Gypsy (The Cavy Files Book 1) (29 page)

“You okay?” He doesn’t reach out, doesn’t touch me, but stands close enough to share a little bit of heat.

“Yeah.” I wipe my face with an unsteady hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Gypsy. This place gives me the fucking creeps, too, and sitting there listening to that unfeeling bitch talk about my mother like they did the best thing for her made me want to set my ears on fire.” A crooked smile touches his lips. “But I mean, if I can’t see
or
hear, we’d have to change my name to Helen Keller.”

It’s a totally inappropriate jest, but it makes me snort all the same. Our caretakers hadn’t been interested in political correctness when they saddled any of us with our monikers, and after learning what the term
cavies
actually means, it seems as though we’ve spent our lives being the butt of a cruel joke.

“I know. I just… It hurts to imagine my mother here.”

“They were strong, Gypsy. And we survived. So those nuns can fuck themselves.”

It’s a good thing we’re not religious or I’d be scanning the heavens for divine lightning bolts. Or maybe not. Not everyone who accepts a life of service does so for the right reasons. We’re all wondering whether our Philosopher and Professor, who claimed interest in nothing but figuring out the key to our mutations, had been working for the very agencies they’d warned us never to trust.

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I want to believe they cared. That even if they were working for some form of government, they had faith that if we harnessed and honed our talents and offered them up in service, that we could be respected.

The waves crashing on the shore inch toward our toes, hushing my thoughts. My mind settles, easing into nothingness, and Mole and I watch the tide come in silence.

We might have spent a lifetime staring out at the unreachable horizon, but in reality, it can’t be more than five or ten minutes before the rest of the Cavies join us.

The beach is deserted on the darkening, chilled December evening. Even so, we hike until we’re well away from the horrid Saint Catherine’s House and anyone who might be watching through rheumy, hateful eyes. Haint melts from thin air along the way, and Goose appears in a gush of wind stronger than anything the ocean could muster. Mole stops first, dragging Pollyanna with him onto the sand. The rest of us follow, shivering from the cold.

“We found the files,” Haint says. “All of ours are together, under a mass file labeled ‘Special Circumstances.’”

“We took pictures of our mothers’ intake pages because we didn’t think there was enough time to read them all and try to memorize them, and we thought you’d each like to see yours. There’s definitely a commonality between their initial medical exams.” Goose scratches his ear, glancing out at the water. “They’re all listed as having a chromosomal anomaly, an inversion in one of the genes on chromosome ten with no known affiliated disorder or potential for birth defect.”

The information doesn’t quite compute, even though we know about genetic anomalies. Chromosome ten houses over fourteen hundred genes, a hundred and thirty base pairs, and produces a handful of diseases, the majority of which are fairly innocuous. Some are thought to contribute to certain kinds of cancer, as well as eye disease. It’s never been the focus of any research on mutation that I can recall.

The others’ blank expressions suggest they can’t, either. The cancer-causing mutations would interest me since my father said Abby died of something that sounded like cancer, but not one that’s linked to any known chromosome ten abnormality.

“There’s more,” Haint breathes. “All of our files were classified ‘Special Circumstances’ before we were born. It’s like they knew we were going to have something in common.”

I shake my head, slowly, trying to get all the pieces to fall into place. Like those games we played with as children, a flat scene under a piece of plastic with three or four little holes. There were three or four corresponding tiny metal balls, and the trick was to get them all in the holes at once.

The information, the metal balls, rolls to and fro in my brain, but there are too many holes, and as soon as one falls into place, something else knocks it loose.

“They as in the nuns?” Athena asks, denial stamped on every pore of his face. “Or they as in the people who own this place? I mean, someone ordered that genetic testing. It’s not part of normal prenatal workup unless there’s a cause for concern.”

Haint shakes her head. “We scanned files from other patients, not filed under any specific category, and every girl admitted here went through exhaustive genetic mapping.”

“So?” Pollyanna voice challenges us, as ever. “They basically sell babies, right? Maybe the kind of people who adopt from Saint Catherine’s want to know their kids are perfect.”

“And maybe that’s why we were sent to Darley. Because we’re not.” Athena chews on his nails, making gross gnawing sounds.

“No.” Mole shakes his head. “They were doing complete genetic workups because they were looking for something specific.”

“I agree. There must have been some reason they noted those chromosome ten anomalies and categorized our mothers differently.” Frustration joins my never-ending parade of anger, making it hard to sit still.

“I think it’s worth assuming that, while our mutations are unprecedented, they might not be random. That whoever runs this institution singled our mothers out because of their chromosomal anomalies, then ensured those were passed on to us in a specific way.” Haint says all of this as though it’s a logical leap, when in reality it takes more than a few bounds to get there.

“You think they were looking for that anomaly because they suspected it would allow a mutation?” I ask, trying to make two and two equal four.

“No, I said I think it’s possible.”

Pollyanna frowns. “What the fuck isn’t possible at this point?”

Haint breathes in and out and cuts a glance Goose.

He bites his lip, then nods. “I’d say it’s more than possible. There were others in the Special Circumstances file—names and details going back more than seventy years. All of their mothers displayed some form of chromosomal abnormality.”

