Page 24 of Silent Stalker
SIX
I think she needs some coffee and blood.
On his questto further cement our bond, Emerick consumed enough of my blood he knocked me straight into a stupor, waking me long enough to drink some Wagyu before sunrise swooped in and sent me back to sleep. Rather than wake me at sunset as usual, he let me rest.
The discovery of twenty women, all brutally murdered and believed to be failed turnings, resulted in him leaving me to sleep through half the night. Sometime after hearing about the discovery of the twentieth body, I wandered around the penthouse in a daze. While I meandered around struggling to string two thoughts together, Emerick discussed the situation with several police officers, a judge, and Kennwick, who waved at me each time he spied me wobbling in the general direction of the kitchen.
My third trip around the penthouse, unable to figure out what I needed to do, where, or why, I blinked, concluded I needed blood, and returned to the kitchen in search of Wagyu.
Once I located a bottle, I staggered in the sitting room and held it out to Emerick, confident he could open the damned thing for me.
He did.
The conversation silenced.
“How much of that did you catch?” Emerick asked, handing me the opened bottle.
“Brutal, murder, twenty, women, maybe turnings,” I reported between yawns and sips of blood from the bottle. An almost floral taste spread on my tongue. I wrinkled my nose, eyeing the bottle. “This doesn’t taste right.”
Emerick chuckled and reclaimed the bottle from me, probably so I wouldn’t drop it. “That’s because you’re drinking olive oil, Pepper.”
Damn. He’d reduced me to a mess. I stared at the bottle, and as my pride and dignity had left the building, I settled with a forlorn sigh.
Why would anyone put olive oil in similar bottles to what we used for blood? Why? Didn’t they realize vampires needed blood before coffee some evenings?
“I think she needs some coffee and blood,” Kennwick stated in a false whisper. “I’ll tend to your wife while you contain the cops and the judge. I’ll slip in some of the chocolate I brought over so she’s happier with all of us. I’ll return her capable of intellectual thought.”
“The Wagyu with the purple ribbons is hers,” Emerick replied, and he smiled at me, handing me the olive oil. “Good evening, Pepper. If you’re hungry, just tell Kennwick, and he’ll make sure you get something. I’ll make sure you have a concise report when you’re more coherent. I thought I’d let you sleep in. Our hunt was called off on account of the number of bodies that turned up shortly before sunset. One almost turned,” he added in a regretful tone. “Kennwick didn’t reach her in time.”
“And not from a lack of effort,” the other vampire assured me. “But knowing what I do of the woman, it is perhaps for the best. She was even more prejudiced than you before your turning. Far more prejudiced.”
“That doesn’t improve the situation at all,” Emerick replied, and he sighed.
I recognized when something didn’t bode well, and I nodded and aimed for the kitchen, put the olive oil back on the counter, wondering if it could be decontaminated after having sipped from it. Deciding I’d claimed it for my use, I staggered to the nearest scrap of paper and pen, wrote my name on it, and tied it to the bottle with a scrap of twine from the junk drawer. After a brief struggle to remember where I’d put my new kettle, I retrieved it and set it on the counter. “It’s bad if Emerick isn’t hovering and making sure I’m having breakfast before going about his business, and it’s extra bad if he’s having another brood’s master playing babysitter after I grabbed olive oil instead of blood. That olive oil belongs to me now. I licked it, therefore it is mine.”
“So I see. Emerick is quite upset and does not wish to agitate you more than necessary, especially as he consumed a great deal of your blood last night. Don’t feel badly about the olive oil. We’ve all done it a time or two. The bottles are similar. In light of everything going on, he’s going to give you your first lessons on how to control another vampire using blood soon, possibly as early as tomorrow night. As such, he’s going to consume more of your blood tonight in preparation, and you will drink his. With sufficient blood swapping, he can give you a front row seat on how it’s done. After your first lesson, I’ll sacrifice myself for the cause so you can test your skills on a vampire outside of the brood. And before you worry, it’s a common practice. Our broods practice on each other fairly often. Emerick is comfortable with me drinking your blood to allow you to take control, and he can interfere since so much of his blood will be in your veins. It’s quite the little dance. He thought you might appreciate hearing it from me, as I’d be the one who’d be drinking your blood in this case.”
I retrieved one of the bottles of Wagyu with a purple ribbon, popped the cork, and went to the serious work of replenishing the blood Emerick had taken. “So, I drink Emerick’s blood so he can control me. You drink my blood so I can control you. Because Emerick can control me, you’re comfortable with being experimented on, as Emerick will prevent any problems. That makes sense. I’m game. I need to learn how to do this. And I need to learn how to change forms, too.”
“You’ll click on that one soon enough. Emerick has already shown me your form during the day while you were sleeping. That was for your safety, of course, in case you are startled into shapeshifting for the first time on your own and he isn’t present to help drag you out of the nearest tree. When Emerick first learned, that was his experience, although his master had him on a tight leash at the time. Clarke was able to retrieve his startled offspring, much to the amusement of all witnesses. It pains me I didn’t get to witness the moment, but I enjoy hearing tales of that day.”
I giggled at the thought of Clarke peeling Emerick out of a tree while a cat. “Do you know what startled him?”
“A horse whinnied when Master Clarke was testing one of his hunting skills, and he went into orbit, transformed, and climbed the nearest tree. Master Clarke does enjoy teasing his offspring. It is one of the small joys of his eternal life. How are you on the hunger front? Emerick said you’d eaten well yesterday. There are leftover fixings to make sandwiches, and I’m well-versed in the art of hot turkey sandwich construction.”
My mouth watered. “I could try a sandwich.”
“Judging from how wide your eyes just got, I expect you would try even if it didn’t settle well. He was hoping you’d be game to eat, as that would buy him a few extra minutes to learn more about the new murders and the failed turnings.”
“One almost turned?”
“Yes. She failed in the final stages. She started to awaken into her new life, but she lacked sufficient blood, so the magic consumed her from the inside out. This is rare, since most masters are on hand to make sure there are no problems in the final stages. They simply provide more blood if the turning is borderline. Fortunately, she had not regained consciousness, and it’s unlikely she comprehended anything of her final death. Emerick asked me if I would inquire with you at which stage you began awakening.”
“I was buried, and I needed to get out,” I whispered, shivering at the memory of the darkness, the fear, and the confusion, which had been partnered with a driving need to escape. “That’s really it. I just needed to get out. And once I was out, I began to breathe. Nothing hurt, and the hunger and thirst hadn’t started yet. Before the need to get out took hold, it was quiet and dark.”
“Excellent. The ‘get out’ feeling you experienced is the absolute last stage of the magic taking root. Vampires raised in comfort don’t experience it and skip to when they begin to breathe. The magic preserves the body until it can breathe. It is a trait unique to vampires. If I were to take you out somewhere, dig a hole, and bury you, the magic would take hold, you would cease breathing, and you would wait until it was a good time to rise again. Master Clarke experienced something somewhat similar after you were made. He went to the ground until he healed enough to rise again. A paradox of magic, if you will.”
A paradox of magic? “Oh, that a creature that needs blood and can’t produce it without taking it produces enough to be able to hunt again?” I guessed. “Or that we normally breathe and are otherwise like people, but we can shut down to recover enough to hunt later? Yeah, I guess that is a bit paradoxical.”
