Miracle - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

The next morning, Ezra knocked on the bedroom door. I opened it, rubbing my eyes. He was buttoning up a gray dress shirt, over a thin white tank.
"Sorry to wake you," he said, "but I have to go into work today."
It was Saturday. There wasn't any school, so... I perked up fast as I realized what he was saying. "I get to go with you?"
"Yes." My eagerness seemed to make him uneasy. "You're well enough that they can do some blood draws and fluid samples."
"That's all?" Surely his employers wanted more from me than that. "I figured they'd be doing, like, biopsies and spinal taps and stuff." I said it half in jest,until the muscles in his neck tensed.
"I asked them to wait another two weeks before starting any invasive procedures."
Oh.
"But Nephilim anesthetics are strong, you won't be in pain."
"Hey, hey, you're gonna tear your shirt." I reached for his hands, because they seemed to have forgotten their mission to do up the buttons and were instead twisting at the fabric. He jerked at my touch, and let me bat his fingers away so I could get the last button into place. "There," I said, and looked up. He was frowning so hard he practically had a unibrow. "It's okay, Ezra. I'm not scared."
That was partly a lie. Whatever his company had in store for me, there was no way it would all be painless. Ezra only had the right to stop them if their tests endangered my health or safety; discomfort wasn't part of the equation. Still, I knew he'd protect me however he could. As for the rest, I had resolved to endure it without complaining, because I didn't want him feeling any more guilty.
I gave him a nice, bright smile. "I'm gonna get dressed. Do we have time for breakfast?"
We did, but his refrigerator and pantry were almost empty. We ended up eating bowls of dry cereal at the kitchen counter. "After work," I said, crunching nuggets of sugar-glazed, nutritionless carbs between my teeth, "can we go get real groceries?"
He nodded.
The first time it crossed my mind that something was wrong was when I climbed up behind him on his bike, in the apartment complex's garage. I put my arms around his waist like usual, and felt him stiffen. He shifted on the seat so that our bodies weren't so close. He didn't say anything, or turn to look at me. Just kicked the engine on and rolled out of the parking space.
I tightened my grip on the sides of his worn black hoodie, but didn't try hugging him like I usually did. A trickle of dismay had chilled my veins, and my thoughts started racing as we rode out of the garage and onto the street.
What was this? He didn't like me touching him, all of a sudden? Was he mad at me? Maybe I'd hurt his feelings earlier, with the groceries comment.
There was still so much about Ezra I didn't know. He wasn't exactly easy to read. He'd been part of my life for so long, but I'd only ever really had brief glimpses of who he was as a person. I knew he was smart, and willful, and had a sense of personal morality that didn't line up with other people's. He didn't talk much, and kept a bland poker face going almost all the time. It was easy to assume he didn't have much emotion. Look at how calmly he put up with me, no matter how childish or needy I was being.
We pulled into an open parking lot, next to a towering building of white marble. He stopped the bike, then held it steady while waiting for me to get off. I hurried to get out of his way, taking off my helmet and handing it to him. He didn't make eye contact as he strung it with his on the handlebars.
I chewed my lip. "Ezra, I... um..." It felt like I should apologize, except I wasn't sure if he was even upset. Maybe I was overthinking. It was sunny out and he had his big sweatshirt on, maybe he didn't want me clinging to him. Maybe he was feeling guilty for the stuff his company was going to do to me. Or maybe he hadn't been pulling away from me at all. What if, after a week at the Elioud school, my paranoid brain was so hypersensitized to rejection that I was imagining things?
"Nervous?" he asked.
I shook my head. He didn't say anything else and led the way to the building's sliding glass doors.
We went inside and took an elevator that smelled faintly of formaldehyde and floral air freshener. On the eighth floor, the elevator opened up directly into a laboratory. Gray flecked vinyl flooring, dozens of countertops spread with glassware, microscopes, refrigerators, incubators, centrifuges, and at least a dozen kitchen-appliance-sized machines I didn't recognize. The overhead lighting was amazing, as if the entire ceiling was one big fixture casting a cool, bright light over everything in here.
"Wow," I breathed.
Behind me, Ezra went to a cabinet and exchanged his ragged black hoodie for a white lab coat. He turned around, rolling up the sleeves past his sleekly muscled forearms, and I swallowed.
