Red Moon Rising (6 page)

“Yeah, but you were almost done. Except for your hair and skin tone, you're practically all vamp. You have the blue eyes, you got the smarts, and you have the Thirst. Oh, sorry. I don't know what the politically correct expression is now. What makes you think you're having a
primitis
?”

“One thing is that SynHeme is making me kind of sick. I sometimes feel like puking when I drink it.”

“That's how I always felt when I tried it.”

“But you're not a vampyre. That's normal for you. I still have the Thirst, so it shouldn't make me sick.”

He shakes his head. “I don't know what would cause that, but having a stomach ache doesn't mean you're going to Change.”

“I've been getting headaches,” I tell him. “I have aches in my muscles and bones. And joints.”

“Big deal. Flu.” I give him a look. “Oh. Right. Okay, so it's not a flu. But it could be a thousand other things.”

“My teeth haven't needed to be filed down for over eight months. Yesterday the dentist said that my wulf teeth never shrank. He said it was probably because the genetic treatments weren't complete.”

He shakes his head and brushes his hair back with his fingers. There's one small ridge on his temple. Other than that, his facial plates are perfectly aligned. “Okay, so the teeth business is strange. And the dentist could be right about the reason.”

“I'm stronger than I used to be.”

“Well, sure. You're getting older and bigger.”

“No, I mean
way
stronger. Like
weird
strong.”

He nods, and I can see his jaw muscles working. He rolls his flannel sleeves down, then rolls them back up. After a minute, he gets up and turns on the table lamp next to the couch. He looks at my face. “Your eyes are still vampyre blue. When you look at the moon, do you notice anything…different?”

“I know what you're asking. No, the moon always looks white. But isn't it only right during the Change—”

“Okay, never mind that.” He touches my upper lip, my chin. “How often are you shaving?”

“Three times this week.”

He blinks hard, then shakes his head. He goes back to his chair and sits down heavily. He rubs his eyes, purses his lips.

“How long has all this been happening?”

“For the last few months. It's been getting worse each time. And my senses are really sharp. Like, I can smell things really clearly, and see tiny things from far away. I can even hear heartbeats.”

He clears his throat. He's got a little smile on his face, but it's not in his eyes. “And this is all when? Around the full moon?”

“No. It's more spread out. It's a lot of the time.”

Now he looks happy, not faking it. “See, now that doesn't fit. Most of the things you told me only happen around the Change. Having them all the time doesn't make sense.”

“So what do you think is going on?”

“I don't know. But each of the symptoms you described could be completely natural and have nothing to do with lycanthropy.”

“I agree, but all of them happening at the same time? I mean, if you put everything together, doesn't that paint a certain picture?”

He gets up and starts to pace in front of the window. “We have to get this checked.” There's a tremor in his voice. “But you can't go to a regular doctor.”

“Why not?”

“Because, if tests show you
are
going to Change, then by law they have to register you. And then you'll…” He clears his throat a few more times. “And then you'll have to go to the compounds.” We both think about that for a few seconds before he says, “Damn it.”

“Won't I have to do that, sooner or later, if I'm going to Change?”

“Maybe. I don't know. I need to think.” He rubs his temples, pacing like a caged tiger.

My head spins with everything this could mean. Will I sit at the wulf table in the cafeteria? Will I lose the advantages of being vampyre? The perfect health, the regen, the intelligence, and agility? Am I going to have to drop down to easier classes? Go to another school? Will I end up working construction with my father?

“I didn't want this for you,” he says.

He's got a look of deep sorrow on his face. How messed up is that, that he has to feel guilty about his son being like him? He didn't do anything wrong.

I put my face in my hands and rub my eyes. What a mess.

“Okay,” he says. “Your mother thinks you're in school right now?”

“Yeah. I had my friend Claire use my phone to call in, saying she was Mom and that I'd be in late.”

“We need some time to think this through.” He looks at his watch. “We can't do anything right now, so I'll write you a note and drive you to school. You can finish out the night there.”

School. Great. “How am I going to concentrate on schoolwork, knowing all this?”

