The second thing I’d done since getting home – just before sleeping and allowing my battered body to heal – was to borrow a pair of Holly’s pajamas. The black ones with little pink bats all over them. They were in the dryer anyway, so she might not notice I had them for a while. They were cozy and comforting, and I needed that.
Propping myself up on all my pillows, I settled in for some research time. I was still tired, but nothing that would get in the way of a little laptop love.
That’s when I remembered Subject Ten’s creepy dog tag.
Luckily, I’d put it in an inside pocket of my leather jacket. The chain was snapped, but the tag itself was intact. Here’s what was hammered into the steel:
SUBJECT 10
HM-01-2001-NB
HS/NEMESIS
Nemesis.
So Ten was attached to the mysterious Nemesis Project – which connected her firmly to Quinn and, judging by the blood on her clothes, also to his violent death. Was she some kind of assassin? But it didn’t make sense to kill Quinn if he was
also
part of Nemesis. And where did that leave Nicole? Not to mention the scrap of Jace’s jacket left at the scene of
that
particular crime.
And what the heck was her beef with Jace, anyway? Unless he was just unlucky enough to have been chosen as a scapegoat? A convenient local hunter to blame, so that Subject Ten could get away with killing vampires?
So many questions . . .
I looked at the steel tag again. What did HM stand for? I had no idea. About anything. The numbers could easily be a date, but they could just as easily be something else entirely. What about ‘NB’ and ‘HS’? It was a code of some kind – or maybe something as simple as initials. For what, though? People? Organizations?
I grabbed my laptop and pulled up the now safely downloaded PROJECT NEMESIS folder: the one that needed a password. Well, I had no idea what to do about that. Being reasonably proficient with computers was one thing, but I wasn’t tech-whiz enough to crack passwords.
How hard could it be . . . right? I tried lots of obvious words: Murdoch, Quinn, vampire, blood. Clearly, I was going to have to dig a little deeper.
What about . . .? I tapped the steel tag against my teeth, trying to come up with some kind of genius solution. The taste of metal caused me to mentally face-palm.
‘So obvious, Moth,’ I said aloud. ‘So damn obvious.’
I typed in
subject10
, this time filled with confidence.
Confidence that was soon deflated when the error message came up for the twentieth time. So much for my sudden flash of intuition.
‘Crap.’ Biting the inside of my cheek, I re-read the weird faux-military dog tag and then glanced back at the computer screen. The password could only contain a maximum of eight characters.
It was a leap, I knew that, but sometimes a leap of faith is what it takes to get things done. Subject Ten was obviously connected to Quinn – and possibly to Nemesis – which meant it was worth a try.
I typed: hm012001nb.
The folder opened.
‘Yes!’ I punched the air and congratulated myself. I almost gave Subject Ten’s tag a little victory kiss, but drew the line there. Because,
ew
. I’d had to scratch some blood off it before I could read the engraved ‘code’ in the first place.
There was a single file inside the folder, which was a bit of an anticlimax after all that effort. Of course, I couldn’t be certain that I hadn’t lost a whole bunch when I’d ripped the flash drive out of Quinn’s computer.
I sighed. There was nothing I could do about that now.
I clicked on the file, simply called ‘Nemesis’, not honestly expecting to be wowed with a ton of useful information. This was probably a dead end.
But instead of opening some kind of document, my web browser launched all by itself and landed on what was most likely the home page of a proxy server. Hey, I know a proxy server when I see one. Not that I’ve ever downloaded any premium TV shows or anything. Nope, because that would be wrong. Seemed like the password-protected file was just a
reflection
, set up to hide a link to where the actual data was stored. I figured that it would do no good going directly to the server, to try accessing whatever Nemesis had to hide that way. You needed Quinn’s own personal link in order to gain access.
Excited now, I examined the new list of files.
I had to admit that it was all pretty clever, even though I didn’t quite understand it.
