She studied the long line of shops in front of her and headed for Subway. Then she dialed SIU.
“Christine, put me through to Director Byrne, please.”
“One moment, please.” Christine reappeared in half that time. “Director Byrne is currently in a meeting and cannot be disturbed.”
She swore under her breath. “Could you leave a message with his secretary? Let him know Rose Pierce is State Police Officer Michael Sanders.”
“Message forwarded.”
“Thanks.”
She disconnected, then stepped into Subway and ordered herself a roll and coffee. By the time she’d finished both, it was time to head into the city.
Doctor O’Hearn’s office was situated near the Spencer Street end of Bourke Street. Located on the thirteenth floor, it overlooked the old rail yards and the newly refurbished Etihad Stadium. It was the sort of view that cost millions, though she couldn’t see why. She’d prefer a view over parkland any day.
She was ushered into the doctor’s office almost immediately. O’Hearn was studying several reports on her desk, but she glanced up as Sam settled into the well-padded visitor’s chair.
“Samantha. How are you today?” She leaned back in her chair, a smile crinkling the corners of her gray eyes.
O’Hearn was the motherly type—full-figured and kindly looking. But there was a hawklike sharpness in her eyes that suggested this was a woman who missed little.
“Fine, thanks. I finally figured out what was causing those headaches, though.”
The doctor smiled. “Yes. Your hormone levels did indicate you were about to menstruate, which must have been somewhat surprising, given what you’d been told.”
That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. “Have you any idea why this should suddenly happen now?”
O’Hearn picked up one of the files and studied it for a few seconds. “Well, we did find some interesting anomalies in your test results.”
No surprise there, given what Finley had already discovered. “Such as?”
The doctor considered her, gray eyes calculating. “What do you know about genetic coding?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
The doctor smiled again. “Then I shall attempt to explain this simply. Each race has a set genetic code—though, of course, there are variations available within each code. Humans have one base pattern, shapeshifters another, and so on. But with you, your basic genetic coding has been spliced with the partial coding of at least two other races.”
“Shapechanger would be one,” Sam said, thinking back to what Francis had said about sensing others of her kind.
O’Hearn nodded. “And also shifter. But there’s at least one other partial code we’ve not yet identified.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “If I have the coding of all these races, why am I not able to shift or change?”
“That I don’t know. Nor do I know how this has happened, save that it does not appear to be natural.”
Sam rubbed her arms. While the news was far from surprising, it was a confirmation that she didn’t really want. Hopeworth was looking more and more like a possibility.
“Would having the mixed coding explain the developmental delay?”
“To some extent, yes. Both shifters and changers do not fully mature until they hit thirty or forty human years. It is nature’s way of compensating for their extended life span.”
Which was why most of the test subjects at Hopeworth were at least in their late twenties to early thirties. Sam rubbed her forehead. “Then why was I told at fifteen that I would never develop? Surely they would have picked up the shifter/changer coding as easily as you did.”
“My tests are a little more intense than your average physician’s, and I have spent a good part of my life focusing on the health and welfare of nonhuman races.” A hint of pride crept through the doctor’s warm voice. “I’m sure the physicians who examined you were good, but I’m a damn sight better.”
And modest besides. “So you’re saying they wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the genetic abnormalities?”
“Why would they even look? You’re listed as human on your birth certificate. They’d have no reason to search beyond that.”