Fruit of Misfortune Page 8

  “Because,” Nyx’s stare shifted between David and me, “the transformation has begun.”

  David and I looked at each other. I knew there was no escaping the metamorphosis, but why did it have to come now?

  “But you’re not changing,” I said. “Why?”

  David shrugged and shook his head. “Are you sure, Mother?”

  “Galen, is it what you sense, as well?” Nyx asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you, Eryx?” Nyx asked. “Is this what you feel?”

  Eryx looked at my hand, which I had, without realizing, dug into David’s forearm.

  “Yes,” Eryx said at last. “But I wish you’d have been more prudent in your timing, Mother. Look at her. Even Galen would’ve waited to tell her until she was more or less recuperated.”

  “It wouldn’t have hurt to wait,” David agreed.

  “Actually,” Galen’s green eyes skimmed David, “I was about to tell her. I see no point in wasting time, if time isn’t in our favor.”

  “And risk her having another anxiety attack when we don’t know what triggers them?” Eryx argued.

  “He does have a point, Eryx,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like keeping it from me will prolong the change. It’s inevitable.” I looked at the small specks of blue that the hypothermia left behind, promising its return. “So when do we go find my father?”

  “We sounds like one person too many, my dear.” Nyx took the glass from my hand and filled it with more water. “Before any of us set off on a blind man’s journey, we need to find a doctor that takes… donations.”

  “You mean bribes,” Galen said. “I don’t know anyone who works for donations in this day and age.”

  “Bribe is such an indecent word.” Nyx frowned. She sat at the edge of the bed and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the floor. “One of you, call your father. I need a name. And you,” she jerked her chin at David, “brace yourself for whatever might need to be done for Isis. I won’t have a weepy, love-struck boy looking after her.”

  ***

  The doctor that Alezzander recommended was out of town. There were no other doctors in Alezzander’s circle of contacts that had access to the machine that we needed and who would take their donation, as Nyx had chosen to refer to it. I didn’t like the thought of them spending money on me, again. I knew that the amount must’ve been chump change for the Chioses, but I thought—after overhearing negotiations between Galen and David—$1.1 million was an overwhelming, hell-of-a-whole-lot of money. Of course, whichever doctor they got to cooperate with us would have to expunge any record of our having been there, but what kind of testing would require such a large sum to be paid out?

  Four days passed and the attacks became more intense, varying in duration. It was a pattern just as David had speculated. It happened every night around the same hour, after dinner. The Chios family gathered in my room and locked the door in the evenings. Eros was excluded, to my relief.

  On the second night, the attack left the usual blue tinges on my skin. My lips were dry and cracked from dehydration. I don’t know where they got one, but the twins connected an IV into my left hand.

  On day three, my stomach rebelled. If I ate, the food would present itself for an encore, until there was nothing but bile left. If I didn’t eat, the dark brown gastric juices in my stomach would rise anyway, resulting in a burning, sore throat. I had lost weight, and my skin was ashen with small red specks where blood vessels had burst in my face and neck from the vomiting. I felt weak and exhausted. I awoke that night to the sound of chilling screams—my own. The hypothermia followed.

  In those days and nights, David never left my side. Nyx insisted I be hospitalized, but the boys and Alezzander—via phone conversations—agreed that my condition would raise too much suspicion. Nyx began to doubt her empathic awareness and her sons’ healing abilities. During my episodes, she prayed for my health.

  On the fifth day, I felt a bit better. I managed to keep a few spoons of vegetable broth down. I was desperate to vent, to write my thoughts down, and to plan out what I needed to do. I convinced David that he should rest. He looked back at me from the doorway, assuring me he’d be back in a couple of hours. With shaky hands, I set my pen to paper and wrote in my journal.

  ***

  June 10, 1:40 P.M. (Athens)

  The beast inside me has begun to surface. I await its unmasked presence in dismay.

