The king, after all, must appear powerful and in control. He cannot show a single ounce of feeling for the librarian, and what better way to prove she means nothing than to take another woman? Gretta is beautiful and desired by many men, so no one will doubt the king’s affection. She is personally thrilled about becoming queen. She, too, feels she can do much good.
Using the keypad, I open the door to the lab and glance at Miriam, who’s carrying a sleepy Stella. “Are you ready?” I ask.
Miriam nods.
“Stella,” I say, “I don’t want you to be frightened. Mr. Nice is inside the room, but he is asleep, and he cannot hurt you. Okay? He has received a powerful sedative.”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Miriam adds. “I’ll be right here.”
Stella pops her thumb into her mouth and snuggles her face into Miriam’s neck.
“She’ll be okay,” Miriam says. “Let’s just get this over with.”
I open the door, and we go inside. Stainless steel counters, with cupboards and refrigerators underneath them, frame most of the brightly lit room. My lab equipment—beakers, microscopes, and my modified centrifuge—are set up in the corner next to my computer.
In the middle of the room is Nice, stretched out on a gurney, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. His arms and legs are in restraints, and he has a few tubes with clamps sticking out of his wrist.
“Is everything ready?” I ask Freddy, who’s now dressed like me, wearing a crisp tailored shirt, black slacks and a black vest, with a white lab coat over it.
I notice his pants have a few brown stains down the front.
The focus of my gaze catches his attention. “Oh. We had a small issue with administering Nice’s chocolate syrup. It’s fine now. He’s out like a hibernating bear.” Freddy checks the monitor, which is hooked up to two electrodes glued to Nice’s forehead.
I try not to look at Nice because I know what I will feel. The urge to murder him.
“Are you all right?” Freddy asks me. “You look…uh…different.”
“He’s back!” Miriam whispers with a giddy giggle.
“Oh. That is excellent news. How did you manage it?” he asks her.
Miriam blushes.
“Oh. Really?” he says, catching on that the cure was of an intimate nature. “That is fascinating.”
“Not as fascinating as this. Is everything ready?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Let’s get Nice closer to the equipment.” I roll the gurney over to the corner of the room. “Miriam, I will go first, so you and Stella can sit over there.” I jerk my head at a few white molded-plastic chairs across the room.
“What’s going to happen?” Miriam asks.
I take Nice’s wrist and attach a small steel barrel, about the size of a spool of thread, to the end of the tube. “I am going to fill this small chamber with Nice’s blood, attach it to this machine that will separate out the white blood cells, and then the serum should come out right here.” I point to a very small glass vial attached underneath. It’s partially filled with cold human plasma that will hopefully keep the white blood cells happy for a few minutes until they’re deposited into their new home.
I don’t know if this will work, but everything I’ve learned, slaving over microscopes and running tests on my own blood for years, tells me it will. It must.
I open the small valve on the chamber and flood it with Nice’s blood. I quickly seal it and attach it to my refrigerated centrifuge. I hit the power button and open the valve. The machine whirs to life, and we all watch, motionless with anticipation.
After a minute and a half, a few drops of clear liquid dribble out the tiny spout and deposit into the vial.
“That’s it. It’s done.” I take the vial, grab a dropper, and pull a small amount of serum into it.
I take one last look at Miriam with my vampire eyes and offer her an assuring smile. “Here goes.”
I place one drop on my tongue and swallow.
“Anything?” Freddy asks.
I shake my head, waiting for my body to react.
“What’s supposed to happen?” Miriam asks excitedly. Stella looks like she’s watching the most amazing episode of My Little Pony.
“Now the war starts,” I say. “Nice’s white blood cells will begin attacking my weaker strain of the vampire virus, leaving behind only healthy human cells.” Then those white blood cells will die off as they normally do.
“Do you feel anything yet?” Miriam asks.
“Not really. Of course, no one has ever attempted this before.”
“Do you need a bigger dose?” Miriam asks.
“I do not believe so.” Before the Uprising, I discovered that Clive, a first-generation vampire, had been using his own blood to create a pool of superstrong vampires, like me. He then continually drained them, giving that second-generation blood to his secret army of tenth-, eleventh-, and even twentieth-generation vampires all over the world. We put a stop to his blood farm, but later, during the interrogations of some of the generals, we learned that Clive had run into issues getting that blood to his army. It had to be frozen instantly, transported, defrosted quickly, and dosed before the blood disintegrated. Most of the supply was lost, but they still managed to get the job done by only using a drop of blood per soldier.
How could a single drop of blood from a stronger vampire change the physiology of a weaker one almost instantaneously? That sparked my curiosity, and the answer led me here.
“I think something is wrong,” I say. “I should feel something by now.”
I take a drop of the liquid from the vial, place it on a glass
