Page 28 of Sore Throat, Slight Fever

Her returned grimace is shaky, uncertain. “And what about the…?” She swallows, unable to look at Burton’s neck and the two, barely there, puncture wounds.

“Don’t worry about those just yet.”

She takes a wobbly step forward, tilting her chin up so can see Officer Burton’s eyes. She places her index finger against his cheek. The man blinks at her but doesn’t react. “I’m so sorry that we couldn’t help you.”

Burton blinks again, but rapidly this time, and Rory can see the compulsion fading from his mind, his awareness flooding back in. Just as his mouth twists in alarm, Rory steps in, once again telling him to stay calm. “Everything is okay.” He nods encouragingly at Calliope. “Try it again.”

She reaches out a shaky hand, covering the side of his face. Her voice is stronger when she speaks. Forceful, with that head-strong bite to her words that almost makes him proud. “We don’t knowanything. We haven’t seen the missing woman.”

Again, Burton’s eyes blink, his pupils shrinking down as he comes back to himself. Rory steps in, fingers digging into Burton’s chin as he roughly pulls his attention away from Calliope. “We haven’t seen the missing woman. You had a nice cup of tea, and now you’re going to leave.”

Burton’s mouth flounders for a beat, his voice coming out as a stuttering whine as Rory’s command works its way from his brain to throat. Then, he says, “Thank you for your time.” He smiles at Calliope. “And the cup of tea. I best be on my way.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Rory keeps his hand on Burton’s shoulder, steering him out of the kitchen.

16

A Reasonable Task

Calliope

As soon as the kitchen door swings shut, Calliope collapses in the chair, feeling the last of her magic seep from her fingertips and down onto the tiles, dispersing back into the Ether where she pulled it from. A fine layer of frost lines her fingertips. She buries her hands in the skirt of her dress to warm them up.

It had been pure instinct that led her to craft the illusion, a burst of self-preservation wrapped up in a spark of magic.

She sinks into the chair, knees shaking with something like shock. Or adrenaline? Can vampires produce adrenaline? She hears the front door close, and Rory walks back into the kitchen.

The feeling of her mouth on a stranger’s skin, the foreign warmth, the tapping of his pulse against herlips, comes back to her in flashes. She reaches a shaky hand up to her mouth, feeling the smear of blood drying against her lips. Fear and shame and regret steal through her. Hun had beensoloud, maw dripping fire, claws sharpened on the stone of her instincts. It was all she could hear—all she could feel. Now, Hun sits cowed, with her tail lowered and ears flattened.I’m not mad at you, Hun, she thinks, hand pressed to her belly.

She looks up at Rory as a breathy, desperate huff of a chuckle escapes her. He gives her a puzzled, wary look. She shakes her head, unable to remember words, let alone decide which ones to use, then she bursts into tears.

She hears a muttered curse from Rory and his hesitant footsteps coming closer to her. Her face is buried in her hands, heedless of the tears coating her cheeks. Her shoulders are shaking. The manacles bite into her skin and for once, she is grateful for them. They are a reminder of what she is now—what she could have become if not for the magic inside of the iron.

She understands Rory’s fears.

With another muttered curse, softer, almost sweet, Rory abandons whatever reserve he had been wrestling with. She hears the scrape of chair legs against the tile and then he is gathering her in his arms. His embrace is cool, smelling of vetiver and neroli and a hint of spiciness from the cigarettes he smokes. His hand snakes through her hair to cradle her head against hischest, while his free hand traces tiny circles in between her shoulder blades.

She has only been conscious in his embrace one other time, when the house created a room for her, and she clutched at him as he protected her from falling debris. It feels the same now, strong arms blocking out the world as she crumples into him, knees bent, legs half in his lap. She should be embarrassed, but she doesn’t care, pent-up emotions spilling from her chest, the walls around her heart broken.

She cries, and he mumbles words of assurances against her temple. His lips are cool snowflakes as his words kiss her skin.“It’s okay. He’ll be fine.”The stubble on his chin slides against her forehead, sending shivers down her spine.

Time slips between her fingers, which are far too busy clutching at the front of his shirt. She looks up—minutes or hours later—with dried tears stiff against her skin. She swipes at her cheek and is alarmed when her hand comes back covered in blood. She looks down to see Rory’s shirt stained in blood, as well.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, though she’s not sure what she’s apologizing for more: getting blood on his shirt or almost killing a police officer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “An unfortunate side-effect. Vampires don’t, uh, cry very often, so not many people know about it.” He gently brushes a thumb across her cheek, a futile attempt to wipe away the remnants of her breakdown.

“I wanted to kill him,” she says. Her voice sounds too loud in her ears. What she doesn’t explain—what she’s sure she doesn’t need to explain to him—is how she wanted to rip that man apart. She wanted to tear into his skin, feel his blood against her gums. She feels sick to her stomach, dizzy with fever.

Rory loosens his grip around her shoulders, but his hand continues tracing a path in between her shoulder blades. “But you didn’t. There was barely a scratch on him. He’ll think it was a mosquito bite he scratched at too much.”

She looks up at him, tears still forming in the corner of her eyes.

A soft click of a beak draws their attention to Kane, who has moved closer to them, nails clacking against the kitchen table. “It happens to all younglings. Sometimes, it isn’t something you can control. But there’s something else that’s more worrying. The illusion was impressive, but we already knew you must still have some magic. You pulled it from the Quintessence, didn’t you?”

Calliope affirms with a nod, curls bouncing around her shoulders.

“It’s the compulsion that worries me,” continues Kane, “Or lack thereof…”

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