Page 27 of Bitten Vampire
Thank heavens,House mutters.
Chapter Twelve
One Month Later
It takesme a while to get used to my new undead life. During the day, I’m human and vulnerable. At night, I pretend my life has not changed.
Some activities are off the table: I cannot venture out at night, and no one can see me like this. To House’s amusement, I still conduct odd little experiments at home. And at least I can still eat during the day.
Through awkward trial and error, we discovered I can eat normal food during daylight, but if I eat too close to sundown, say after six o’clock, I fall ill. My body needs time to digest before I ‘die’ for the night. I tried drinking tea—purely to see—and vomited it up at once. Food and drink are clearly out while I am vamped. Summer makes thisroutine manageable; winter’s truncated days will be a nightmare.
The only thing I have not sampled is the red stuff. If I drink it, I truly am a vampire. I know it is so, yet convincing myself is another matter entirely. But of course, life doesn’t work like that, and we have come to an impasse.
After the initial transformation, we hadn’t expected my body to change. Vampires, at a genetic level, are immutable, but my human, daytime side is not, so the clashing magics throw a spanner in the works. I’ve lost a lot of weight.
Now we believe the vampire magic demands blood in my diet. Iron tablets don’t help, so House—resourceful as ever—has procured some.
Tonight is Blood Test One.
I sit at the dining table and glower at a cup of blood. House makes it wobble, and the liquid swirls in sluggish circles.
“I don’t want to drink it,” I say, nose wrinkling. My fangs have dropped, giving me a faint lisp, which is irritating.
You have to,House says. It’ll keep you healthy, unless you would prefer to disappear into nothing or go on a wild rampage?
“I don’t want to rampage, but I don’t want to drink that either.”
Just drink it. Like a shot. Surely you have done shots before.
“How do you know about shots? Were you not born in the Victorian era?”
I might have been born in the late 1800s, but I am not completely dense,House huffs.
“I don’tshootanything that smells this vile. It’s gross,” I whine.
Doesn’t matter, gross or not, if it keeps you alive.
I let my forehead thunk onto the table.
“The worst thing is the smell. It stinks of chemicals and slightly off, as though it’s started to rot. Not exactly appetising.” I shudder. I still reach home before dark, so I’ve no idea what people smell like to monster me. I do notwantto know; it feels cannibalistic.
“Where did you get it?”
Silence.
“House. Where did you get the blood?”
My magic has tendrils I can extend a short distance,she replies,allowing me to acquire small items unobtrusively. Most things I simply order and have delivered, but blood is different. The vampire courts keep a warehouse—I borrowed a couple of bags.
“Borrowed? Righty-o. That’s just great.” House is stealing from the vampires now.
It’s clean, O-negative, if that helps.
“No, it doesn’t. So how do you order things?” I may be stalling, but I am curious.
My magic. I was a paper mage.
“A paper mage? Wow,” I murmur. That explains the advertisement in the newspaper and the rental agreement. House was a scary badarse mage.