“First of all, we don't know anything. Second, you're going to have to act like there's nothing wrong. At least until we find out what's what.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder, looks at me for a few seconds, then reaches for his jacket.

We're only a few minutes from school. If I'm going to bring it up, which I know is the right thing to do, I have to quit stalling and just come out with it. “Listen. I know it was totally unfair for me to bring all this to you, after what…after I haven't been in touch for such a long time.”

“Who else could you go to? You didn't have much of a choice.”

“That's true, but what I did, when I stopped seeing you and talking to you, it was completely wrong.”

He doesn't answer. I was probably hoping somehow that he would say that it's okay, all water under the bridge or something, but he doesn't. He's silent, watching the road lit by streetlamps.

I just have to get it out in the open. He deserves that. “I'm a jerk. I was trying to pass as a vamp and was embarrassed to be part-wulf. I don't blame you if you can never forgive me, but I really am sorry.”

Again, he doesn't tell me it's okay or that he understands. But I have no right to expect or want anything like that from him.

“Look,” he says. “Right now we have other things we need to deal with. I'm not going to turn my back on you. I'm still your father.”

Our eyes meet and I can see he means it. I give him the best smile I can manage, and say, “Lucky for me.”

I
t's practically impossible to concentrate on schoolwork with all this going through my mind. At least I have Math, and Mr. Wells has us working on problems. I just can't stop hearing the last part of our conversation before Dad pulled into the school parking lot, under the floodlights.

“There's a doctor I want you to see,” he said.

“I thought you said we couldn't go to the doctor.”

“This guy is different.” He thinks for a second. “You could say he's sympathetic to the situation.”

“Is he a real doctor? I mean, like a physician?”

“He's real. He's got a regular practice, but he helps wulves on the side. One day he'll probably get caught, but for now, he's helping as many of us as he can.”

I've heard about guys like this, true believers in Wulf Rights. Most of the time they're public figures, wulves like Huey Seele who lead the movement for more wulf representation in Congress, better medical care, all that stuff. But there are also people who work behind the scenes. Subversives, they're called. Some shelter moonrunners. Some are doctors who treat wulves illegally. You see these people on the news, usually with cops on either side of them, walking them past reporters into the police station to get booked.

“I'll find out if he can see us in the next day or two,” Dad says.

“That soon?”

“Full moon on Thursday. If this is really pre-Change stuff you're feeling, the full Change could happen any time. If you Change and they catch you…well, that would be bad.”

“They, meaning the LPCB?” I couldn't believe I was talking about the Lycanthrope Protection & Control Bureau in a way that directly involved me.

“Yeah. And that's not what we want.”

“Because I could end up getting shot?”

He didn't answer. You'd have to be living under a rock not to have seen a thousand news clips of bodies lying in the streets, the graphic gunshot wounds blurred by pixilated squares. Last year a photo hit the Internet: four LPCB agents standing with their high-powered HK-422 automatic weapons in front of a dozen wulf corpses stacked like wood. Vamp kids printed the picture and brought it to school. They thought it was cool.

“Look, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We'll see the doctor and make decisions once we know more.”

And so I have to go on like there's nothing wrong. Say nothing to my family. Eat. Sleep. Go to school. Take this math test.

On my right hand, which is holding the pencil, I can see my wulftag, almost invisible under my skin. Stupid to think, but I feel like taking a knife and cutting it out of my flesh. Not that it would change anything.

Luckily, Claire leaves school early, and Juliet needs extra help in math, so I don't have to talk to either of them. In fact, I get through the rest of the night at school without anyone suspecting that something's wrong. Then I make a clean getaway.

The house is quiet. I just need to get to my room and lie down for a while, to pull myself together.

I go upstairs. “Anyone home?”

“In here,” Troy calls.

Great. I go into the master bedroom and see him in the adjoining bathroom, a towel around his waist, shaving. “Come on in, my brother,” he says in a cheerful tone.

Oh, man. Seriously.

