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But I did have a name, and that was a start.
I have to meet him again, talk to him again. But how?
* * *
The how came to me in the form of blood. How to get that blood, even if it was my own, was not as easy as I thought it would be. It was not as if I could go to a blood drive and ask them to give me back the blood. So, problem one—how to get the blood. My solution, I figured I’d…well, I’d do it myself, on myself. I bought a blood drawing kit from the medical supply store for less than twelve dollars and also got myself a box of orange juice and a protein bar, gloves, and napkins.
Problem two—finding a place to do this where I didn’t get caught. My solution was to use magic to cloak myself, so the rest of my circle couldn’t trace me, and go to the one place a little blood was never really out of place or where people seemed to do stupid things—the forest, of course.
Problem three—finding a freaking vein in my bloody arm!
“Ouch!” I winced, pricking my arm for what had to be the ninth time. I hated needles, so I tried not to look, but of course, I needed to look! I knew it was stupid, but I kept going anyway! “Ouch! Dammit,” I snapped, ready to toss the whole thing. Couldn’t I use magic for this or something! “Come on, Druella, you can do this. Just look at the vein.”
I focused on the one untouched vein I had left in that arm and watched intently as the tiny needle went toward my brown skin, but just before it pierced the top, I looked away like an idiot, and—“Ouch! Screw it!” I cried, tossing the damn thing and grabbing my orange juice.
I’d just stuck the straw in the juice box when I felt him.
I turned to my left, and there he stood at the fallen, moss-covered log wearing a black V-neck shirt, jacket, and dark pants. The sun shone over his head as if he’d come from some magical realm beyond here. His gray eyes shifted first from my face to my blood and tender arm, to my disregarded blood bag beside me before returning to my face, and the look of utter anger made me want to sink into the earth and never come out. In a blink of an eye, he was beside me, reaching to pick up the bag. Because my brain had gone on holiday, I believed for a split second that I could beat him to pick it up—that was an absolute fail, just like this whole idea. When he picked it up, I looked down the opposite row of trees, brushing my hair off my face with my good arm.
“Tell me there is a logical reason why you are trying to draw blood on yourself in the forest?” His stern voice came from behind me.
I sucked on my straw, feeling superbly moronic. What the heck was the matter with me? Why was I even thinking about how stupid this was now? What happened to all my rational thought before buying the bag? It was like I had on blinders and was running full steam ahead. At the moment, it had felt smart. Hey, he’s a vampire. He drinks blood. You have blood. We could have a lunch date.
Druella, smack yourself.
“How could you do something so foolish?” he snapped at me. “Your smell is already dangerously intoxicating! Are you mad? Sure, you must know even a few drops of blood from you can attract surrounding vampires!”
“I can fight—”
“Not the point!” he hollered. “If not for the fact that your coven regularly hunts here, others would have come. Maybe not Nobles, for the sake of your little treaty, but for sure Lesser Bloods!”
“I—” Was I being lectured by a vampire?
And I was just listening? What in the hell was I doing? If it were anyone else, I would have laughed at myself just like I laughed at…at Mr. Lovell.
Crap. Letting go of the juice, I laughed.
“This is comical to you?” he questioned harshly.
When I finally found the courage to turn to him, his face was furious, but I nodded, still smiling. “It is, only because it is so stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking. That’s a lie. I wanted you to come to me again, so anything was rational. I’m laughing because now I understand my boss, Dr. Lovell.”
He stared down at me for a moment before he sat down. “Explain more.”
I smiled, turning my whole body to face him. “Dr. Lovell and his ex-wife, Dr. Andreeva, have been divorced for almost ten years now. They are both at the top of their fields and highly respected art conservators—wait, let me back up. I’m an art conservator and restorationist at The National Gallery of Art—”
“I know.” He nodded.
I wanted to ask him what else he knew but let it go for now. Baby steps. “Anyway, once or twice a year, they find some excuse to meet each other or compete against each other. They do the craziest things. Dr. Lovell doesn’t sleep for days and skips grading his papers so he can focus on beating her. It is obvious to everyone that they simply enjoy seeing and pushing each other. They care about each other. Personally, I think they have become the great minds they are by fighting each other. I always wondered what would happen if they didn’t do all the silly contests, peer reviews, or book launches and just sat down somewhere and talked. Like normal people.”
“And now, by doing this foolishness”—he lifted the bag in disgust—“you understand their method?”
“It’s not a method. It’s foolishness.” I grinned. “It is the foolishness of excitement of the…heart. They can’t help it. They are so excited that they go off running as fast as they can toward what they want.”
“So, your excuse is excitement?” he asked.
Being completely honest, I nodded. “Yes. I’ve wanted to talk to you for years.”
“Years?” he repeated, frowning. “You’ve known I’ve been…”
