“And whatisthe message?”
His eyes touched mine briefly, raising a flutter in my chest.
I took off my shawl and draped it over my chairback while he continued scribbling. Even with the casement partly open, the room had warmed nicely.
When his writing paused, I asked, “How many of your kind have there been through history?”
He touched the black feather to his chin, and the motion drew my notice to the fullness of his dark lips. I couldn’t see the deadly teeth, and it seemed to me they came and went—like the way food could make your mouth water.
“To protect the family,” he replied, “no written record was kept. But my father said I am the fourth. I’ll start another page for knownfacts.” He wrote this down, adding, “Only one child, male, has been born each generation.”
“And when each son comes of age, the thirst comes on?”
“Yes.”
“You also told me that it’s worse at the beginning.”
He nodded. “And after many years it begins to diminish, ceasing altogether when the next heir undergoes the change.”
“The wives ...” I hesitated, not wishing to cause him pain.
He looked up.
“All of them have died in childbirth?”
“Yes.”
When he’d caught up with his writing, I said, “You’ve had a vision that seems to mean Goosevar expects you to marry.”
“To marryyou,” he corrected, causing my heart to skip. “That was my interpretation, but it is a hypothesis rather than a fact. I’ll start another page.”
As I watched the black ink bleed onto the pale sheets, an answer to one of our questions came together in my mind. It was obvious, really, with everything laid out this way.
“What if there is arealconnection between your family and Goosevar?”
He raised his eyes to mine, empty of understanding. It would be harder for him to see it, I supposed, being so close to it.
“If each father goes on to live a more normal life after his son is afflicted ... That isn’t really like a disease, is it?”
“You’re right, of course. I imagine we’ve used the term ‘affliction’ for lack of a better one. It’s more like a ‘condition.’ Though as my father’s thirst lessened, he did grow frailer. When I was a boy, he was youthful, tall, and straight. As my change neared, he grew thin and papery.”
I frowned. “I know nothing of science—of any kind—but to me it sounds like maybe Goosevar is connected to one man in each generation.And when a new connection forms to the son, the father is no longer needed, and he loses his thirst. Grows frail and dies.”
Harker sat up, quill dropping onto the table. “Aparasite, Mina. Moving from one host to the next.”
I raised my brows, waiting for him to explain.
“A parasite is a creature that lives off of another creature in some way. A flea on a dog. It bites the dog and drinks its blood, which makes the dog itch. If the flea moves on to another host, no more itch.” His fingers tapped the table while he continued thinking. “Maybe the connection—though not so evident as a flea’s to a dog—means Goosevar doesn’t have to hunt. He doesn’t need to drink blood, becausewedo.”
Then something else struck me. “But you don’t! You don’t drink blood.”Usually.
“I can survive on vital essence, but maybe he can’t.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t want to.”
He gave a short nod. “Yes, either way, it’s driving him to attack people.”
I folded my arms and sat back, glancing out the window at the rain. “It mostly makes sense. But I wonder why Goosevar would use your family to do something he can do for himself?”
