Blood Rules (29 page)

I trembled a little inside, as I always did at the sight of blood, especially since that asylum employee had spoken so highly and enigmatically of 562.

This creature held the key to everything, the employee had said when I'd asked her about cures for weres, vampires, and dymorrdians. . . .
Most powerful . . . could help.

I glanced round the mine shaft, but nothing except for the lanterns and winks of minerals from the walls returned my interest.

Then I looked at 562 straight on. A fellow were-creature's blood was poison to me and my type, and if 562 was one of mine in some way, I shouldn't even be thinking what I was thinking.

But I went ahead and thought it, anyway.

One taste, just like that vampire in 562's image/thoughts had taken. The peace that had come over him seemed worth the risk, if 562's blood healed already converted creatures in that way.

Breathing in, I prepared to fight my inner monster if it should get too excited at any hint of blood in my mouth—even poisonous blood. As I hesitated, I also noticed that 562's scratches weren't closing up.

Didn't she have healing powers like vampires? Or was she more like us were-creatures, who mended only when we turned into our monsters? Or maybe she was like those other things she'd shown me and Gabriel in those image/thoughts—the corpse of the mother she'd brought back to life, the mutant rabbit.

Could it be that 562 just willed herself
not
to heal for some reason, choosing instead to wear the wounds as a punishment? I could understand that.

Slowly, so as not to scare 562, I reached toward her scratch. Just a little, little drop.

I talked softly. “I wonder how long you've been round, 562.”

I was halfway to her arm.

She didn't stir, so I kept on. “I sure do wish you'd trust me and Gabriel with even more of your visions, so we could see just what you went through during your life.”

Almost there . . .

As I was about to touch one of her scratches, 562's eyes widened, going redder than ever.

What happened next flashed right by, almost as if it weren't happening at all.

562 opening her mouth—A pair of needle teeth flicking out from the middle of her gums—562 grabbing my hand and pricking my palm with a tiny bite and a hint of a suck—My veins seizing up as she touched the tiny wound, healing it—

In the next second, I found myself with my hand still reaching out and 562 sitting calmly, staring, as if she'd never even moved. Her eyes were averted.

Checking out my hand, I didn't find any injury whatsoever.

Had 562 just sent me one of her image/thoughts?

I didn't know what she might be trying to communicate, but her blood was right there, and I wanted it. I
needed
to feel the same utter, maybe even permanent, peace that the monster vampire in 562's image/thought had experienced.

So I went ahead and touched the fresh scratch on her skin while I still had the guts.

Just a
tiny
bit of that blood. Surely it'd be enough to supply us with answers.

There was a twitch under her curtain of hair, right near her mouth. Had she known that I wouldn't be able to resist my curiosity?

A glint of red colored my fingertip, and I pulled back my hand, just as slowly as I'd extended it. My pulse jumped and, when I finally closed the distance between my mouth and finger, I tasted the blood, shutting my eyes, ready for a miracle.

I swallowed.

There was a pop of coppery taste, a numbing sensation on my tongue, yet it wasn't as if I'd drunk a magic potion and I was suddenly a princess instead of a beast. I didn't even wallow in the blood, because I wasn't in were-form.

Then I got sick, just as if I'd nipped a spot of blood from a fellow were-creature. Cramps, the works, and I held my stomach.

But I never threw that blood back up.

Afterward, I crawled away from 562, toward a canteen of turtlegrape alcohol that Taraline had brought with her. It washed away the aftertaste, flooding my belly and easing me for a moment. And, although my appetite wasn't piqued, I have to say that the feel of blood on my fingertip had brought up an urge to change and run outside to hunt and drink.

I spent some time fighting that off and, when I finally sat back down in front of 562, laying a piece of cloth over her fresh wounds so the blood would be blocked, I couldn't help but feel like an ass. I'd done something stupid, and it could've turned out pretty bad. When would I learn?

Not that 562 noticed my embarrassment because, really, the only time 562 seemed to snap out of her malaise was when Taraline passed through the area.

I think Taraline was warier of 562 than anyone else was. Odd, because she'd taken my and Gabriel's monster statuses in stride, but that could've been because she was so desperate to get where we were going, toward a cure.

Just like the one sitting right in front of me. We hadn't told Taraline our theory about 562 and dymorrdia yet. Why break her heart before we had more to go on?

When 562 raised her head a little later and started doing that
“tik-tik, tik-tik”
sound while her silver hair curtained off everything but that red gaze, I knew Taraline had to be near. Everyone else was outside, on lookout, probably chatting about what our plans were. I couldn't stand the talking in circles anymore, though. We never decided on anything, and I wasn't certain that we did have another place to go. It was useless to seek another asylum, since 562 had basically told us to forget about finding any cures in other areas. And wherever we ran, Stamp was going to catch up.

This no-man's-land of choice left me drifting, without purpose, and the closer the full moon got, the more restless I became . . . and the more I lost what I'd gained recently.

I couldn't go back to being the old, troublesome Mariah. When I'd had a purpose, I'd been so much better.

So what was my purpose now?

I heard a rustle of clothing, and I glanced behind to find Taraline, her gloved hands clasped in front of her long skirt and the hem of her veil.

Something scuttled through me, and I wasn't sure it was in response to Taraline.

Was it 562's blood in me?

Taraline said, “I thought I would come inside. Sometimes talk can tucker out a person.” She shrugged, and it was in such an elegant way that, for a second, I forgot Taraline was anything but a fine lady.

She came nearer to me and 562, and our creature guest made a happy little sound, kind of like she did whenever our vampire or one of us were-creatures was close. It reminded me of how Chaplin would act when he saw me after he woke up, too.

“If I didn't know any better,” I said, “I'd say that 562 missed you.”

