Free What Kills Me by Wynne Channing Page A

wrong?” Noel asked.
    “How did you know that I
was…”
    “Was what?” Lucas said.
    I scanned each of their faces. Noel
looked confused, Jerome curious, and Lucas irritated.
    “That I was a…”
    “Vampire?” Lucas said.
    I nodded.
    “Do we look like idiots?” Lucas
retorted.
    “Of course not,” I said.
    “Are you an idiot?” Lucas
again.
    “Possibly,” I said.
    “Lucas,” Noel said.
    “We’re vampires,” Lucas said. “We can
hear that your heart doesn’t beat.”
     
     

Chapter
13
     
    I had put myself in a
dangerous position. “Are you an idiot?” Lucas had said. Yes. I am. I needed to
leave. I pushed my chair back and tried to stand. Instead I slipped
to the floor, causing Jerome to cry out in alarm. Lucas sighed and
left through the back door. Jerome put me back in the
chair.
    “Are you new?” Noel asked.
    I nodded.
    “When?”
    “I’m not sure anymore. Yesterday or
the day before.”
    “Where is your sire?”
    “My what? I don’t
understand.”
    “Your sire. The one who made you,” he
said.
    “I don’t know. I don’t have one,” I
said.
    “What about your guardian?”
    My parents? I shook my head.
    “My God, your sire abandoned you
without a guardian.” Noel frowned. “It’s his holy duty to care for
you or at least to entrust a guardian to do so. What kind of
vampire would do that?”
    I said nothing. I felt dishonest. But
how could I explain?
    “Have you fed?”
    I made a face and shook my head
again.
    “This is why you’re so weak,” he said.
“Here, you need to drink this immediately.” He picked up the teacup
by its rim and held it out in front of me. Reluctantly I slipped my
index finger into its delicate handle.
    “I don’t know if I can do this,” I
said.
    “Yes, you can,” Noel said. “Just drink
it fast.”
    “Oh God,” I said.
    “Do it.”
    I put the teacup to my lips and tipped
it back. The cold, iron-y liquid spilled into my mouth. I gulped it
down and then gagged. But the blood coated my insides like dripping
oil, radiating heat on the way down. And it was invigorating. The
second mouthful was easier. It tasted nasty, but it felt so good
and my body tingled. I felt hot inside but cool on the surface.
There was only one thing I could compare the feeling to: growing
up, when I had a cold, my mother would slather my chest with minty
vapor rub; it was like having that balm everywhere.
    “You want more?” Noel asked. He was
holding a clear glass jug half-filled with blood.
    I shook one last ruby droplet onto my
tongue and then stared into the empty cup in amazement.
    “Yes, please.”
    After my second cup, Noel took me
across the field to a brick garage topped with a gray chimney. He
lit a lantern inside the door, illuminating the space.
    “Welcome to my workshop,” he
said.
    Metal tools and instruments hung on
the walls. Soot and ash blanketed every surface. Anvils, hammers,
and water troughs were positioned around an open furnace. Noel
walked around a pile of metal bits in the middle of the workshop
and grabbed a handheld saw from a shelf.
    “What do you do here?” I
asked.
    “I’m a swordsmith. I make
weapons.”
    He placed two stools in front of me
and patted one of them. I sat down and rested my arms on the
other.
    “Noel,” I said, “I really like my
hands, okay?”
    His smile lengthened the crow’s feet
at the edges of his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve never used this thing
before but how hard can it be? Just don’t move.”
    The saw squealed and I turned away
from the orange sparks. The manacle opened with a
clatter.
    “Zee, I hope you didn’t need your
right hand,” Noel said.
    “It’s okay. As long as I have the
left.”
    He broke open the left cuff a few
seconds later. I rubbed my wrists. “Thank you.”
    “Do you feel better?”
    “Yes, much. Earlier, I felt like the
walking dead,” I said. “I mean, well, you know.”
    He laughed. “You just needed some
sustenance. See? The blood wasn’t so bad.”
    “Well,