Page 43 of Just for a Taste

I wished, suddenly, that I wasn’t sitting there with a massive tube in my arm so I could abort the conversation if it wasn’t successful, but maybe both of us being forced to sit here would work to my benefit.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I guess I couldn’t find a polite way to ask.”

“Zeno’s health has long been a subject of contention.” With the blood flowing easily, she sat across from me and coolly said, “Some specialists believe he’ll live into his fifties, others believe he should have already died.”

“But I thought most vampires had a normal lifespan?” It came out as more of a question than a statement.

“Most, but Zeno has an unfortunate set of mutations on top of the typical oculocutaneous albinism and pancytopenia—xeroderma pigmentosum and congenital immunodeficiency. To vastly simplify both conditions, the former means his skin struggles to repair damage caused by ultraviolet light, and the latter means his body cannot fight off infection or abnormalities.”

My undergraduate biology degree wormed its way out of my subconscious. “In other words, he’s incredibly likely to get skin cancer?”

I wasn’t sure when Doctor Ntumba had pulled the IV out from me, but she was already patching me up.

“He’s been lucky so far. Set up to thrive, as it were. Vampirism is known amongst nobility, and houses tend to prepare for it. This entire house is powered with UV-free lighting, as has every house he’s grown up in. Even the candles here are designed to burn at a low enough temperature so as not to emit any hint of radiation. It is likely that if he only had xeroderma pigmentosum, he would have a normal lifespan, but I believe it’s only a matter of time.”

My patience was already wearing thin, and Doctor Ntumba gathering up the bags made me unable to hold back from cutting her off. “But how long do you think he’ll live?”

Doctor Ntumba’s countenance finally darkened. “As many doctors have projected, he could probably live until his late fifties, but knowing Zeno, I think he’ll only last until his mid-to-late thirties.”

The pit in my stomach blossomed, its branches coursing through my body, making my fingers numb. Like I felt when Pa died, before pangs of sorrow radiated through me.

“Why? Isn’t he set up for success?” I demanded. “He doesn’t even look like he has any sun damage!”

Doctor Ntumba gave me a small smile, more pitiful than any tears could have been. “Heisset up for success, more than any client I’ve ever seen, but he’s . . . negligent. Even convincing him to have transfusions, much less blood from abeniamina, took months.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head and crossing my arms tightly.

I did, of course. I just didn’t want to.

With a deep sigh, Doctor Ntumba put her hand on my shoulder. “That is why your presence here is so important, Cora, and I must apologize for understating it when you were hired. But truthfully, you are responsible for giving much more than just blood to him.”

I wanted to ask what exactly I was responsible for, but I already knew the answer. He had told me that night on the hill: as briefly as we had known one another, our time together was motivation for him to fight for every day.

I felt myself shaking. Sweat gathered on my brow and hands. “That’swaymore than I signed up for. I—I can’t handle that kind of responsibility! You said this wasn’t a permanent position.”

Doctor Ntumba stepped away from me with guilt, exasperation, annoyance, and countless other emotions flickering across her features.

“I didn’t think he would take to you so strongly. I didn’t think he was capable of it,” she admitted with a frown. “Zeno has been my sole patient since he was eight, and I knew him even as an infant. For as long as I’ve known him, he has only let a few people in, and those were all so long ago.”

We both held our breaths, and another sound became audible.

Drip. Drip.

I looked down to see crimson pooling on the tile at my feet, the result of a spidery path of red trailing down my arm. The cotton ball was dangling, half attached to my arm, entirely ineffective in damming the deluge of blood I had forced out by gripping my fists. I cursed under my breath, and Doctor Ntumba quickly gloved up and patched me up again.

“Sit,” she ordered. Then, more politely, “Please.”

I was grateful for this request, as the weight of my body and the entire situation had already impressed itself upon my limbs. The blood loss made things worse, of course, but everything Zeno had said to me over these past few weeks fully came to a head. I allowed myself to go limp, slouching in the chair with defeat.

She worked quickly as I sat there and eventually closed my eyes. “Do you feel okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “This is just a lot to take in.”

“I understand. I am true to my word, and your contract will continue to be renegotiated on a quarterly basis.” She paused and met my eyes. “You should consider whether or not you wish to be abeniaminainallsenses of the word.”

How could you understand?was the immediate riposte in my mind. I bit the thought back the second it emerged; Noor was not to blame for any of this, I realized. In fact,blamemight not even be an accurate term. Even without a contract, I had accepted thisrole, both to myself and to Zeno. I just hadn’t allowed myself to consciously acknowledge it.

“It’s okay,” I finally asserted once she finished. “I already have, for the time being.”

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