The Blood Catalyst

Chapter 19

Ethan stood in the middle of the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.

A blood test.

It wasn’t even a big deal, really. Humans did it all the time. For school, for sports, for insurance.

But he wasn’t human.

And this wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about Coach Santiago, whose name was still flashing across news headlines like he was a cartel leader. It was about Zara, who kept showing up in his head even when he didn’t want her to. And it was about those stupid rumors that were everywhere now—t****k, YouTube, sports blogs. “Is Ethan Moreau On Drugs?” “High School Prodigy or Pharmaceutical Creation?” “Something Inhuman About His Speed?”

He wiped his face, threw the toothbrush in the sink, and walked out of the bathroom.

Downstairs, his father was on the phone, pacing the length of the living room in a robe. His voice was low, but Ethan could tell from the tightness of his jaw that he was angry.

What else was new?

The moment Lorenzo Moreau ended the call, he turned to Ethan like he'd been waiting for him all day.

"You have ten seconds to tell me you're not about to do something stupid."

Ethan crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. "What if I wanted to get a blood test?"

There was silence followed by a scoff and then a long, slow turn of his father's head like Ethan had just grown a second one. "Are you insane?"

"I didn’t say I was doing it now. I just said—"

"You just said you wanted to put our entire bloodline in... hand it over to humans in a lab coat."

"That's... not what I said. At all."

"You're seriously thinking of giving them your blood?"

"They already think I'm doping. This would clear it. It’d stop the rumors."

His father walked toward him slowly. "And start new ones. Ones you can't walk away from. Ones I can't clean up with a phone call."

Ethan shrugged. "At least it’s better than people thinking Coach Santiago is stuffing us all with needles behind the bleachers."

"You are not responsible for your coach."

"I kind of am. Him getting arrested is my fault."

"No," his father said, his voice rising. "You are not. You are responsible for your own safety, your own secret, and our family. That man is not family."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Seriously? You’ve never even met him. And the one time you tried, you showed up to my meet drunk."

"I wasn’t drunk," Lorenzo said. "I was tipsy."

"Right, because that makes it better."

"Don’t change the subject," his father snapped. "You think clearing your name matters more than protecting what you are?"

"I'm not trying to expose myself."

"But you will! You think blood tests are that simple? That they won’t raise questions when nothing matches?"

"I’ll fake it," Ethan said. "Use a donor. Get a medic. Something. I’ll figure it out. And out blood will probably test normal. I mean... What different are out family doctors from normal doctors?"

"And what happens if someone finds out?"

"I don’t know, Dad! Maybe they’ll throw me in a cage, or a lab, or start sending garlic in the mail! But at least people will stop dragging Coach through the dirt."

"Since when did you start caring so much about humans?"

"You can't understand dad!" Ethan yelled. "This whole thing is stressful for everyone because of me. The school, my coach, his daughter— you know what it's like to have your father being embarrassed and taken to the station based on false allegations."

"So it’s a girl."

Ethan didn’t answer.

"A girl," his father repeated, like the word tasted bad in his mouth. "This entire circus is because of a girl."

"Don’t do that," Ethan said. "Don’t act like it’s just—"

"Food!" his father snapped. "They are food, Ethan! We live because they exist. We survive because they’re weak. That’s the balance. That’s how it has always been."

"You make it sound like we’re wolves and they’re chickens."

His father nodded. "Exactly."

"That’s messed up."

"No, that’s nature."

Ethan laughed bitterly. "You know what’s wild? You think I’m the one being reckless. You think I’m the danger. But you’re the one who hasn’t stepped into the real world in decades. You sit here, day-drinking with half-naked women, and you think you understand how life works now?"

"I understand more than you ever will."

"No, you don’t. You understand how to hide, to illegal ass business, take advantage of humans, use their blood, run p**********n and drug rings—"

"And you understand nothing."

"If I don't do this, things will get worse. And not just for me. For Zara, ny coach. For everyone who stood up for me while you were here doing nothing."

"You’re going to throw it all away for her?"

"This isn’t about her! It's not about a girl!"

"Of course it is. You’ve let a girl mess with your head. You’ve let some random, plain human distract you from everything we are!"

"She’s not just a random girl," Ethan said.

"You think you love her?" His father began laughing.

"I think I’m not you. And it's nothing about her or love... I don't even know her dad. We barely talk and—"

"And you're hoping taking this drug test would make her start talking to you?"

"You're reading too much meaning into nothing."

"Do whatever you want. Be a fool. I’m done protecting you."

"You were never protecting me. You were controlling me. And if anyone's the fool, it's you. What do you think happens if I don't take a test? They will come after you— you run a f*****g Mafia ring. Drugs, weapons, p**********n, trafficking, k********g humans for blood. You still think I should not take the test?" He asked. "Go ahead. Tell me not to."

His father was silent.

"Didn't think so," Ethan scoffed, walking away. He didn’t slam the door, but he wanted to.

As he walked away from the house, he pulled out his phone, and opened his notes app.

To-do:

Find clean donor blood

Contact Medilab

Call Zara to see how she's doing (???)

He stared at the last item for a second. Then he deleted the question marks.

