The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

'Indeed,' Sir Alec smiles knowingly. 'As I said before; your body is frozen. From this moment on you will only ever appear as you are now. You will never age, you will never fall ill – you will never die.' He confirms.

'Unless I'm particularly careless with a wooden implement.' The snide comment falls from my mouth without my permission and I freeze, holding Sir Alec's gaze, waiting for his anger to explode. Instead; the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk, his eyes crinkle and he stares at me in amusement.

'Actually, Miss Ryder, that is false, as are many of the myths surrounding our existence. I imagine this will fall into the category of 'hard to process', but you will never impale yourself – even if you wanted to. Your skin, my skin – ' He holds his hands up to the light in demonstration. ' – Is the strongest material in existence. There are no objects sharp enough, no metal strong enough to pierce even the first layer.

You will never die, Miss Ryder, no matter what you do.'

As an instant reaction of my scientifically-wired brain, I eye the sharp letter opener, just inches from my hands on his disorganised desk. My mind is programmed to test theories I don't believe, as proof is the only way to know for sure. A fair test, under experimental conditions in a scientific manner will determine information to be true or false. That is the way of the world.

Sir Alec catches my gaze and follows it, leaning back confidently in his leather arm chair as he spies the object of my interest.

'Indulge yourself.' He smiles and, with his permission, I snatch the letter opener from amidst the piles of paper and hold its wooden hilt tightly in my fist. Laying my free hand flat on the table, I raise the sharp blade high above my head, bending my shoulder and elbow to obtain proper force.

It's difficult to bring the knife down; every fibre of my being goes against it, despite my willingness – no; desperation – to end my life just a few hours ago. I fight a mental battle with myself, forcing my brain to tell my arm what to do. 

After a few more seconds' hesitation, the blade swoops down, past my head, leaving a sound trail in its wake like the soaring of a plane. The tip of the steel blade crashes into my skin.

I feel the blow – it's painful – my nerve endings and pain receptors run wild, screaming in agony. The pain travels from the back of my hand up to my wrist, spreading like a disease.

It feels exactly like what it is; a blade stabbing my skin with excessive force. There is only one noticeable difference to the blow; instead of piercing my soft, delicate skin; the blade crumples, like a piece of paper in my hand. It curls in on itself, splintering into shards until the hilt of the blade rests on my hand and the sharp metal tip is nothing but a pile of metallic ash.

My skin is unblemished; no scratch or even a red mark. It remains pale white and perfect –untouched.

My breath catches in my throat. This couldn't be a trick of the light or the product of hallucinogenic drugs. I felt that blade in my hand, the smoothness of the wood, the sharp metal colliding with my skin, the piercing pain, the trapped nerves.

I have no explanation for it within the boundaries of modern science.

'So, you see, Miss Ryder, you must accept that you are an Immortal. You have no choice.' Sir Alec drawls from behind his desk.

'It's impossible,' I breathe, unable to tear my eyes from the crumpled blade. 'It's scientifically impossible!'

'On the contrary – we are very scientific beings. Our biologists work around the clock to study our unique biology and find a blood substitute.' Sir Alec informs me smugly.

'Blood?' I raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. 'So that part is true?'

'Indeed, Miss Ryder. Tales of burning in sunlight, garlic and holy water are beyond ridiculous. But it is true that we must feed on blood.' He nods swiftly, standing to address me.

'This information will be explained to you in far greater detail when your lessons begin; you'll be studying our biology, history, taking part in physical practice – even forensics. But for now Miss Ryder, I'm afraid we're out of time.

As part of our mandatory procedure I will need you to take a test. It will be quick and painless, if you'd just like to follow me...'

Sir Alec crosses to the double doors, pausing impatiently for me to follow. I know that I must decide now whether to go along with this strange nightmare I appear to be trapped in – or resist it.

Sir Alec has been patient, even helpful with me, but his patience has limits that have obviously been reached. He will not indulge in my rantings and ravings about what is fact and what is fiction any longer, and I have no grounds upon which to base them.

I can not deny what my own eyes have witnessed and – as I stand to follow in Sir Alec's footsteps – I conclude that my whole world is about to be turned on its head.

Chapter Four

Sir Alec's footsteps echo with mine along the velvet-clad corridor. Keeping a few paces behind him, I search the halls for Diana's sweep of dark hair. Though I've woken up to a nightmare, it seems that Diana has the ability to make me feel safe simply by being present. But no matter how hard I search; I'm alone with Sir Alec, rounding a corner to halt at a beaten-up wooden door.

The door frame is low and Sir Alec stoops to cross the threshold into a dark room. There are no windows and the space is small. Burning torches hang precariously from the stone walls and a single table stands eerily in the centre of the room. One of the wooden chairs at the table is occupied by a young, Oriental-looking boy. He is certainly no older than me, his dark hair hangs statically over his brown eyes, his stance is nervous; both hands firmly grip the seat.

