The shock of Stan's accusation nearly buckled my knees. I grabbed for the wall and sucked in a steadying breath. Oh my God. Did they think I tried to kill someone?
I couldn't even speak. I stared at Stan, and he looked down at the floor, his face going scarlet. I knew then he didn't believe I'd done anything wrong. But he was beholden to these vampires. I knew his loyalty belonged to them.
The faint clang of the hallway door opening and closing had my heart thumping in earnest. Fear was a live thing squirming inside me as I listened to booted feet thudding toward us. The jailers had come to tell me my appeal had been denied. Hah. Stan glanced at me, sympathy in his hound-dog gaze. Patrick's twin, Lorcan, arrived. I assumed it was Lorcan because, while he looked pissed off, he didn't look poisoned. Plus, his outline was purple. Patrick's was blue. A tall man with muscles on his muscles took position on the left side of Stan. He was dressed in black leather pants and matching vest. Ugh. Animal flesh. His feet were encased in black biker boots with silver buckles. He had jade green eyes and the face of a GQ model. His long black hair was pulled into a ponytail. Hostile didn't begin to describe his attitude toward me. He was outlined in red.
"Did she tell you what she did?" he asked. His accent was German. He looked like he could break me in half. Worse, he looked like he wanted to. I shuddered. Stan shook his head. "Whatever she did, I don't believe she did it on purpose."
"We'll see about that." Lorcan's voice was thick with Irish. "If her poison kills me brother, then darlin' Jessica dies, too."
"Jessica?" I vaguely remembered the name, but couldn't connect it to anyone I'd met so far. I backed away, but there was nowhere to go. If they opened that door, they could easily capture and subdue me.
"I didn't even touch her!"
"Jessica is Patrick's wife," said Stan. "They're bound. Bound vampires are connected body, mind, and soul. If Patrick dies . . . so does she."
"I tried to help him! I swear the only thing I gave Patrick was my blood." My gaze collided with Stan's as we both reached the same conclusion. "Do you think my blood poisoned him?"
He frowned. "I don't see how . . . unless you ingested something on purpose. Something that wouldn't hurt you."
"Use your big brain, Stan! What could I take that would hurt the freaking undead, but leave me alive?
Aren't vampires indestructible?"
"We can be killed," said Lorcan.
"By sunlight and . . . and beheading. That's what Ralph told me." My mind raced, trying to piece together information I'd learned inadvertently. There was something else that could kill vampires, too. "Patsy said Tainted vampires were sick. Do they get the Taint from humans?" My eyes went wide. "Do . . . do I have that? Oh my God! Stan, do I have the Taint?"
"No. Humans can't get the Taint. And that's not what is harming Patrick."
The big guy with the green eyes and the assassin smile looked me over. "We may have jumped to conclusions. How quickly can you test her blood?"
Stanley shrugged. "I should be able to test it against known substances fairly quickly."
"This has something to do with the dragon," I muttered. "She changed me, didn't she? And my blood . .
." My next thought had my heart climbing into my throat. "Am I still human?"
"We'll await the results," said Lorcan, "before we make any decisions."
I knew my fate hung in the pudgy hands of Dr. Archibald Stanley Michaels. He knew it, too. And he couldn't meet my gaze.
They all turned to go.
"Wait!"
Only Stanley paused. He looked over his shoulder as his companions continued down the hallway.
"Please let me out," I said. "I'll stay with you in the lab and help - just like I used to."
He smiled sadly. "I have plenty of lab assistants, Libby. And none of them have ever spilled hydrochloric acid on my Bigfoot specimens."
Ouch. The acid had eaten through the hair samples, including the follicles with skin tags. We'd been this close to getting a DNA sample, and I tipped over the wrong bottle. "Please, Stanley. Get me out of here."
"I can't."
He turned to go, and I watched him get swallowed by the darkness. I couldn't see far enough down the hall to view the door. But I heard it open. And close.
I smacked the wall in frustration. They couldn't keep me here. Not forever.
I had a fitful sleep and awoke, I assume, sometime during the day. All the vampires were snug in their coffins while their pet wolves prowled the town. Okay. That was a petty thought, and I didn't like being petty, even if it was deserved. I believed in karma, although I had no idea what I had done in this life or any other to get imprisoned and accused of attempted murder.
I wondered how Patrick was doing. I couldn't bear the thought of him dying. Or anyone dying, especially as the result of something I had done.