Jesus Christ, this was every one of my nerdiest erotic fantasies come to life. Under the ambient lights, Ezra's warm brown skin had a sort of ethereal glow.  The brilliant whiteness of his lab coat, the powerful size of him, the perfectly touchable smoothness of his youthful, freshly-shaven face... he had never looked more like an angel. He slid a green surgical mask over his head and down around his neck, and patted the chest pocket of his coat, which held an assortment of markers and pens in a pocket protector. The way my body was reacting, he might as well have run his tongue over his lips and given me a suggestive wink.
The Swan's pheromones had nothing on Ezra. I was weak in the knees. My heart was flipping around so excitedly behind my ribcage that I was going to fall over. God, god, how could he be so freaking hot?
"Connor?"
I blinked at him slowly, watching my name take shape on his lips.
"Connor, you remember Bo?"
A tall Asian Nephilim interrupted my wanton staring by stepping between me and Ezra. He surveyed me with exasperation, bringing me back to my senses a little.
"Michael's balls, Ez, your little Eljo's about turn the lab inside out with that mating call of his. You couldn't have given him a tune up this morning before dropping him on all of us?"
I couldn't see Ezra's face, but I knew mine was turning red as I glanced around the lab. Every white-coated Nephilim in here was looking at me. Crap.
"Come on, kid, I'll take you downstairs and we'll get started." Dr. Sarias reached for my arm and tugged me toward the elevator. I dug in my heels in surprise.
"Wait, isn't Ezra coming?"
Dr. Sarias rolled his eyes. "He's a lab tech. I'm a clinical physician. I take the samples, he analyzes them."
"But..." I looked back in alarm. I had to do this without him? Okay, now I was scared.
"Are you coming or do I have to carry you?" Dr. Sarias levitated me off the floor by a couple inches, so that I couldn't resist. I gave a cry of protest, and Ezra grumbled in warning.
"Go easy on him, Bo."
"Yeah, yeah. I got your back, buddy. Swear to Samyaza, the kid won't feel a thing."
"Don't take the watch off."
I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or his friend, but Dr. Sarias gave him a Boy Scout salute and hauled me to the elevator doors, which slid open so he didn't even have to break stride. I would bet the elevator responded to Nephilim thoughts like their computers did.
Because he had me floating, I couldn't turn around for a last look at Ezra before the doors closed. Once the elevator started descending, though, Dr. Sarias dropped me onto my feet. "You think you can give me a urine sample first thing? I want to start off with a twenty-four hour collection so we have a baseline."
"Baseline for what?" I asked.
He arched a brow. "Everything else."
It wasn't just my pee that they wanted. After I filled a little plastic sample cup in their small, overly air-conditioned clinic bathroom, Dr. Sarias handed me another one, this time accompanied by a dirty magazine—filled with well-oiled, naked men.
He didn't have to tell me what I was supposed to put in the second cup.
Also, with the image of Ezra in his lab coat still fresh in my mind, I didn't need the magazine.
But as soon as Dr. Sarias closed the restroom door I tore off a section of toilet paper and stuffed it between my skin and the watch's sensor. Don't freak out, I thought to Ezra. It's just for a few minutes. I didn't know how frequently he was checking on me while I was down here, but I really didn't want him popping into my head in the middle of this.
When it was done I washed my hands, unblocked my watch, and emerged from the bathroom to hand over the... er, specimen.
After that I was taken into an exam room where Dr. Sarias swabbed the inside of my mouth and nose, had me spit in a test tube, weighed me and measured my body fat with calipers, drew several vials of blood from my elbow, listened to my heart and lungs, looked inside my ears and at the back of my throat... then made me strip down while he inspected literally every single part of my body.
And photographed them, too.
"Baseline," is all he said when I asked what he needed the pictures for.
The answer was far from reassuring, especially when he put me up in a set of stirrups and examined everything down there in the same way. He was utterly businesslike about it, and directed me in repositioning myself when he needed a different view. He didn't touch me even once. I wondered if Ezra had told him not to? Anyway, it was super embarrassing and uncomfortable, but not the humiliation it could have been if he'd been less professional about it. Small blessings, I guess?
And at least the examination was only external. He didn't try to X-ray me, or ask me to drink any weird substances or take any weird pills. He spent extra time getting detailed photos of the healing burns on my back. He was interested in the birthmark behind my right ear, and asked if Maddy had one too. She didn't.
