Jeanne Stein - The Becoming

"Oh,” I sink back into the cushions. “Right. And how do I explain an arrow sticking out of my leg to the border guards? Ran into a little trouble with the natives?"

He ignores my remark and bends his head to my leg. He places his mouth over the torn skin and sucks gently.

"Wow. This is kinky."

He ignores that, too, his tongue tracing the edges of the injury until I feel a tingle that starts deep in my calf muscle and radiates outward. He continues to probe the wound, and the sensation is so pleasurable that I stop fighting it and let my head drop back onto the cushion. He starts singing me a little lullaby in his head—a lullaby of all things—and before I can comment on it, I'm fast asleep.

The next thing I know, I'm being awakened by a gentle touch on my arm. I drag myself from sleep reluctantly, thinking for a minute that I'm in my own home, in my own bed, and that it's Max nudging me awake.

"No, Anna. It's not Max.” Avery is speaking in a soft voice, smoothing my hair back off my forehead. “Sorry."

I open my eyes and give Avery a rueful smile and struggle into a sitting position. I'm still on the couch, an afghan so soft it must be made of cashmere thrown over me. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Thanks for taking me in last night."

He holds out a cup of coffee. When I take it, he asks, How does your leg feel?

I take a sip of the coffee and hand him back the cup so that I can push the afghan out of the way. When I look down at my calf, I can hardly believe my eyes. There's not even a bruise to mark where the arrow had penetrated.

"Too bad you can't do this with mortal patients. It's quite a trick."

He laughs. Well, you had something to do with it, too. You are remarkably strong.

He pauses a moment, letting me readjust myself on the couch before he asks. What happened? I can only assume you didn't find David.

No. I let him pick the memory out of my head, sadness descending again, coloring my thoughts with a despair I don't try to disguise.

Avery reads my feelings, tries to offer what comfort he can. What will you do now?

Go back to David's. Look around some more. See if I've missed anything. If not— I shrug. “I guess I'll have to call the police."

He nods. I'll give you Chief Williams’ s private number. I've told him what we know, but so far, he's learned nothing from his contacts. David seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth.

It's not exactly what I want to hear. I push off the couch. I think I left my bag here yesterday, didn't I?

Avery motions towards the stairs. I took the liberty of putting your things in a bedroom upstairs. I hope you don't mind.

I stand on tiptoe and give him a kiss on the cheek. You've been a good friend.

A good friend? He puts his hands on my shoulders and kisses me back, hard, on the lips. Is that all?

But this isn't the time and my thoughts are too conflicted to give him a proper answer. He reads the signals, lets his hands drop and takes a step back. He does smile, though, and points again to the stairs.

First door to the left—across from my bedroom. By the time you've showered, I'll have breakfast waiting.

I trudge up the stairs wondering how I'll ever repay him for all the help he's given me.

His voice follows me. We'll think of something .

The guestroom is large, the walls painted a pale yellow. Delicate lace curtains move in the breeze of an open window. Bright morning sun is reflected in the gleam of polished mahogany and off the glass in frames of wonderful old oil paintings that look vaguely familiar. Old masters, I'm betting, and originals, not copies. Avery even unpacked my bag. I find my clothes folded neatly in an armoire. I had no toiletries with me, but the adjoining bathroom is well stocked.

He has thought of everything.

A shower and clean clothes revive my body if not my spirit. Avery has eggs and bacon and toast waiting for me when I come back down. The smell triggers a visceral response—my stomach actually growls I'm so hungry.

Avery has set places at a small table in the corner of a big kitchen. It's like a restaurant kitchen with stainless steel appliances and acres of spotless white tile. He holds my chair for me and I sink into it.

I pick up my fork and look over at his place. There's nothing except a cup full of dark liquid. You're not eating?

He holds up the cup. This is all I need.

I start in on the eggs, but after only two bites, I push the plate away. I guess I'm not hungry after all.

Avery looks at me for a long moment, then stands up and goes to the refrigerator. He takes a pitcher out, pours a cup from it and places the cup in the microwave. After thirty seconds, the timer chimes and he brings the cup over to me.

The liquid in the cup is a dark, thick, unmistakable red. I raise an eyebrow. I assume this isn't V-8?

He laughs. No. It's blood.

The eyebrow ratchets higher. Blood? Human Blood?

No, pig's blood. Of course, it's human blood.

I find myself looking around the kitchen suspiciously. Avery, where did you get human blood?

From the servants I keep chained in the basement. Everyday, I drain just enough from them to sustain my own life and prolong theirs.

At first, fear, a cold, creepy thrust of it, knocks me off balance. Then, I see the twinkle in his eye and feel the laughter bubbling just beneath the surface of his mind.

It's a good thing I don't have my gun. I'd be tempted to shoot you for that.

He lets the laughter erupt. For a tough cookie, you are so easy.

I finger the cup, sniff the contents. This smells like blood.

I told you it is. But don't worry. I get it from the hospital blood bank. When we have blood that is going to expire before we can use it, a tech friend of mine gives it to me. It would be thrown out anyway, so why not put it to good use?

But I thought it's not the kind of blood we need.

Technically, no. You couldn't subsist on it for any length of time. But you fed from me just a day or so ago, so you don't need real nourishment. It looks to me as if your taste for regular food is just about gone, too, but you obviously needed something. Think of this as a pick-me-up.

He pauses, a delicate question forming in his head.

No , I answer. I didn't feed from Donaldson. Not that I wouldn't have torn out his throat if he hadn't cooperated. Somebody killed him before I had the chance.

We drink then in desultory silence. The blood has a strange taste. When I drank from Avery, his blood was suffused with life, rich and robust. This is—

"Musty tasting,” Avery explains, reading my reaction. “Like the difference between a fine old wine and a cheap upstart. When you drink from a living creature, you take more than sustenance. You take their life essence. Refrigerated blood loses that spark very quickly. It's why we can't exist on it indefinitely. But it is blood and in an emergency, it has it uses."

"This is an emergency?"

Avery puts his cup down and reaches across the table to take my hand. “You have had a rough night. And I'm afraid what you face today will not be much easier."

I fear that, too. My thoughts are weighed down by the knowledge that I'm no closer to finding David than I was before I went to Beso de la Muerte .

Avery squeezes my hand. “What would you do if David was a fugitive?"

I'm caught off guard by his question. “What?"

"What would you do if you were looking for him because he was wanted by the law?"