Volya didn't have time to picture what the Mnemosyne would look like, so he prepared to be surprised. He didn't have much time for that either, since Liam led him to a stand-alone building next to the main house. It had a blast-proof door that required an honest-to-god retinal scan to enter.
Granted, after the twelve-year-old girl snuck in and turned herself into a centaur, the precautions from the spy thrillers made sense. He just hoped he wouldn't have to play limbo with the laser beams in the Mission-Impossible style too, because as fast and strong as he was, he wasn't super-flexible.
Liam bent at the tapered waist for the duration of the scan, demonstrating his long, lean lines. Now, there was a flexible man.
So is Toshka, the inner voice reminded him. What? Just saying. It's not a contest or anything. Maybe that wasn't the mysterious voice of his ancient blood talking, just a deeper thought in his subconscious. Nothing so precious that he had to bury it, but his ears still flashed with heat of embarrassment.
The inches-thick door opened without screeching, like it was woven from feathers, rather than solid steel.
Inside the lab, to Volya's immense relief, there was just Sangha, June and zero laser beams or any other rule-of-cool security nonsense. Instead, the inside of the Mnemosyne lab was pretty long, since it was a trailer, maybe 40 or 50 feet, about 10 feet wide and a bit taller than it was wide. Every square inch was ergonomically stacked with the gleaming computer terminals, divided with the mesh shelving units. Binders and print-outs sat in stacks. High-backed office chairs stood by each desk, as well as knee-high filing cabinets topped with a soft cushion to double as a stool, inviting the spirit of cooperation. There were no windows, but one wall of the trailer crawled with living plants.
"My pet project," Sangha commented with a smile when she noticed Volya's gaze stop and travel along the greenery trying to deduce from the leaves' shape and any signs of wilting if it was the actual plants or plastic.
Smack in the middle of everything, under its own transparent dome custom-installed in the trailer's roof, towered a gigantic cylinder full of cherry-red substance.
"Is this..." Volya's voice broke. He cleared his throat, made a conscious effort to nod at the world's biggest jar of marmalade instead of pointing, and finished his question. "Is this the Mnemosyne?"
"Yes," Sangha replied to his semi-rhetorical question. The thing was so weird and out of place otherwise, that it could only have been Mnemosyne.
Volya gawked, wondering how exactly one interfaced with that. He noticed a control panel, a breaker, and a bunch of silvery hoses snaking away from its bottom.
Meanwhile, the usually self-absorbed June came to life. She rapidly circled him, scribbling the lightning-fast notes on a decidedly low-tech clipboard.
"Take your shirt off, sit there. Take the socks off too," she commanded.
One of the desks held a puck-like device, Alexa or whatever, and it took upon itself to translate everything that had been said. Volya couldn't decide if he'd missed Marina or was happy she wasn't there to smirk at his embarrassment.
"Oh, no, not the socks," he quipped to cope with the building unease. He'd never had a woman other than a nurse ask him to undress, let alone do it in a clipped, commanding tone, words overrunning one-another.
June's mouth contorted in such an obvious distress that remorse flooded him. She obviously didn't read jokes, particularly the really stupid ones.
"I'll do it, okay? Don't worry," he hurried to reassure, plopped down on the closest swivel chair and peeled off the contentious hosiery. It wasn't the smartest move, because the ribbed metal floor was chilly even in the summer. Dancing on it in bare feet, Volya hooked up the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
Two sets of eyes fastened to his emerging torso with equal interest: June's and Liam's. The motivations were entirely different, however. Liam's was written plainly on his face and sent a radiating pulse of warmth through Volya. He hurriedly pulled the shirt higher, to hide away his reddening cheeks.
June's scrutiny was more of a mystery. "Silver? Is this silver?" she asked.
Volya hoped he didn't get a silver belly button overnight to go with golden eyes. That would be totally over the top. He redoubled his efforts to wriggle out of the t-shirt. The new wardrobe he found in his closet was newer, pricier and more figure-fitting than anything he'd worn before. But it also stretched like a dream, instead of going drab and shapeless two to three owners before it got to Volya. He started digging the rad idea of wearing new things; heck, a few more days, and he'd take Liam up on his offer to go shopping...
"What's silver?" Volya asked through the cotton of his t-shirt. It muffled his voice a bit, but he said it in English, and he thought it was clear enough.
