Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (36 page)

“I was thumbing through my books the other day when I came across a text on ‘psychoneuroimmunology,’ also known as the brain/body connection.”

Ryan nodded. “A much neglected topic in western medicine.”

Susan did not disagree. “I think I discovered one of the most important differences between you and a normal human.”

Ryan was cautious. “And what would that be?”

“You never sleep.”

Edward snorted, reminding Susan of his presence. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him, then turned back to Susan. “I sleep all the time. I sleep more than any of my Kind. I sleep for years at a time.”

Susan shook her head. “You’re not sleeping,” she said, pausing.  “You’re meditating.”

This statement silenced both Ryan and Edward. Susan picked up the chart. “Your brainwaves, they never represent sleep, even when you’re dreaming. I didn’t recognize the pattern at first because it shouldn’t have been there. Then I saw the same pattern in that book. Your brainwaves show the classic configuration of relaxed alertness, or a perfect meditative state.”

Ryan still did not speak as Susan continued. “They’ve done studies with Buddhist monks who’ve shown remarkable improvement in awareness and visual acuity after meditating.” She changed the subject. “How’s your sense of taste?”

Ryan glanced at Edward. She was thoughtful. “I never really noticed any difference from my Change.”

Susan nodded as if this were further validation. “Taste is the one sense not enhanced through meditation. No one knows why.”

Susan went to search for a book on her desk. “Before I left the lab, I went to pick up a medical text on meditation.” She pushed some papers around. “Ah, here it is. Remember when we talked about your senses crossing over? When you see heat or hear colors?”

Ryan nodded and Susan thumbed through the book. “It’s called synesthesia. It’s a byproduct of meditation.”

Ryan slowly took the book from Susan’s hand as Susan continued. “If the greatest mystics of all time could meditate as you do, over the span of centuries, they might have some of your abilities. All your senses are amplified, your sight, your hearing. Do you know the primary result of meditation?”

Ryan shook her head.

“It controls blood flow.”

Ryan stared down at the book in her hand. “What exactly is ‘psychoneuroimmunology’?”

“It’s a fairly new field of medicine which believes that thoughts can physically affect the body.”

Ryan smiled wryly, turning to Edward. “It’s not new. They once called them ‘humours’.”

Susan continued. “At first I thought your resistance to pain might be a result of certain hormonal responses. For example, your thymus gland secretes an incredible amount of thymosin fraction 5, which powerfully stimulates certain adrenal hormones that effect your central nervous system.”

“I take it that’s not a sufficient explanation?” Ryan asked wryly.

Susan shook her head. “No. Like I said, I thought that way at first.”

“So,” Ryan said, “Why don’t I feel pain the way you do?”

Susan pointed at the book. “The decrease in pain stimuli is not due to chemical processes, but rather mental ones. Your body feels the same pain as anyone else, but your mind has altered the way it perceives it.”

Ryan stared at her own hands in puzzlement, as if they were suddenly foreign objects.

Susan continued. “A lower pain threshold is not necessarily a good thing unless an organism can heal itself the way you do. Then pain is simply an unnecessary nuisance, one your body has obviously dealt with.”

Edward cleared his throat and Ryan realized it was time for them to go. She bowed to Susan. “We must finish the paperwork on the acquisition of the hospital.” She turned to leave, then stopped.

“Oh, and by the way?” Ryan said casually, “A transition team is already in place in the hospital. The majority of the staff will be kept on. However, initial interviews with the nurses in ER revealed that there is one gentleman who is particularly disliked by all colleagues. I hope you’re not too disappointed that Dr. David Goldstein will no longer be a member of the faculty.”

Susan tried to appear unconcerned, as if it were no matter to her. “It’s your hospital.”

Ryan gave a short bow. “Very well,” she said, and disappeared.

Susan looked down at the MRI printout in front of her. She wondered what it would be like to be Ryan, to wield that much power. She wondered what it would be like to be at the top of the food chain.

Susan stared at the paperwork. That analogy wasn’t completely correct, she thought to herself. Ryan wasn’t at the top of the food chain, she was outside of it entirely.

Alan Grant sat brooding in his corner office. He had left explicit instructions not to be disturbed, so the knock at the door did nothing to improve his mood.

A man in a dark suit leaned in the doorway. “I have news I think you’ll want to hear, Mr. Grant.”

Grant glowered at him. “I hope for your sake that you’re correct. I told that feeble-minded receptionist of mine that I wanted no visitors.”

 The man pushed his way into the room. “We received word this morning that St. Mary’s Hospital was purchased by a private bidder.”

Grant was astounded. “What? Are you telling me the hospital was purchased by a single person? Who the fuck was it, Bill Gates?”

The messenger shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, no sir. From my understanding, Bill Gates would have had to take out a loan to finance the purchase, and this was a cash deal.”

Grant could not hide his astonishment. “Impossible! No one has that much money. There aren’t very many people in the world with that kind of capital. No one else was interested in this hospital.”

“Well sir, apparently someone was. The transaction is complete.”

Grant’s face turned apoplectic. He picked up a paperweight and hurled it at the messenger. It barely missed the man, and he quickly scurried through the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Grant picked up another paperweight and started to hurl it after the first one, but stopped himself. He glanced down at the marble block, hefting it in his hand. He carefully set it back down on the desk.

