Page 113 of By the Pint

But I didn’t, because I loved Casey still, and because I needed to be here when he woke, and because if there was even the remotest chance he would remember me, and what we had, I would not miss it.

Exactly three weeks after his turning, he woke.

Casey’s eyes opened at once. Like a light being switched on. Red eyes, now, of course. And black hair had replaced his gorgeous, shiny, chestnut mane, though it had the same adorable, floppy cut. His skin was deathly pale. Just like mine.

He still looked beautiful. He was still my Casey.

My heart was in my throat. Tears already streaming down my cheeks.

Casey tried to sit up, but the restraints across his shoulders and chest held him firm. He lifted his head and stared directly at me. He was looking into a two-way mirror. He couldn’t see me. He wouldn’t even be able to see himself now. But he looked right at me.

My palms hit the glass a millisecond before my forehead. Perhaps I could melt through the barrier and be on the other side, in the room with him. Casey’s gaze flashed across the space. Observing everything in these unfamiliar surroundings. He studied his restraints. I couldn’t read his thoughts through the mirror — I suspected metal infused glass — but I could have sworn his brain was deducing how to break free of his bindings and escape.

He’d be territorial, and thirsty. And his first instincts would be to take care of those two things.

As if on cue, Nina walked in, and I sucked in my non-existent breath. Tried to stop my tears in their tracks so that I could pull my focus.

“Well, this is unexpected,” she said, walking up to Casey and stopping a good metre short of the bed. “It’s been … three weeks … that must be a record, Mr Freckleman.”

His eyes followed her as she wrote something down on her clipboard. His closed mouth worked over non-existent words. Like he was chewing.

“It’s likely you won’t be able to speak yet. Your body and mind are still adjusting. Don’t worry, soon enough you’ll be chatting. Do you know who I am?” Nina’s voice was soft and calm. A paediatrician consulting a young, frightened patient.

Casey’s gaze flicked to the spot where I stood and then back to Nina. He said nothing, neither did he make any form of gesture that indicated he’d understood her.

“I’m Dr Nina the Wrecker. You may call me Nina. When you gain capacity for speech, of course.”

Casey’s swallow was audible, his throat worked over the lump. He let his head drop to the gurney, but kept his narrowed gaze trained on Nina. A guttural rumbling sound resonated through the entire space, making the glass beneath my fingertips vibrate.

“He knows you’re here,” Nina said as she left the room.

I didn’t know what to make of that. It felt like a win, albeit a small one. That he’d woken so early. That he knew I was waiting behind the mirror. I should have been, not happy exactly, perhaps optimistic. Instead, I settled for bawling my eyes out.

It was another week before he stirred again. This time, managing to stay awake for twenty minutes. The time after thatwas three days later. He tried to wrench his arms and legs free of the bonds. When he was unsuccessful, he cried. Agonising, heart-cleaving tears, like a baby being torn from its mother. Louder than the sirens blaring. Louder than the wingball arena. So loud it echoed through my brain, and I could no longer experience any emotion. Not grief, not anger, not the fleeting joy from him waking. Like anaesthetic, the sound of Casey’s wails seemed to numb every cell in my body.

Nina repeatedly told me to go home. “Get some rest,” she’d say. “You look like death.”

I booked a suite in the nearest hotel, where I would feed, shower, and sleep, and as soon as the sun set, I was at the facility. At my usual spot, pressed against the glass, waiting for any movement.

“Can I go in to see him yet?” I’d ask Nina each night.

She had long since stopped answering me.

At about the six-week mark they sent in the hacker. Casey wasn’t even talking, and they were sending someone in to rape his mind. But not the guy from our interrogation. A different one. Taller, broader, altogether more terrifying. He wore the same uniform, black jeans, black hoodie with the hood up, and black half mask. The new hacker’s mask featured a screen print of a skeleton’s mandible.

Nina woke Casey up. He hissed at her and the newcomer, baring his new fangs.

“This is the hacker,” Nina said in a voice that suggested she was no bigger a fan of the Assembly’s goons than I was. “It’s mandatory procedure we search your mind for any anomalies. Telepathy, telekinesis, memory manipulation, ability to talk to animals. That sort of thing. It’s unlikely that you have any of these gifts. Unless you inherited them from your sire.” I swallowed my rising panic. “And Mr Grey has exhibitedno major mind gifts. Most of these won’t affect your undeath. Except the foremost, obviously.”

Casey tried to launch himself at the hacker, but the restraints held him firm. The hacker flinched. Took a step back. I smothered my nervous laughter.

“Mr Freckleman, this gentleman just needs to touch your chest. Do you consent?”

“How can he fucking consent?” I yelled. “He can’t even speak!”

Everyone span around to look at the mirror.

“Mr Black, if you cannot be quiet, I’m going to ask you to wait in the lobby.”

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