Fruit of Misfortune (11 page)

The boys exchanged glances with each other,
and no one said anything for what seemed to be a very long
time.

Finally, David spoke. “Both attacks have
taken place at the same time. It may be a pattern.”

“And the extreme levels of hCG may have been
produced by the massive amount of ovules,” Eryx added. “A hormonal
imbalance is possible if the ovaries are releasing eggs in great
amounts.”

“But it only lasts for the moment of the
attack. Why? And what’s the cause of the panic attacks she
experiences?” Nyx creased her brow. “Could it be that the same
hormone is causing them?”

“That’s not possible,” Galen said. “Anxiety
is caused by stress, worry, fear.”

“I have a question,” I said. “Why does
everyone keep asking if I’m pregnant? Eros asked the same thing.
I’m sure Nyx still suspects that I am.”

“Your symptoms are the same as other human
women who have conceived a child with a deity,” Nyx explained.
“They rarely survive the birth.” She paced the room. “I don’t
understand… I’ve scanned you over and over again, but your body
shows no sign of one single defect.”

“Do you think it could be psychological?”
David asked.

I turned to look at him. “You think I’m doing
this to myself, on purpose?”

“Not on purpose, but on a subconscious level.
Emotional traumas can project physically.” David touched my cheek.
“You’ve been going through a lot of stress.”

“You’re all dissecting the problem, instead
of viewing it as a whole.” Galen poured a glass of water and handed
it to me. “Hypothermia causes dehydration. Drink.”

“Thanks.” I took the glass.

“I have a hypothesis,” Galen said, opening
the balcony doors. “Do we have acquaintances in Athens with access
to a magnetic resonance imaging scanner?”

“What part of me do you want to scan?” I
asked.

“Your head.”

“And why, exactly, do we want to see her
brain?” David asked.

We listened for Galen’s answer, but Nyx was
the one who said what I dreaded to hear.

“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 amusement. 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?”