The Ebony Finches: A Transition Magic Thriller

by J. E. Hopkins

  “Maybe I could use Transition magic to get the Minister to change his mind.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense. Transition would kill you, even if you did know the ritual, which you don’t. Part of the burden of becoming a woman is accepting what life gives you.”

  Karina finished cleaning the mushrooms, sliced them, and got up to toss them into the bubbling pot of potatoes on the stove. She glanced through the kitchen window at the growing darkness. “I want to go tell Maria.”

  The Berndts would have to leave on their own and become refugees in Germany. If they refused, they’d be placed in an internment camp.

  “I don’t like you being out at—”

  “It’s no more than an hour’s walk.”

  With what seemed like half the country’s population moving west, the roads and woods were often filled with strangers. Stories of brutal attacks, rapes, even murder, were too familiar.

  But Karina’s thought were about Maria living in a camp. About being alone in the world without her best friend. Her eyes filled.

  I might as well be dead.

  “I’m going, whether you say I can or not!”

  “One of these days, young lady, your headstrong attitude is going to land you in trouble.” Her mother sighed. “But I suppose we need to tell Pan Berndt as soon as possible. You may go after you finish supper. I’d go with you, but I don’t want to slow you down. And it’s best someone stay with the house.”

  You haven’t left the farm in over a month.

  “There’s a full moon. You’ll be able to see your way across the fields. Stay off the roads. That will be safer.”

  “I’ll be fine, mama,” Karina said. “I’ll stay over and come home in the morning.”

  “No. I don’t want you out overnight. Come back as soon as you show Mr. and Mrs. Berndt the letter.”

  You’re afraid to go with me and you’re afraid to stay by yourself.

  A new thought crept into Karina’s mind. “Mama?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Most of our neighbors are German. What will happen to us when they’re all gone?”

  Neighboring families joined together to grow wheat, which they sold and used for barter.

  “We’ll manage. We always have. Which reminds me, did you see any game today?”

  The Nazis had hunted the countryside to supplement their rations. Deer, rabbit, and squirrels had vanished in the onslaught.

  “No, mama.”

  They hadn’t starved during the war, but Karina had been hungry for as long as she could remember. Without the little money they got from their share of the wheat crop, life would be harder than ever.

  “Sit, eat. You need to go and get back before the moon sets.”

  The moon was high in the clear sky, painting the stubble in the fields with shades of gray. Karina pulled her sweater tight against the cold northern breeze. The scent of new growth and moist soil made her think of her father. He had loved the land and being outside. When spring finally pushed the harsh Czech winters aside, he and Karina would take long walks at night, after the day’s work was done.

  I miss him so much.

  Her father had worked at the quarry outside Lezaky until he’d been caught up in the German retribution for the assassination of Reich Protector Reinhard Heydrich in the spring of ’42.

  The Germans accused the villagers in Lidice and Lezaky of assisting the Czech paratroopers who’d killed the hated German. Two weeks after the Nazis destroyed Lidice, they surrounded Lezaky, where her father was visiting the mill to barter for grain. The Germans took everyone out of the village, then burned and bulldozed it to the ground. They killed thirty-three women and men, including her father, and sent the children to a concentration camp.

  Karina and her mother were working in their garden when Pan Berndt brought the news of the slaughter. Her mother screamed and ran into their house, wailing. It was only later, long after the sun had set, that Karina ventured inside.

  The next day, they hiked into the village where the massacre had taken place to see if they could find her father’s body. Karina felt like she was walking in a dream. The rolling countryside was green with new life and filled with singing insects. How could her father be dead? They crossed the top of a small hill and were confronted with the angry buzz of thousands of flies and the stench of rotting flesh. Karina fell to the ground and vomited until her belly convulsed. Dozens of birds were fighting over the bodies. She and her mother tried to chase them away, but the evil black demons would flutter up in the air a few feet, then resettle on their feast. Her father was unrecognizable in the carnage, so they’d prayed and returned home.