'Miss Ryder, this is Clayton Nickson, he will be conducting your test. Please have a seat.' Sir Alec gestures to the empty chair before retreating into the shadows in the corner of the room. The young boy eyes me warily as I take the seat opposite him. He glances at Sir Alec – silently asking to begin – before leaning forward so I can better hear his timid voice.

'During your transformation,' he begins. 'Some of your most prominent personality traits and attributes are strengthened. For example; if you were particularly stubborn in your previous life, that trait will be intensified in this one. Usually three or four traits are strengthened... and some of us receive gifts.' 

'Gifts?' I frown, glancing back at Sir Alec.

'Yes, gifts,' Clayton continues. 'Not all of us receive them – in fact, very few do. If you possess one, your gift is unique to you. Some Immortals have excessive strength, others are able to communicate without using words, for examples. But a gift is rare and random. 

My gift is the ability to tell you what your gift is – and what your strengthened personality traits are. If you would give me your hand, Miss Ryder.'

He stretches his palm across the table and – after a moment's hesitation – I take it, watching carefully as his eyes glaze over. His stare pierces through me as his body stiffens. The entire ordeal lasts less than thirty seconds and he pulls his hand away – a sheepish, grateful expression on his face.

'She has three strengthened personality traits,' He speaks loudly and clearly and addresses Sir Alec rather than me. 'She has an amazing ability to absorb knowledge, more quickly than anyone I've ever seen,' He widens his eyes in wonder. 'Whether she gains information verbally or by reading, she simply retains it – like a photographic memory. She's also determined; if she wants something or someone, she will stop at nothing to obtain it. She isn't fazed by rules and regulations; if they stand in her way – she will break them,'

Though I know this statement is true – I jumped out of a two storey building to make that trip to Liverpool – it's not something I'm all too happy about Sir Alec knowing. Did he not, just a few minutes ago, stress the importance of the rules of the Institute?

'Finally; her protective instincts. This is by far the strongest of the three traits, it almost overwhelms her. When she cares about someone or something, she will go to great lengths to protect them.'

This statement I'm not so sure about. In my entire eighteen years of life, I've never protected anybody but myself. Not my family, my friends – and certainly not Sofia.

'And the gift?' Sir Alec barks, oblivious to the nervous disposition of Clayton Nickson.

'She possesses one,' He stammers, his lower lip trembling. 'She has the ability to assess whether an individual is innocent or guilty.'

'She's a lie detector, like Amber Mayfair.' Sir Alec nods, but Clayton shakes his head.

'She can't determine lies or truth, what she can do is assess whether an individual has lived a pious life or not. For example; if a man had murdered in cold blood, she would know.'

'So it's a question of morals?' Sir Alec raises a thick eyebrow. 'But morals aren't set in stone, every culture has a different morale than the other.' He frowns.

'I would imagine it's based on what Miss Ryder's own, personal morals are. For example; if she believes that rape and murder are wrong, she will view someone who has committed those acts as guilty.' Clayton explains.

'How can I assess them? By touching them, like you?' I ask, dimly aware that I'm slipping dangerously into the idea that this world may be real – this information true.

'No, the tell is within their eyes, but it's down to you to discover exactly what it is.'

'Thank you, Mr Nickson.' Sir Alec's tone is final, signalling that the test is over. I realise – without surprise – that this test wasn't for my benefit, it was for his. So that he may be first witness to every gift and assess whether they're of personal use – or a threat.

Clayton rises from his seat with me and takes my hand once more, gently squeezing it.

'Good luck, Miss Ryder.' He smiles, his dark eyes projecting sadness and longing, for what, I will never know.

Sir Alec paces along the corridor, his muscled arms swinging by his sides, his head held proudly atop his shoulders. I scurry in his slip stream, attempting to keep up.

'You will meet your Mentor now.' He booms over his shoulder as we near the grand oak doors of his study. The guard is stationed dutifully outside, accompanied by a young girl; possibly my age, slightly shorter than me and with a slender frame. She's willowy, her arms and legs too long for her body, but stunning – like the rest of them – with short, chestnut brown hair feathered around her thin face. Her amber eyes are large and smiling – she reminds me of a wood elf with her pointed nose and small lips.

'Miss Ryder, this is Tia Carey.' Sir Alec announces proudly. I'm startled by the unexpected affection and warmth in his tone as he gazes at her lovingly; his cold, grey eyes melting.

'It's really great to meet you!' Tia Carey thrusts her slender hand into mine, her grip tight.

'Miss Carey is an excellent student, highly recommended for a Mentor. You're extremely lucky, Miss Ryder.' Sir Alec grins sickeningly at Tia as she waves her hand dismissively, fanning her face in a faux blush.

'Sir Alec, please, I'm honoured!' The American girl giggles and tugs on my hand, taking jittery pigeon steps forward. 'Come on, Eve, I'll show you our room!' She squeals with anticipation before dragging me along the corridor, prancing beside me like a baby deer. 

'Don't worry, Sir Alec, she's in safe hands with me!' Tia calls back over her shoulder as Sir Alec beams gaily outside his study doors.