Breakfast was eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. I drank the juice and ate the toast. I wanted badly to eat the bacon, too. Meat was nearly an aphrodisiac. I stopped just shy of licking it. Stan knew I was vegan. Maybe he hadn't adjusted the meals as another way to torment me on behalf of his new masters.
Resentment was a thorn piercing my conscience. I needed to stop thinking such negative thoughts. I filled the hours doing yoga, meditation, and mantras. I practiced pranayama breathing techniques and incorporated a few mudras, which were spiritual gestures made with the hands. Afterward, I felt much better.
I took a very long, hot shower. I washed my panties in the sink and left them to dry on the towel rack. I wandered around in the nude while my underwear dried. I wondered who was monitoring me. Probably some sort of machine Stan had dreamed up. Maybe Mr. Roboto was more than just a voice. Lunch was potato leek soup, sourdough bread, and iced tea. I was starving, but my first spoonful of soup revealed tiny bits of sausage.
Yum. I mean yuck.
Man, I was on the near equivalent of bread and water.
When my underwear dried, I put it on and then I donned the pajamas. I took a short nap. Then I did yoga again. I had no way to tell time, but I knew it must be close to evening. An hour, maybe two passed. Mr. Roboto wouldn't talk to me anymore. At this point, I'd settle for chatting with Melvin. Was he still hanging around? Or had he gotten bored and flown off to haunt someone else?
No one visited. Not even Ralph. But why would he? Could I blame him for putting his sons' welfare over mine? They had already lost their mother. It must've been really hard for Ralph to raise his babies alone. Now, he was doing it undead.
The panel in the wall that delivered my meals popped open and the tray slid out. There was a white bag, a large Styrofoam cup, and a folded note. And, thank the heavens, a copy of Reader's Digest and of People.
I removed all the items. I opened the note first.
Libby,
I made you a veggie burger with lettuce, tomato, and onion. Condiments on the side. (Is mayo a
"by-product"? ) Extra-large fries. Your chocolate shake is made with almond milk. Ralph
I opened the bag. The burger smelled heavenly. I loaded on ketchup and mustard because yes, mayonnaise was on my animal by-product list, and devoured it along with the fries. Hmm-mmm. The chocolate shake was perfection.
It was also drugged.
When I awoke, I was strapped to a metal table. A man in surgical clothing, his face masked, bent over me. His gloved hands held a nasty-looking instrument. A big, bright light shone above me. I couldn't make out anything else in the room.
I wanted to scream, but my mouth wasn't working. My only solace was that he was putting the tool away. Fear pulsed through me, a cold, dull throb that barely penetrated my drug-numbed senses. He seemed surprised to see me awake. I recognized him behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Stan. My lips formed his name, but there was no sound.
His betrayal wounded me. I knew, somewhere beyond where the drugs could reach, that the man standing above me so liberally experimenting on my person would pay for what he was doing. We must've been alone. I was grateful for that, at least.
BOOM! What the hell was that? The reverberations knocked Stan to the floor. The whole place shook and the big light swung wildly.
I struggled to free myself, but the straps kept my wrists and ankles bound tightly. I couldn't be sure I was moving at all; perhaps my mind only made it seem like I was trying to escape. Stan gripped the edge of the operating table and pulled himself to his feet. He ripped off his paper cap and mask.
"Libby!" he yelled.
Another explosion stole the rest of his words. Panic clawed at me. I was trapped. Stan would leave me. The room would cave in.
I would die.
I turned wide eyes to Stanley, knowing my terror showed in my gaze. He pulled off the wires stuck to my chest and removed the IV in my right arm. Then he grappled with the straps on my wrists. He freed my arms, then moved to unbuckle my ankles. Shakily, I rose on my elbows. The sheet covering me slid off, and I realized I was naked underneath it.
Here it was, the end of the world, and I was gonna meet my Maker in my birthday suit. Perfect. Stanley got my left leg free, but he was Mr. Fumble Fingers as he tried to remove the strap binding my right ankle.
BOOM! BOOM! The terrifying noises erupted right above us. The light flickered and chunks of the ceiling crashed around us. Stanley ripped at the buckles.
"Just go!" I screamed. My voice was scratchy and weak, but he heard me.
"No," he said. "I won't leave you."
The strap loosened and I pulled my leg out. He looked at me, triumphant. An ominous crack sounded above, and then the ceiling gave way.
Stan didn't have time to move.
He was buried instantly.