Page 32 of Blood and Buttercups

“We don’t see it all that often, but you’re not my first case.”

“Are you telling me I’m avampire?” I demand, lowering my voice to a heated whisper.

“No, you’re not a vampire. The virus needs to be introduced into your system on at least three separate occasions before you become what we would call a final stage vampire—think of it like a series of vaccinations. Except, instead of warding off an illness, Vampiria B wards off death. You’re in a stage that we call pre-vampiric.”

I blink at her, trying to process all that. “Wards off what now?”

She smiles sympathetically. “I know this is a lot. Think of it this way: Vampiria B is a virus that alters your body’s processes. Each time more enters your system, the more you’re altered. If enough is introduced, you fully change.”

“You mean…I die? Living dead? Undead? Whatever they’re called?”

“No, that’s a fable. Vampires are very much alive. They just don’t die of natural causes. Their bodies are no longer susceptible to disease, illness, or cancer. Nor do they age.”

“All right…” I clear my throat, having trouble coming to terms with the fact that we’re having this conversation. “That all sounds great. What’s the downside?”

“Vampiria B affects your brain, causing a kind of madness. People in the final stage of vampirism crave human blood, grow fangs, and exhibit bouts of intense rage. They have occasional hallucinations and experience temporary blackouts.We’ve developed medications that minimize these symptoms, but they’re hard to regulate.”

I’m struggling to wrap my head around the nonsense coming from the mouth of the woman with the medical degree. “Is that going to happen to me?”

“You’d have to be bitten at least twice more. Again, imagine it like a round of shots. You need more than one for it to fully take effect.”

“What’s my”—I swallow—“my life expectancy?”

“The virus in this early stage hasn’t been found to affect a person’s lifespan. As long as you take care of yourself, you could easily live a long life. You’ll need to set up an appointment with a dietitian who specializes in pre-vampiric patients, and I’ll write you a prescription for a blood supplement you can pick up tonight.”

“Hold up.” I raise my hand. “Blood supplement?”

“Right now, as a pre-vampire, you need blood to feed the changes in your body, but animal sources or synthetic prescriptions suffice.” When she notices my panic, she adds, “It’s synthetic, if that makes you feel better.”

“It’s chemically created?”

“That’s right.”

“So, it’s vampire junk food?”

Dr. Granger chuckles. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

I sit back, waving a hand in front of my face, feeling faint.

“I can refer you to a counselor if you’d like. I also have several pamphlets for you to browse. There are support groups as well, specifically for people like you.”

Oh my gosh—pamphlets, support groups, dietitians?

This is too much.

“There’s one other thing,” she says.

Before, she spouted off all the vampire stuff like it was no big deal, but now she sounds hesitant. Whatever she has to say must be bad.

“Okay…”

“Whenever someone tests positive for Vampiria B, they must be registered into the system.”

“What system?”

“It’s run by NIHA—Nicolau International Hematology Association. They’ll assign you a conservator. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Especially in the beginning when you’re trying to figure all this out, it’s extremely helpful to have a mentor who can help you learn the ropes.”

“This person will, what, follow me around?”

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