My voice didn't sound different, but my body seemed to be getting all restless inside....

Taraline spoke again. “And I'd say you've been spending quite of a bit of your time sitting in front of her. Why, Mariah?”

How to explain the inexplicable? “There's something that keeps niggling at me.” I faced 562 again, only to find her gaze trained on Taraline. Naturally.

“And I thought
I
was stubborn about a great many things.”

“Stubbornness is an attribute. That's what my father always said. He thought that a strong will was the only thing that would keep us alive.” I
really
thought I felt my cells perking up now, as if they were being introduced to 562's blood.

Could
something be happening inside me?

My words came a little faster with my excitement. “After I got bitten, I wasn't sure I even wanted to live. But I couldn't imagine dying, either. There's something about us, even when we're made slightly inhuman by what the world brings, that keeps us going.”

Taraline wandered even closer. She actually took a knee and opened her veil eye covers to show a watery blue gaze. As you can imagine, that pleased 562 no end, and our guest sat up straighter. If she'd had a tail, she would've been hitting the ground with it,
thud-thud-thud
.

Then I heard Taraline laugh. When I gave her a curious look, she dropped her eye covers and said, “I just did it. I peeked into her.”

“Into 562?” Oh, crap. All we needed was for 562 to tell Taraline about a blood exchange as a possible dymorrdia fix. She wasn't ready for that.

“Looking was inevitable,” Taraline said. “Everyone else has tried it, so I figured, why not I?”

“And?”

Taraline shook her head, as if she didn't believe she'd done it, herself. “She asked me a question. I think she wants to know how I got like this.”

Phew, for now. “I think she knows what dymorrdia is. She hinted as much when she said you'd never find a cure that'd make you like you used to be.”

“No, that's not what she meant when I looked at her just now. . . .” Taraline laughed again. “I think she wants to know about my voice. Why I sound like I'm halfway to being an alpha male.”

Oh. This was uncomfortable.

Even so, I had to admit I wouldn't mind an explanation, too.

562 was still raptly tuned in to her. I had the feeling that if 562 could adopt Taraline, she surely would've. Maybe she'd even like to do just that, via a willing blood exchange.

“I almost expected 562 to just go ahead and read my mind,” Taraline said. “But since she didn't, I'll be polite enough to carry on the conversation.”

She opened those eye covers as she faced 562 again, and I felt a little left out because she had closed those covers to me.

Meanwhile, Taraline continued talking. “I went to a doctor who thought part of a treatment for dymorrdia might include some ultrasteroids. That's all there is to the change in my voice, really.”

562 was equally on fire to share, and she parted her hair, just like on that first night, revealing her tiny snout and shining red eyes. She looked like the cutest evil little puppy dog ever.

Taraline reared back for a moment, as if 562 had pushed an image/thought on her.

“Did she tell you something?” I asked.

“She showed me a . . . I don't know what it was, but it was like she was being born. She slipped out of darkness and into the world, and there were screams when everyone saw her.”

“She was aware of that, even as a baby?”

“I'm not certain she was what we think of as a normal baby, Mariah. . . .”

562 tilted her head, and my heart went out to her, mostly because the world hadn't wanted her, and here she was, living on in spite of them.

“She wants to know how I got here, with you all,” Taraline said.

“Simple enough story, right? After you contracted dymorrdia, you went to live in the necropolis nearest GBVille.” It felt as if my cells were opening up now, swallowing 562's blood.

Or maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me.

“And then the psychic told you to find me,” Taraline said. Then she got quiet, as if she were gathering herself.

562 tilted her head even more, so interested in Taraline.

When she talked again, her voice was thick, emotional. “The psychic must've picked up on how much I needed something . . .
someone
. And then you came along.”

I didn't know what to say. I'd missed having people close to me, I think. Except for Chaplin, I'd put myself far away from my Badlands neighbors for good reason. Then again, maybe I was close to Gabriel in a way I was still trying to figure out, but at least it seemed Taraline was grateful that I'd come into
her
life.

I heard a whimper, and at first, I thought I'd made the sound. But when I heard it again, I realized it'd come from 562. Maybe she wanted to be a part of whatever was between me and Taraline. Or maybe she only wanted to tell us what
she
needed, just as Taraline had yearned for a rescue back in the necropolis. Just as I had needed one, too, back in the New Badlands. It was merely that 562 couldn't say it so easily.

But then I saw Taraline looking into 562's gaze, and I suspected that she was finding out what our guest wanted.

“Oh,” was all Taraline said, as if she were slightly horrified. Then, while she pressed the covers back over her eyes, she said another “Oh,” but this one seemed heartbroken.

Had 562 just made an offer to heal her through blood?

“Taraline?” I asked.

But she only raised her hand, as if to put me off, then stood, leaving while 562 put her hair back over her face and stared at the ground again.

As I watched Taraline go, she passed the robed oldster, who'd been hanging back, listening.

After a moment, he summoned me with a crook of his finger, and I realized that he wanted to do some talking.

How long had he been there?

For a second I thought he might've been standing round long enough to have witnessed me tasting 562's blood, but I hadn't seen him when Taraline had entered.

Hell, wondering about it wouldn't get me answers, so I went to him, feeling a strange sensation through my limbs, almost as if there really were a change going on....

T
he oldster hadn't been hanging round inside the mine shaft too long. For one thing, it was colder in there, and his bones seemed to warm themselves better outside. For another, 562 made him uncomfortable; the creature always seemed to be trying to engage him in some way, maybe even
appealing
to him. Besides, he'd taken to obsessively keeping vigil in the direction of GBVille, wanting to be prepared in case Stamp or anyone from the hub showed. Unlike the last time his community had been attacked, back in the New Badlands, the oldster wanted to be on his game.