  Secretly, I wish the attacks would kill me and end this all, though it’s a cowardly way to go—selfish, too, if I think of the ones that will be left to mourn me. But there’s no other choice, and if these attacks pause for only one day, I’ll travel to Kyparissia on my own. My father will know of the monster that he produced, and he’ll have no choice than to either take me before the Council or kill me himself. What an ironic chore awaits him, to rid the world of the very life he created.

  ***

  When I closed the journal, I looked up to find Eros standing at my door, his face serious. The familiar self-satisfied spark in his stare was absent, replaced by a look of pain, as if I had done something terrible to him for which he would never forgive me. As he stood there, gazing at me, I felt my weakened heart knocking at my chest, reminding me that the flame I kept denying was, in fact, lit.

  I tried to ignore him, placing my journal back in the nightstand drawer and resting my cheek on the pillows. I heard his slow steps on the white marble floor, coming closer. I closed my eyes, hoping that he would take the hint and leave.

  I could sense he was standing next to the bed. I felt his fingertips trace the contour of my cheek, and then run over the curve of my chin.

  “Don’t,” I said, my eyes still shut.

  “Please look at me.” I felt Eros’ breath gravely close to my lips as he spoke.

  My eyes fluttered open. I arched my neck back, expanding the distance between our faces.

  His chin was cradled on the top of his hands, which lay flat over the white cotton bed sheets. “Are you feeling better, my sweet?”

  I lurched upright and scooted to the other side of the bed, placing a pillow as a barrier between us. The IV needle burned as it repositioned itself underneath the skin of my left hand, making me draw in air through my teeth.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” I spoke in a low voice, glancing at the open bedroom door.

  “I ask myself the same thing,” he said, his mouth in a set line.

  “Someone could’ve seen you.”

  “Very doubtful,” he said, in his nasally French accent. “Dahveed is asleep, and the rest have locked themselves in the den.” He rose and crossed his arms, letting out a small puff of air. “And since I’m not part of this family, as I thought I was, I wasn’t invited to partake in their private soirée.”

  “If you’re feeling so excluded, why don’t you just leave?” I couldn’t look at Eros when I spoke. The way he looked at me made my stomach feel like a swarm of bees were dancing around in it.

  “I like that you think I can’t sense your nervousness when I’m near you.”

  I don’t know how he did that. Here I thought I was doing a great job of hiding, but Cupid was enthralled. Nonetheless, I kept a straight face.

  “Are you leaving, yes or no?” I pressed.

  His hands slid into his trouser pockets, and he shook his head. “Non. I’ll think about it, but only after you tell me why you’re sick. Why the secrecy?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Eros huffed. “Isis, my sweet, normally, you’re very unattractive, but when you lie, you’re without a doubt grotesque.” He stared at me for a moment, and then let out a short laugh. “I have a fetish for an ugly girl. Who knew?”

  I gnashed my teeth. “Go. Away.”

  “Not before you tell me what they’ve said about your sickness. As your lover, I should be privy to everything that concerns you.”

  “Lover?” For some reason, the word made me cackle, but Eros didn’t share my amusemen
t. I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes. “You’re so ridiculous. Just go already.”

  “Always in such a hurry to get rid of me, aren’t you? Fine. I’ll go this time. I don’t want to do anything that I’ll regret. I’ll return when I’m in a better mood. ”

  “No,” I said, looking him straight in the eye for the first time during the conversation. “Don’t bother coming back. I can’t stand the stench of guano so much in one day.”

  The muscles around his jaw tightened.

  “What’s the matter?” I raised my brows. “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

  His pewter glare settled on me for several seconds. He blinked once, then mumbled something in French—my guess, an insult—and walked out.

  ***

  “Will you be admiring yourself much longer?” Galen’s voice surprised me as I stood before the dresser mirror, holding the clear plastic IV bag in my right hand.

  I gave him a sheepish smile and walked to the bed where I hung the bag of liquid back on the steel hook. I sat in the chair that Camilla had placed next to the bed days before. “I’m tired of having this thing stuck in my hand.”