Talking of not understanding things, that was my experience of looking through the information stored on the Nemesis super-secret server. But I was beginning to build a picture in my mind of a small, but tightly run organization that focused on the preternatural. Nothing seemed to indicate why it was called the Nemesis Project, so I made a mental note to look into that separately, but the more I scrolled through reports and internal memos . . . the more sick I felt.
Nemesis acknowledged the existence of all kinds of preternatural beings, including but not limited to vampires, werewolves (really!) and ghosts. They were the Big Three, right? Of course there were plenty more bogeymen, but this group of scientists seemed to focus mainly on vampires anyway. Lucky me.
I’d need hours to explore everything on here – time I didn’t have if I wanted to speak to Theo now that he’d be awake. Apart from that, the longer I spent logged onto the Nemesis server the more likely it would be that my snooping could be detected. It wasn’t as though my IP address would be hard to track.
One of the most interesting memos that I
did
find was from a Dr Helena Stark. Along with some boring housekeeping and maintenance stuff, she mentioned something that made my hair stand on end: ‘From now on, we need to be more vigilant with security. Keep the dhampir on full lockdown.’
That could be what I was looking for. Not only did I have the name of a scientist to investigate, but this Dr Stark was talking about something that was only spoken of in hushed tones among the vamps I hung out with.
Dhampirs
– or dhampires – were part of vampire mythology, but all I knew about them was that they were supposedly half-human and half-vampire. Hybrid creatures, born with the power to destroy full vampires. Mostly they were considered to be a scary bedtime story, but there were some who believed that the dhampir had actually existed. At least, once upon a time.
Anything I’d find about them online would only be half-assed folklore, not exactly the best starting place for research. Most humans had an extremely limited knowledge of true vampire mythos, so I’d do well to speak to someone about this first-hand. Someone who knew about the
real
monsters.
I briefly considered asking Holly, but she’d only go snitching to Theo. I could, of course, talk directly to my Maker – especially now that I was building an admittedly vague picture of what was going on – but he might not let Jace off the hook unless I presented him with hard evidence. Short of delivering Subject Ten to him, I couldn’t think what else might actually convince him that Jace hadn’t killed Nicole. He
wanted
it to be true, and if that was the case it would be almost impossible to change his mind.
Which meant I was going to be picking Jace Murdoch’s brains about vampire lore – and the possible existence of dhampirs – sooner rather than later. And anyway, I didn’t need Theo to tell me what I already suspected about the girl I’d fought just this morning. I might not want to admit it, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Subject Ten’s silver eyes told me more than I was ready to accept. I just didn’t want to go there. Not quite yet. I couldn’t see how a true dhampir could exist when vampires couldn’t procreate. Whether or not they’d been able to in the past, I have no idea. But everything I’d been told indicated that all vamps are sterile. This was potentially a big deal, and I’d have to face the reality of it myself one day.
But that day was not now. I exercised my right to stick my head in the sand and move on.
I moved onto the word
Nemesis
. That seemed a safe enough subject to research by myself.
I knew that she was a Greek goddess, something to do with revenge, but that was as far as my basic knowledge went. A few quick web searches later, and I had more information than I could possibly need. I checked my printer had paper and printed out a handful of pages so that I didn’t have to stare at the screen all evening. I had a wicked headache brewing, and that was most definitely unusual. Maybe I just needed blood, but I’d already had way more than my usual amount.
What if this headache was something to do with my link with Theo? Yeah, I was paranoid enough to think that, although let’s face it: it was far more likely something to do with getting beaten up and hit by a bus.
I curled up on my bed and worked my way through the research I’d gotten off the internet. According to most of it – a lot of which appeared to be culled from the same source and just reproduced on various free encyclopedias – Nemesis was the daughter of Nyx, or Night. Huh. I hadn’t known that, and I was vaguely interested enough in mythology to know something about the goddess Nyx. Most academic sources described Nemesis as ‘a spirit of divine redemption against man’s hubris in the face of the gods’. Man’s
arrogance
. I kept reading, trying to figure out any kind of connection to an organization focused on the existence of vampires. There were all kinds of paranoid groups of vampire hunters online; surely one of them would give me a clue to follow.
