I nodded and shoved my hands in my pockets, watching my frozen breath dance before my face.
“What are you studying, anyway?”
“I tell Henry I want to be an undertaker. I’m already quite good at chemistry and dealing with bodies.” I shrugged. “I figured it can be something to keep me occupied and grant me inconspicuous access to a crematorium.”
“You have morehobbiesthan I have had jobs in my lifetime,” Luka frowned. “Do you ever get tired?”
“No, my work is never finished, and I prefer a job well done. So if it means a little extra effort and curriculars, then so be it.”
“Fair enough,” he said as we stopped in front of the shop. “Stopping here or going home?”
“I have some things to clean up before I head back. You can tell Phoebe I’ll be home not too late.”
He nodded but threw me a knowing glance. “You’re sure?”
I nodded.
Something about the chaperoning was familiar, in a sickening, bittersweet way.
It was like a vision of the past, walking the courtyard of King’s College or the late-night escorts back home. Even now, I’m not entirely sure it was an act—notallof it at least. The simplicity of ignorance would have been better if it lasted longer, unknowing of the danger that now walks beside me. Now I know it was a performance by a master scavenger, not a shot-caller by any means. Possibly the start of learning which habits were real and which were for show, another thing to put to the test some other time.
With that he left, quickly fading into the darkening town.
I unlocked the side door to the shop, taking the stairs directly to my lab.
I missed the old lab in London. There were so many instruments I had left behind. They were all probably collecting an absurd amount of dust by now. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it, so I still paid the taxes on it. Or rather, Phoebe did.
I sat down on the stool, staring at my workbench. I didn’t even bother to take off my coat. I needed solitude to recover from a day of socializing.
Under my bench, covered in dust, there was an old trunk. It was black with brass hardware, the initialsJLinscribed on the metal latch.
When we fled, it was quick. I packed vital instruments, light and simple clothing, and a few mementos, one of which was my father’s trunk. I hadn’t opened it, afraid of what I’d find or whatI would feel. I knew he kept some journals and trinkets inside; he used to bring them with him to expositions. I threw the most important items in it, along with some scraps left behind. It wasn’t until we unpacked in Buffalo that I realized some of his journals were hidden away inside some pockets of the inside.
I knelt down on the floor, sliding it forward. I polished the dust on the latch with my thumb, rubbing the fallout away from my hands.
I popped it open, the dust rustling like a ghost fleeing the sudden movement.
The hinges creaked as it was pried open.
There were lots of papers, some miscellaneous tools, and assorted photographs.
One photograph was of my father at the lab. He was sitting, turned sideways at the camera, like he was in the middle of papers, and everyone else was just set up around him at the desk. Dr. Hayes sat next to him.
It was hard to tell with the lack of color, but his hair was a light, singular color, a light dusty blond missing the grays that he would later gain on the sides, and eyes bright like my own.
Secured to the inside was a picture of myself. I was so small, a little rounder in the face before I outgrew the fat cheeks. I must have been about six in the photograph; the dress I wore was borrowed from Phoebe for the occasion. We’d had our photographs done the same day; her father had offered to include us since my father had never had his portrait taken. The white of my brow and lashes jumped out, more than usual, since it was a tintype photograph.
Among the papers, I lifted an unbound stack that I had read too many times before, when we first arrived. I remember being so scared to look at his work, hisunfinishedwork. Perhaps I was afraid it would humanize him.
The cover page read:
The Poisoned People:
The Effect of Blood Disease and Adaptations
on the Human Body
It was fifty pages, yet it was all things I already knew. All things I found out on my own. He had a simpler hypothesis, and the workings of a meticulous technical experiment to test the bounds of Vipera basic ability and the components of their blood that made it special. It felt good to be more knowledgeable than my father about something, though it was never fair. He may have known more if it weren’t for me. I had a head start in a way.
