A Vampire's Bohemian by Vanessa Fewings

Author:Vanessa Fewings [Fewings, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: VMK
Published: 2013-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

I turned my gaze away from the needle.

The smell of bleach, or something similar to bleach, filled my nostrils and I willed myself not to throw up. Hanging out in the morgue wasn’t one of my better ideas, but then again I wasn’t exactly rational right now, even if I pretended I was.

“What am I testing for again?” Dr. Russell asked.

A pinch in the crook of my left arm let me know the needle was in. I felt the pressure of the specimen bottles being switched out to draw more blood into each one. Dr. Russell placed the tubes safely on the silver tray beside him.

“Chemicals,” I said. “A drug screen, toxicology, that kind of thing.”

“I’m going to test your Vitamin D while I’m at it. You’re looking pale.” He removed the needle and pressed a cotton wool ball into the crux of my arm. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” He replaced the cotton ball with a Band-Aid. “Please tell me we’re not talking date rape?”

“No. I don’t meet strange men in bars.”

He removed his gloves and threw them in the bin. “Glad to hear it.”

I just date vampires until my self esteem is decimated beyond recognition.

He labeled the bottles. “Well considering I haven’t taken a blood sample from a living person in over a decade that went better than expected.”

“Glad you told me that now.”

“I’m sure if you were doing drugs you wouldn’t volunteer your blood to Scotland Yard’s coroner. So that leaves me to wonder. Why the hell am I testing your blood for drugs?”

“Can we discuss this later?”

His shoulders dropped. “Has anyone ever accused you of being insufferable?”

“They may have hinted at it, yes.”

He frowned down at my London Times Newspaper. “Is that today’s?”

“Yes.” I scanned the articles, trying to see what headline he’d caught.

“The crossword’s done.”

“Did it on the way in.”

“How long did it take you?”

“I don’t know.” And then it hit me. It usually took me an hour to complete, yet I’d finished the crossword puzzle in less than twenty minutes this morning after purchasing a copy from a vender outside the tube. I’d searched for a distraction from this gut wrenching pain brought on from last night’s revelation.

It hadn’t worked.

My mind wandered back farther.

I’d awoken with the mother of all headaches, feeling hungover. The cause of it found its way back to me in all its glorious dysfunction. My thoughts dragged me along until I recalled last night and the consequences of falling for Anaïs’ blackmail. She’d driven me to Cornwall in a stolen vehicle, put me through an erotic witches’ ceremony, and forced me to drink an unknown substance known as blue illuminate.

Reckless. No change there, then.

Nothing unusual to report. This was my customary modus operandi of chasing danger and mingling with its cohorts, otherwise known as irrationality and regret. I caressed my forehead to ease the tension.

“You got number 21 across,” Dr. Russell said.

“Acadian. Early French settler.”

“Impressive.”

I twisted my mouth, having to agree this was a little unusual, but I’d put it down to fatigue, infused with way too much coffee.

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