Finally he let me put my clothes back on. I was so cold by then that my teeth were chattering, and my brown leather jacket was a welcome layer of warmth over my t-shirt. Dr. Sarias handed me another, larger plastic cup, more the size of a bowl.
"Stool sample," he said, and pointed me off toward the bathroom.
I wrinkled my nose. He'd just inventoried and photographed my entire undercarriage, but somehow shitting in a bowl for him felt even more invasive. "Um. I don't have to go right now."
"Did you have a bowel movement this morning?"
"No."
"Did you eat breakfast?"
"Cereal," I said.
"That's all?" When I nodded, he sighed. "Figures, Ez eats like a frat boy. I don't suppose it was a nice, fiber-rich, whole-grain type of thing?"
"It was Fruit Loops."
"Of course it was. Okay, sit there and I'll bring you something to get those bowels moving."
I figured he meant a laxative, and planted myself on the exam table with my tablet to resume the history book I was reading. It was fascinating, all about the first Nephilim to put down roots in Central America, centuries before Europeans arrived. They'd married into the indigenous families and built a powerful empire, surrounded by jungles, where the human population worshipped them as gods. They built lavish golden temples to house their Elioud Brides, and human men were commanded to present their pregnant wives—and unborn children—as potential gifts to their great Nephilim overlords. They even maintained brothels of male Eljo.
Turned out, God didn't take so well to their arrogance and abuses of humanity. A hurricane, earthquake, and series of flash floods ensued, decimating most of the temples and killing hundreds of thousands of people, Nephilim and human alike. The handful of survivors had to start over entirely.
I was so caught up in my reading that I didn't realize how much time had passed until Dr. Sarias returned. He had a bowl of oatmeal on a metal tray, sprinkled with raisins and walnuts on top, and a mug of black coffee.
Setting it down on one of the rolling metal carts nearby, he said, "I didn't know if you take cream or sugar."
I was surprised he'd offer me either. "I get a choice?" But I'm a prisoner here. I hadn't really intended the thought for him. But maybe a part of me did, because he looked over with mild amusement.
"Well, about this you do. We have plenty, and it won't matter to our test results."
"Both, then, please."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of packets, dropping them on the tray. I dressed up the coffee and took a sip, wondering why he was still standing around. It's not like I was going to try escaping. Didn't he have any other work to do? Or was watching me eat part of his 'baseline' research?
"How long have you known Ezra?" I asked in between bites.
"Since grad school. About twenty years."
"Has he always wanted to be a researcher?"
"Pretty much. Though I'm not sure it's because he has interest in the science. For him it's more like a vendetta."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "What does that mean?"
"Let's just say Ez has a hero complex. Feels like it's his job to fix the world for people he cares about, even after they're gone."
"You're talking about his mom, aren't you?" I asked, after mulling over another bite. "She didn't like being Elioud."
Dr. Sarias leaned against the exam table and tapped the screen of his work tablet. It was see-through, so I could watch a chart of neon green letters scrolling under his fingertip. "Yeah, Barbara had a sad story. She was the oldest of eight kids, but she was more a mother to them than the woman who'd birthed them all. When she was enrolled in the Academy she had to leave them behind, and within her first year at school, two of her little brothers died in a house fire."
I paused with the spoon halfway to my mouth. "Oh, shit."
"She actually managed to outsmart school security, run away from Enoch's Peak, and return to her family. But by then she was fully ripe. Being among humans didn't work out so well."
I could imagine.
"The Academy negotiated her return by arranging a subsidy for her surviving siblings. She came back to school, graduated, and married Ariel Mekas... not necessarily because she liked him, but because Ariel's first Bride, Clara, talked them both into it. Right around the time Ruth was born, Barbara's seventeen year old sister died of a drug overdose. The following year, her brother was shot in some kind of gang fight. And it just went on and on, they were all such troubled kids. Eventually Barbara was the only one left.
"Ez doesn't like to talk about it much, but he told me once that she was fixated on the idea that the Nephilim had poisoned her by making her Elioud. In the early years of their marriage she begged Ariel for a cure, something that would allow her to safely return home. He wouldn't do it.
"So Ez decided he would. He'd inherited his mother's stubborn ingenuity, and his father's aptitude for science and math. By the time he was twenty-five he'd earned his first Ph.D., in reproductive endocrinology. But he was too young to work, so he kept studying. He added four more doctorates to his credentials in the fifteen years it took him to reach forty, which is when Nephilim are legally permitted to hold a job."
