Blood by K. J. Wignall Page A

even suggestive, as she said, “Are you going to suck my blood?”
    â€œNever,” he said, even though under different circumstances she would have made an ideal victim—unloved, unmissed, alone.
    But Eloise appeared bizarrely unconcerned. She glanced around, saw her small black bag next to the bed, and reached down for it. She rooted around before pulling something out and turning to face the wall. It was a small mirror, the glint of the candles shining back at him.
    â€œI can see your reflection.”
    â€œNor am I afraid of garlic, though I find its scent off-putting, and as you can see, I live beneath a church so, far from filling me with terror, the crucifix is a symbol of my one true refuge from the world. I can’t help the superstitions and the folklore. I can only tell you what I see of myself, and what I know to be true.”
    â€œFire,” she said, perhaps thinking back to the blazing dog.
    â€œYes, and light, sunlight most of all. A stake through the heart will weaken me, and incapacitate me for some time, but it won’t kill me.”
    Intrigued, she asked, “How do you know?” He opened his shirt and pointed to the faint scar in the middle of his alabaster-white chest. Amazed, she said, “Someone put a stake through your heart?”
    â€œThat’s a story for another time. Anyway, it was a long time ago.”
    â€œShow me your teeth.”
    â€œI file them,” he said as he moved closer and opened his mouth.
    â€œGross, why would you want to do that?”
    â€œIt’s easier and cleaner to use a knife; it leaves a suicide, not a corpse with puncture wounds. It makes my appearance less conspicuous. I need to be able to walk among people without standing out.”
    Eloise swung her feet around and sat on the edge of the bed. Far from being terrified or disbelieving, she now seemed excited by what he was telling her, as if she’d been waiting to encounter someone like him her whole life.
    Little did she know either that his hopes rested on the possibility that she had been waiting for this meeting from the day of her birth, that it had been planned by fate and that she had a specific part to play in his destiny. He hoped for both their sakes that their meeting had not been an accident.
    â€œSo how does this work? You rise by night and sleep by day, though I’m guessing it’s not in a coffin, right?”
    He was thrown by the lightness of her tone, by her apparently genuine interest in something that should have filled her with horror.
    â€œI rest during the day, but I don’t sleep. I hibernate for long periods, years or even decades, in there.” He pointed to the other chamber.
    â€œHow often? I mean, when did you last hibernate?”
    â€œNineteen eighty-nine.”
    At last, her thoughts stumbled, and after looking perplexed for a moment, she said, “Okay, so you’re sixteen, but you hibernated before I was born and emerged again … when?”
    â€œYesterday, shortly before meeting you.”
    She took in the information and said, “So you would have needed blood.” Her tumbling thoughts gelled into a sudden, awful clarity and she blurted out, “You killed Jex!”
    â€œWho gave you the creeps, whose name you didn’t even know.”
    â€œTrue, but even so, you killed someone yesterday. Have you killed anyone today?”
    He shook his head. “I need to feed when I emerge from hibernation, but after that I need it rarely. I think it depends on the person, on how much life there is in them.”
    Eloise was insistent, saying, “About how often, on average?”
    â€œIt’s impossible for me to say. Sometimes as much as a year, more commonly it’s measured in months, sometimes even less.”
    â€œSo you might have to kill someone else before Christmas, or you might not, all depending on how good Jex’s blood was.” Her tone sounded light at first, but