“We have. My son has been working with us.” Matthew gave me a quelling look.
“Yes, I saw that,” Chris said, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Not something I’d boast about, myself.”
“Not Benjamin. My other son, Marcus Whitmore.”
“Marcus Whitmore.” Chris made an amused sound. “Covering all the bases, I see. You handle the evolutionary biology and neuroscience, Miriam Shephard is an expert on population genetics, and Marcus Whitmore is known for his study of functional morphology and efforts to debunk phenotypic plasticity. That’s a hell of a research team you’ve assembled, Clairmont.”
“I’m very fortunate,” Matthew said mildly.
“Wait a minute.” Chris looked at Matthew in amazement. “Evolutionary biology. Evolutionary physiology. Population genetics. Figuring out how blood rage is transmitted isn’t your only research objective. You’re trying to diagram evolutionary descent. You’re working on the Tree of Life—and not just the human branches.”
“Is that what the tree in the fireplace is called?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t think so.” Matthew patted her hand.
“Evolution. I’ll be damned.” Chris pushed away from the island. “So have you discovered the common ancestor for humans and you guys?” He waved in our direction.
“If by ‘you guys’ you mean creatures—daemons, vampires, and witches—then no.” Matthew’s brow arched.
“Okay. What are the crucial genetic differences separating us?”
“Vampires and witches have an extra chromosome pair,” Matthew explained. “Daemons have a single extra chromosome.”
“You’ve got a genetic map for these creature chromosomes?”
“Yes,” Matthew said.
“Then you’ve probably been working on this little project since before 1990, just to keep up with the humans.”
“That’s right,” Matthew said. “And I’ve been working since 1968 on how blood rage is inherited, if you must know.”
“Of course. You adapted Donahue’s use of family pedigrees to determine gene transmission between generations.” Chris nodded. “Good call. How far along are you with sequencing? Have you located the blood-rage gene?”
Matthew stared at him without replying.
“Well?” Chris demanded.
“I had a teacher like you once,” Matthew said coldly. “He drove me insane.”
“And I have students like you. They don’t last long in my lab.” Chris leaned across the table. “I take it that not every vampire on the planet has your condition. Have you determined exactly how blood rage is inherited, and why some contract it and some don’t?”
“Not entirely,” Matthew admitted. “It’s a bit more complicated with vampires, considering we have three parents.”
“You need to pick up the pace, my friend. Diana is pregnant. With twins.“ Chris looked at me pointedly. “I assume you’ve drawn up full genetic profiles for the two of you and made predictions for inheritance patterns among your offspring, including but not limited to blood rage?”
“I’ve been in the sixteenth century for the best part of a year.” Matthew really disliked being questioned. “I lacked the opportunity.”
“High time we started, then,” Chris remarked blandly.
“Matthew was working on something.” I looked to Matthew for confirmation. “Remember? I found that paper covered with X’s and O’s.”
“X’s and O’s? Lord God Almighty.” This seemed to confirm Chris’s worst fears. “You tell me you have three parents, but you remain married to a Mendelian inheritance model. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re as old as dirt and knew Darwin.”
“I met Mendel once, too,” Matthew said crisply, sounding like an irritated professor himself.
“Besides, blood rage may be a Mendelian trait. We can’t rule that out.”
“Highly unlikely,” Chris said. “And not just because of this three-parent problem—which I’ll have to consider in more detail. It must create havoc in the data.”
“Explain.” Matthew tented his fingers in front of his face.
“I have to give an overview of non-Mendelian inheritance to a fellow of All Souls?” Chris’s eyebrows rose. “Somebody needs to look at the appointment policies at Oxford University.”
“Do you understand a word they’re saying?” Sarah whispered.
“One in three,” I said apologetically.
“I mean gene conversion. Infectious heredity. Genomic imprinting. Mosaicism.” Chris ticked them off on his finger. “Ring any bells, Professor Clairmont, or would you like me to continue with the lecture I give to my undergraduates?”
“Isn’t mosaicism a form of chimerism?” It was the only word I’d recognized.
Chris nodded at me approvingly.
“I’m a chimera—if that helps.”
“Diana,” Matthew growled.
“Chris is my best friend, Matthew,” I said. “And if he’s going to help you determine how blood rage effects vampire-witch reproduction—not to mention find a cure for the disease—he needs to know everything. That includes my genetic test results, by the way.”
“That information can be deadly in the wrong hands,” Matthew said.
“Matthew is right,” Chris agreed.
“I’m so glad you think so.” Matthew’s words dripped acid.
“Don’t patronize me, Clairmont. I know the dangers of human-subject research. I’m a black man from Alabama and grew up in the shadow of Tuskegee.” Chris turned to me. “Don’t hand over your genetic information to anybody outside this room—even if they’re wearing a white coat. Especially if they’re wearing a white coat, come to think of it.”
“Thanks for your input, Christopher,” Matthew said stiffly. “I’ll be sure to pass your ideas on to the rest of my team.”
“So what are we going to do about all this?” Fernando asked. “There may not have been any urgency before, but now . . .” He looked to Matthew for guidance.
“The Bad Seed’s breeding program changes everything,” Chris proclaimed before Matthew could speak. “First we have to figure out if blood rage really is what makes conception possible or if it’s a combination of factors. And we need to know the likelihood of Diana’s children contracting the disease.
We’ll need the witch and the vampire genetic maps for that.”
“You’ll need my DNA, too,” I said quietly. “Not all witches can reproduce.”
“Do you need to be a good witch? A bad witch?” Chris’s silly jokes usually made me smile, but not tonight.
