Redlisted by Sara Beaman Page A

not to
think about her now. She was only four hours away by car in Atlanta.
But I was positive she had no desire to see me. I’d tried
calling her—more than daily, in fact—but no one ever
answered. I could only assume she’d blocked my number. Worse, I
hadn’t learned how to control my violent impulses towards
humans. Every time I passed a servant or visitor in the hallways, I
would have the same reaction I’d had on that first night: my
teeth would sharpen and my mind would be flooded with the desire to
rip their throats open. The idea that Elena would provoke the same
reaction was anathema. I couldn’t go see her. I couldn’t
think of anything more terrible.
    Part of me wanted
to do it anyway.
    Of course, it
wasn’t really an option. Julian and Aya had me on a schedule
like clockwork. Every day was the same. Minutes after sundown, Aya
would come and retrieve me from my quarters, delivering me to Julian.
Julian would then lecture me for hours on the revenant condition. At
some time during each visit, I’d drink his blood from the
amphora and have a private breakdown in the study. Aya would
eventually come to release me, and then we’d spend the
remaining hours before sunrise walking around outside. She’d
talk about things I had no interest in, and I’d ask her
questions she didn’t want to answer. And then back to the
suite.
    One night,
however, Aya came to my suite, but not to bring me to Julian.
    “I’m
afraid Master Julian is traveling at the moment,” she informed
me as I stepped out into the hall.
    “Oh?”
    She looked through
the doorway into the sitting room. “May I come in?”
    “Sure.”
I stepped aside.
    She sat down on
the lounge, leaned on the armrest and stacked her legs neatly on top
of one another, pointing her toes. She was barefoot, which was
strange.
    “How have
you been?” she asked as I sat down on one of the couches.
    “It’s
been all of twelve hours—“
    “I mean, how
are you? How are you feeling?”
    She was wondering
whether or not I was planning any more suicide attempts. “Right.
Well, I guess I’m feeling better.”
    “You guess?”
    “I still
feel bizarre. Like I’m dead. Although I guess that’s
normal...”
    A little wrinkle
of concern appeared between her eyebrows. “Dead? How so?”
    “Except for
right after I drink blood, I don’t feel fear, or anger, or
anxiety, or... you know, anything. Not like before, at least.”
    She nodded, her
lips parting slightly.
    “Is it
always going to be like this?” I asked.
    “No, no, not
at all. Master Julian hasn’t spoken to you about this?”
    “I haven’t
mentioned it.”
    “You’re
probably not getting enough blood. You’re really not eating as
much as you should.”
    “What do you
mean?”
    She fluttered her
eyelashes, preparing to say something precocious. “The physical
sensation of emotion comes from the endocrine system, is that
correct?”
    “More or
less, yes, but—“
    “Well, you
see, you’re a bit malnourished. Several of your body’s
systems must be shut down.”
    “Wait.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “So if I just
eat more, I’ll stop feeling this way?”
    “Probably.”
    I frowned. How
could it possibly be that simple?
    She stared into
the empty fireplace. The image of the amphora in Julian’s study
flashed into my mind.
    “Dr.
Fletcher...” She took a breath. “Do you mind if I ask you
a personal question?”
    My jaw tensed. “Go
ahead.”
    “All of your
meals thus far—they’ve been from a glass, haven’t
they?”
    “I know
where you’re going with this. I just don’t know if I
can—Jesus Christ. I can’t just assault someone like that.
I don’t believe Julian when he says it doesn’t hurt.”
    She stood up,
walked over and sat down next to me on the couch, leaving only a
narrow margin between us. “Let me ask you another question,
then,” she said. “You feel pain, right? If you run into
something, it hurts, even though it doesn’t leave