Shades of Red

by T L Christianson

  He had to have come from somewhere.

  I sat at his desk and opened each drawer, feeling for a hidden switch. Next, I turned around in the chair and analyzed the books. They all looked old and leather-bound. I leaned back, my hands cradling my head, and put my feet up on the shelf. I must have done something right because that part of the shelf began to shift backward. I stood, peering into the darkness.

  I took a few hesitant steps inside. A staircase led down a long flight of steps.

  When I reached the bottom, I saw that the room had a few emergency lights on. It was an honest to goodness lab. Commercial refrigerators stood to one side. Tables with specialized equipment were scattered around the other, and along the opposite wall were stacks of shelves with cages for small animals.

  At the back of the room was a windowed door that led to another enclosed space. Hazmat suits hung in the alcove inside that door, along with other items that I couldn't identify.

  In the middle of the room were several work areas and a central desk, which was a large lab table with papers scattered around a microscope.

  I studied the room to get my bearings before heading to the desk. I sat and riffled through the papers, which were full of printed charts and lists of numbers. Among the printed pages, I found a handwritten note. The handwriting seemed old fashioned to me, with large loops in even rows. Scribbled near the top were three words, putridae sanguine sample. This was Latin. Uninfected blood samples?

  A5967-Helen Wedgwood

  C8921-Maria Bosevich

  F4572-Alvaro Corbran

  The list went on with more numbers and names.

  "Helen, Maria, Alvaro?" I mumbled to myself. If these samples weren't infected, what samples were?

  I opened one of the refrigerators and began pulling out test tubes to see if the letters and numbers from the note corresponded to the vials inside.

  They did.

  All the samples were labeled similarly to those on the note.

  I found F4572. Uncapping the bottle, I sniffed and held it to my lips, tasting it gingerly before recapping the tube.

  This was strange-tasting blood and had a depth to it that I hadn't tasted before.

  I couldn't find C8921, but I finally found A5967. The blood looked a little separated, so I shook it up, and then timidly tasted it.

  "Blech!" I spat it out into the sink.

  Why was this blood so different? I'd never tasted blood like this. Or had I?

  I had tasted blood like this—my own.

  These were samples of vampire blood.

  What was Owen doing with these?

  Looking at the spattered sink I wiped it clean with a paper towel and threw it away. In the trashcan next to the sink was an empty blood bag. On the counter was an empty glass with a ring of red in the bottom.

  I lifted the glass to my nose and sniffed.

  Was Owen drinking blood?

  Was he a vampire?

  The evidence looked pretty damning, but the thought didn’t sit right with me.

  What's the etiquette for asking if one was a vampire?

  The glass had contained blood, and Owen's smell was all over it…

  This was crazy!

  Owen wasn't a vampire!

  He was a scientist!

  The notes were in Latin because it was a medical language!

  This was a lab, not a kitchen.

  Owen couldn't be a vampire. That was crazy.

  Yet the thought followed me throughout the day as I pondered what to do about my continuous blood shortage.

  This location had been challenging, to say the least. I had thought of getting a goat and drinking from it, but I wasn't an animal person, and the thought of biting its furry body grossed me out.

  I'd also thought of visiting some local bars and clubs, but that idea wasn't very appealing either. Maybe I should go back to buying blood from the butcher. It wasn’t very attractive, but it'd do. Finally, I settled on bringing food and drinks down to the river and collecting their hemoglobin in blood bags bought off the Internet.

  Oh, Internet? What can’t I buy from you?

  I was finishing up school with the kids when Dr. Bennett came into the classroom. He rarely came up here, so why now? Why today? Had I left any evidence of my presence in the lab?

  Sitting at my desk, I looked over the next day's lesson plan while the kids finished up their Connecticut flag handouts.

  Owen raised his eyebrows at Jack's grapevines that had been turned into snakes with red tongues. He smiled at all the facts Becca neatly listed next to her own hastily colored banner.

  My sweet pupil smiled up at her daddy, and it warmed me. Jack burst into their conversation and held his picture up. "Look, Daddy! It's Connect-I-cut, and see my snakes? Ssssss… they're angry."

