THE POISONER #2
I tapped his arm, the veins bulging as I positioned the clean needle.
Once I pressed it into the skin, the black fluid rushed through the tube and into the second apparatus, the cylinder filling slowly.
I removed the tourniquet to let it flow, his hand in a fist just as I taught him all those years ago.
My mind wandered to our first lab session. I think both of us were tense, unsure of each other. Both of us had an inherent reason to distrust the other, yet we couldn’t stay away. Now here we were, not a word spoken, doing exactly what I wanted him to.
Even if he may still be angry, he couldn’t stay away.
A knock against the open door.
Luka stood there, spare cloths in hand. “Phoebe said you needed these.”
Silas didn’t let go of my skirt, but I didn’t have to look to know he was staring bullets at our guest. I didn’t think Luka could see what Silas was doing, but the energy was tense either way.
I pressed on Silas’s arm to pull the needle, using my last cloth to press into the wound.
“Hold this here,” I instructed. Only then did he drop my skirts and step away to lean on the counter. The silent observer, lately.
“Sit down, I need samples from you.” I grabbed the apparatus I used on Phoebe and began to clean and irrigate it.
“Blood, yeah?” Luka rolled up his sleeve, keeping Silas in his peripheral.
“Yes, and venom next.” It was like we were waiting for someone to snap. The tension was palpable. No one really could predict Silas’s mood anymore, I couldn’t blame them for the tension.
Luka made a face when I added venom.
“What is it? Shy?” I joked, as I used one of the clean cloths he brought to dry the glass cylinder of the apparatus.
“He’s impotent,” Silas said.
“Low potency.” Luka stressed the words to Silas before looking back to me, his face holding such discomfort I’d suspect he was having another headache. “I’m an outlier. Not sure if that affects your sample group.”
I smacked Luka upside the head.
“What was that?” He bared his teeth at me.
“For all the times you bit me knowing you had no venom,” I glared. “Now, would you like to draw your own blood?”
He took a deep breath before snatching the clean needle and tube as I tied the tourniquet around his arm.
I caught a smug smile in the corner of my eye.
“You didn’t even tell me about the spines until it was too late,” I snapped at Silas.
He bit his lip and looked away, as if that would hide his clear amusement. Pests. The both of them.
“Leave.” I glared at Silas, then turned to Luka. “You as well when you finish.”
“Nurses usually give out cookies for blood draws,” Luka said stubbornly.
“Then find yourself a nurse,” I scoffed. “You should be worried if I’m feeding you anything in a lab.”
“Case in point,” Luka mumbled, flexing his hand open and closed to encourage the blood.
I reached back to pull open a drawer, spotting a couple vials clipped together. A violet hue, less viscous than blood but more so than water.
Unmarked but unmistakably my signature poison. I realized now that making this was a risk to myself. Handling it too. I closed the drawer slowly before opening the next one for the pipettes.
I left the lab one step in the right direction, two steps back.
The only difference between my blood and theirs is volume and elevated white cell count.
All that told me was what I already knew—something was wrong.
It made me wonder if it’s possible to catch illnesses between human and Vipera.
Their immune systems were much more fortified, as well as having higher regeneration abilities of all tissue types.
I wasn’t sure what I thought I’d find. Maybe I was just hoping for a diagnosis that could be fixed, that I wasn’t fundamentally flawed or wandering in the dark.
I fiddled with the keys. There was one for the lab, one for the front door, and one for my bedroom. Identical keys. I tried each one, it always ended up being the last one I tried with my luck. But finally, one slid into the keyhole.
A shadow cast over me from the hallway window.
Slowly, I turned the key, a click fitting the lock into place.
The shadow shrank, slinking against the grooves of the door before it was sharp, close by.
I couldn’t even take a step back before hitting a body.
A gloved hand leaned against the door beside my head.
“A little late for donations.” I turned around, leaning back against the door.
Silas didn’t even blink. “You look pale,” he said.
“Haven’t had much to eat.”
“The newspaper said otherwise.” He tipped his head. I could see the wheels turning. The incessant need to interrogate and torture whenever he wanted to have a conversation.
