Page 109 of Bleed

The laboratory door opens behind me, and I glance up as Beatrix pokes her head inside, tossing something in my direction. I catch it before it can strike the equipment, lowering it in front of me.

It’s a blood bag– the only one in my possession without the city’s blood bank logo emblazoned across it. Her blood.

“I’m not hungry,” I grit out.

She rolls her eyes and steps into the room. “It’s not to eat. It’s to replace the sample.”

My gaze drops to the bag again, gums tingling as instinct arises.

“The one Albert drew,” she adds.

As if I could forget.

A familiar strike of anger moves through me at the memory of his mouth stained with her blood, my fingers tightening involuntarily around the pouch.

“Can you use it?” she asks hopefully.

Technically, yes.

Unlike the ‘anonymous’ samples supplied for the study, I know precisely whose blood this is. Its provenance is documented, the collection recent, and assuming it hasn’t degraded, there’s no reason to exclude it from the sample pool.

“Perhaps,” I say. “I’ll need to confirm the sample is acceptable first.”

She lingers in the doorway, watching as I crack open the pouch, transfer a small amount into a clean vial, and add it to the end of the rack. The remaining pouch goes into the undercounter refrigerator with my control samples.

“Can’t say I’m not dedicated to the research now,” she clucks, tossing me a wink. Then she turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind her.

I don’t wait long.

The moment the analyzer finishes its preliminary assessment and confirms her sample is intact, I transfer it to a clean well. Then I add a drop of Taylor’s blood and initiate the test.

For several seconds, nothing happens.

Then the indicator light flashes green.

I go still.

A sharp spike climbs across the display, and I lean closer, scanning the data as it populates. The reaction isn’t identical to the control, nor should it be. There’s no glow, no bond-specific response like the one produced by James and Taylor, but the marker is there. Which means…

I run the test again.

Green.

I check the analyzer calibration, replace the pipette, and prepare another sample from the bag.

Green.

The same spike. The same result. The same near-perfect match.

For several seconds, I simply stare at the display.

Then the rush hits.

Discovery has always produced a particular kind of exhilaration. The sudden convergence of theory and evidence; the moment an unanswered question becomes an answer and opens the door to a hundred new ones.

I found it.

After weeks of failed samples, I finally found it.