Page 57 of Bitten Vampire
I crush the device in my fist—plastic and metalgrinding together—then open my fingers. House’s magic sweeps the shattered pieces away.
Come on. You have not eaten today. You release the pup, and I will warm some O-negative. Thought you might like it hot tonight.
I coax Baylor out from under the bed, drink the warm blood—still disgusting—then spend an hour in the shower, scrubbing until my fingers prune, convinced I still have chunks of people in my hair.
I never thought I’d end up like this.
I didn’t do anything, not really—I hid in the corner with my eyes closed—yet I feel responsible. Iamresponsible. They only came because of me. How many centuries of knowledge have I just erased?
There’s that ‘live by the sword, die by the sword’ nonsense, and no, they weren’t innocent. I understand that. But I’m just a normal woman: vampire by night, human by day, talking to soul-magic-infused objects, dead people… and I’m sad my life has come to this.
I doubt my continued existence is worth the lives of four others, but it’s done now, too late to undo. For someone who won’t even swat a fly, who rescues spiders with a glass and paper, this is hard to process.
I wonder whether the switch will ever flick—the one that would allow the vampire inside me to let the world burn. What did the waitress say? “Vampires are sociopaths.” Will it get easier if I stop caring?
I curl up on the sofa, listening to a podcast on trauma recovery while Beryl—apparently a permanent fixture—grumbles about modern psychology. I ignore her.
Night turns to day. Baylor, still grumpy after yesterday’snon-walk, plays in the garden. I push toast around my plate, not hungry.
At around ten a.m., they come again. This time, not the vampires. No, now it’s the other derivatives’ turn.
First, police cars block both ends of the street. Thirty minutes later, people from the Magic Sector arrive: wizards, witches, mages.
I peek through the bedroom curtains, and I spot one man, tall, with white-blond hair, arguing animatedly with the group. He points straight at House.
“This isn’t good,” I whisper.
No, it is not,House replies.I presume the Ministry of Magicsent them. The handsome one with the white-blond hair is Lander Kane, a Council member.
“Can they breach your wards?”
If Lander Kane helps them… perhaps. His magic is very strong.
“Can we move before they try?”
Silence.
She’s keeping something from me.
“Could you fold yourself without me?” I wait a couple of heartbeats. “It’s me, isn’t it? If Baylor and I weren’t here, you would have gone already. We are interfering with the magic. You need more power to take us with you.”
She doesn’t answer.
And that is answer enough.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After the firsthour of my hypervigilance, House magics a dining-room chair into the bedroom so I can sit. Baylor leans against my leg, pressing his full weight into me and whining softly. I stroke his thick fur, murmuring in a sing-song voice, trying to calm us both.
Whatever they are planning will be bad.
I consider slipping into a vision to see whether it might help, but no, House already has enough on her plate without dragging me back from psychic wanderings while we are under siege. To go outside now would be suicide.
And what would that say about everything House has risked for me?
This is my fault.The thought loops like a broken record. I brought this mess to her door. I put us here.
Outside, the magic-users inscribe an intricate circlearound House’s wards. Nearly three hours pass before they finish. I resist the urge to pace from window to window like a caged animal. House is watching everything; my panicked peeking would achieve nothing but sweat.