  Karina had been back to the site of the massacre several times. Nearby farmers had shoveled dirt over the corpses where they’d lain, forming a mound that served as a memorial. The Germans hadn’t permitted a marker.

  In the summer, she’d collect ox-eye daisies and lay them at the edge of the hallowed ground. Her father taught her that the flower’s deep orange center was the rising sun; the pure white petals the innocence of new life.

  She tripped over a stone hiding in the bottom of a furrow and fell to her knees. She jumped up and dusted herself off, surprised and embarrassed, but unhurt.

  Pay attention to where you’re walking, stupid girl, or you’ll twist an ankle.

  She turned west, to skirt the edge of the woods that bordered the farmland. The fastest path to Maria’s was through the woods, but the new leaves on the trees would make it harder to see and that would slow her down more than she’d save time.

  “Hey, kid.”

  She jumped out of her skin. The man’s rough voice had come from just inside the woods. His Czech was laced with a strong German accent.

  Don’t look, don’t speak.

  She picked up her pace. Her heart was pounding like she was in a race.

  “Wait! I won’t hurt you. I’m just hungry. Got any food or know where I can get some?”

  All he wants is some food.

  She didn’t believe it, but she was afraid to run. The field was rough and she’d already tripped once. The idea of being sprawled on the ground with the man looming over her was terrifying.

  “Damn you, you little bitch. I told you to stop.”

  The voice was no more than ten meters behind her. Dry leaves crunched beneath his shoes, he was moving faster and faster. Closer. His breath came in ragged grunts, like a troll.

  “You stupid ass, I told you not to talk to her. Catch her!”

  Germans, two of them!

  Karina, like most Czechs, understood both languages. She took off, her long hair flying. She dodged the obstacles she could see and prayed that she wouldn’t stumble again, caution no longer on her mind. Her two pursuers bellowed and gained on her. When a hand grabbed her shoulder, she thought her heart would stop. She twisted in an effort to break free and realized that she’d been snagged by a branch.

  Too close to the woods.

  She turned toward the open field. There was a loud crash as one of the men fell to the ground. “Shit! I think I broke my fucking ankle!”

  His buddy must have stopped to help him because suddenly she was alone. She could see the edge of the field fifty meters ahead. Maria’s house was five minutes beyond the field. She chanced a look behind her. No sign of her pursuers. She slowed.

  Don’t want to break my fucking ankle.

  She laughed; a rising cackle that scared her a little.

  2015

  11

  Ticonderoga, New York

  “Are you going to keep being a pain in the ass, or can we call a truce?” John asked. He and Stony had just pulled onto I-89 from Boston's Logan airport for the four-hour drive to Ticonderoga. Stony's mood had matched her name since he'd first called her about making the trip to visit Natalie Forrest and Shin Gonzales.

  She glanced at John, turned her attention back to the road, and mashed the gas pedal.

  Okay, then. We’ll get there at eleven, rather than midnight.

/>   “I wasn't kidding, John.” She didn't look at him.

  “About?”

  “Wanting a new partner. I can't work with someone who betrayed me.”

  “Tell me what I was supposed to do, Stony. Let the DNI make your relationship with Akina part of the record? The result would have been the same, except both your careers would have been dinged.”

  “That's exactly what you should've done. Akina and I can handle any career bullshit.”

  The car's tires slapped the freeway's expansion joints as John sat in silence for several minutes. “You're being selfish, kiddo.”

  She fired a nasty look in his direction. Her ruby nose stud glinted in the gold light from the setting sun, adding to her glower.

  “Listen to me,” John said. “Once I finally convince the DNI that I'm not the right choice for DTS director, Akina has a real shot at it. You know how politics are played in DC. Do you think for a minute that her competition wouldn't try to use the issue to their advantage? Her relationship with you would get blown up into some sort of 'poor judgment' bullshit.”