“You need to be a weaver,” I replied. “You’re going to need to sequence my genome in particular and compare it to that of other witches. And you’ll need to do the same for Matthew and vampires who don’t have blood rage. We have to understand blood rage well enough to cure it, or Benjamin and his children will continue to be a threat.”
“Okay, then.” Chris slapped his thighs. “We need a lab. And help. Plenty of data and computer time, too. I can put my people on this.”
“Absolutely not.” Matthew shot to his feet. “I have a lab, too. Miriam has been working on the problems of blood rage and the creature genomes for some time.”
“Then she should come here immediately and bring her work with her. My students are good, Matthew. The best. They’ll see things you and I have been conditioned not to see.”
“Yes. Like vampires. And witches.” Matthew ran his fingers through his hair. Chris looked alarmed at the transformation in his tidy appearance. “I don’t like the idea of more humans knowing about us.”
Matthew’s words reminded me who did need to know about Benjamin’s latest message. “Marcus.
We need to tell Marcus.”
Matthew dialed his number.
“Matthew? Is everything all right?” Marcus said as soon as he picked up the call.
“Not really. We have a situation.” Matthew quickly told him about Benjamin and the witch he was keeping hostage. Then he told Marcus why.
“If I send you the Web address, will you have Nathaniel figure out how to monitor Benjamin’s feed 24/7? And if he could find where the signal is originating from, that would save a lot of time,” Matthew said.
“Consider it done,” Marcus replied.
No sooner had Matthew disconnected than my own cell phone rang.
“Who now?” I said, glancing at the clock. The sun had barely risen. “Hello?”
“Thank God you’re awake” Vivian Harrison said, relieved.
“What’s wrong?” My black thumb prickled.
“We’ve got trouble,” she said grimly.
“What kind of trouble?” I asked. Sarah pressed her ear against the receiver next to mine. I tried to flap her away.
“I received a message from Sidonie von Borcke,” Vivian said.
“Who is Sidonie von Borcke?” I’d never heard the name before.
“One of the Congregation’s witches,” Vivian and Sarah said in unison.
14
“The coven failed the test.” Vivian flung her satchel-size purse onto the kitchen island and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Is she a witch, too?” Chris asked me in a whisper.
“I am,” Vivian replied instead, noticing Chris for the first time.
“Oh.” He looked at her appraisingly. “Can I take a cheek swab? It’s painless.”
“Maybe later.” Vivian did a double take. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”
“This is Chris Roberts, Vivian, my colleague from Yale. He’s a molecular biologist.” I passed the sugar and gave Chris a pinch on the arm to keep him quiet. “Can we possibly talk in the family room?
My head is killing me—and my feet are swelling up like balloons.”
“Somebody complained to the Congregation about covenant violations in Madison County,” Vivian told us when we were comfortably ensconced in the sofas and armchairs arranged in front of the TV.
“Do you know who it was?” Sarah asked.
“Cassie and Lydia.” Vivian stared morosely into her coffee.
“The cheerleaders narked us out?” Sarah was dumfounded.
“Figures,” I said. They’d been inseparable since childhood, insufferable since adolescence, and indistinguishable since high school with their softly curling blond hair and blue eyes. Neither Cassie nor Lydia had let her witchy ancestry keep her in the shadows. Together they had co-captained the cheerleading squad and witches credited them with giving Madison its most successful football season in history by inserting victory spells into every chant and routine.
“And what are the charges—exactly?” Matthew had switched into lawyer mode.
“That Diana and Sarah have been consorting with vampires,” Vivian muttered.
“Consorting?” Sarah’s outrage was clear.
Vivian flung her hands up in the air. “I know, I know. It sounds positively lewd, but I assure you those were Sidonie’s exact words. Happily, Sidonie is in Las Vegas and can’t come in person to investigate. The Clark County covens are too heavily invested in real estate, and they’re using spells to try to shore up the housing market.”
“So what happens now?” I asked Vivian.
“I have to respond. In writing.”
“Thank goodness. That means you can lie,” I said, relieved.
“No way, Diana. She’s too smart. I saw Sidonie question the SoHo coven two years ago when they opened up that haunted house on Spring Street, right where the Halloween parade lineup begins. It was masterful.” Vivian shuddered. “She even got them to divulge how they suspended a bubbling cauldron over their parade float for six hours. After Sidonie’s visit the coven was grounded for a full year—no flying, no apparating, and positively no exorcisms. They’re still haven’t recovered.”
“What kind of witch is she?” I asked.
“A powerful one,” Vivian said with a snort. But that’s not what I meant.
“Is her power elemental or based in the craft?”
“She’s got a good grasp of spells, from what I hear,” Sarah said.
“Sidonie can fly, and she’s a respected seer, too,” Vivian added.
Chris raised his hand.
“Yes, Chris?” Sarah sounded like a schoolmarm.
“Smart, powerful, flying—it doesn’t matter. You can’t let her find out about Diana’s children, what with the Bad Seed’s latest research project and this covenant you’re all worried about.”
“Bad Seed?” Vivian stared at Chris blankly.
“Matthew’s son knocked up a witch. It seems that reproductive abilities run in the Clairmont family.” Chris glared at Matthew. “And about this covenant you’ve all agreed to. I take it that witches aren’t supposed to hang out with vampires?”
“Or with daemons. It makes humans uncomfortable,” Matthew said.
“Uncomfortable?” Chris looked dubious. “So did blacks sitting on buses next to white people.
Segregation isn’t the answer.”
“Humans notice creatures if we’re in mixed groups,” I said, hoping to placate Chris.
“We notice you, Diana, even when you’re walking down Temple Street by yourself at ten o’clock in the morning,” Chris said, shattering my last, fragile hope that I appeared to be just like everybody else.