Chapter 33

Fiona and I bundle up in various layers of mismatched shirts and sweaters. When she finally meets me on the front porch, my eyes act of their own accord and drop to her stomach, searching for a bump that's yet to show.

I still can't believe she's pregnant. In normal circumstances, it would be a big deal. But now? When we're stuck in hiding amongst a world of war and pandemonium? I can't imagine the stress and fear that must be weighing on her shoulders.

"I would ask you again why we're trekking through this forsaken town to play the role of researches," Fiona comments, bending down to tie her boot, "but I don't really care. Anything that gets me out of this house is a welcome adventure."

"Getting a little bored?"

"Out of my mind."

She stands and stretches, closing her eyes before letting out a grand exhale. The cold air hastily entangles with the sudden heat of her breath. It results in a misty puff of air forming in front of her lips before evaporating completely.

"Well then," I say, standing from the porch swing. "Let's get going."

The two of us walk down the walkway of the house, past the weeping willow, and towards the broken town. Bogdan's parting words echo in my mind, his warning to stay put while he's away. I know I should listen to him, but really – if there was any danger in this town, it wouldn't matter if we were at the library or in an abandoned house.

Would it?

The afternoon air becomes heavy with the scent of fear and death as we breach the edge of town. A few bodies lay strewn across the streets, all of them drained of blood. Fiona hooks her arm around mine as we walk past them.

"They don't even look real," she whispers.

I glance at a dead woman just a few feet away from us. She is completely drained of blood, and her skin has taken on a shiny, white hue. Her emerald eyes remain opened, staring towards the sky with disbelief.

Fiona's right. They don't look like corpses. Not really, anyway. They look like humans sculpted from porcelain, their untouched faces painted to match emotions ranging between fear and anger.

"How many do you think they have as prisoners?" she whispers again.

I shrug stiffly.

Even though there's no one around us, her question sounds loud enough to cause my stomach to knot with nerves. Whether she's whispering out of fear or respect, I can't shake the feeling that the drained bodies can hear us as we tiptoe past them.

We turn the corner and glance along the street. Broken glass is everywhere. Near the middle of the street, however, I notice a building that resembles our library back home. I nudge Fiona and nod towards it. Her eyes study the building briefly before she grunts in agreement.

With careful steps we continue our path forward, the broken glass crunching beneath our feet. The picture in my pocket seems to burn a hole through my pants. There has to be a reason I found it. And there has to be something, somewhere in the library with answers.

The walkway leading up to the library is littered with books and papers. Some of them appear charred, their pages nothing more than fragmented dust held together by the healing air surrounding it. Fiona whispers something under her breath about this being futile, but I keep pulling us forward.

Broken slabs of cement guide us through the entrance. When both of us have cleared the front doors, Fiona drops my arm and glances behind her. Her bright eyes dance around until she huffs out a breath of relief.

"Ok," she whispers, and the angst in her voice is palpable. "Where do we start?"

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The afternoon slips away from us. Every minute that passes the sun provides less and less light. Without a lamp, we won't be able to do much more. The books we managed to find are scattered around us in piles.

Fiona reaches into my backpack and pulls out a wrapped corn muffin.

"How are you not starving?" she mutters, relaxing against the filing cabinet behind her.

My eyes flicker to her stomach before focusing back on the book in front of me.

"I had a big lunch," I mutter.

She pushes her book to the side and picks up the picture again, reading aloud the words we earlier deciphered on the back. "Archer Robbins – Receiving first place medal, high jump."

She sets it aside and glances around at the surrounding books. "It's a shame there's not like a college yearbook or something. Then maybe we could find something else."

"Hmm."

I'm only half-listening. My eyes frantically search the pages of the public record documents clenched in my fingers. I've been following the heritage line of 'Robbins' for hours. Every new name I find, I search. But I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

In fact, I haven't found anything. No birth records. No death records. No history on the name at all.

This shouldn't be so difficult. Should it? In an act of frustration, I shove the papers away from my lap.

A wave of stale air kicks back in protest, filling my lungs to the brim. I cough it back out and hold my hand out, silently asking to see the picture again. Fiona gives it back, and I bring it close to my face, studying the image for the thousandth time today.

There has to be something missing – something that is obvious but isn't standing out to me.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.

"So, where'd you guys go yesterday?" I ask, trying to clear my head for a minute.

Fiona bites into the muffin and shrugs. "Everywhere, it felt like. We just kept running. We'd stop for a few minutes, look around, and then keep running again."

"He ever explain what you were doing?"

"Nope."

She pops the 'p,' and I find myself smiling at the familiar trait in her that I haven't seen in months.

"But I think he was doing an assignment for Bogdan," she explains after a moment of thoughtfulness. "I think he's looking for where we can go next. Somewhere more permanent or safer, maybe."

"Hmmm."

I'm back to half-listening again. Fiona continues her story, telling me about the state of the world around us, but I can't shake the feeling there's something missing. My eyes study every detail of the picture yet again. The man stares back at me, his expression taunting as I desperately search for answers.

The medal he's holding looks small compared to his large, masculine hand. My eyes follow along his slender fingers. They are flawless, just like Bogdan's. Flawless and –

I freeze.

A new realization dawns. My pulse quickens as I study the picture through new eyes. Fiona's voice tapers off in the distance. After another few moments, I tear my gaze away from the photo and hand it back to her.

"Look at it," I instruct, not bothering to whisper. "What do you see?"

Fiona pauses – mid bite – and raises a brow. She gingerly takes the picture from my hands and glances over it with a frown.

"Finn, I don't see anything different," she mutters. "What is it –"

"In the background," I say, cutting her off. "What do you see?"

She tilts her head to the side. "I dunno. Buildings?"

"And what don't you see?"

She's quiet for a moment, studying the picture like it's a piece of a puzzle. Then realization lights her expression and her jaw slackens.

"This is taken in the Village," she whispers in disbelief.

I nod, encouraging her to continue. She swallows hard and brings the picture closer to her face.

"His teeth are pointed, too," she comments, her voice. "Not pointed enough to be a vampire, but just enough – "

"To not be mortal," I finish for her.

Ever so slowly, she lowers the picture into her lap. Her wide eyes stare back at me in disbelief.

"He's a Secondary," she says aloud. "A half blood."

I nod, still in shock myself. "I think before Bogdan turned he was a descendent of a Secondary," I say with growing confidence. "Do you know what that means?"

For once Fiona doesn't answer in disgust as we talk about a non-mortal species. On the contrary, our current discussion is intriguing her almost as much as it's intriguing me.

"That's why we can't find any information on the name," she squeals, kicking the books away from her feet.

"Bogdan was a part of the Secondary population," I confirm. "Which means out there, somewhere, his family is still alive. If we find them, we find the key to his past."

Fiona reaches out to grab my hand. When she squeezes it, I feel a tingle of hope. "If we find them, we won't just find the key to his past, Finn. We find the Secondaries? We find our only chance to win this war."

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A/N: Thanks for reading, folks!  So - what do you think?  Where are the Secondaries?  When Finn tells Bogdan about his discovery, do you think Bogdan will be persuaded to find them in hopes to get allies?