  “Fuck them. I hate—”

  “You can hate all you want, but you know I’m right.” John sighed and lowered his voice. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Just think about the risks before you turn this into a public shit storm.”

  They rode in silence for a half hour before Stony responded. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that much at once. I kinda like it.”

  “You would.”

  Stony snorted. “Akina and I need to make a tough decision. The whole thing pisses me off and it’s easier to shoot the messenger than deal with the problem. Although, I have no problem shooting messengers.”

  Maybe I should ask her to apologize.

  He smiled to himself.

  Not in a million years.

  “I get that,” John said. “Now, if you’re past your hissy fit, can we talk about the case?”

  “Huh uh. One more thing. Calling me ‘kiddo’ is patronizing as hell. I know you’re older than Methuselah and I should allow you some latitude in your dotage, but I don’t like it. So stop it.”

  “How about I change it to ‘diminutive one’?”

  Again with the nasty look, this time with the hint of a smile at the corner of her eyes.

  “After I called you to schedule the trip,” John said, “I got in touch with the pediatrician who’s handling the cases. His name is Patrick James Moonstone and likes to be called Doc PJ or just PJ. He has permission from the parents of both kids to share information about their condition.”

  “Good. Lawyers and judges are a time suck.”

  “PJ confirmed that Natalie Forrest started Transition, if that’s what it is, twenty-seven days ago,” John said. “Her father, Brian, works at a paper plant on the outskirts of town.”

  “The mother?”

  “Died from breast cancer a little more than a year ago.”

  “Damn. Tough childhood. And the other case?”

  “Shin Gonzales. Woke up with the same black eyes two days after Natalie.”

  “Gonzales? Is ‘Shin’ some sort of weird nickname?”

  “He’s South Korean. Was adopted as an infant. His father, Carlos, works at the same plant as Natalie’s.”

  “And you said they both have heart failure along with the eyes thing, right?”

  “Yeah. PJ will fill us in when we meet tomorrow morning.”

  “Is there a connection between the fathers?”

  “Yeah. Shin’s father works for Brian Forrest.”

  John summarized the t-hormone blood test results and the CDC’s skepticism about the cases.

  “So, what do you think, Dish?”

  John had been contemplating that question ever since the call had come from the CDC.

  “I did a little searching in our archives. Couldn’t find anything about black eyes as a Transition marker, but it takes an expert to dig very deep into those records, especially the ancient stuff. Akina pulled a couple of database geeks off a research project and assigned them to us. They’ll get started this evening.”

  “Okay, but you didn’t answer my question. What’s your gut tell you? Are they in Transition?”

  “Yeah. Or something worse that we’ve never heard of.”

  John and Stony met in the parking lot of the Rolling Acres Motel at six the next morning, drove to breakfast at the recommended Blake’s Grill, and made it to the Intermont Hospital in time for their seven o’clock appointment with Dr. PJ Moonstone.

  The two-story rectangular building was constructed of blocks of blue-gray stone that glistened in the early morning dew. As the two agents walked toward the entrance, John realized that several of the buildings in Ticonderoga were constructed of the same material.

  Must be a bluestone quarry nearby. Beautiful stuff.

  The doctor greeted them in the lobby. He wore wrinkled khakis, a denim shirt, Birkenstock sandals, and bright pink socks. John tried not to smile, but Stony made no effort to control her grin.

  PJ shook hands and led them to the cafeteria. Stony grabbed her usual morning diet coke while John and PJ poured coffee into double-sized Styrofoam cups. The three settled into a corner table in the empty room.

  “It’s a rural hospital,” PJ said. “A hundred beds with a seven-bed ICU. No space for frivolous things like offices for the doctors. Still, it’s bigger than usual for a town this size. Thanks be to the tourist gods and the taxes from the Global paper mill.”

  “Has anything changed since we talked?” John asked.