The moment he freed himself from the t-shirt completely, June's finger stabbed under his clavicle, answering his question. She was pointing at his cross. He was so used to wearing it, that he pretty much forgot it was hanging there. Instinctively he snatched the cross in his fist, away from her.
"Yes, June, that's correct." He tried to imitate Sangha's dulcet tones. "It's silver. They're normally silver..."
"Take it off. You must take it off," the woman repeated non-stop, her eyes fastened to his fist. He felt like he was squeezing a grenade with its pin removed. The cross' rounded trefoil sides pressed painfully into his palm, he was clutching it so tight, suddenly feeling protective of it.
Sangha scooted over from one of the workstations in the back to insert herself between him and June. "Metal won't interfere with the preliminary assessment, right? It's better if he is calm when we calibrate the equipment, or we'll get false positives."
"I am calm," Volya lied through his teeth. He didn't like being talked about in third person. It made him more like a lab rat and less like a hero.
"It's imperative that he takes silver off before he interfaces with Mnemosyne," June repeated, slower this time.
"He will take it off before he links to Mnemosyne, darling," Sangha assured, darting an imploring glance at Volya.
"I will." He sighed, willing his fingers to relax their grip on the cross. "I promise."
He didn't know why he got like that about the cross. He'd never been a spiritual man, and the cross was a cheap piece of junk; not even pretty. Some charitable hand hung it over his neck before the dawn of his first memories. It was supposed to ward off evil, but everyone in his class had one just like that, even the Bruiser. There was little love or care in that gesture. But he had the silver cross for years; he was used to it, he supposed.
Liam glanced at him with a pained expression. God only knows what he was thinking, probably that he was subjecting Volya to another indignity. Volya grinned with one side of his mouth to show that this one was okay, this one was on him, but he didn't get a chance to put a single word in.
June flipped a sheet on her clipboard, ordering him to sit back in his chair with a tilt of her head. "There. Please sit there."
"Gee, what's the rush? Give me a second, okay?"
His hands shook with a sudden decision. He yanked the cross off without unfastening the lock. The slim silver chain tightened against his neck, then caught in his hair for one embarrassing moment. He knew he wasn't as nimble as Liam or Toshka, but come on. He wasn't a clutz either. He tugged impatiently, freeing the cross. What's a few hairs? It'll grow back.
"Here. Keep it for me." He went to Liam, opened his unresisting hand and stuffed the cross into Liam's cupped palm. The thin chain spilled after it in a soft puddle of silver. Too late, Volya spotted a curly brown hair caught in the silver links.
"Oh, sorry." He would have untangled it, but Liam closed his hand around it before he could do it.
"I'll keep it safe for you," Liam promised and it sounded like, I'll keep you safe.
Let the fools on the net rave over the art-déco color of Volya's eyes. The truth was they were deep-seated, sunk between the brow and the jutting cheekbones, rather small and shaped like a pencil-tip. If one wanted the amazing ones, Liam beat him ten to one. His were an open book; and not some random train schedule either. Oh no! It was a page filled with sweet, sweet poems for the universe to read.
He staggered back from Liam and went to sit on the chair June liked so much. June plastered electrodes on his temples and over his heart.
He didn't object once, only glanced triumphantly at Liam: Naturally, they had the electrodes!
Liam shrugged apologetically, like man, I didn't know, okay?
June took her baseline measurements, then led him to the farthest end of the trailer toward a whizzing metal sarcophagus. Volya eyed it warily. "You want me inside?"
"Yes," June declared. "A full body scan. For Dr. Sangha." By the look of it, she would truss him like a pig and stick him inside if Sangha needed it.
He climbed in. The bloody thing wasn't built for comfort. Sangha took the investigation over, sitting at the workstation with the most screens. Or at least she did when the coffin's lid closed over it.
"I'm a werewolf, remember? Not a vampire," he quipped.
Sangha didn't even roll her eyes like Marina would have had. She said firmly, "Stay still, please. Avoid talking during the scan," and that was it.
He stretched inside the metal casket and applied himself to not moving. Something whirled on the outside of it. Light stayed steady. Nothing else happened for a while, except for Volya's fingers and toes turning icy-cold. Finally, he was released and sat on the edge, feet dangling, taking a few deep breaths.