  "There are no snakes!" Becca sniffed with indignation.

  I went back to my own busy work until the room was quiet.

  Owen turned to me and pulled a chair up to my desk.

  "Hi," I said stupidly.

  "Hey, I came by to see how the kids were doing. Can you give me a rundown on their progress?"

  "Oh, definitely." I smiled broadly out of nerves.

  Dutifully, I opened my syllabus and a drawer filled with schoolwork the children had finished. I laid out several papers in front of him.

  "So, this is Becca's work.“ I tapped my nails on each paper as I explained them. "This is Jack's, Jack, Jack, Becca, Becca." My eyes were on him as he studied the hard work of his children. "They both excel at math. We're learning about each state, according to the curriculum. As you can tell, Becca does more advanced work."

  I laid another stack on my desk before gesturing to the corkboard that held their latest papers. I was proud of my students. They were smart kids.

  A laugh escaped Owen's mouth, and he held up a whole pile of Becca's writing. "Penmanship? I wasn't sure if that was still taught." He flipped through the multiple writing forms his daughter had done. "Wow, she hates writing."

  "Er, yes, it was difficult at first, but I hold to the motto, ‘begin as you mean to go on.'"

  "Hmmm…" It never occurred to me that children today wouldn't practice their penmanship.

  "You do have a way with them." He removed his frameless glasses and met my eyes. "I'm glad you're here. You're a good fit for Becca and Jack. They sure love you. They talk about you nonstop."

  I exhaled my own laugh. "Yeah, they're not too bad themselves." Then I pursed my lips. "I have a question for you," I said hesitantly.

  "Sure, let's have it."

  "Where’s their mother?" My directness was too much most of the time, but the New York in me seemed to just slip out. The thought that Owen was a vampire weighed on me. If I could get him to talk about his wife then maybe things may begin to click into place.

  His face grew serious, and I bit my lip, worrying it with my teeth. "It's none of my business. I just thought—"

  He cut me off. "No, I should've filled you in better when you started." He tapped the stack of papers back into order. "I guess, I'm just a private person. But you're right, you should know a little background." He gulped. "Sarah, my wife, died." He looked down, and traced one of the papers with his finger, his voice quiet. "When Jack was born."

  I covered his hand with my own. "I'm so sorry."

  His eyes were bright as he looked into mine. "It's all right, you should know that she's gone. It's not a secret. She's not in our life anymore."

  "Is that why there're no pictures of her in the house?"

  He didn't answer, but I could see his mind churning, with anger? No, sadness, it had to be.

  A long moment ensued before either of us spoke.

  When he did, his voice was almost a whisper. "We tried to get pregnant for a few years. Sarah would've done anything to have a baby."

  I knew this too well.

  Alexander and I had tried for a child for almost twenty years. Back then, medicine could offer little to no hope. We'd resorted to a new level of ri
diculousness in our desperation. We tried old wives’ tales and myths.

  Oh, the heartache...

  I felt my eyes well up and tried to hide it.

  " What's wrong?" Owen's voice rose barely above a whisper.

  A tear escaped my blinking lashes. "It's nothing. I'm silly."

  "No, something happened to you. Did you lose a child?"

  "I got married very young." I shook my head. "We couldn't… get pregnant." I swallowed, telling him the truth… "I... I left him because he just couldn't understand. He thought it was my fault. That I was… deceiving him about something." I pursed my lips and looked upward to stop my overflowing eyes, but it didn't help, and I felt warm streaks dart down my cheeks.

  Owen pulled an old-fashioned handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed my face. "That's terrible. It's no one's fault, it just happens," he told me softly.

  "I can't believe I just told you all this." My mouth curved up into a sardonic smile.

  "No," then softer, "no. I'm glad to get to know you better."

  "Me, too," I offered. "So, I guess we're kind of telling each other some secrets." I sucked in a breath. "I have a confession. I was afraid to tell you because I didn't want it to be awkward." I clasped my hands together. "Jack asked to call me mama." I looked up at him to gauge his reaction. "I told him no. He knows that it's not okay."

