What Kills Me

  “I don’t mean to. You’re just…”

  “Just what?” I snapped.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Why are you getting upset?”

  I didn’t understand why I had reacted so strongly.

  “I’m not upset,” I said. “I just can’t stand that look.”

  “Zee…”

  “I don’t want you looking at me like…”

  “Like?”

  “Like I’m a monster,” I said.

  I preferred his look of disdain. Or his irritated scowls. But to see him so shocked, so alarmed, made me feel alone. It made me feel like the apocalyptic legend about me could be true. He walked over to me and took hold of both my arms.

  “Hey,” he said. “You are not a monster.”

  “I’m not like you. I know,” I said.

  “No. You’re not like us. You are different. But you are amazing.”

  He lifted my chin with his finger. I looked up at his face, searching for sarcasm. Instead I found a softness in his expression, something I’d never seen before. Even in the dimness his emerald eyes were brilliant. A line of dried blood marked his cheek like remnants of a tear. I had no words and he didn’t need to say anything else.

  But then he broke the beautiful silence with this: “Don’t be a baby, okay?”

  He winked and I frowned, shaking my head. Suddenly my legs seemed to liquify.

  “Whoa,” he said, holding me up. “You must be starving.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I lied.

  He went to the trunk of the car, which was already ajar, and pulled out a red cooler and a black backpack. He opened the cooler and pulled out a packet of blood.

  “Drink this,” he said, putting it in my palm.

  “You’re not having one?”

  “I’m fine.”

  While I drank, he walked up to the top half of the vampire I’d bisected and cut off his head.

  “Is he still alive?” I asked.

  “No, but just in case.”

  He dragged the vampire body parts to the side of the road. “They’ll burn up at dawn,” he said.

  He started to walk back to me and I pointed to the fallen truck driver.

  “Please,” I said. “We can’t leave him like that.”

  The man looked like he was sleeping on his back with one hand tucked behind his head. I wondered where he had been headed tonight. I wondered if he had children. Lucas collected the man in his arms and carried him to the side of the road. He lay the body in the grass and returned to me.

  “We need to keep moving,” he said. He put his arm across my collarbone to move me but I would not turn from the accident site.

  “Others will come,” he said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  Chapter 28

  “I want you to,” Lucas said.

  “No.”

  “Come on.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s stupid.”

  Lucas moved in front of me so that he was walking backward in the road with his arms outstretched. My sword was jutting out the top of his backpack like a bone growing out the side of his neck. I stopped and crossed my arms.

  “Hit me,” he said.

  I shook my head.

  “I just want to see how hard you can hit,” he said.

  “Quit bugging me or I’ll really punch you.”

  “Yes, do it. Here,” he said, showing me his palm like it was a catcher’s mitt. “Put it right here.”

  I looked into his hand and back into his eyes. He widened his stance and pumped his eyebrows, half smiling. My head flopped to the side as I sighed.

  “Don’t say, ‘seriously.’ Just do it,” he said.

  I made a fist with my right hand.

  “Tuck your thumb in or you’ll break it,” he said. “Now hit me.”

  I pulled my fist back and jabbed at his hand. The contact made a satisfying slapping noise.

  “How was that?” I asked.

  His shoulders slumped and he dropped his hand. “Seriously?” he said in a high-pitched slur.

  “Was that you trying to imitate me? Is that how I sound to you?”

  “That was weak. I know you can do better,” he said. He re-positioned his feet so he stood square to me and raised his palm. He wagged it, waving like the queen of England.

  “Come on,” said Lucas. “I want you to carry through this time. Don’t just fling your arm. Put your weight into it, turn your hips. And don’t aim for my hand. Aim at a target behind my hand. Punch through me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can. Think of everything that you’ve been through, all your anger and your fears, and just let it all out.”

  “Oh, this is therapy now?”

  “Yes. Pretend my hand is your enemy.”

  Pretend the hand is the general. My mind’s eye saw Noel. Saw him fall. Saw the general smile.

  I clenched my fist, wound up, and struck out. My fist shot out, faster than I had expected, too fast for me to soften the blow. The moment my knuckles touched Lucas’s skin, I regretted it. He saw the speed and tried to pull his hand back to absorb the punch. But bones in his hands cracked and the force sent him staggering.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”

  He clutched his broken hand and did a turn, like he was dancing.

  “Lucas?”

  “Just give me a minute,” he said. He massaged the top of his hand, as if he was pushing the bones back into place. Once he was satisfied, he turned to me with a bemused expression.

  “All right,” he said. “You are definitely stronger than I expected.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “That was incredible. I can take a punch from Jerome and it barely stings. You’ve been a vampire for a week and you’re possibly stronger than vampires who have been alive for centuries.”

  We continued our trudge along the side of the road. Lucas’s hand was healed but he kept turning it over, flexing it, and looking at it. Then he would glance at me.

  “Stop with the funny looks,” I warned.

  “I apologize. It’s just incredible.”

  “You said that already.”

