Immediately, tiny dark red spots surround the cells and devour them. Within a few seconds there is nothing left of the cluster. I look back up at the Professor, my breath hitching. “What was that?”
“That sample was simple dead skin cells. Epithelial tissue lines the cavities and surfaces of structures throughout the body. We’re talking your skin, lungs, heart, blood vessels … just about everything. That liquid is a blood sample infected with the Horologia virus. Now imagine if the virus had access to an entire human body. Once in contact, especially in airborne samples, it wouldn’t take long to ravage a person’s organs. That is why, when the virus became airborne, so many died quickly. I believe the base was made from the sap of the plant.”
Thoughtfully, I rub my chin, staring at her. “How is it that the virus annihilated the adults, but the children survived?”
“I’m not entirely sure I have an answer to that. The children you’ve brought in all show signs of infection, but not nearly as bad as the adults in the early days after the war started,” she says, her eyes flicking up to mine and back to her paper.
“But even they succumb to the virus,” I say.
The Professor drops her gaze before turning back toward the microscope. “Yes, and once I’ve determined they’re infected and unable to contribute to finding a cure, I dispose of them as you have requested.”
“Cremation?” I ask, watching every one of her moves. She doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Of course,” she says, peering into the microscope again.
I clutch my hands behind me and pace. She’s hiding something. I’m sure of it. “I’ve been told the Marauders have captured another child,” I say finally, watching for her reaction.
The Professor continues to stare into the microscope while writing down notes. “Oh, really? I’ll prepare a bed for him as soon as I’m done with this.”
“It’s a her,” I say, stopping just behind her and folding my arms.
The Professor spins. Her eyes grow wide. “That’s great. I should see her right away,” she says with enthusiasm.
“You will. But unfortunately, she is not the one you’re looking for. She shows signs of being infected. I’ll have my men put her in confinement until you’re ready,” I say, marching toward the lab door.
The Professor rushes toward me and grips my arms. “Captain Kretschmer, you will let me examine her immediately.”
I flinch beneath her grasp, feeling as if bugs were crawling over my entire body. I detest being touched. When her scarred hands fall away, I am grateful.
She bites her bottom lip and for the first time since I’ve walked in she meets my gaze, searching my face for … what? Understanding? Compassion?
“Please, let me see her.” This time her tone lacks admonishment, but instead sounds as if she’s pleading.
Something catches my eye. A glint of gold shimmers beneath a cot. I walk toward it, but the Professor shoves her way between me and the cot. She stares at me with intent, dark eyes.
“That little girl may be sick, but she still might be useful.”
“I don’t follow you,” I say, scrutinizing her delicate features. She’s quite pretty … for an older woman. She’s practically my own mother’s age, but there’s something about her. Something my mother never had. A beauty that lies deeper than her appearance. There’s a fondness I have for her, but not in the romantic sense. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
The Professor continues talking, but I’m distracted by the shimmering item on the floor. I kneel to pick up the gold object. It is a link from a chain belt or piece of jewelry, but as I scan the room, there is nothing that matches it. The Professor notices the chain link in between my gloved fingers and her eyes widen, stopping midsentence. “I … I’ve been looking for that,” she says, reaching for the gold metal.
I wrap my gloved fingers tightly around the link. Again she’s hiding something from me. After months of working with her, I’ve begun to recognize her slight idiosyncrasies. She’s a terrible liar. With a sigh she prattles on. I am lost in my own thoughts, inspecting the piece of metal and wondering of its origin. I miss everything she says to me except the last words.
“… if she dies, we all die.”
Shouts erupt from an angry crowd gathered at the statue of Eros as I slip into the city square. Pete stands at the base of the fountain, surrounded by dozens of other boys. With a stern expression on his face, Pete sifts through an onslaught of questions.
“Are you bloody mad?” shouts Pyro. The muscles in his neck cord beneath his dark skin. “No one gets rescued from Everland.”
“Pyro’s right. Why would we risk four of our own for one measly little girl?” Pickpocket says, fidgeting with the brass buttons on his waistcoat.
“Measly girl? Is that what Bella is to you, Pickpocket? That girl is worth more than twenty of you boys,” Pete says hotly.