  “Yeah. Shin’s cardiac function has continued to deteriorate and Natalie’s condition is moving toward critical. The disease seems to be following the same course in both of them. Neither have responded to treatment. Unless today brings some improvement, I’ll be moving Natalie to the ICU.”

  “I surfed The Mayo Clinic website for info on heart failure,” Stony said, “but it was pretty vague. Could you tell us specifically what’s going on?”

  “Sure. They’re both experiencing idiopathic extrinsic cardiomyopathy.”

  “Right,” Stony said. “Could you be a little less specific?”

  “All it means is that their heart muscles are weakening and we haven’t been able to identify an external cause.”

  “What’ve you ruled out?” John asked.

  “There’s no ischemia, which is the most common cause of heart failure, which means the oxygen supply to their hearts is normal. There’s no sign of infection of any kind. And late last night the cardiologist got the results of genetic testing for specific cardiac-related genes. No problem, there, either.”

  Stony leaned across the table. “Isn’t that unusual? I mean, that you can’t find the cause?”

  “Yeah,” PJ said. “It’s uncommon for kids to experience heart failure. It’s even more uncommon to not identify the underlying etiology. And don’t even talk to me about two kids experiencing the same disease at essentially the same time.”

  “Coincidences happen all the time,” John said. “Way more than people think. But it seems to me the odds here are way worse than the lottery. The two are linked. Have to be.”

  “No argument from me,” PJ said.

  “Tell us about treatment,” John said.

  “The disease is a failure of the heart muscle and that damage is progressive and permanent. But there are several drugs that can slow the progression and they help most of the time. Just not in either of these cases, at least not yet.”

  “There’s nothing else?” Stony asked. “How about heart transplants? I mean if their situation gets bad enough.”

  PJ shook his head. “They’d never be approved because we don’t understand the underlying cause of the disease. Too much risk that the new hearts would follow the same path. Not only would Natalie and Shin still die, two other patients who could have used the donor hearts would also die.”

  “That’s harsh,” Stony said.

  “Yeah,” PJ said, “but the national waiting list for
heart transplants has three-thousand names on any given day. Only two-thousand donor hearts come available each year.”

  “Anything else we should know?” John asked.

  PJ shook his head.

  “Okay,” John said. “Just to be clear about roles. The CDC field agent who’ll be here Tuesday will focus on finding the connection between the two cases. Or proving there isn’t one. Stony and I are all about determining whether this is a new kind of Transition, and, if it is, understanding the implications.”

  PJ nodded. “Ready to see the kids?”

  Natalie and Shin were on opposite ends of the hospital’s second floor. PJ took Stony and John to Shin first, because his room was nearest the elevator. They found him standing at the private room’s window, his back to the door. Thin plastic tubing snaked from a valve on a wall panel to the nearest bedrail, where it was tied in a loose knot.

  An iPad lay on the tray table that extended over the foot of the bed. John glanced at the screen. It was open to a WebMD page headlined “Heart Failure Health Center.”

  Shit. Painful knowledge for a twelve-year-old.

  “Shin,” PJ said, “you know better. You need to keep your oxygen on.”

  Shin didn’t even twitch at the sound of the doctor’s voice. He turned slowly and faced his visitors. “I wanted to see outside. Just for a little bit.”

  Shin’s irises seemed to absorb the light from the room. Tiny blood-red flashes flared and faded, as if offering a glimpse into the fires of hell. John struggled to keep the shock from his face; he heard Stony’s soft gasp beside him.

  Shin focused on Stony and smiled.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Your eyes are spectacular.”

  “Badass, huh? I thought a couple of the nurses were going to faint. One even crossed herself.” He tilted his head to one side. “I am my own horror movie. Booga Booga.”

  John and Stony laughed at the unexpected humor. PJ ignored the joke, crossed the room and untied the polyethylene knot. “Back in bed, young man. I’ll ask the nurses to bring you a longer tube. You can get up if you feel like it, but you have to keep the oxygen on.”