“I didn’t eat, even then.” I squinted at him. “Are you jealous?”
A smirk played on his lips, as if I asked something silly. But his acting was terrible, unable to control his tone.
“Next time bring me with you,” he insisted.
“What? So you can catch and feed me like a bird, bringing me live prey so I feel less like an apex failure?”
“You said it, not me.” He shrugged slightly. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Not really.”
“So what do I get after that generous donation?” He leaned in, the smell of his cologne stronger now that every sense of mine was heightened.
“Donations are voluntary, I owe you nothing.” I smiled sweetly. “It’s not like I could give you blood anymore.”
“Who told you that?” He looked like he wanted to laugh. “It still would only take a moment to bleed you dry, sweet shadow.”
“Don’t you have another Host you can pester?” I bit my inner cheek the minute I stopped talking.
His eyes narrowed.
Too late to take it back.
Silas leaned closer, even leaning down to meet me eye to eye. He took a deep breath before letting it go in a rather controlled exhale. “You’re looking rather green now.”
“It’s just a question.” I crossed my arms. “Don’t avoid it.”
My throat stung with a persistent disdain the longer he withheld his answer.
“Would it make you jealous if I did?” He played with a piece of my hair. “Would you blame me if I had to?”
I thought my ears could touch my shoulders with the way my body wanted to curl up and duck under his arm.
He reached inside the back of his pants, pulling out a flask. As he flicked the wheel cap loose, he waved it in front of my face, just under my nose.
The metallic scent burned my sinuses, and I closed my eyes.
“No, I don’t feed live anymore.” Even his answer seemed out of disdain.
“Anymore?” I scoffed. I didn’t want to be mad, I barely understood the feelings myself. Of course he needs to eat. I just never would have expected that I would no longer be the source.
“Three years,” he said.
My eyes snapped to him.
He closed his flask, the scent evaporating as he tucked it back into his pocket. “It’s been three years since I last had a live body apart from yours.” A new tone—shame.
“Why?” My question was more curious than anything else. “Preference?”
“Luka calls it . . . some sort of soul disturbance.”
“Neurasthenia?” I craned my neck forward to meet his gaze, now that he was making less and less eye contact. “You also suffer from disordered eating?”
He looked a bit put off by what sounded like excitement in my voice, then his eyes narrowed when he realized what I had said. “Also?”
My throat was so dry at this point, I thought the gulp would be audible before the words tumbled from my mouth. “I just . . .”
“You what?” His eyes were wide, grim.
The forcefulness of his words and posture made my head hit the door behind me. “I’m having trouble eating—”
“Alina,” he scolded, “are you saying that you haven’t kept anything down since waking?”
“No! No, I had bloodwine. Yes, the bloodwine and . . . Oh! And the candy—”
“Candy?” I didn’t think his eyes could get any wider. He grasped his forehead, looking up past me in panic. Then laughed, “Right! Candy, of course— What do you mean!” His eyes turned back down to me.
I could only lift my shoulders. “I ate cooked blood at dinner the other night.”
He blinked, stunned. “My God, you’re serious right now?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be so funny if I were making a joke.”
He placed both hands behind his neck, holding back what he wanted to say before taking the deepest breath.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else I could say. “But I’m running some tests.”
“Alina, you are a chemist, not a doctor.” His words strained before he closed his eyes and calmed himself down. “Fine. It’s fine. I will talk to Luka, and he may know someone who can help. As long as we do it in”—he paused to count in his head—“a week or so, give or take.”
Even when he tried to say it optimistically, it didn’t sound as such.
“Who else knows?” he demanded.
“Luka, Phoebe—”
It was like the anger was evaporating off him, he didn’t even have to yell or speak. It was evident.
He turned on his heel and walked with such a swift pace, I didn’t feel like catching up. I just could stand there. Something ate at me, like I should have told him sooner despite never being given the chance. But also guilt for accusing him of trivial things, like how he chooses to feed.
None of this felt natural to me, and I was grateful for the grace I was being given, but for once I felt completely and utterly bewildered, left in the dark.