Tia keeps her fingers linked with mine even after we've rounded the corner into another hallway. She beams at me brightly, swinging her free hand carelessly by her side.

'How are you coping?' She asks, her almost-orange eyes full of concern. Her voice is high-pitched and feminine; coupled with her soft, childish face, she appears younger than her figure suggests she is.

'I don't know,' I admit, shaking my head. 'It's all happened so fast. I'm not even sure I'm convinced yet.'

'I was the same,' Tia nods, smiling fondly at the memory. 'Even when I knew I couldn't deny it any more, it still took me days to adjust. But I did – and it was the happiest moment of my life.' She grins.

I frown, struggling to understand how the realisation that you're clinically dead and will never see your family and friends again could ever suffice as the best moment of your life.

'We're all from difficult backgrounds,' she explains, reading my expression. 'We're all chosen because we have no family or friends. None of us have anything to go back to, most of us were dying when we were changed. The fact that we've been given a brand new start in life is cause to be celebrated, don't you think?' She smiles, halting in front of a spiralling stairwell. 

I nod slowly as Tia's words sink in. If this is indeed real, then I've been given another shot at life. One that's not tainted by drugs and past mistakes. One in which I'm not
Eve Ryder: disappointment, failure and ex-addict
. One where no-one knows me and my sordid past, where I can be more than just a statistic.

Tia and I tackle the stairwell, taking two steps at a time. Her movements are deft and smooth, like a ballet dancer; light on her feet, with nimble fingers and toes.

'Sir Alec seems to like you.' I note, my voice echoing on the stone walls.

'He pretends to be as cold as stone, but on the inside, he's a puppy.' She grins, and although I've immediately taken a liking to Tia, I can't help but think her perception of Sir Alec is wrong.

We exit the stairwell on the fifth floor, entering a brightly lit, peach-coloured corridor. There are rows of doors along both walls, each with numbers and brass plaques bolted beside them.

'You'll love our room. It's absolutely stunning, the best one I've had!' Tia squeals excitedly, bouncing along the corridor at frantic speed. 'I hope you don't mind but I've already chosen my bed, if you really want my one then I'll be happy to swap with you.' She beams, stopping abruptly at a dark wood door displaying a hanging number seven. The brass plaque bears black, copperplate writing in bold letters.

Tia Carey and Eve Ryder
.

I wonder how long I've been being watched for. Long enough for strangers to learn my name, to know that I'm estranged from my family and have no friends. How long had the mysterious
they
been planning to take me? When had that brass plaque gone up outside this door?

Tia swings it open to reveal the most magnificent room I've ever seen; bigger than my parents' entire second floor, housing more furniture than I've seen in over six months. The walls are a creamy white and covered in elegant black flower stencilling. Two four poster beds stand grandly opposite one another, one beside the window, the other to the right of the door, black silk drapes hanging delicately between the posts, with black and silver bed spreads and a dozen scatter cushions.

Small details I haven't thought of in what feels like forever – such as bedside cabinets and lamps, desks and bookcases – leap out at me, overwhelming me.

'The wardrobe was a waste.' Is all I manage to say, and Tia smiles pityingly, patting my shoulder.

'Open it.' She nods to the tall beech closet as she perches on the edge of her bed. I step towards it hesitantly, aware that my dirty trainers are spoiling the cream carpet. 

Inside the wardrobe are dozens of garments, separated neatly into categories; some hung on the rail, some folded into the storage shelves above. Elegant dresses of satin and silk, expensive dark suit jackets and crisp cotton shirts, warm jumpers, cool t-shirts and shiny leather coats – more clothes than I've ever owned in my life. The closet floor is lined with pairs of shoes; sandals, stilettos, baseball shoes, high tops – even flip flops of all different colours.

'Diana is a wonder,' Tia sighs softly as I marvel at the fashion display. 'I don't know how the Creators do it.'

I smile at the hazy memory of Diana with her soft skin and candy floss scent. It's like remembering a fond, distant relative and I picture her in my mind choosing these clothes for me, stocking the wardrobe for my arrival. As surreal as this entire situation is, I can't help but feel a warmth for Diana – the first person since my parents to demonstrate an act of kindness towards me.

I reluctantly close the wardrobe, leaving the clothes untouched – scared of ruining them with my grubby hands.

'You want to take a shower?' Tia reads my mind as she gestures to the wooden door on the opposite wall.

The en-suite is equally beautiful. Facing me; two gleaming showers stand next to one another and opposite; a deep marble tub with gold taps and clawed feet. A mirror runs the entire length of the far wall, above the marble worktops scattered with every bath accessory I can imagine.

'I feel too dirty to go in there.' I state bluntly. To my surprise, Tia bursts into a high-pitched fit of giggles, leaping from her bed and pushing me gently over the threshold.

'Towels are on the wall, if you need anything give me a shout – I'll be right here.' She smiles sweetly, closing the door behind her.