You should hate her Ethan. She's the reason this whole thing started, his senses screamed at him.

He looked at his notes app and sighed.

He didn't even have Zara's number to begin with. He opened his contact list and decided to dial his coach.

While the phone rang, he thought about a thousand things,— like the reason why he was calling Coach Santiago, how he was going to say, "hey coach, I'm calling because for some reason I have to urge to talk to Zara even though I don't know what the f**k go say."

His coach picked up on the third ring.

"Hey Ethan, it's pretty late. Are you... Okay?"

"Yeah, no... I'm good."

"Okay? To what do I owe the honours?"

"I just wanted to see how you're faring. Today was... Crazy."

"It was."

"I was thinking you could maybe call a press conference on my behalf," Ethan asked after a beat of silence. "We'll let them know I'm going to take a blood test. Everything will be very public."

"That's just ridiculous Ethan. You took drug tests before and after the goddamn nationals."

"Yeah, but this is a mess and that might be the only way to stop it."

"You know what? You're right— we'll do just that tomorrow."

"Thanks coach," he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And hey— uh... How's... Zara?"

"I am starting to get very curious as to whatever the hell is going on between you two," Coach Santiago said.

Ethan ended the call.

*+*+*+*+*+*

Ethan sat in the back of the hospital car, hoodie pulled low, sunglasses on, like that was going to do anything. There were reporters everywhere. Camped out on the front steps like it was the red carpet and he was about to win Best Actor in a Tragedy.

Coach had to push through first, waving a clipboard like it was some sort of weapon. "Excuse us. Move, please. Let the boy breathe."

"Is it true, Ethan? Are you on anything?"

"Did you lose the race on purpose?"

"Are you getting tested to cover something worse?"

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking with his head down until they were inside the building and the doors closed behind them.

The hospital smelled like bleach and rubber gloves. Somewhere nearby, a baby was crying. He tried not to think too hard about the smell of blood that floated faintly in the air. It was everywhere. In IVs, in small plastic tubes, inside people who walked past him like nothing was weird.

And yet? Nothing.

Nothing pulled at him. No hunger, no craving. His stomach didn’t even turn. It was like walking into a giant buffet and suddenly not liking food.

He rubbed his chest slowly, trying not to look too weird.

"You okay?" Coach asked, glancing over at him.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Just... tired."

They were called into a small lab room with a mint green curtain and a tiny metal table with gloves, syringes, and a few sticky pads that looked like oversized gum. The nurse walked in a second later, flipping through her clipboard.

"Ethan Moreau?"

"That’s me," he said, sitting down.

She looked up, paused, then smiled. "Oh. Wow. You’re much cuter in person."

Coach made a noise behind her.

She ignored him and sat beside Ethan, opening up a fresh syringe packet. "So. Blood draw. Nervous? You don't look like the type to be scared of needles."

"I'm not," he said, watching her tie the band around his arm. "I just don’t really like being stared at like a zoo animal."

She laughed a little. "Yeah, well, welcome to fame. You're like, everywhere right now. My little brother’s obsessed with your races."

"Tell him I said thanks."

She smiled again. "Cool."

He rolled up his sleeve and she glanced at him while tightening the tourniquet around his arm.

"So... are the rumors true?"

He gave her a look.

"About you being half-alien or something," she said with a grin. "Sorry, couldn’t help it."

He didn’t say anything, just watched as she cleaned the area with alcohol.

"Don’t worry. I’m just messing with you," she said, then leaned down to find a vein. "Wow, you’ve got nice veins. Every nurse dream," she whispered. Coach Santiago rolled his eyes.

The blood filled the tube easily. It was a little too dark but she gave it one weird look he shrugged.

"All done," she said, peeling off the band. "That was fast. You're like a pro. Maybe next time I can draw your blood without a crowd outside."

Ethan gave her a tight smile. "Yeah. Maybe."

The results came out about an hour later. He was sitting in the waiting room, trying to avoid looking at the old People magazines and the news on the TV, when Coach walked in with a paper in hand.

"You're clean," he said.

Ethan blinked. "Seriously? Nothing weird?"

"No drugs. No enhancers. Just a weirdly perfect blood profile and a resting heart rate that makes nurses think you're in a coma," he said with a smile. "And why did you say seriously? We're you scared of something being discovered?"

Ethan stood up slowly. "No, I was just scared someone might have been paid off to falsify something."

"Very valid fear," coach grinned.

"So what happens now?" Ethan asked.

"Now," Coach said, pointing his thumb toward the front entrance, "the media gets something new to chew on. Come on."

They walked outside and, as expected camera's and microphones were being shoved into their faces.

"Ethan, what did the test say?"

"Are you going to sue?"

"Was the rumor about steroids just a cover for something else?"

Coach Santiago held up the paper. "Negative. He’s clean. That’s the official result. So anyone who published otherwise might want to get their lawyers ready. You can't defame an athlete, almost ruin my career and think you'll go scot free. You'll definitely be hearing from the court very soon."

"Are we really suing?" Ethan whispered as he was guided into the car.

"Not sure yet, but I might be doing that. The school might as well."

"Well f**k," Ethan whispered underneath his breath. .

He didn't want more drama.