Page 10 of Saint of the Shadows

Annie tucked her phone in her lab coat. “I’m sure.” The redness lingered in splotches down her neck. She clicked louder through more chromosomes and hexagonal molecular compounds.

Obviously, the messenger was a sensitive subject. Marisol rubbed her lips together and uttered the beginnings of an apology.

In the middle of Marisol’s first vowel sound, Annie kicked her chair back until it slammed into the island with athwack! “Holy shit! Uh, I mean eureka? This specimen only has forty-four chromosomes!”

Despite Annie’s excitement, some humans existed absent a pair of chromosomes, twenty-two pairs versus the typical twenty-three. “Could be fused—”

“Nothing’s fused. Look at it. It’s gorgeous.”

Marisol bent over the computer screen too. Her shoulder bristled against Annie’s. On the monitor, there was nothing but slightly bent chromosomes resembling larvae. “And?”

“The chemical compound at its fifteenth chromosome? Haven’t seen that level of cellular regeneration in humans. Starfish, however…”

Ridiculous. Marisol chortled. “This person is part starfish?” She faced Annie’s profile.

“This person might not be homo sapien. What we might be looking at is the next step in our evolution.” Annie turned to Marisol. Behind her glasses, a single eye twitched. It probably was from screen strain or a nutrient deficiency from living off microwavable noodles and sugary yogurt, but Marisol shuddered to think the twitch meant Annie found her loophole in stinkin’ human cloning.

“Remember the mission,” Marisol reminded Annie, tapping her friend’s nose before stretching her arms overhead. With the amount of energy spent on the stretch, she was due for some shut-eye. “See you tomorrow.”

“I rented a gown for you. They’re delivering it right to your door.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. You’d get so busy, you’d forget.” Annie adjustedherself back in the chair.

Marisol hugged Annie, resting her chin against Annie’s shoulder. “You’re the only one who looks out for me.”

Without breaking her focus on the computer, Annie said, “That’s because the last time I remember a man giving you an orgasm, I wasn’t dyeing my grays.”

Marisol stepped back and cataloged her love life. “I’ve had...” Nope. Flatline. “Didn’t you say science made men obsolete?”

“I saidalmostobsolete. Don’t cherry-pick what a doctor says to you.”

Marisol laughed. “You don’t have gray hair.”

“Because I dye it.”

Marisol kissed the top of Annie’s head and straightened up, readjusting her coat before heading out into the cold.

“I’m not putting on a mask for you,” Annie said. “I’m not prepared to escalate our friendship. Yet. And don’t be stupid. Help detectives play dress up off the clock.”

Marisol nodded and left. Ultimately with Annie around, men, even the ones dressed like the Patron Saint, could go suck eggs. Marisol lived her best life—the opinion of ailing old shopkeepers be damned.

In the hallway, she tapped the button for the elevator. The sorry doors opened, and she stepped in until—Jesus! Her heart leaped to her throat as she gripped the door frame. Her foot hovered overnothing but metal cables and a long, dark drop. Vincent Varian, or whoever was in charge, really needed to fix this thing.

She rushed back to the lab and smacked the glass.

Annie cracked the door open and spoke through the space. “Elevator again?”

“That thing is a deathtrap.”

“I’ll put in another maintenance request. They insist nothing’s wrong. It only happens to you. You’re probably irradiated.”

“That might explain it. I’m not rich or an alien.” Marisol headed for the stairs.

4

Daddy Issues

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