  Owen laughed and shook his head. "That's his MO. He's already asked Flor and Elaine. He's determined to find a woman who will say yes to him."

  I laughed then also. "And here I thought I was special. Jack's pretty hard to say no to." We laughed again, thinking about the angelic blond-haired, blue-eyed, sweet-talking five-year-old.

  Our gazes locked, and we stopped laughing. Owen darted a look from my eyes to my lips, and back again. My breath quickened, and I heard his heart speed up.

  He leaned forward, tucking an errant curl behind my ear, his expression wistful. "You're beautiful when you cry, but I wish you didn't have anything to cry about."

  I felt the seconds tick by as our gazes intensified.

  I wanted to laugh at him and tell him that his pick-up-line was wasted, but it wasn't. I wanted this. I wanted him to flirt with me, maybe kiss me.

  Was I mad?

  Biting his lip, Owen's mouth turned up at the corners. "I just… I feel like we have… chemistry." He sighed as he shook his head. "Do you…are you…"

  “Yeah, I noticed that, too,” I teased him.

  His hand cupped my face, and his thumb skimmed the corner of my mouth.

  "I'm attracted to you." His voice came out husky as he leaned closer.

  "I know you are," I whispered back before sliding my hands along the sides of his face, feeling the stubble beneath my fingers.

  Time seemed to stop as we breathed in each other’s breath. His blood sang to me, and I resisted its draw, looking between his eyes and his lips. When he kissed me, he tasted like mint, and his spicy cologne filled my senses, making me want to wrap myself around him.

  After a moment, I pulled away to look into his eyes, but he leaned into me, and I felt him nip my bottom lip with his teeth.

  Warmth pooled inside me as his touches smoothed down my back and to my arms, where he took hold of my hands.

  It was he who pulled away and laughed, rubbing my knuckles with his thumbs.

  Our foreheads touched as he contemplated me.

  The moment felt sacred.

  "I've wanted this," I whispered.

  Owen didn't miss a beat. "Me, too." His eyes smiled. "I thought that maybe you did… I guess I wasn't wrong."

  "Don't you have a girlfriend somewhere?" I laughed.

  "No. Just you. You're beautiful. You're classic. I love your green eyes, and you seem to sparkle with life. And the way your wild sexy hair makes you crazy. How you fight with it! You don't seem like a twenty-four-year-old, you seem older than that."

  Oh, if he only knew!

  I was so overwhelmed with my good fortune until my lie as Elizabeth entered our sacred circle we had made.

  His expression must have mirrored my own, as I saw his countenance become inscrutable. I wondered if he practiced that no-expression face.

  He kissed my mouth and then my knuckles that were interlaced with his. His voice was rough. "I don't know what this is."

  I felt defeated.

  I knew what this was, and I couldn't do it again.

  Not with Owen, not with anyone.

  "This won't work out for us," I told him, then licked my lips, still wanting to kiss him.

  "Why?" He stood and pulled me up with him. "Are you a fortune teller?"

  I laughed. "No… it's just…"

  "Ahhh…" He studied me. " You've been hurt. It's okay, so have I."

  "But…I…" I shook my head, and stupid tears started to cloud my vision. How could he know? Was I that open that he could read me like a book? My mind warred with itself.

  He winked at me before he spoke, and it was so charming. "It'll be okay. You'll see. We'll figure it out and take it where it goes."

  I blinked my ridiculous tears from my eyes and smiled. "Okay. Let's keep it to ourselves for now though," I added hastily. "I don't want to hurt the kids."

  "All right." Owen pulled me to him, and I breathed in his spicy forest scent.

  His touch sent shivers of pleasure through my body. I'd never experienced sensations like this, and I didn't want it to stop.

  Our lips met again, and he pulled me up onto his lap as he sat on my desk. His erection pressed into my leggings, and I moaned in delight.

  My desire for Owen was only surpassed by my thirst for blood.

  I felt my fangs begin to slide out and broke the kiss.