My heart seizes, his words floating around like little wisps of clouds. They look real, but until we meet one of those people to confirm it, my fingers won’t latch on. “The rest of the Cavies. The older ones.”

“We think so. And now we have names.”

It’s after seven by the time I make it home. I texted my dad before we went into Saint Catherine’s, telling him I was with the Cavies and I’d be home in time for dinner, then turned off my phone.

I’m home now, and the look on his face when he meets me at the door suggests he’s not amused.

“Where in the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you since I got home, and I didn’t buy you that phone so you can ignore my calls.”

My backpack falls to the floor when I try to sling it onto a bench in the entry. “I had to turn it off. We were at the Saint Catherine’s House, seeing if they remembered anything about our moms or our adoptions.”

“I don’t care if you were having dinner with the president. We may not have a lot of practice at being a family, Norah Jane, but you’re my responsibility now. That means you answer your phone when I call.”

He pauses, waiting for something I can’t give—a good excuse, maybe? The silence between us grows, nudging my lips and urging me to break it. In the end, I do, but feel as though I lost some battle of wills.

“I’m sorry I made you angry.”

His hands land on my shoulders, squeezing tight. “I’m not angry, Norah. I was terrified.”

“What? Why?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve had you in my life a couple of weeks, and you’ve already been attacked in broad daylight. I’ve been worried sick, and I want you to care enough not to do that to me again.”

Tears burn my throat and blaze a path toward my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to thinking about anyone but my friends from Darley, but that’s unfair. I’ll do better.”

The promise to always tell him where I am, what I’m doing—to never frighten him again—sticks somewhere between my heart and my mouth, smothered by guilt. It’s not possible, or fair, to promise anything. We’re going after Flicker, once we figure out how, and who knows what happens then.

“Good. I’m happy to hear that.”

I start up the stairs, feeling heavy in my heart and brain and pretty much everywhere.

“Wait just one second, please.” His features rearrange into something new. It’s grim. No, stern. “You’re grounded.”

“I don’t know what that means.” The term’s familiar, of course, but only in theory. In fiction. What it means for my life is a mystery, but it doesn’t take long to solve it.

“It means you don’t use your phone.” He pauses, his forehead wrinkling. “No, wait. That’s counterproductive. It means not seeing your friends from school, and only seeing your friends from Darley if it’s preapproved by me, in person, in the spoken word.”

It warms my heart that he doesn’t want to take them away from me. He’s been so willing to understand, and the shame over ruining even one of his days fills my stomach with rocks. “Okay.”

“And you can make dinner for the next week.”

“I don’t know how to cook.”

He smiles, and our eyes connect. Everything’s forgiven, if not yet right. “You’re a smart girl. Learn.”

Chapter Twenty-One

It’s takes five days of computer research, with all of us pitching in—plus some wunderkind the twins found in Beaufort digging, too—before we find one of the other kids filed under Special Circumstances.

Jeannie Marks. That’s her name. It’s so… simple. Common. Then again, based on my own name, I don’t know what I expected.

Despite what I promised my father, there’s no way to explain this situation, so we’re cutting the last couple of hours of school to go talk to her instead of waiting until later tonight. I’m guessing this falls on the list of things I shouldn’t do without telling an adult, but I’m already grounded. Can a person get double-grounded?

I’m almost home free, hurrying toward the door that leads into the courtyard, when I run into Jude. “Hey! Where are you headed? Don’t you have class?”

I lick my lips, casting glances up and down the hall in an attempt to thwart any other potential interruptions. “Oh, I… um, well…”

“Don’t bother lying, Crespo. You suck at it. Spill your guts.”

I close my eyes, knowing there’s no time to come up with a good story and that he wouldn’t believe me even if I did. “We found the name of one of the kids who grew up at Darley before us, and some of us are going to talk to her.”

His eyes pop wide. “What? How?”

“I don’t have time to tell you now.”

“Why are you cutting school? Can’t you go later?” His eyes narrow, lock on mine. “You’re not telling your dad.”

“Jude, please. Everyone’s waiting.”

“I’ll come with you.”

I bite back a groan. “That’s not—”

“Seriously. I don’t like the idea of you going to some stranger’s house. She could be crazy, or involved with the people who held up my dad. Plus, I’m invested now.”

“I’ve got plenty of backup. Shiloh’s going, plus Eve and a bunch of the others you haven’t met. I promise nothing is going to happen to us.” The thought is almost enough to make me laugh, except he’s being so sincere and sweet, and it would probably give off the wrong signal.

“I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself, or that your friends don’t count, I just… I thought we were kind of a team on this now, that’s all. After everything the other day.”

The hurt deepening his voice, shining in his eyes, twists my heart. It makes me wish I had made him angry, instead. That would be better than being careless with his feelings—even though one of the main reasons I don’t want Jude involved is
because
I care for him.

“I’m sorry. I am. All I can tell you is that I like you, and I care about you, and that’s exactly why you need to stay away from everything that has anything to do with Darley Hall.”

I hurry away before he can say anything else, before the sorrow on his face debilitates me further. Reaper’s waiting in the courtyard, a sour look on her face that could be because I’m a few minutes late, except she always looks like seeing me is the worst part of her day. Her attitude plucks at what’s left of my patience, but I can’t take my icky feelings over disappointing Jude and take them out on her.