That sounded absurdly old until I considered that physically, a forty year old Nephilim would barely be a teenager. I thought of the graduation photo I'd seen on Ezra's desk at home. Five Ph.D.s, and he only looked about thirteen. Damn.
"With that kind of education and the fact that his father is a legend in the Bride program, he was granted an Elioud Biogenesis internship right away."
"And then he made me," I said.
Dr. Sarias grimaced. "Yup. On his first day here, no less."
But it was easy to understand why he'd been so impatient with my mom's test results. He'd waited his whole life to get into this place and finally help his mother, yet they'd tasked him with the creation of more girls like her.
"By then, Barbara had lost her entire family. I don't think she cared anymore if he found a cure. But you came along, and he doubled down on his research."
He stopped talking then, huffed, and scowled at the ceiling. I looked up too, out of reflex.
"What is it?"
"Eh. Nothing." He nodded at the oatmeal he'd given me. "Keep eating."
But I was full now. I pushed the bowl back, and at Dr. Sarias' insistence, drank the rest of the coffee. I still didn't have to poop.
So I was taken to a different room, one filled with what looked like physical therapy machines. Dr. Sarias hooked some sensors to my chest and forehead, and told me to walk on their treadmill. Then he sat down at a nearby table, clear glass tablet in hand, and proceeded to pretty much ignore me, eat a donut, and surf on his tablet while I walked.
And walked.
And walked.
I don't even know what he was measuring. Or if he was measuring anything at all. But eventually I told him I could probably give him the sample he wanted, so he stopped the treadmill, put the plastic bowl back into my hands and escorted me to the bathroom. I was instructed to collect all my pee, too, in a separate cup.
Sometimes science is kind of gross.
After that, he said we were done for the day. But on the way back up in the elevator, I was informed that I had homework. He wanted every drop of urine I released for the rest of the twenty-four hour period, until precisely eight seventeen tomorrow morning. He gave me a stack of little plastic cups, lids, and a Sharpie to label them with.
We got back up to Ezra's lab, and when the elevator doors opened it took a bit of looking around to spot him on the far side of the room, bent over a bulky microscope that had a computer monitor hooked up to it. He was manning a joystick in the tips of his fingers, and there was a group of other white-smocked scientists gathered over his shoulder.
Dr. Sarias held a finger to his lips, so we stood back and watched the screen, where you could see a needle carefully prodding at a circular blob. It moved very slowly, and finally pierced the outer membrane. Clear swirls exuded from the needle's tip.
A moment later, the blob burst. The onlookers sighed in disappointment, and Ezra looked up from the microscope.
"You'll get it next time, Ez," Dr. Sarias said loudly beside me. "Those treated oocytes are a bitch."
Ezra swiveled on his stool to face us. If he was upset by the failure, you'd never have known by his unflappable expression. He came over to us, pulling off his gloves. "I'm finished for today."
Dr. Sarias chuckled and crossed his arms. "Look at you, all domesticated. You've left early every day this week."
"He works at home," I interjected in Ezra's defense. "Every night."
"I wasn't criticizing, kid. It's about time this guy did something with his life besides fiddling around in the lab."
Ezra pretended like he hadn't heard. "Everything go okay?" he asked me.
Dr. Sarias snorted. "Please. As if you weren't checking every five minutes. You know exactly how it went today."
Ezra's eyes slid to his friend. "I know what happened. But," he looked back at me intently, "I'm asking how you feel about it."
"I'm, uh..." His face was so serious. "It was fine, I guess." I was just trying not to scare myself with what it all meant. Establishing a baseline indicated that the stuff they'd do later would change me—both inside and out.
"Let's go," Ezra said, and I followed as he changed back into his hoodie.
"Coming in tomorrow?" Dr. Sarias asked. "I'd like to start Connor on a few stress tests."
Ezra glanced at me. "He's not ready yet. We'll drop off the urine samples, but that's all."
"Monday, then."
But I have school. The words were on the tip of my tongue even as I realized they weren't true. I wasn't a real student. If I was healed enough to come to the lab today, it was likely Ezra would start bringing me here every day from now on. No more classes.