The high-tech coffin weighed and measured him, and probably found him lacking, but he was relieved for it to be over.
Sangha smiled warmly from her workstation and picked a clipboard from the shelf. "Volya, there is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about. You refused a counseling session yesterday."
He wiggled his bare toes to restore the circulation. "Yes. I'm too far gone for it. I mean, if I were sane, would I be sitting here half-naked, volunteering to help you study my werewolf ancestors?"
Something distinctively world-weary flickered in Sangha's gaze. "You can put your clothes back on right now—"
"Even the socks?" ...and the cross?
"Yes, Volya, whatever would make you feel comfortable. We'll take as much time as needed to help you. There's no rush."
No rush? Even though Sangha exuded infinite patience, Volya wouldn't be fooled. Sangha, June and Liam were all on pins and needles. He could effing smell it. If he were vengeful, he could make them squirm to get back at them for not telling him anything.
He envisioned asking Liam and June to leave the premises, counting the leaves on the living wall, then confiding in the kindly lady doctor about not being loved as a child. Telling her about the inner voice that applied the high voltage whenever his heart hesitated. Maybe crying a little.
"I..." he chewed his lip, trying to figure out the best way to dodge the navel-gazing event. He felt ready for the Olympics in the individual category there, so he saw no need to add a team effort on top of it. "I came to terms with being abandoned a long time ago, Dr. Sangha."
"The news of your family had a strong impact on you," she pointed out as neutrally as when she was asking him if he could digest butter.
Sangha was wrong about butter, but she was on the money about the your-mother-loved-your-twin thing. He tossed lots of stones into the river because of it. And now he was fine. "Yeah, that sister thing rattled me a tad, but I'm okay now. It's all water under the bridge."
"Volya, it's okay not to trust the counselling and still try it."
"I said, I can deal. Respectfully, ma'am."
Sangha clicked her tongue, put a cuff on his upper arm, disinfected the underside of his elbow, and then jammed the syringe into his vein to show off her disagreement, which was kinda passive-aggressive of her. Or even vamp. God, maybe he did need counselling if he kept thinking about vampires and werewolves. He was getting worse than a teen girl about it.
The red meniscus shot up the thin plastic tube connected to his vein. So, his blood was still as red as the next guy's, thank goodness, despite the ancient DNA and CRSPRs frolicking in it like tadpoles in a pond.
Once Sangha filled a row of vials from his vein, she commanded Liam to keep an eye on Volya for fifteen minutes and call her back if he felt woozy...
"Oh, yeah, I am," Liam said, giving the vials a wince.
"So keep an eye on each other," Sangha replied in an even tone. Then she cradled her ruby bounty in her white-clad arms and whisked it to the separate trailer. It probably contained another lab.
June went along, so Volya was left alone with Liam.
Liam threw the discarded t-shirt over Volya's shoulders and pulled up a chair to sit right next to Volya. "Those extra-wide pecs over-awe me, but you look positively frozen."
"Almost," Volya touched Liam's wrist with his fingertips. His nails had a slight purple tinge. "Like a frog from a deep well, eh?"
He didn't expect Liam to catch his fingers between his steepled palms and breathe on them, but his eyes closed, accepting the caress. "You want a towel? They have a bunch here for the Mnemosyne. I can get you one."
Dizziness took Volya, but it wasn't the call-Sangha-immediately woozy feel. The electrical sensation that spread over his skin threatened to blow up with the million dollars' worth of scientific equipment, or at the very least unpeel the electrodes off his skin.
"N-no," Volya stammered. He could hear Liam's every breath, every racing heartbeat. They sat as close together as he did with Toshka on that last night in the orphanage, when their hips touched. Not as close as when Toshka had kissed him good-bye.
"What are you doing?" Volya's voice pitched ridiculously high, even in a whisper.
"Making amends," Liam replied in an impossibly soft voice.
If Sangha ever roped him into one of those counselling sessions, Volya would tell her that maybe, just maybe, he could live with not having had been loved as a child, so long as he was loved as an adult, in the here-and-now. It would be such a terrific thing, to be loved. But not just any kind of love. No, he meant true love, love with a capital L, love that wasn't easy to win. When he loved like that, was loved that way, the past would lose its power to hurt him.
The bond, the brain slug said, you want the bond, sounding like duh. Volya cringed: 'bond ' meant many things, some of them downright creepy.