Page 10 of Fangs and First Aid

I shrug, “I’m testing a theory.”

“And that would be what exactly? Because no offense, my friend, but I remember that time you didn’t add enough fruit to your smoothie. You puked faster than a frat boy on dollar-shots night.”

I huff out a laugh.

“Not wrong. The thing is, all I can do these days is dream about swallowing mouthfuls of thick, rich blood. That’s got to be some kind of sign, right? Maybe I can finally drink it. Maybe the stars aligned or some cosmic shit happened, and it unlocked the block that keeps me from drinking blood.”

Logan looks skeptical.

“I mean maybe. But I will point out, your dreams have been about her blood. Not just blood. You won’t know until you try, though,” he finishes with optimism I don’t quite feel. I am acutely aware that my dreams are of Cordelya's blood, not just any blood. Just thinking about it has pain radiating across my gums, a gnawing hunger growing in my belly, and a stirring in my pants.

“Your main corpse, gentlemen,” Manny says as he sets down Logan’s liver and my goblet of blood. I chuckle even as I roll my eyes. Manny has a never-ending supply of zombie jokes and puns. They’re terrible, but his jovial nature regarding his condition makes it hard not to laugh along with him.

“Hey Manny. How are you doing?” Logan says, picking up his utensils, while I try not to gag as the pungent scent of the blood reaches me.

Manny leans an arm on the back of the booth as I will myself to pick up the goblet. “Can’t complain. Just a few notes about your dead-licacies.” he laughs again. “Locally sourced. Fresh from the morgue, straight to your table.”

“Thanks, Manny,” I say with more conviction than I feel, staring at the goblet.

While Logan digs into his food, I force myself to pick up the glass. Sucking in a deep breath, I bring the glass to my lips and drink.

And instantly throw up.

By the time I empty what little contents my stomach contained and the dry heaves have subsided, the entire restaurant is looking on sympathetically.

Our waitress returns with towels and a mop, which I take from her immediately.

“I got this,” I tell her apologetically. Logan helps with the mess despite my protest and apology for ruining his meal. Once the mess is cleaned, our waitress brings Logan a fresh liver and me a glass of water.

“Well, that was an epic fucking failure,” I say miserably.

“I’m sorry, Count,” he says sympathetically.

I shrug and slide my water glass back and forth between my hands on the table. “It was a long shot. I just really thought it was some kind of sign. Ya know, dream of blood. Her blood, but still—blood.”

Wanting to change to a less frustrating topic, I ask, “Aside from the carpentry issues, how’s the business?”

“Good. The subdivision is nearly complete. All the lots are sold. We’ve got a few more houses to construct, but they don’t have this level of customization.”