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Today we’re supposed to get the results from the tests that were done about six weeks ago. I don’t know why it took so long to get answers, but then again, I wasn’t privy to what kinds of tests they were in the first place. I’m the one who’s sick. What did my grandmother need from my cousins, and why did it also involve Callie?
Finishing up her final notes, Dalia places her stethoscope down on a small, metal table and then hands my cousins cups filled with blood donations from their thralls, Martin and Maria. The twins appear unhappy with the taste, frowning at their cups, before looking at Callie in a way that makes me wish I was stronger so I could speed over and snap their necks. My mood swings have also gotten worse, to the point where I can’t determine if this is a warranted reaction, but the thought sits way too comfortably in my mind. The hunger for violence must show on my face, because their attention quickly returns to their own cups.
My grandmother takes her notes and sits behind her desk. Retrieving a folder from one of the drawers below, she flips it open, sifts through a couple of pages, and then lays it flat before her. She leans forward, resting her folded hands on the desk. “Since I wasn’t authorized to send Callie’s blood in for testing” —she flashes a cold look at Mildred, which earns a dismissive eyebrow raise in return— “I needed a control to get a sense of how her blood affects healthy, similarly aged vampires. Kaven and Ellessa were the best I could do considering the—” Her lips press tightly together as she chooses her words. “Sensitive nature of all involved.”
My mother grips my father’s hand as she meets my grandmother’s gaze. “What did you find, and what does it mean in terms of helping Nolan?”
“By my estimations, the twins could probably go another month, possibly longer, before their vampiric abilities would heighten due to strain,” my grandmother explains, eyeing Callie curiously.
Recalling how I was able to charm an entire group of people outside of Callie’s classroom last semester, I ask, “I don’t understand. Why do we get stronger if we’re starving?”
“It’s a survival instinct left over from earlier evolutions,” she explains, her voice filled with a scholastic flare. “During times of famine, our bodies will use what little reserves we have to heighten our abilities to attract as much food as possible. This ranges from being far more compelling with our charms, to our scent becoming almost impossible to resist.” Distaste pinches her lips into a sour circle. “Some members of our kind will choose to constrict their diets in an effort to remain in this state. It’s a dangerous practice that, if not monitored carefully, can result in permanent injury or death.”
My parents flinch over the word “death,” but it doesn’t bother me. Even as I fight to survive, the thought of the end almost seems peaceful at times—no more pain, no more exhaustion, and freedom from this body that has suffered so much. “I’m clearly past that stage. Why am I still alive?”
“Nolan!” my mother exclaims, placing one hand on her trembling lips. “Don’t speak that way.”
“He has a right to be curious,” my father defends while stroking her arm gently.
“It’s better to ask the hard questions than remain in the dark,” Dalia remarks, appearing almost pained to be agreeing with my father. “Plainly speaking, you shouldn’t be.”
“Mother, don’t tell your own grandson he should be dead!” my mother shouts, breaking away from my father to face off against her from the other side of the desk. “I can’t believe I have to tell you that.”
“It won’t help him to sugarcoat things,” she replies, casting a critical eye over her daughter.
I sigh and lean back into Callie, resting my head against her stomach. “It’s okay. It isn’t exactly a surprise.”
Callie places her hands on my shoulders and rubs the tight muscles with her thumbs. “This just means that Nolan is beating the odds. So what’s our next step?”
“As I was in the process of explaining,” Dalia states, her voice strained with fraying patience, “I believe I know what the spell is doing. Its purpose is to leech magic from my grandson and leave him in a perpetual state of hunger. In its early stages, that was a small amount, enough that bagged blood was no longer digestible.”
“So what changed?” my father asks, pulling his wife away from the desk and collecting her into his arms.
Mildred’s expression shifts to one of sad understanding when she looks over at me and Callie. “Nolan gained access to more magically enriched blood.”
My grandmother nods gravely. “Based on what I’ve discussed with Matriarch Volkov, magic, if not crafted carefully, has a mind of its own and will take measures to fulfill its purpose.” She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Since this spell’s purpose was to keep Nolan in a constant state of borderline starvation, the spell began consuming more magic to offset the more magically enriched blood.”
“If it’s supposed to keep me on the brink of starvation, then why am I way past it now?” I ask, surprisingly detached. The anger is there, but it’s muted under exhaustion.
Dalia glances at Callie before meeting my eyes. “Was there an extended period of time when you weren’t feeding from Miss Volkov?”
“Oh no,” Callie whispers, digging her fingers into my shoulders. “This is my fault.”
I reach up to grip her hand, squeezing it hard, until she looks down at me. “No. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t cast this spell, you didn’t know what was happening, and we both agreed it was better if I stopped feeding from you… for a while.” I say the last bit as more of a comfort to my parents, because the truth was, I planned to never feed from her again. I planned to die that night at the party.
“Fault is irrelevant,” my grandmother interjects with a flick of her hand. “Point standing, during that period of time, the spell was continuing to take the same level of magic despite Nolan no longer consuming the more magically enriched blood. All living creatures have some innate magic that is crucial to our survival. Vampires need blood to continue to nourish this innate magic.”
My mother frowns as she absorbs what Dalia is saying. “So Nolan is currently at a deficit of this innate magic despite the increase in his consumption of Callie’s blood.”
“Correct,” she answers and then reaches for the folder on her desk. “Based on my calculations, this spell will continue to grow at an exponential rate equal to the amount of magic Nolan consumes.”
“Does that mean by increasing the frequency of his feedings, we made him worse?” Callie asks, the guilt she’s experiencing evident in the thickening of her voice.
Dalia places the folder back down and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Again, placing blame does little to help cure my grandson. The point is that although he may appear worse, as long as he doesn’t miss his feedings, he should be able to remain weak but stable.”
There’s a twisted hope in my parents’ eyes that makes me sick. Panic feeds my heart, and I leap to my feet, knocking over my walker and dropping my mostly empty cup of blood to the ground. “I can’t stay like this forever!”
The twins, having remained quiet through the entire explanation of my pathetic future, move for the cup with supernatural speed. Fighting for a taste of Callie’s blood, they dip their fingers into the magically rich liquid and moan in ecstasy as they suck them clean. While most of us are stunned speechless, Mildred is quick to whisper a few words, and a burst of localized wind throws them up and over the other side of the hospital bed, slamming them into the monitoring equipment. The cup once again hits the ground, splattering what little remained on the hardwood floor. The twins groan, gingerly getting up, and look warily at the witches in the room.
