Page 44 of Flock This

He sighed. “It’s fine. They only bring healthy food anyway.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No. I’ve got another two weeks at most—I want bad food. What’s the point in eating kale other than taking what little joy I have left?” He dropped his gaze to the book again as though bored with the conversation.

Then again, given what he said, why would he waste his time talking to me if there was no point?

Except, something occurred to me. I patted my pocket to find something there.

“What do you think about this?” I fished out the candy bar the doctor had given me.

Roger looked at me and smiled. The edges were tight, a sure sign of pain, but he smiled nonetheless. “Well, it’s no whiskey, but it’s better than nothing.”

I walked up to the barrier just as he did, stopping where a door rested. A large box sat there, a door on each side. When I pulled open the door on my side, it prevented the door on the other side from opening. I placed the candy bar inside, and when I closed it, he opened his side and took it.

He unwrapped it, a look of pure joy on his face as he stared at the fancy chocolate.

“Not going to share it?”

He peered over his shoulder for a moment, his smile fading. “They’re too far gone to enjoy it.” He stared at the figures in the beds as if he could see himself there as well.

Then again, that was his future. No matter what happened, no matter what he did, he’d end up right there, just like them. It had to be unnerving…

He pulled the chair from the desk over so he sat across from me. I followed suit and took the chair from my side, mirroring him.

“You came here for a reason,” he said. “You paid me off well, and I don’t get the chance to talk to many people, so out with it.”

I thought about it, wondering what to say. I’d played the part of some random thrall, but I couldn’t do that if I started asking questions.

Roger laughed, the sound surprising given our situation. “I know that look. It’s the one everyone has when they first get here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Fifty years here. I’ve been with William longer than that, but we moved here when he took over the council seat.” He paused, then chuckled softly. “It’s strange to think it’s been that long. William always told me that time went faster the older you got, but I don’t think I ever believed him.”

A cry from behind him made him turn, and the woman on the bed on the left twisted in the bed before quieting down, just soft whimpers leaving her.

“Why are they so much worse off?”

“Because they’re newer. On the left, she’s been a thrall for ten years, and the right for only five. The infection strengths a thrall as the years go on, so older ones, like me, last longer after the vampire dies. It doesn’t last forever, though, so eventually, it’ll just be me and I’ll be just like them.” He shook his head then took another bite of the chocolate, as though to calm himself with it.

“Can’t you turn into a vampire?”

“No. Because of William’s death, the infection inside me disappeared. Now it is only my body suffering the withdrawal. The only way to become a vampire at this point would be to find another vampire willing to do it, and I see no reason anyone would take on that risk.” He discussed his own death, yet he managed to address it so casually.

That allowed me to ask my real question. “Who killed William?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard it was a courier, that she went in and staked him, but I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?”

“For one, William was far too smart to let a courier sneak up on him. I’d heard him speak of that girl, the clanless one. He knew all about her, so he wouldn’t have let her get close enough to bury a stake in him.” Roger spoke with such affection for William. It was strange to hear, given what I’d seen between vampires and their thralls thus far.

I’d thought vampires saw thralls as little more than toys to play with until they broke them. That wasn’t how Roger acted, though. Despite his dark humor and acceptance of his situation, I got the feeling he truly grieved his loss of William.

“So if it wasn’t her, who was it?”

“Does it matter anymore?”

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