Free King's Blood: Vampire Descent (A Serial Novel, Part 4) by P.J. Day Page B

from the lower-brow area down to the middle portion of the nasal cavity. “Watch this.” Milton flipped the skull and proceeded to blow air through the foramen magnum, a hole where the skull attaches itself to the spine. I looked closely into the nasal cavity and the little piece of cartilage began flapping, vibrating like a thin piece of tracing paper against the breeze.
    “ What the hell?” I exclaimed, as my revulsion transformed itself into astonishment.
    Milton pulled the skull away from me and gently put it back into the black tote bag, with respect and dignified reverence. “ Qíyú Zài hépíng,” he said to himself, with sorrow in his eyes, carefully placing the bag on the desk.
    “ I have that thing in my head?” I asked.
    “ We all do, Mr. King.”
    “ What else is inside me?”
    “ I don’t know, I’m not a doctor or a surgeon and I don’t want to go around giving autopsies to fallen comrades either.”
    “ How do you know about this and what does it do?”
    “ We the Jiang-Shi are the last remaining vampire social group or some might say a tribe. Our camaraderie has enabled us to retain many traits that makes us vampires,” he said, lowering his eyes solemnly. “Most of the remaining vampires are like you: solitary, wayward creatures.”
    “ So, how does that flap relate to my dreams and you?”
    “ We call this technique, Mènghuà. ” he said, as he got up from the chair and poured himself another glass of blood. “We have discovered the ability to fine-tune hums at varying decibels which stimulates that small flap inside your skull when dreaming.”
    I sat still in my chair, completely frozen, focused on Milton’s every word as if he were a renowned college professor unveiling the cure for cancer. Milton’s revelation had made me want to learn more about who I was. Why was I a vampire? Why was I here? What makes me different from humans other than the obvious traits: the horrible, undignified, monstrous traits.
    “Who taught you to do this? I mean, do you hear me back, am I humming to you without knowing it?”
    Milton sat back down on the chair, holding his glass of blood, and calmly crossed his legs. “One question at a time. But first, now that I told you the greatest revelation of your long, boring life, you tell me mine.” He leaned in closely. I could smell the metallic, sweet aroma of his drink. “What’s your secret?”
    The reason for my hesitation in telling Milton about Zeo was the possibility of the drug’s proliferation and the possible implication of our company getting in hot water or being exposed myself. Also, the possible consequences of addiction that might consume our willing hosts. I was practically injecting women with heroin every time I bit their necks.
    “It’s called zeopirudin or zeopirudophine, or zeo for short,” I said, with hesitation.
    Milton’s eyebrow’s lifted and his eyes lit up. “So, it’s a drug?”
    “Yes, it’s currently patented, and still going through trials. It’s in the last testing stages with the FDA and the European Union—it’s an anti-coagulate, with time-released hyper-coagulation.”
    I could see the thoughts of multiple possibilities racing through his head, as he sat in the chair, with his eyes darting left to right, engaged in deep thought. He sat back and asked, “But the feeling of euphoria, for the host?”
    “There is a version with an opiate derivative, it’s used for surgery only, and aids anesthesia,” I said, already predicting in my head what his next question would be.
    “ I want that one...where can I find those pills, right now?”
    “ I don’t know, I had some in my room.”
    “ Where can I get the formula?” he asked, standing up from the chair with excitement.
    “ I don’t know.”
    “ Yes ,you do!” he said, raising his voice. “How can you not know? You relayed information of the drug’s origin through your subconscious humming.”
    “ See, I knew it!” I stood up and confronted