What Kills Me by Wynne Channing

Why?”
    “He might be able to tell us what’s
going on.”
    I nodded. Uther will know what to do.
    “They sent the general and an entire
brigade for one vampire. Why would they do that? It doesn’t make
sense.” He looked at me for the first time since we got in the
truck. “What don’t I know, schoolgirl?”
    I shook my head. “I’ve told you
everything. I swear.”
    He turned away. “I need to know what
my family died for.”
    I hung my head. They died because of me.
    He lifted the tarp and peered out.
“We’re passing a nearby town,” he said. “We can find an inn or a
hotel there. At dusk, we’ll travel to Rome.”
    He gave me a nod and parted the tarp.
He jumped out as the vehicle rounded a corner.
    “Wait,” I said. I scuttled
to the edge and flipped up the tarp. Lucas was standing in a
ditch. Oh geez. I
threw myself out. I expected to crash onto the pavement, the
concrete scraping off patches of skin. Except that time seemed to
slow while I was in mid air. Landing with one foot on the street
and letting the momentum carry me forward, I put my right hand down
and did a frontward flip. I stood and turned to look at the truck
speeding away. Then I looked back at Lucas.
    “Did you see that?” I asked. I pointed
over my shoulder with my thumb.
    “See what?”
    “See me not fall out of the truck? I did
like, a flip or something,” I said.
    He rolled his eyes and walked by
me.
    “That was amazing,” I said, to no one
in particular.
    We jogged down the street and I
glimpsed the town from above. It was on the sea, but I had heard
and smelled that from the truck. All the buildings were about the
same height and white with brown, clay-tiled roofs. Few lights were
lit.
    Lucas checked over his
shoulder.
    “Do you think they’re close?” I
asked.
    “Perhaps. But they will also be
looking for a place to hide in the day.”
    We roamed the empty streets. A tabby
cat lounging at the base of a palm tree watched us and hissed when
Lucas neared. Lucas stopped to read a sign outside of a row of
buildings. I followed him through an archway into a small, bare
courtyard. We climbed a narrow staircase to a door flanked by
planters filled with pink flowers.
    A curly-haired man at the counter
removed his glasses as we walked inside. He was wearing a light
blue shirt with stains under the arms; his spicy body odor and his
woody aftershave stung my nose. I examined the valleys in his
forehead, the pits that were the pores dotting his cheeks, and the
bluish, puffy skin under his eyes. Tiny pools of oil had formed on
his bulbous nose. I was amazed at the detail I was seeing. The man
raised his bushy, triangular-shaped eyebrows, and when he smiled,
more lines ran across his face. His skin seemed to shift over his
skull like bunching panty hose.
    The room filled with the man’s heavy
breathing and a deep drum beat.
    Heartbeat. The more I focused on it, the louder it
got.
    I was staring. Lucas nudged
me.
    “Hello,” I said. The man
flinched.
    “Shh,” Lucas said.
    I realized that I was shouting over
the sounds. I could even hear the squelching of liquid in this
man’s veins.
    “Sorry,” I whispered. “We’d like a
room for the rest of tonight and tomorrow please.”
    The man nodded.
    I found his gestures to be extremely
jerky and abrupt, like a skittish bird. He turned and pulled a key
from a hook on the wall. A network of veins ran along the inside of
his arm and pooled in the fleshy part under his thumb. I became
fixated on that part of his hand; it was white, blue, and fat like
the belly of a fish. For some reason, looking at it made me want a
steak. I shook my head to clear the craving.
    “You American?” he scratched his head
and it sounded like Velcro tearing apart.
    “We’re from Canada,” I said, again, a
little too loudly.
    The man wagged his finger at us.
“Married?”
    “Oh no,” I said.
    “One bed,” the man said, dangling the
key.
    “Actually, can we have two beds?” I
asked, leaning over