He settled into his cushioned chair, patting his shirt pocket. He felt the reassuring outline of the solid, cylindrical object and unbuttoned his shirt pocket. He removed the blood vial and held it up to the light. The plasma swirled, then settled into a smug, tranquil inertness.

CHAPTER 28

VICTOR FELT RYAN’S RETURN even though she was still a great distance away. He sensed something in her mood, a sort of despair he had never known to plague her. Although he knew she was still far away, he put his things aside and waited for her.

Ryan could see the castle from a great distance. It had been modified many times over the last decades, but the primary structure still stood. The hills surrounding it were dark green from spring rain.

Ryan began climbing the steps that were cut into the green hillside. She sensed eyes upon her and looked upward as she climbed. Victor waited for her at the castle gates, his white shirt opened at the collar, revealing his tan throat. The sight of him was achingly beautiful, and Ryan welcomed the comforting pain it caused her.

Ryan bowed her head, unwilling to share or confront the burden she had carried with her from Wurzburg. Although in a sense she had been dead for many years, this was the first time she truly felt so.

She came to the castle gate and went to move past Victor when he stepped in her path. They stood at an impasse for a moment, Ryan with her head still stubbornly lowered. Victor grasped her chin and raised her head so she was forced to look up at him.

There was none of the usual sardonic humor in his dark eyes, no hint of mocking. Instead, there was a deep compassion, as if he knew the road she traveled because he himself had been there before.

Ryan gazed into his eyes and the ache in her heart flared. There were times when she had little understanding of their strange, powerful relationship, and other times when such understanding was not even necessary.

Victor pulled her to him, comforting her as he would a child.

Ryan joined him later in his quarters as he stood gazing out at the sudden spring shower. The sky was dark with thunderclouds and the rain fell in heavy, fat drops. Victor sat in the sill of the window and Ryan moved to settle in front of him. They moved as one, as they had for centuries, and no outward communication was necessary. Ryan leaned back against his chest, melding her body against his.

Ryan allowed Victor’s influence to settle over her like a cloak. Her eyes drifted closed as she sought peace in the blackness only he could give her. She felt the slightest pain as his teeth brushed her neck.

Although Victor always hungered for her, it was not his intent at this moment to satisfy himself. As her blood flowed into him, so did her Memories, and her pain. He saw her failure at Wurzburg, saw the deaths of the children, saw the revenge she had taken against the town.

Ryan had seen many, many things over her lifetime. She had been witness to the worst of atrocities, and been little affected by them. She had killed hundreds, maybe thousands of men, and had done so indiscriminately in battle and in brawls.

But Victor sensed something different in Ryan this time, and it took him a moment to identify what it was.

She had lost hope for this people.

Ryan had always faced the world with an astounding nonchalance, as if nothing affected her. It was the mark of her time, the mark of her people. It was the mark of the powerless, and even after Ryan was no longer powerless, she still bore the attitude. And beneath that attitude was the belief that one day things would be better, either in this life or the next.

Ryan no longer believed this. She had no next life, only this one, and it was filled with short-lived, brutal people who existed soullessly and mindlessly. Victor gazed into her mind’s eye and saw her shattered faith.

Victor raised the arm that held her and Ryan took the proffered wrist. His blood poured into her, offering an unholy salve to her soul. She saw he had no faith in this people, and therefore no faith to lose. He held himself apart from the human race because to embrace humanity was to embrace their weakness.

CHAPTER 29

RYAN SPRAWLED, BOTH CASUAL AND ELEGANT in the oversized chair. Susan watched her, examining the fine features. She had become aware of how people watched Ryan, and were drawn to her. Ryan greeted this continual interest with a profound indifference; she was aware of it but did not care.

Susan examined the woman, trying to figure out what exactly it was that attracted so many people to her. Certainly Ryan was physically attractive but there was much more to it than that. She had a subtle sense of power about her, a charisma that could be devastating when fanned from spark to flame.

“What?” Ryan asked her, slightly bemused at the attention from her companion.

Susan shook her head as if clearing it. “Nothing,” she said.

Ryan gazed at her for a few seconds with her unblinking gaze, then turned back to her own thoughts.

A large bird of prey landed on a statue outside. Susan thought at first it was a raven, but it was larger than a raven and not as darkly colored. It preened itself for a moment, peering into the French doors as if it could see the occupants inside.

Ryan’s parrot stretched itself to its full height, then fluffed all of its feathers in indignation. It settled back down, pretending it was unruffled by the raptor’s intrusion. The falcon flew off.

Ryan gazed at the parrot fondly. “It’s just a kite, Teddy.”

 Susan thought about the woman’s words. She had never heard “kite” used in that sense, at least not in spoken language. She thought about Ryan’s voice, the way she spoke so smoothly and melodically, like polished stained glass. It was a young voice with an old inflection, as if the mouth had tried billions of words and now a multitude of sounds poured forth effortlessly

Susan Ryerson came to a startling conclusion. It was one she had superficially accepted, one she had discussed and acted upon, one she had supposedly already grasped. But it was only at this moment she grasped the idea in its totality.