“I have to catch a red-eye to Amsterdam, leaving at ten in the morning. Ouch, huh?” he says. “But come and talk.” He has a perfectly toned, pale, lean body: the typical male vampyre build. Totally different from Dad, who's shorter, with squared-off muscular shoulders, chest, and thick arms. If they were dogs, Troy would be a greyhound and Dad would be a boxer. Of course, plenty of people would say my father
is
a dog, or not much better than one.

“So, what's going on?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, what's going on in your life?”

“Nothing. There's nothing going on.” Easy, now. I look at his reflection in the mirror while he shaves. He looks back at me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You seem a little bummed out.” He looks at me again in the mirror.

Please stop. “I'm fine.”

“I'm not trying to be your father. You know I would never. But that doesn't mean we can't be buds. Right?”

Right. We can even start a little club: Two Guys Without a Clue. “Thanks, Troy. But really, I'm completely all right.”

“Okay, pal. If you say so. But if there's something I can help with, I hope you'll let me know. I'm here to
roll the words
whenever you want.”

“Thanks.” I try to return the broad grin he gives me.

“Whoops,” he says. I smell it before I see it, a big streak of red running down his cheek into the pure white shaving cream, like blood on snow. I turn away, grab a Factor XIV pad from the wall dispenser, and hand it to him, trying not to look at the blood.

“Thanks.”

Even turned away from him, I get the coppery taste in my mouth and start salivating, my heart pounding. I make a sound in my throat.

“Yep, this one's a gusher,” he says. “You might want to leave.”

“I'll see you later. Have a good trip.” I get out of there fast.

Just before I pull the bathroom door closed, he says, “Hey, Danny? If you need anything, you can call me while I'm in Amsterdam.”

“Thanks.” Standing in the bedroom, I take a couple of breaths to help settle my bloodlust. Then the weirdest thing happens: it passes. Usually it takes as long as half an hour for bloodlust to settle down, but this one faded after—what?—less than two minutes? Very strange.

In the hall I bump into Mom. She's carrying two shopping bags from Lady Abbington's.

“I didn't know you were home,” I say.

“I just got back from the mall. How was school?”

“Fine.”

She smiles and starts into her bedroom.

“I wouldn't go in there if I were you,” I say. “Troy's shaving, and he's got a geyser flowing.”

She swallows. Her nostrils flare a little and she closes the bedroom door. She puts her bags down on the hallway carpet.

“Is everything all right?” she asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You're just standing here, looking at me. School okay? Anything new?”

Anything new? No, not a thing. “Same old stuff.” Fortunately, my cell rings. “That's probably Claire. She needs to get the English homework.”

Mom gives me a smile, says, “Okay, then,” and goes into her bedroom. I pull out my phone but don't answer it until I get to my room. It's not Claire. It's Dad. I close my door before answering.

“I got us an appointment with the doctor I mentioned,” he says. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” This is moving too fast.

“He's staying in the office for us. Just go off to school like normal, and I'll be parked four blocks north of your house. The corner of Shepard. I'll call the school and tell them that you won't be in. They'll let me do that, right?”

“You're on my emergency card, so, yes, they should.” This year Mom actually didn't want to list him on the contacts list, especially since I hadn't seen him in so long. She said that she and Troy were enough contacts. But I said we should keep him on the list. Somehow it seemed too disrespectful to take him off. For once, a good move on my part.

“Great,” he says. “I'll be there at the corner. Sundown tomorrow is seven thirteen. How does meeting at seven forty sound?”

“Too early. Mom will get suspicious. I'd say no earlier than eight, or she'll want to know what's up.”

“Mm. I hope there's not too much traffic. We'll do our best. You okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Are you?”

“Ask me again this time tomorrow.”

The sign on the door says dr. charles j. mellin, md. Below, the word endocrinology. I reach for the door, but it's locked.

My father shakes his head, takes out his cell phone, and dials a number. He listens, then closes it. After a couple of seconds, the door opens and I see a perfectly average-looking guy in his fifties, with a neat gray beard and glasses.

He motions us inside and locks the door. The waiting room is ordinary; so is the exam room.

“Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” Dad says.

“I understand the circumstances.”

“This is Danny. My son.”

“Dr. Mellin,” he says, and shakes my hand. “You're going to need to undress to your underwear. Do you want your dad to stay or wait outside?”

