Blood Codex

Chapter 2

“As you can imagine, many mythologies and superstitions have arisen around birthmarks over the centuries, from the comedic to the malevolent. They have been considered marks of luck and of evil, of witches and of prophets. As with many things slightly to the left of what most would consider ‘normal’, there are almost as many varying stories surrounding them as there are people to tell those stories.

“Take this human skin, for example, preserved in the permafrost of Siberia and recently on loan to this special exhibition. That birthmark is unusually dark and some consider that it might be the reason why the body was interred in such an extravagant grave, that perhaps the mark gave the person special standing in their ancient society.”

Jake Crowley zoned out while the museum guide continued her monologue to his class of fourteen-year-old history students. He let his gaze roam the “Blue Zone”, the Human Biology section of the Natural History Museum. A giant model of a human cell, a journey through reproduction, birth and growth, all kinds of interactive displays. He loved this place, had since he was a kid. The building itself mesmerized him, a mixture of Gothic Revival and twelfth-century Romanesque-style architecture, in line with Museum founder Sir Richard Owen’s vision of creating a ‘cathedral to nature’. Inside, the exhibition spaces were wonderfully high, serried arches and vaulted windows, bright skylights, wide staircases and shining marble floors. And the museum’s contents were truly mind-expanding. Taking his classes on field trips here was probably the most satisfying part of his often thankless job.

The group shuffled forward and Crowley’s eyes returned to the museum guide as she continued her guided lecture. He drank in her shining black hair in a neat bob, her smooth, lightly ochre-tanned skin. She was clearly of East Asian extraction, but Crowley thought maybe half-Chinese and half-white European. He enjoyed guessing the heritage of people and was right more often than not. She stood a little taller than he considered most Chinese, though several inches short of Crowley’s firmly muscled six-foot frame. And she looked fit and strong, lines of muscle clear on well-formed arms, hard calves showing beneath a straight skirt. She was quite a stunner, and clearly as smart as any university lecturer. Her delivery was alive and passionate, far from the rehearsed speeches so many guides went through in robotic fashion day after day. Then again, this woman wasn’t just a guide, but an employed historian at the museum, taking time out from a busy research program now and then to talk to interested groups. Crowley was pleased his students might benefit, perhaps absorb some of her enthusiasm for the subject. Then again, maybe not. Teenagers had a strange resistance to things they might learn from unless it was something they chose to investigate. History rarely fell into that category.

Crowley permitted himself a moment’s fantasy, imagined walking arm-in-arm with the beautiful historian, a fine contrast to his perpetually pale skin and slightly angular features. As the thought drifted through his mind, her eyes locked with his for a moment and he had the strange sensation she could hear his inappropriate desires. His cheeks flushed hot and he thought he saw the slight twitch of a smile on her mouth as she looked away, not breaking stride with her lecture for a moment. She was saying something about fertility rites and one of his less focused students, Maxwell Jenkins, made some ribald remark about the rites he was planning to take out on some poor hapless female classmate. She snapped a justified obscenity at him and Maxwell’s perpetually obsequious friend barked a dutiful laugh. Neither lad realized Crowley stood directly behind them until he clamped a hand to each of their shoulders and steered them away from group.

Sometimes Crowley wished he was still in the army, so he could slam them down and give them fifty push-ups on the spot, while he yelled at them about respect and not being smartasses. But as a teacher, main force was not an option. His military training often helped. The voice he had developed along with his impressive physical presence meant he had a much easier time keeping his students in line than many teachers did. And there were other ways he could make these two boys suffer later on.

“Aw, Sir, I was just joking,” Jenkins complained, his outrage slightly marred by the cracking of his puberty-stricken voice box.

“And you know very well I won’t stand for that kind of talk, in class or out of it,” Crowley said. “When we get to rugby training after school this afternoon, the three extra laps of the pitch and subsequent push-ups will be down to you. You’ll be kind enough to let the rest of the squad know that, won’t you?”

“Sir, that’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Jenkins, but it’s a lot easier if you don’t act like an animal. You’re smart boys underneath all that testosterone, so maybe the extra rugby training will help to reveal it, eh?” He enjoyed being their rugby coach as well as their history teacher for the variety of influence it provided him. They weren’t bad kids. Just teenagers.

Jenkins and his friend screwed up their faces in disdain but were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. Crowley pushed them back to the group as the guide was finishing up her talk.

“No matter what superstitions and stories are told around subjects like these,” she said with a smile, “here at the Natural History Museum we focus as much as we can on facts. But check the information panels by the exhibits as there are some fascinating stories that have been corroborated and are well worth your time.”

“You’ve all got fifteen minutes,” Crowley called out, his strident voice ringing in the large space. “Do not leave this area and we’ll gather by the blue whale at exactly eleven forty-five. Off you go. Try to learn something!”

The students drifted away in their cliques and groups, chattering about anything except the exhibition and what they had just heard. Crowley approached the guide, offered her a warm smile. “Thanks very much. Great talk.” He saw her name badge read Rose Black. She noticed him glancing at her chest and he quickly lifted his eyes, offered his hand to shake. “You’re Rose,” he said lamely, trying to explain why he had been looking down. “I’m Jake Crowley.”

She flashed that subtle half-smile again, and shook his hand. Her touch was soft and warm, a tingle of something quickly passing between them. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part? “Nice to meet you, Jake.” She nodded back toward the milling students. “I’m really never sure how much attention any of them pay.”

Crowley was pleased she had smoothly changed the subject from his embarrassment. “You know what, the ones who are genuinely interested take it all in quietly and the others do tend to absorb more than you might imagine. Either way, this is a particularly interesting special exhibit. I never realized there was such a history to something as simple as birthmarks!”

Rose nodded and glanced around the space. “They’re anything but simple, really, in a historical context. And as part of the greater history of human biology they’ve had some interesting effects on society.”

“You have any birthmarks of your own you’re hiding?” Crowley asked, and instantly felt like a fool. Who was the idiot teenager here really?

A strange expression flitted across her face, partly concern, partly curiosity. Then that soft smile was back. “You know, you should at least buy me dinner before asking a question like that.”

Relief flooded Crowley that she wasn’t offended and he took a deep breath and dove all the way in. Fortune favors the bold and all that. “That’s a tremendous idea,” he said. “It’s a date. Are you free tonight?”