  “Your body needs it,” said Galen, adjusting the drip on the IV.

  “Where did you and Eryx learn all of this?” I raised the hand with the needle in it.

  “We read the instructions on the back of the box.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “We picked it up here and there.”

  “Am I still normal?”

  “Very. But you look…” He shook his head.

  “I know,” I said, twisting my neck to glance at my reflection in the dresser mirror. “Galen, am I… Never mind.”

  “You’re not going to die.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I wasn’t going to ask that.”

  “Then what was it you were going to ask?”

  Hesitating, I bit my lip. If anyone could give me an honest, unbiased answer, it was him. Galen raised his brows waiting for the question. As dumb as I felt to ask, I did it anyway.

  “Am I ugly?” I waited for the sting of words that was typical of Galen.

  “No one looks their best when they’re sick.”

  “When I’m not sick—” I looked away. “Am I ugly?”

  Galen was quiet. When I raised my head to look at him again, his eyes were focused on the IV.

  “Well, if you have to think about it that much…” I said. “I guess I know the answer.”

  “If my memory serves well, when we met, I said you wore the skin of a goddess. Didn’t I?”

  I shrugged. “You were being nice.”

  “I wasn’t being nice. I was being truthful. You should learn the difference.” He rose. “Do you have any more questions that don’t involve your ego?”

  “I’m not vain.”

  “I am.” He smirked.

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yes, well, as enjoyable as our bonding has been, I have to go. I’m meeting with the doctor that will evaluate you tomorrow. Make it a point to de-flea or whatever it is you have to do to make this,” he waved his finger at me, “look better. We want to make a good impression.”

  “Real funny.”

  “I know.” He spun his heel on the marble floor, and then strode into the hallway, looking back only to raise his hand in a quick goodbye.

  Sitting in my room alone was giving me a serious case of cabin fever. I missed reading my books, and I missed watching reruns of old TV shows. Most of all, I missed Claire. But with my hoarse, croaking voice, I didn’t dare call her. The acidity from the vomit had wrecked my throat, and I didn’t want to make up a lie to explain why I had been sick. I had too much on my mind to think of a believable one. Instead, I sent her a text telling her I was fine and that I’d call soon. Of course, I didn’t know how soon that would be.

  A warm gust of air danced through the white sheer curtains of the open balcony doors, whispering an invitation. I unhinged the plastic bag of my IV and stepped onto the balcony. My eyes adjusted to the brilliant luminosity of the afternoon. Sunlight danced over the buildings in the distant streets, which took on the linear shapes of mazes. I had only been able to step on those streets once since my arrival, and I was eager to set foot on them again.

  The lump of the needle under the skin of my hand ached. A bruise had developed from not keeping my hand immobile. I shuddered at the thought of the coming night’s attack and pushed back my tears. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. I’d have to brace myself and hope the attack was quick. It would be another horrible night for the Chioses and me. They were my single source of support. I knew I wasn’t alone, but it felt like I was experiencing this torment on my own. Even given all their abilities, they couldn’t figure out how to stop this change. I wondered why they weren’t yet searching for my father and an answer, so that David would be spared from all of this.

  Where are you, S. Leumas? Why aren’t you the one looking for me?

  “Isis?” Nyx’s voice settled on my ears, bringing me back from my reveries. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, I think.”

  She took my hand and with a soft tug led me into the bedroom through the double doors. “Good. I made you a very special broth with curative agents. I hope you can keep it down.”

  “Nyx, I’m so sorry I’m being such a burden.”

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Do you feel well enough to eat in the garden with me? You must be tired of being confined to these four walls.”

  “Just us two?” I asked, and Nyx nodded.

  Eating without each bite or sip or movement being scrutinized by David, Gemini, or Eros sounded great. Each of them was worried about me in their own way. Eros, I think, just wanted me to feel uncomfortable. One of them was always there. Privacy had become a thing of the past. I wasn’t even allowed to close the bedroom door.

