Page 29 of Sore Throat, Slight Fever

Rory leans back and runs a distracted hand through his hair, though he keeps the other on Calliope’s back. “Compulsion can be difficult even for older vampires. She just needs practice.”

“Perhaps,” admits Kane. “But I wonder if we could try something?” His golden eyes bounce between them. “If she does indeed lack compulsion, I wonder if she also lacks the inherent mental shield that prevents vampires from being compelled in turn?”

Rory frowns and tightens his arm around her shoulders as if trying to protect her from the mere assumption. She wishes she could curl up into his arms again, hide away from—well, everything.

“You want me to try to compel her?” Rory asks.

Kane nods. “Yes, just something simple. If you don’t mind?”

Calliope bites her lip. “What does this matter?”

“It would mean that other vampires can control you. And I don’t think it would do the world any favors to have an immortal being who can do magic and whose mind can be controlled by another.”

She looks at Rory, who is still frowning, deep lines on either side of his mouth.

“Alright. Let’s try it.” She tries to give him a reassuring smile, but she’s sure she falls short of her intentions, her skin still stiff with dried blood. She keeps her eyes trained on his, marginally aware that his touch against her back has gotten slowly, softer. She suppresses a shiver, his fingers like ice against her feverish skin. She watches as his pupils dilate.

When he speaks, his voice seems to snake out from between his lips. Like a wisp of smoke, the words curve their way into her brain, and she hears his voiceechoing in her head.

Stand up.

A simple command. An easy command. Her body knows the movement so well—has been doing it for ages now, standing up and sitting down and standing up again. Yes, it knows how to do this and it’s happy to oblige with such a doable,reasonabletask.

It’s just past noon and the sun slants harshly through the window, casting their shadows against the tile floor, the checkerboard awash in shades of pale blue. She has the odd sense that she’s just a marble chess piece being moved across the board and it’s only Kane’s alarmed squawk that cuts off the incessant echo of Rory’s honeyed voice inside of her mind. She blinks down at Rory and Kane, taking in their matching looks of worry.

* * *

Calliope sits at the top of the stairs, watching the water as it laps gently at the last step, crusted in shiny green algae. She has scrubbed her face and changed into a fresh dress, the pale blue cotton reflecting the color of the summer sky above.

She looks up at Rory, who’s sitting in his chair on the porch. He’s changed, too, once again wearing his worn pair of jeans with the hole in the knee and another flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. She wonders how he manages to wear long sleeves all thetime. Even with the threat of sun sickness, the temperature is punishing, especially to her, with her fever. Kane is perched on her shoulder as she sips a glass of blood. She hadn’t been thirsty, but Rory still insisted that she top up, so to speak.

“But there are no other vampires here,” Calliope is saying in between sips. She had barely tasted Burton’s blood but even then, she’s glad she still finds the cow blood palatable. She almost prefers it, cool against the ache in her throat. Hun releases a low, satisfied purr deep in her belly. “Does it even matter that I can be compelled?”

“There are no other vampires here now. But you won’t always be here,” Rory says into his glass. He motions toward the sliver of sunlight that’s made its way to her. “Sun,” he warns.

“We don’t even know if I’ll get sick from the sun,” she mumbles to herself, even as she scoots back with a huff.

“Better safe than sorry,” says Kane gently. He clenches her shoulder to avoid being dislodged with her movement.

She softens her frown and rubs the top of his head. “So how can I protect myself?” She takes another sip.

“You could build a telepathic shield,” says the bird.

“How do I do that?”

Kane nips at a wayward curl, already escaping from her ponytail. “We’ll do some research. It’s been a while since I’ve had to construct a psychic wall.”

She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “And I suppose you’re just going to drop that little tidbit and then suddenly forget how to speak?”

He squawks.

She laughs lightly. “Thought so.”

A companionable silence falls between them, and she gazes absentmindedly out at the lake below, a steely blue in the afternoon sun. A high-pitched ringing begins to grow in her ears as she observes the dark shadow in the center, swimming in slow, almost lazy, circles.

Kane pinches her skin, a distraction enough to keep her there, to stop her from slipping into the Ether. He has found his words again. “Can you see the creature?” he asks.

“No. Not any better than you, anyway.” She takes another sip of blood, letting the coolness of the liquid coat her gums before she swallows. “How is your research going?”

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