Even as the wave of disappointment hit, Ezra shook his head. "You and I have that batch of A.F.V.-fourteens to go through on Monday, remember? You can't do both at the same time."
"Sure, but there are plenty of other docs who can handle your Eljo."
Ezra gave him a withering glare, and Dr. Sarias put his hands up. "Okay, okay. You have trust issues, you know that?"
"Take it as a compliment," Ezra grunted, and nudged me toward the elevator. "I'll bring him when school gets out Monday, we should be done with our analysis then."
🧬🧬🧬
I don't know what I'd been expecting from a Nephilim grocery store, but it was surprisingly normal. Maybe bigger and cleaner and more well-stocked than the ones I was used to in Prickly Pear, but that wasn't saying much, it had been a small town.
I asked Ezra what he liked to eat, and he blinked like he didn't understand the question.
"Pasta?" I pressed. "Meat? Vegetables?"
"I don't know."
"Okay, what flavors are your favorite? Sweet? Spicy? Salty, sour, savory?"
"Salty," he said after a moment. "And... sweet."
"Perfect. I know what I'm making for dinner, then. Help me find a pineapple?"
We couldn't buy much, since we only had his motorcycle to take things home. But I managed to get enough staples that we'd be set for at least a few days. We got the bags up to the apartment, I took off my jacket, and got busy in the kitchen. Ezra went right to his computer, checking work emails. A couple of times, though, I noticed him sniffing the air appreciatively as the scent of pork, soy sauce and carmelized pineapple filled the apartment.
When it was ready, I called him to the breakfast bar and set our plates down.
"It's a stir fry," I said. "Sweet and salty."
I watched him put a forkful in his mouth and held my breath. His expression didn't change much as he chewed, and swallowed.
"Well?" I asked.
He didn't answer. Didn't look at me. But he got up from the barstool, walked around into the kitchen, and opened the silverware drawer.
"You don't like it?" I mean, if he didn't, that was okay. Right? It was my first time cooking for him, it might take a while to figure out his tastes.
He reached into the drawer and pulled out a spoon. A big one, serving sized. He took it back to the other side of the bar, sat down, and moved the fork out of the way. With the spoon he lifted a giant scoop of food into his mouth, rice and meat and pineapple chunks and all. And this time he closed his eyes while chewing it, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.
A smile broke over my face. "Guess it's okay, then."
I came around to his side of the bar and sat down beside him. The meal really was pretty good. I might have been a little too heavy handed with the soy sauce, and it could have used a bit of ginger to really make the flavors pop. But Ezra cleaned his plate in five bites, and that was plenty of validation.
"You want more?" I asked, hopping up to get him seconds.
He ate three platefuls in the time it took me to finish one. I was glowing with triumph. "See? Home-cooked meals are so much better than processed stuff. I'm going to take really good care of you from now on, wait and see."
He made a humming sound.
I cleaned the bar off first, since he liked to set up his take-home projects there. But then I went around the kitchen cleaning up, washing the dishes and cookware by hand, wiping down the counters. Ezra allowed me to stay out there with him long enough that I got to watch him drip some ruby red liquid into a larger flask of clear stuff that was suspended over a Bunsen burner. The mixture turned a familiar shade of pink.
"You're making blocker formula?"
"The Swan asked for more."
"He went through everything you gave him already? What's he doing, drinking the stuff?"
The fluid in the flask had started to bubble, and Ezra adjusted the burner. I watched in fascination. "Can you teach me to make it?"
"Maybe. Not tonight, though. You should get to bed."
"It's not even eight yet!"
"You've had a long day. I want you to rest tomorrow, I'll be working from here most of the day."
"But..." There was something going on that he wasn't saying. He was utterly focused on his vials of chemicals, as if I was half invisible. Or maybe he was wishing I'd leave him alone. And it dawned on me, Ezra had spent his entire life like this. Alone in his apartment, alone in his lab, experimenting away by himself. But I was in his house now, and very much up in his space. The apartment was small, we couldn't really avoid each other. He was probably feeling crowded.
Damn it.
"Okay," I said. "Is it okay if I come out here to make breakfast, though?"
He looked up at me. "Of course. This is your house too, Connor."
It was, but it wasn't. I craved his presence, but respecting his boundaries had to come first.
"I'm going to go take a shower, then. Okay?"
"Mm."
I trudged off to the bathroom, and he didn't look back.