Kathy Reichs - Virals

“Everything’s okay, right Tory?” Hi needed reassurance. I’d frightened him badly.

“You bet. We got a fingerprint and didn’t get caught. Pretty damn okay, I’d say.”

Hi leaned back and closed his eyes. “Weird,” he said. “I’ve never fainted before. And now I feel great.”

I tried to block it, but the image came unbidden. Golden irises split by black pupils. Bottomless. Primordial. Reminiscent of a different creature.

Suddenly I felt drained. My mind slurred, seemed to bend, then snapped back into shape. Energy coursed through me.

I struggled to move. Couldn’t. Helpless, I slouched against the seatback. My lids sought each other.

Deep within my body, links shattered, fell together, were reborn.

My eyes flew open. Something was different. I could sense it in every fiber of my being. What? A change had occurred. I ran an internal check, trying to understand the alteration. Found nothing.

I felt light. Powerful. The weariness of the day washed away in a flood of visceral strength.

The boat skimmed the placid waters. An almost-full moon floated high overhead. I stared, rapt, entranced by the lunar beauty. Hearing a call I’d never heard before.

I glanced at Hi. He was gazing skyward, as I had, eyes glowing. I understood. He felt the same pull.

Unbidden, a name sprung to my lips.

“Whisper,” I said, not knowing why.

“Whisper.”

The name hung for a moment, then dissolved in the darkness of the soft summer night.

PART THREE:

INCUBATION

CHAPTER 32

The alarm blasted for ten minutes before I stirred.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Kit pounded on my door, a reminder that missing school two days straight wasn’t an option.

“Up!” I lied.

I lay motionless beneath the covers, still exhausted from the previous night’s adventure, plotting schemes to stay in bed. My joints ached. My head weighed a thousand pounds. I hoped I wasn’t getting sick.

Thunk. Thunk.

“Tory! Get moving!”

Ugh.

One foot on the carpet. Two. Sluggish, zombielike movements. My eyes refused to stay open. I plodded through my morning routine, then had to sprint to catch the shuttle.

The boys didn’t look any better. Ben and Shelton moped, churlish, in no mood for conversation. Hi snored, occasionally slumping on Ben’s shoulder until shoved away.

At school, time moved in slow motion. Usually I enjoy my classes, but today I wanted a fast-forward button. I needed to talk to Jason about the fingerprint.

During biology class? No. My request was unusual, and borderline illegal. Not a topic for the group. Plus I had to do some prep work first.

Shelton and Hi met me in the library during lunch. Ben wasn’t there when we used the microfilm reader, so he was excused.

“We need our prints as a control,” I said.

Snagging an ink pad, I rolled my first finger, pressed it to an index card, and jotted my initials. Shelton and Hi did the same.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Shelton asked.

“To be sure the mystery print didn’t come from one of us,” I said. “We don’t want to chase ourselves.”

“Do you have any idea how to analyze prints?” Hi asked.

“I read up. There are three types—looping, whorling, and arching.” Using my hand magnifier, I studied the cards. “You’re both loopers. Shelton, your ridges run from the left toward center of the fingertip, then back to the left.”

“Mine don’t.” Hi was squinting over my shoulder at his card.

“Yours still loop, but the ridges go in the opposite direction.”

“Long lost brothers?” Hi asked.

Shelton snorted.

“Nope, just commoners,” I said. “Two-thirds of the population are loopers.”

“I want whorls,” Hi said. “They sound cooler.”

“Whorlers have a full circle at the center of each print.” I lifted my card. “That’s me. Less than a third of the population has that type.”

“So the last pattern must be pretty rare,” Hi said.

“Yep. Less than 5 percent of the population has arches. The center of that print resembles a tiny heap of stacked hills.”

“And last night’s winner is—?” Shelton voice sounded a drum roll.

I placed the mystery print under the lens.

“An archer!” Hi crowed.

“Which excludes us,” I said.

Hi arranged the four cards side by side. “And it’s huge! Way too big for any of our fingers.”

“A print this perfect has to be recent,” I said. “Shelton, you’re certain you replaced the reel yourself? You didn’t leave it on a cart to be re-shelved?”

“Positive—110 percent sure.”

“Then this print was left by our stalker.”

I snapped a picture with my phone, then checked my watch. Twenty minutes to the end of the lunch period. Time to find Jason.

But Jason was AWOL.

I looked everywhere, the corridors, the lawn, the gym, the cafeteria. No dice. Though students aren’t supposed to leave campus during school hours, the guards often looked the other way. For the connected kids, anyway.

Figuring Jason had slipped off to Poogan’s Porch for some crab cakes, I decided to grab him after last period. We had trigonometry together.

The afternoon dragged like a death march. During trig, the sandman hit me with everything he had. Twice my face nearly smacked the desktop. I counted the seconds to the final bell.

Ring !

I shot from my seat as if spring-loaded.

“Jason!” I hurried to catch him in the hall. “Wait up!”

“Yes ma’am!” Big Jason smile. “Anything for a lady.”

“Got a minute?”

“Practice starts in ten. Until then, I’m yours.”

Bolton’s lacrosse team was defending state champion, and deep in the playoffs again that season. Jason was the team’s leading scorer.

Target acquired. Go.

But to my horror, I couldn’t think how to phrase my request.

Jason waited, a bemused expression on his face. Words were fluttering inside my head when Ben appeared.

“Will he help?” Ignoring Jason.

“I just caught him,” I replied.

“I assume we’re talking about me?” Jason said. “You’re Ben, right?”

“That’s right.” No smile, no return inquiry.

Jason’s brows climbed in surprise.

What the flip? I tried to warm the chilly atmosphere.

“Do you two know each other?”

No response. Jason’s eyes remained locked with Ben’s. The atmosphere grew more and more uncomfortable.

But Charleston’s highborn sons are bred to gentility. Jason’s upbringing kicked in. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, not meaning a word.

Niceties completed, Jason retuned his attention to me. Ben no longer existed.

“I have a problem,” I said quickly. “I was hoping your dad could help.”

Following his graduation from the Citadel, to the Taylor family’s dismay, Jason’s father had turned his back on tradition and joined the Charleston PD. After years as a beat cop, he’d risen to detective, eventually being assigned to homicide. He now headed up the violent crimes unit.

“My dad?” Jason’s voice registered surprised. “Did you shoot someone?”

“Nothing like that.” I launched into my fake story. “My laptop was stolen. My fault, I’m a dope. I left it on the front steps while I ran around back to grab the mail. When I returned, gone-zo.”

“Any suspects?”

“No, but the thief left a clue.” I whipped out the microfilm fingerprint. “I pulled this from a soda can. It was lying where my Mac had been.”

This was sounding so lame. I forged ahead.

“I was wondering if your dad could run it?”