to see David, the quicker he ran.
Taking a shortcut from St. Albert’s, Ciaran came around the back of David’s office. There was only a light dusting of snow on the ground, so while his footprints were recorded, they made no sound. Just as he was about to turn the corner and move along the front of the building, where he’d be in plain sight of anyone entering or exiting the Archangel Academy gate, Ciaran noticed something strange partially buried in the snow.
He bent down and saw a black feather, jutting out from a mound of white powder. Not that strange, but for some reason he was drawn to inspect it further. Picking it up he expected it to be an inch or two in length, probably a loose feather from a crow’s wing. He never expected it to be several feet in length and almost a foot wide. The thing was huge and had definitely not fallen from a crow.
Tracing his fingers along one side of the feather, Ciaran couldn’t believe how soft it was to the touch. It couldn’t possibly be real; it had to be fake, part of a costume, part of somebody’s get up for the Tri-Centennial Celebration. That’s what he thought until he saw the dried droplets of blood clinging to the edges near the end of the feather, the part that had once nestled against skin. Whatever creature this feather had once belonged to had been in a fight.
Ciaran look around to see if the bird was nearby, but he couldn’t see anything on the ground except snow. He was about to start digging to see if the animal or its nest had been covered by the snowfall, but his curiosity was interrupted by voices. Looking up he realized he was crouched just below a window, and the voices were coming from David’s office. He was still curious, but no longer about the bird and its lost feather.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Ronan was my ... my ...” Morgandy stuttered, his voice travelling in an angry staccato rhythm just over Ciaran’s head.
“I believe the word you’re choking on is boyfriend,” David replied.
Was that David? His voice was off. Maybe it was because Ciaran wasn’t looking him in the eyes, he wasn’t in his magnetic presence, so he could hear the sound for what it truly was. It wasn’t that different; it was still deep, commanding, imperious, but underneath all that was something Ciaran had never noticed before: anxiety. David didn’t sound like he was upset with Morgandy. It was more like he was gravely concerned about something else. Ciaran knew that he would only be able to determine what it truly meant if he continued to listen.
“And I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t necessary for you to know,” David replied. There it was again. His voice was a little strained, the cadence of his speech a little quicker than normal. The headmaster might be addressing Morgandy, but there was someone else on his mind.
“Not necessary?!” Morgandy cried. “This is my life you’re talking about! I have every right to know, and it wasn’t your decision to make!”
Whoa! Morgandy must be certifiable. Nobody talked to David like that, not without serious repercussions. It took a few seconds, but it came. Ciaran heard the sound before he saw the silver decanter crash through the window, and he had just enough time to raise his arms to shield h
is face and eyes before the shards of glass started to shower down upon him.
While flying through the air, the decanter twirled on its side, and just as it began its descent the top detached from the long, swan-like neck and flew in the opposite direction, landing near the entrance to The Forest. The decanter itself continued to twist in the air, its contents spilling out from its spout like a lasso of blood. Crimson drops decorated the side of the building, the snow, even Ciaran’s body until the decanter finally landed on an embankment, blood pouring from its mouth, turning the snow pink, and burrowing into the hungry earth.
Then there was silence, no sound, no voices, nothing. Ciaran stood still so he wouldn’t make a noise, wouldn’t step on a piece of glass from the shattered window. He saw that his jacket and hands were speckled with blood, but even in his frozen position he was able to see that he hadn’t been cut. That was a relief. Then again maybe not. With two vampires a few feet away, he wasn’t exactly comforted to know that he was stained with blood. Ciaran’s discomfort only grew when David spoke again and he noticed that the timbre of his voice was even more unrecognizable. What the hell was wrong with the headmaster?
“Your past was destroyed by the cruel hands of time,” David growled. “And time is an evil mistress! She lurks, she waits, but she never disappears! Never! She always comes back, and she always comes back wanting revenge!”
Time is an evil mistress out for revenge? David must be reading one of Ronan’s potboilers.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Morgandy asked, rather impudently. “Time had nothing to do with my losing my memory. It was taken from me by that Well.”
Another eerie silence passed, and Ciaran imagined that David was either searching for the right word or something else to fling out the window. “Yes, yes, of course, I know that The Well has been cruel to you,” David rambled.
“And so have you.”
Unafraid Page 26