These days, the term ‘nemesis’ is used to describe your worst enemy, someone (or something) who is the opposite of you – but is also somehow similar.
A popular example in classic fiction seemed to be Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty. Interesting, sure, but not particularly helpful.
‘Nemesis,’ I murmured. ‘What does that have to do with any of this?’
I typed Dr Helena Stark’s name into the search engine, honestly not expecting to find anything remotely connected to my crazy world. But for once, I was pleasantly surprised. It soon became very obvious that Stark was a public figure of some stature. Or, at least, she
had
been. Eight years ago an academic study carried out by ‘renowned Harvard biologist’ Dr Helena Stark was published, leading to a huge controversy. The study’s results were very quickly debunked and buried, but every so often the original paper’s findings would surface on various conspiracy websites. There was a small but vocal minority who believed there was more to Dr Stark’s study than was admitted to on a public level. Officially, she was still greatly admired but, in this one case, mistaken. Her data was contaminated. Unofficially, it was believed by the conspiracy theorists that sources within the government had called for the results to be smeared and for Stark’s reputation to be publicly called into question.
The title of the paper was short and to the point: ‘Nemesis: How the Quest for Immortality Will Destroy Humanity.’
I raised my eyebrows. Really? I kept searching, but other than that title, I couldn’t find a single piece of information. Not even an academic abstract, a few lines that would tell me more about this so-called groundbreaking biological study. It seemed that as fast as someone tried to post a summary of the findings, the information was removed. No witnesses would agree to be interviewed – at least, nobody who had actually seen the original study. There were plenty of people willing to speculate, but what else was new?
I finally hit paydirt after following a trail of links to a public event that Dr Helena Stark just happened to be holding at Harvard’s Science Center
this Friday
. I sat up straight, unable to believe my luck. That was two days from now! She was launching a totally yawnsome book about evolution, with a talk followed by book signings. It seemed to be her first step back into the public arena, after the disgrace that had derailed her career for all those years. Her comeback.
I tried to remember where I kept a note of Theo’s credit card number so that I could reserve two tickets. Yeah, I said
two
tickets. I knew exactly who my plus-one would be.
‘What are you hiding, Dr Stark?’ I asked the laptop screen as my purchase was processed.
‘Talking to yourself, Moth?’
I screeched and leaped off the bed, scattering papers and almost knocking my laptop onto the floor.
Way to look guilty, Moth.
Holly was excellent at moving silently – after adapting to more than twenty years of life as a vampire – and I’d been so engrossed that I hadn’t even noticed she’d come home. I needed to be more careful.
‘Why are you looking so guilty, squirt?’ Holly asked, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing her arms. ‘Perhaps it’s because you’re wearing my favorite pajamas.’ She looked amused rather than mad.
‘What’s the point of having a roommate if you can’t borrow their stuff?’ I said, doing my best to sound nonchalant.
‘Good point,’ she replied. ‘You won’t mind if I borrow your leather jacket tonight then, will you . . .?’
I pouted. Holly knew I’d never let
anyone
wear my jacket.
‘I didn’t think you were planning on starting school until October,’ she continued, indicating the files and papers that I’d hastily gathered back together.
‘Just getting a head start,’ I muttered, grateful for her assumption that this was college paperwork. I closed the lid of my laptop and once again cursed my shifty-eyed Catholic guilt.
Holly cocked her head to one side, looking strangely birdlike. Her blue hair framed her watchful face. ‘What . . . like, six months early?’
‘Always be prepared, that’s my motto.’
‘Well, aren’t you the Girl Scout,’ Holly said reaching out a hand. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got there, then.’
‘No!’ I shouted, snatching everything away from her. Oops.
Think innocent thoughts
, I told myself.
Think innocent thoughts.
Holly was looking at me like I’d lost the plot. She held her hands up, as though in surrender. ‘Whatever. I was about to offer to make you a coffee, but maybe
somebody
had too much already.’