“What? Oh.”

Dad looks at me. The last time he took me to the doctor, I was eight. “You want me to leave?”

“Whatever you want is okay with me.”

Dad stays. Dr. Mellin draws four tubes of blood while asking questions about my appetite, aches, sleep, whether I'm sweating more than usual, changes in hearing or seeing. He tells us he'll be right back and leaves the room.

“You hanging in?” Dad asks. I shrug. Am I hanging in? What choice do I have?

The doctor comes back and has me lie on the table. “We'll get preliminary blood results in a few minutes. I'll have to send out for the DNA analysis, but we'll get that back soon.”

“What if it comes back positive?” Dad asks. “Won't the lab be legally obligated to register him?”

“I send it out under the name of someone who's already registered. Don't worry about that.”

The doctor checks all my joints, then my lungs, eyes, ears, nose, and throat, like with any physical. After he checks my blood pressure and listens to my heart, he raises his eyebrows, which isn't exactly reassuring. He pulls over a small machine on a wheeled stand. “I'm just going to do a quick ultrasound. The gel will be cold. Sorry.” He squirts clear gel on my chest and moves a corded blunt instrument about the size of a deck of cards over my chest. He's watching a screen, and when I look at it, it's all a bunch of grays and blacks, but I can see something pumping steadily. Obviously, my heart. Very cool.

He puts the machine away and cleans the gel off me with a scratchy brown paper towel. Then the exam gets a little less typical. He checks my fingernails and toenails. He feels the bones of my face.

“Let's get some pictures,” he says. He takes me into the next room. The floor is cold on my bare feet. There he takes digital X-rays of my hands, feet, knees, chest, and front and profile views of my head and face.

“Go ahead and get dressed, son,” he says. “Then you and your dad can meet me in the office next door.”

I get my T-shirt and jeans on, slip on my sneakers, and walk into the office. Dad sits in one of the chairs by the desk. I sit in another one. He looks at me and starts to say something, but stops when the doctor comes back in.

“Okay, let me show you what we have.” He points to a flat-screen monitor mounted on the wall next to the window, then sits at his desk and works the keyboard of his computer.

“Now, let's see how you did in biology. Do you know what's on the screen?” he asks.

“My red blood cells, I guess.”

“Right. What types?”

“Well, the oval ones are regular vampyric red blood cells. The five-sided ones are wulf blood cells.”

“Yes, technically called lycanthropic penterythrocytes.
Pent
for the five sides.”

“Should I even have wulf blood cells?” I ask.

“Of course. Even with the treatments you had as a child, you're still genetically part-wulf. The treatment doesn't
elimi
nate
wulf DNA. It just deactivates the genes that cause wulf expression,
werewulfism
, if you will. I fully expected to see the wulf blood cells. Completely normal in a hybrid.” He moves the cursor and points at a few cells that look like inflated versions of the pentagonal lycanthropic cells. “These are the significant ones. They're meta-lycanthropic penterythrocytes that are going through Metahematosynthesis. Or the Change.”

“So that means it's going to happen?” Dad asks.

“I'm afraid so.”

My vision swims for a couple of seconds. “Are you sure?” I ask.

“I'm certain. Your heart seemed to be beating quite hard. The echocardiogram confirmed that you have lycardiomegaly. Your heart is thirty-three to forty percent larger than the heart of a vampyre or human your age. It's the size of a wulf's heart.”

I try to think of something funny to say about having the mind of a vamp but the heart of a wulf. I come up blank.

“All the other symptoms you mentioned fit the diagnosis.” The doctor changes the image on the screen. Now it's an X-ray of my hands. He taps the screen at my finger joints. “Your bones ache because your marrow is working to keep up with the Changing of your blood cells.”

The doctor walks over to me, takes my hand, and guides my fingers to the top of my ear. “You feel that sharp little ridge of cartilage there?”

“Uh, yeah, I think.”

“That's the base of what will develop into Burr's Ridge. That's where the lycan-cartilage will elongate your ears during your Change. It's what will give you a slightly pointed-ear look when you're not in Change.”