Wood Sprites

“And baby brother.” Because odds were that at least one was a boy. “But we don’t know for sure if they’re still at Dad’s work.”

“Where would they go? They’re popsicles!”

“They might have been born to someone else,” Louise pointed out the obvious.

“You heard Mom. .”

“They thought about having more and decided to pass on the others. The reason Dad talked about confidentiality might mean someone used the embryos and they’re someone else’s kids now.”

“But they’re still going to be like us,” Jillian said. “Short and brown and smart. .”

“And weird.”

“We are not weird. We just think outside the box.”

“Way outside.”

“So if they’ve been born, we can watch over them from a distance. And if they haven’t been born, make sure they’re safe.”

Louise blew her breath out in irritation. “If they’re not safe at Dad’s work, what are we going to do? It’s not like we can stick them in our fridge behind the ice cream. If for some reason they’re not ‘safe’ at Dad’s work, the only thing we could do is to implant them into someone. I don’t know ‘who,’ and I’m not totally sure ‘how.’ I’ve read all those links about implantation, but those pictures just don’t make total sense to me. Really there’s nothing between my legs that looks like that and certainly nothing down there is big enough for a baby to come out of.”

“It’s because we’re nine. That’s where puberty comes in. We change.”

Louise wasn’t totally sure about that. She really wished their father hadn’t passed out while filming their birth; the video would have been more instructive without the ten minutes of video of the birthing room’s floor. Their father missed the whole “come out” part of their birth. “And what are we going to do with the babies afterwards? We can’t just show up with them and say we found them. We tried that with the kittens and it didn’t work.”

A pillow came sailing across from Jillian’s bed and hit Louise in the face. “Ow!”

“Don’t be a stupid ass.” Jillian’s voice was muffled by the pillow over Louise’s head. “We didn’t know Daddy was allergic.”

Louise tossed the pillow back. “Don’t say ‘ass.’ This is just like the kittens times a zillion.”

“Don’t be a stupid butt. Before we start getting all worked up about anything, we need to figure out first if there’s anything to go all emo about.”

Jillian had a point. If someone else had claimed the embryos, then they wouldn’t have to deal with figuring out how to get their siblings born. Louise slipped quietly out of bed, got her tablet off her desk, and climbed under her blankets before turning it on.

“What are you doing?” Jillian whispered.

“Checking Mom and Dad’s computers. They probably have some kind of records on this.”

A moment later, Jillian climbed into bed with her. “Any records they have are probably going to be dated from before we’re born.”

With the sheets tented over them, they hacked into their parents’ personal files. On their mother’s computer they found medical records listing doctor visits and seemingly endless tests on both their parents. The terminology slowed them down, requiring detours to look up words and procedures. The records did prove that their parents had tried for years to have babies without success.

The only information they could find on their conception was the genetic profiles of their donors. The man was listed as white, nonreligious, no known hereditary diseases, father alive, mother killed in a car accident, master level of education obtained. The woman was also listed as white, Jewish, no known hereditary disease, mother alive, father murdered, doctorate level of education obtained.

“Well, that explains why we do the Hanukah lights at Christmas.” Jillian sighed with disappointment. “But I thought for sure we were at least a little African-American. Why are we so brown?”

“I don’t know.” Louise double-checked everything they’d searched for. “There are no names or even lot numbers on this information. We’re going to have to hack Dad’s company.”

* * *

Hacking their father’s computer wasn’t as hard as it sounded since their father was a dangerously predictable man. Most of his passwords were something of sentimental value and the date associated with them. The work password was Paris16, their parents’ honeymoon.

Once they were in, though, it was difficult to figure out what exactly they were looking for. There were thousands of frozen embryos stored, all cross-referenced with client numbers. Their parents weren’t on the client database.

“Why aren’t they on the list?” Jillian asked.

“Maybe because they didn’t put anything into storage, they just took stuff out.”

They found information on people who paid for implanting embryos that had been donated, but their parents weren’t on that list, either.

“Maybe they lied about all this,” Louise said.

“Or it wasn’t us they were lying to,” Jillian whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“What if they stole the embryos? It could be why Dad is all worried about confidentiality.”