  We sat there panting, staring into each other's eyes.

  "Wow," he said, breaking the stillness in the room.

  I looked at him, his lips, swollen and red, were twisted in a questioning smile. I slid off his lap and felt my fangs retract.

  "Let's take it slow," I managed breathlessly.

  I remembered my intention of staying away from him, but I knew that no matter how hard I tried, being with him was inevitable.

  Like breathing, like sleeping… like drinking blood.

  It was bound to happen, and resisting wouldn't make a difference.

  Chapter Eight

  Thinking about Owen, I couldn't stop my feelings of unease.

  The evidence pointed to him being a vampire. If he was, then that solved a whole host of problems…. But my instincts about him told me he wasn’t like me.

  I needed definite proof.

  Then my mind wandered back to our kiss. It had been a long time since I'd been kissed.

  If Owen was human, it would be Alexander all over again. I’d loved him, but in the end, I wasn’t what he needed. I could never be what he had needed. Our relationship suffered due to our differences and my strange affliction.

  After my wedding to Alexander, I had been pale and sickly. This had gone on for almost a month; I thought I was going to die.

  However, fate had another plan for me. My maid, Isa, brought in an old woman who was said to be a healer. People whispered that she was a witch, so Isa was careful that no one saw her enter the manor.

  When she entered my bedroom, her walking stick thumping on the floor, I felt uneasy. She pulled her heavy woolen cloak back from her face and looked me over.

  She took my chin in her bony fingers before examining my neck. There was nothing there. I had no marks, but this wise old woman seemed to see something. Then she lifted my upper lip and looked at my teeth.

  "Ouch!" I gasped with the little strength I had left. My upper gums were sore and ached to the touch.

  She ignored me, and continued her examination, grasping my arms, then placing her palm on my bare chest above my nightgown.

  I was too weak to argue, but I'm sure she caught my angry glare.

  Shaking her head, she muttered in her foreign tongue.

  Remembering her accented English, I could hear he
r raspy voice in my mind again. "I know what is problem. I go and come back." Her eyes were filled with suspicion and… fear. She crossed herself like a Catholic and pulled her cape back over her head before leaving.

  I had fallen asleep, believing that I would die soon. We'd already tried doctors and midwives. They spouted off different diagnoses, said I had a weak constitution, and suggested I simply needed to eat more. Food was part of the problem; anything I ate turned my stomach. Either I suffered in pain after eating, or I vomited.

  The old witch returned hours later with what looked like a milk pail. She removed the lid, and instantly, I woke to a smell that had my mouth watering.

  I scrambled to sit, and Isa pushed pillows behind me.

  In the dimness of the gas-lit room, I could scarcely tell what broth she had brought me, but I didn't care. I held my hands out for the bucket, but she swatted me away as she poured it into a tin cup.

  The liquid was warm and thick and lovely.

  I drank cup after cup, practically pouring it down my throat.

  When I finished the entire pail, I sighed in relief and allowed Isa to clean my face and hands like a little girl.

  I smiled with joy. I was cured!

  I felt brand new and was astonished at the transformation within my own skin. Laughing, I then realized that Isa looked pale and shaken. The old woman's mouth formed a thin line.

  "What?" Looking around at them, I pulled myself from the bed.

  Both women startled and backed away.

  "I feel better! I'm cured!" I pulled Isa into a firm embrace before dancing in circles in my nightgown.

  My smile faded, and my feelings of joy deflated as I sat back down on the bed. "What? What is it?"

  Isa's eyes were round. "It was blood, Mrs. Em. She gave you blood." I looked at the water basin that Isa had used to clean me up. The water was pink.

  We both turned to the witch, who shook her head and frowned at me. "You are Moroi. What done is done. You drink blood now."

  I sat there in shock, while Isa walked the old woman out and paid her.

  We never saw her again after that.

  She left the village.

  Isa kept my secret and procured blood for me until 1934.

  That afternoon, Alexander had intercepted my particular teapot and poured himself a cup of blood. Because of rationing, our tea was weak, and I guess he figured he'd drink mine as well.