16. Maria #2
He takes me to a different floor and lets me pick out furniture for Zinnia.
I’m flabbergasted. I feel like a princess in one of Zinnia’s storybooks.
The riches he offers leave me breathless.
I pick out a gold-trimmed white bed frame and matching chest and vanity.
The mattress Chris suggests is firm yet soft.
Sheets and blankets to fit it are on a different floor.
“Let’s move this stuff into her room and show Zinnia,” he says.
We stack and carry the furniture parts in pieces, put everything together, and make the bed.
The furniture looks strange against the acoustic paneling that lines the walls.
He explained what the black panels were earlier and promises to remove them or find something decorative to cover the small rows of spongy pyramids. Then we call Zinnia to join us.
She rushes in and her mouth hangs open. “Thank you, Daddy Christopher!”
“Your mommy helped too.” He pats her head awkwardly. “She picked out the furniture.”
Zinnia runs to the bed and bounces on it.
A shrill alarm sounds, an ice pick piercing my skull. I cover my ears to block the harsh racket.
“Sorry,” he yells over the noise. “I reset the alarm after Tig left.” He whooshes out of the room. The noise stops, and he returns. “That’s the alarm that triggers whenever someone unexpected flashes into my living area. Dr. Clarke is here for Zinnia’s exam.”
He gestures to a man who follows him into Zinnia’s bedroom.
A vampire.
The telltale signs I read about in my parents’ manual on vampires are easier to read since I’ve become one—slow heartbeat, pale skin, ridged fingernails. Zinnia looks bewildered, and I lift her into my arms. “Exam? What does that mean?” I ask.
“Nothing bad. He’ll measure her, make notes, and decide if she needs any medication.” Chris makes the formal introductions, then glances at his watch. “Uh, I need to drive out to the Tucson dome. I promised them iron ingots for donor…dark wine. We need to replenish our supplies to keep you fed.”
“I’ve got this, Chris.” Dr. Clarke waves a hand, dismissing him, and then turns to me. “Place Zinnia on the bed, and I’ll examine her there.”
I do, and Chris kneels in front of her. “Look, kiddo. I have to run. But Dr. Clarke is nice.” He glances over at the doctor, one eyebrow raised.
“I’ve treated children before.”
“Just don’t treat her the way you do adults.”
“Understood.”
“And don’t leave until I return.” Chris turns back to Zinnia and cups her face. “Dr. Clarke will check you out, make sure you’re healthy. And your mommy will be here the whole time.” He kisses her forehead, then rises to face me, hooking my arm and tugging me to the hallway.
“Why are you leaving now…leaving us alone with him?” I flick my hand in the direction of the doctor, who’s standing in the bedroom, waiting.
“Best solution. This way, I can leave you and Zinnia here together. He’ll watch you to make sure Zinnia’s safe, and you’ll watch him, learn what a doctor does.”
Chris releases me and whooshes down the hall.
Zinnia’s scared, and he thinks now is the time to leave?
I only just forgave him and I’m already irritated again. But he’s right about one thing. With the amount of blood I’m drinking, we’ll run out soon. So maybe he’s right to leave—though I wish he’d quit acting like I need supervision. I’d never hurt Zinnia.
Dr. Clarke carries out the exam while I stand nearby, ready to jump in if he does anything I don’t approve of. The only reason I’m going along with the exam is Tig said it was for Zinnia’s well-being. Something about Tig struck me as trustworthy.
Dr. Clarke narrates what he does. Some measurements I’m familiar with: the basics of body temperature, blood pressure, pulse rate, and oxygen saturation. My parents stockpiled those tools and taught me enough to be what they called a medic.
While I’m familiar with the basics, the devices he uses to read blood pressure, pulse, and temperature are entirely different.
As he continues to narrate, I assume his words are for my benefit.
Then he taps a device he wears on his wrist. “I turned off the recorder, so answer honestly.”
His words ruffle my feathers. Why wouldn’t I answer honestly?
“I’m drawing blood next. Will you be all right if I do?” His tone is condescending, as if he thinks I’m a child.
I swallow hard, torn between dashing to the cupboard for more dark wine, proving him right, and refusing to leave my baby alone with this stranger.
So I pivot. “Why are you—”
“I insert a needle into the vein and take three tubes for testing at a pathology lab in a mixed dome.”
“Why?”
“Blood tests can reveal illness or disease. I promise, we’ve mastered the process so she won’t feel pain.”
“Okay.” I only concede because I want what’s best for my baby girl, and everyone I trust thinks this is necessary.
Then Dr. Clarke looks into Zinnia’s eyes. “Relax. Stretch out your arm. That’s a good girl. Now listen to my voice. You will fall asleep without moving, and you won’t feel a thing.”
My mouth hangs open. I’m appalled. He’s using his vampire powers on my daughter?
Before I can object, he slips a needle into her inner elbow, and dark, red, luscious blood flows into a clear glass tube.
I run from the bedroom, claw at the refrigerator, swinging the door open, and grab a bag of dark wine. I don’t wait to warm it. I flip open the cap and raise the plastic bag to my lips, guzzling the contents. Donor blood tastes even nastier cold, and some leaks out to run down my face.
Only then does the hunger surging through my body calm, to be replaced with shame. My face heats. I can’t believe I lusted after my baby girl’s blood.
Maybe Chris is right to be afraid. Before this, I haven’t been tempted. But what if Zinnia falls and cuts herself when we’re alone? Would her fresh blood perfuming the air send me into a feeding frenzy? Maybe I should carry a pouch with me. Have one at the ready, just in case.
I hurriedly wash my face at the sink as my shame swells. I’ve left my daughter at the mercy of a stranger, a vampire who didn’t think twice about mesmerizing her.
When I rush back to the bedroom, Zinnia is awake and chattering, answering Dr. Clarke’s questions about her diet and exercise.
He removes a silver-colored cylinder from his kit and glances at me without reproach. “I assume she hasn’t been vaccinated against major childhood illnesses?”
“Vaccinated?”
He twirls the cylinder and quirks his mouth back and forth.
“You and Zinnia have been raised in isolation, so you aren’t aware of all the diseases mortals are subject to.
I can send Chris a primer to explain how contagious diseases are transmitted between mortals and how vaccines save lives.
For now, you must trust me. The vaccines ensure she doesn’t get sick from life-threatening diseases when she starts school in a mixed dome. ”
Zinnia crosses her arms, defiance on her scrunched little face. “I don’t want it.” She must have picked up on my concern.