  “You really need to be aware of your strength,” he said, “especially around humans.”

  Recalling the scene in the alley, I winced.

  “Your abilities develop and build with time so you’re going to get even stronger.”

  Stronger.

  I kicked a rock and it disappeared in the distance. I imagined myself oversized and destroying a city like King Kong, knocking over buildings and swatting planes out of the air like flies. Soldiers on the ground were firing at me, their torpedoes plinking harmlessly against my forehead.

  “You’re thinking weird thoughts. I know by your face. Stop it,” he said.

  “I’m thinking that I’m hazardous. That I need a ‘Beware of Freak Vampire’ sign around my neck.”

  “You just need to learn how to control yourself.”

  “You still think that legend about me is just a story?”

  “I think that whatever blood spawned you has given you great power. But no, I don’t think that you’re a danger.”

  How would I be able to control myself? Without a thought I had destroyed the humans in the alley, I chopped a vampire in half with a door, and broke Lucas’s hand.

  The hum of an approaching vehicle in the distance interrupted us.

  “We need to take this one, all right?” he said. “We’ve let too many pass and we need to find shelter before dawn.”

  “But…”

  “We’re not going to find a stall selling cars on the side of the road, Zee.”

  I sighed. “Fine.”

  I followed him to the shoulder. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Go stand in the middle of the road.”

>   “Why me?”

  “Just do it. They’ll stop for you.”

  Grumbling, I stomped back. “We’re not hurting them.”

  The driver had the windows down. I could hear the bass from the stereo and a man’s voice singing along with a ballad. He sounded happy. I blinked against the glare from his headlights and waved. He didn’t let up on the accelerator so I hopped and flailed my arms.

  “Stop waving so fast,” Lucas said. “Move at human speed.”

  “Oh. Like this?”

  “Slower. I said slower.”

  I waved my arms, feeling as though I was at a concert during a slow song. It was a young man behind the wheel. He looked startled. He slowed his car and pulled over to the shoulder. I ran over to his window.

  “Hi!” I said. “Thanks so much for stopping. I’m a bit lost.”

  Before he could respond, Lucas was opening his door, tearing his seatbelt away and pulling him out. The guy gasped so deeply that he choked. He did a belly flop on the pavement, his glasses, wallet, and coins scattering around him. He flipped over on his back and lay with his limbs extended as if ready to do snow angels.

  “I’m so sorry about this,” I said, climbing into the passenger side.

  When we drove away, the man was sitting on the road, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed.

  “Man, I feel bad,” I said.

  “It’s just a car, Zee. He can get another one.”

  “Maybe he’s a student and he has to work two jobs to pay for this car. Maybe he spent years saving for this car so he could date the pretty girl at the tea shop. You don’t know.”

  “Why would he want to date a girl who only likes him for his car?”

  “Pfff. That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?”

  “These things mean a lot to people. Taking them hurts them.”

  “Humans focus too much on petty things. A car is an object. He wasn’t hurt. He still has his health, his life, his future. We didn’t take anything of value from him.”

  “To you, it wasn’t valuable. How can you judge humans? You haven’t been one for a very long time.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “But I wish they knew what I know now. They’d be happier, I think.”

  “Are you happier knowing what you know?”

  “It’s not the same. Humans would be happier because for them, it all ends. Everything is more intense, more precious, when it’s finite.”

  “You keep saying that we’re immortal. But this could all end for us too. If you haven’t noticed, every vampire on the planet is trying to kill us.”

  “Try is the operative word there. They can try.”

  He was quiet for a few minutes. He turned the music off and leaned back from the steering wheel.

  “Zee?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If something ever happens to me, I want you to run.”

  “What? No,” I said. I twisted in my seat to face him but he wasn’t looking at me.

  “That was too close tonight. Too dangerous,” he said. “You should have left me.”

  “I would never do that. Just like you couldn’t leave me behind at the church.”

  “If something was to happen, I need to know that you would run away and be safe. That you would be brave.”

  I sat back. This was an intolerable conversation about an unimaginable scenario. The thought of it made me want to vomit.

  “Be brave. Isn’t that your code for ‘I care’?” I said instead.

  He was solemn. “I have lost a lot of people that I care about,” he said. “I can’t have anyone else die.”

  “I don’t have any plans to die.”

  He appeared satisfied by my response but still disturbed by our conversation.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I don’t have…anyone else.”

  He turned to me for the first time since getting into the vehicle. “You will always have yourself.”

  On the dashboard a bobble-head toy in the shape of a cat wobbled its round, grinning face. I rested my head against the windowpane and counted the streetlights along the highway.

  “You should rest,” he said softly. “I don’t think you’ve slept.”

  He was right. I hadn’t slept in a while. But I didn’t feel physically tired. I was only weary of thinking, weary of feeling scared. When my mind went blank, the marauding dread swept in. The stillness allowed the sadness to take hold.

