working on a highly sensitive, highly confidential research project with far-reaching implications. What happens in this lab stays in this lab. No talking to your friends. No telling your parents. No boasting in the library. If you talk, you walk. Got it?”
Heads nodded.
“No personal laptops, no cell phones, no photographs. One lab terminal will have Internet access, but only Beaker, Shotgun, and Sherlock will have the access code,” Chris continued, pointing to the senior researchers. “We’ll be keeping lab notebooks the old-fashioned way, written in longhand on paper, and they will all be turned in to Beaker before you swipe out. For those who have forgotten how to use a pen, Bones will show you.”
Bones, the weedy young man with the paper notebook, looked smug. A bit reluctantly the students parted with their cell phones, depositing them in a plastic bucket that Beaker carried around the room.
Meanwhile Shotgun gathered up the laptops and locked them in a cabinet. Once the laboratory had been cleared of contraband electronics, Chris continued.
“When, in the fullness of time, we decide to go public with our findings—and yes, Professor Clairmont, they will one day be published, because that’s what scientists do,” Chris said, looking at Matthew sharply, “—none of you will have to worry about your careers ever again.”
There were smiles all around.
“CC stands for ‘creature chromosome.’”
The formerly smiling faces went blank.
“C-c-creature?” Bones asked.
“I told you there were aliens,” said a man sitting next to Hazmat.
“He’s not from outer space, Mulder,” Chris said.
“Good name,” I told Matthew, who looked bewildered. He didn’t own a TV, after all. “I’ll tell you why later.”
“A werewolf?” Mulder said hopefully. Matthew scowled.
“No more guesses,” Chris said hastily. “Okay, team. Hands up if you’re a daemon.”
Matthew’s jaw dropped.
“What are you doing?” I whispered to Chris.
“Research,” he replied, looking around the room. After a few moments of stunned silence, Chris snapped his fingers. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”
The Asian woman raised her hand. So did a young man who resembled a giraffe with his gingercolored hair and long neck.
“Should have guessed it would be Game Boy and Xbox,” Chris murmured. “Anyone else?”
“Daisy,” the woman said, pointing to a dreamy-eyed creature wearing bright yellow and white clothes who was humming and staring out the window.
“Are you sure, Game Boy?” Chris sounded incredulous. “She’s so . . . um, organized. And precise.
She’s nothing like you and Xbox.”
“Daisy doesn’t know it yet,” Game Boy whispered, her forehead creased with concern, “so go easy on her. Finding out what you really are can freak you out.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Chris replied.
“What’s a daemon?” Beaker asked.
“A highly valued member of this research team who colors outside the lines.” Chris’s response was lightning quick. Shotgun pressed his lips together in amusement.
“Oh,” was Beaker’s mild response.
“I must be a daemon, too, then,” Bones claimed.
“Wannabe,” Game Boy muttered.
Matthew’s lips twitched.
“Wow. Daemons. I knew Yale was a better choice than Johns Hopkins,” Mulder said. “Is this Xbox’s DNA?”
Xbox looked at Matthew in silent entreaty. Daisy stopped humming and was now paying guarded attention to the conversation.
Matthew, Shotgun, and I were the grown-ups in this situation. Telling humans about creatures shouldn’t be left to the students. I opened my mouth to reply, but Matthew put a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s not your colleague’s DNA,” Matthew said. “It’s mine.”
“You’re a daemon, too?” Mulder looked at Matthew with interest.
“No, I’m a vampire.” Matthew stepped forward, joining Chris under the projector’s light. “And before you ask, I can go outside during the day and my hair won’t catch fire in the sunlight. I’m Catholic and have a crucifix. When I sleep, which is not often, I prefer a bed to a coffin. If you try to stake me, the wood will likely splinter before it enters my skin.”
He bared his teeth. “No fangs either. And one last thing: I do not, nor have I ever, sparkled.”
Matthew’s face darkened to emphasize the point.
I had been proud of Matthew on many previous occasions. I’d seen him stand up to a queen, a spoiled emperor, and his own awe-inspiring father. His courage—whether fighting with swords or struggling with his own demons—was bone-deep. But nothing compared to how I felt watching him stand before a group of students and his scientific peers and own up to what he was.
“How old are you?” Mulder asked breathlessly. Like his namesake, Mulder was a true believer in all things wondrous and strange.
“Thirty-seven.”
I heard exclamations of disappointment. Matthew took pity on them.