  “Don’t bother changing. You don’t want to ruin any more clothes. Who knows when we’ll be able to steal a day away to shop at the boutiques down the hill?”

  We headed out the door and down the stairs. Although I wasn’t a prisoner, I felt freedom greeting me with each step I took away from the bedroom.

  “I want to get something for my mom from those stores before we leave. I saw them the night we got here. Would you help me pick something out?”

  Nyx paused midway down the polished ivory steps. Her sapphire-blue eyes were bigger than normal. “Isis, you do realize you can’t return in this condition, don’t you?”

  I blinked, trying to register the part where Nyx said I couldn’t go home. Did she mean forever?

  “For how long?”

  “After the mutation has finished its course—” She looked away from me. “Maybe then.”

  “If I don’t turn into some unrecognizable beast, you mean?” My statement was full of reproach, as if she were responsible for what was happening to me.

  “Don’t say that.”

  Nyx reached for my arm, but I avoided her touch and continued down the stairs, my hands in fists at my side. The steel IV needle burrowed deep into my vein, but the pain kept me from sobbing like a scared little girl. More than scared, I was angry. Angry that this family, with all their powers, couldn’t give me any answers. Angry that I was turning into some freak of nature. Angry that the man who was my father had done this to my mother and to me, with the full knowledge of the monstrosity he was creating. I hated S. Leumas for taking my mother’s only child. But then again, I had never been her child to keep, had I? I belonged to no one. Not even to David who thought he had secured me. That thought ignited more hatred for S. Leumas. He would be responsible for making me break my mother’s and David’s hearts.

  Eros was strolling across the living room when I reached the bottom step. He stopped below a crystal chandelier in the living room. He separated his pink, full lips to say something, but saw Nyx descending the stairwell and locked his hands behind his back instead. Call it an epiphany, but suddenly,
I knew how out of place Eros felt in this life. I knew how desolation must devour his soul on a daily basis. I knew this because even though I wasn’t unaccompanied, I was alone. Alone like Eros.

  “Off to find more antiquities?” Nyx asked Eros.

  He took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief he pulled from his pants pocket. “Oui. I’d ask you to join me, since you’re a connoisseur of fine things, but I know you’re preoccupied with your patient.”

  “Another time,” Nyx said.

  Eros nodded, then adjusted his eyeglasses on the rim of nose. “Feel better, Isis.”

  “Thanks.”

  I watched Eros turn the knob to the heavy, wooden door and wished it was me that was leaving. Nyx rubbed my arm as if to apologize for the conversation we had had a moment ago. Or maybe she felt how desperate I was to leave.

  “Come, dear,” she said. “You need to eat.”

  In the peaceful green garden, we ate the broth in silence, listening to the chirps of birds hiding in the surrounding trees. My bowl was still more than halfway full when the colic began. I hugged my stomach and took shallow breaths of hot air. The pain lasted only a few seconds. The same thing had happened with the vegetable soup earlier in the day.

  Nyx set her spoon down and straightened her back. She studied me for a moment, and then said, “Your stomach is learning to digest food again.”

  “I assume that’s a good thing.”

  Nyx raised her spoon and dipped it into the soup. “Yes. Any improvement means a day closer to home for all of us.”

  “Maybe.”

  Nyx stirred her soup and looked at me from under her lush black lashes. “You know, when I thought you were pregnant—and again, I apologize—I was horrified. That would’ve meant you were married.”

  “Married?” I acted as though I didn’t know what she was talking about. “But what about the white dress, the bridesmaids… the cake? What makes it official if there are no papers to sign?”

  “The ceremony is a sacred and private vow. You need no other witnesses. Although we’ve acquired modern traditions in our culture, what counts isn’t a piece of paper. It’s the promise you make. You see, once you commit to a marriage, it’s forever.”