  Lucas turned off the highway and pulled up to a gas station. He parked in front of the doors, fluorescent lights filling the car. As I looked into the store, my mind’s microphone slipped beyond the door. I heard the hum of the fridges, the laugh track from the television. The man behind the counter was clipping his fingernails. I heard the snap and the tick of the stray half moons hitting the floors.

  “Safe to go in?” Lucas asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You have this funny look on your face when you’re listening for things.”

  “I’m glad that I amuse you. What are we doing here?”

  “Asking for directions. We need to find a hotel,” he said, turning the key in the ignition.

  “You know, I could drive us in the day. We’ll just have to put you in the trunk.”

  “And how will you know where to go?”

  “How do you know where to go?”

  “Listen. I’d feel better if you weren’t alone. I can’t help you in the day.”

  I thought of the last time that I was alone and acquiesced.

  “Do you need anything?” he said, opening the door.

  “Could you grab me a bag of barbecue chips?”

  He paused, one leg outside.

  “I’m joking,” I said. “Did chips even exist in your days…?”

  He slammed the door before I was finished talking. Why did he have to be so abrupt?

  I opened my door and climbed out. “Hey. I never told you, I got super hungry in the market and ate a fish ball,” I said.

  He stopped. “And?”

  “I got violently ill.”

  “I warned you.”

  “You did. But you said it would taste like feet. It didn’t.”

  “That was what I was told.”

  “Well, you were misinformed. It’s just a vampire urban legend to scare newbies.”

  Bells attached to the front doors announced our arrival, but the attendant didn’t look up. The store was so bright that it made everything look surreal; the colors were extra colorful, the whites were fluorescent white. I could smell the chocolate and the pastries through their wrappings. While Lucas talked to the man, I wandered the aisles, touching everything. The packaging snapped like firecrackers under my fingers. When I was little, my father used to let me choose one treat at the gas station for the ride home. Though I wanted a Coke slushie, I always chose a bag of barbecue chips. They were my father’s favorite and this way we could share.

  I lingered in front of the shelf of chips and scanned the shiny, bulgy bags: pizza and prawn and seaweed-flavored chips. There were potato twists whose brand name in English read “Lonely God.”

  “That’s an interesting name,” I muttered to myself. Lonely gods. I thought of the Ancients, imprisoned forever in gold.

  I glanced at the counter, and Lucas and the attendant were looking my way. The attendant was examining me and talking in animated tones. When I met his gaze, he averted his eyes and said something to Lucas. He scratched the back of his skull, the vein in his temple throbbing. Lucas replied with some sarcastic quip and the man threw his head back in laughter.

  Back in the car, Lucas spread out a map.

  “So what were you guys talking about?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You guys were talking about me. What were you saying?”

  He smiled. “He asked if you were a movie star.”

  I coughed. “He what?”

  “He said that he thought you were beautiful.”

  “And what did you say?”


  “I said, ‘Yes, but she can be a pain.’”

  Ignoring the last part of his comment, I sat back and blushed. Only two men had ever called me beautiful. One was my father. The other had killed me.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” Lucas said.

  “Oh, it’s too late,” I said.

  We exchanged a smile and I laughed. It felt good to laugh. I sounded like me.

  Chapter 29

  I sat on the stone edging around the pool, my pant legs rolled up over my knees and my feet submerged in the hot water. The stench of rotten eggs from the sulfurous hot springs was smothering. A ghostly mist floated over the surface of the water, obscuring the moon’s reflection.

  The resort was nestled in among mountains that rose around us like the furry backs of bison. Sounds of civilization were muffled by chirring bugs and bubbling water. Everyone at the inn was fast asleep, including the concierge who was supposed to be manning the front desk.

  Without turning around I listened for Lucas, but he was silent. I thought he had gone back to our room, but I heard the wind rustle his shirt. He was several feet behind me, perhaps on one of the patio chairs.

  “When was the last time you killed someone?” I asked.

  “Do you mean someone human?”

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly he was kneeling beside me. The pool lights made his eyes appear almost yellow.

  “We killed a lot in our early years. That was how we fed. But in the last century the Monarchy took over the supply of blood. They made it easier to access, and it was less necessary to hunt.”

  “Where do they get the blood from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know where your food comes from?”

  “No,” he said. “The Monarchy doesn’t have an obligation to tell us.”

  “Good point. They probably don’t have a customer service department where you can send your concerns. So—no one knows?”

  “Samira has her theories, but then again she can be a bit of a conspiracy theorist.”

  “The Monarchy could have human farms where they’re draining the livestock,” I said with a shudder.

  “It’s possible. All of the blood tastes the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Kinman occasionally feeds on humans and he says the taste of blood varies depending on the person. The Japanese, for example, eat a lot of fish so their blood contains more mercury. Humans have altered their environments and their diets so much in recent times that their blood is full of chemicals.”

  “So some people taste like feet?”

  He smiled. “Possibly.”

  I tapped my forehead to clear the image of Kinman pouncing on people like a crazed gorilla. I preferred to think of his friendly grin.