“Apparently he’s a fan of movies and shows featuring cannibalism,” Jay says grimly. “Most people who enjoy that sort of entertainment would never actually carry out the act, but he’s the exception.”
“And you didn’t find this out before you turned him?”
“I didn’t. We do a thorough background check, a psych evaluation, and multiple interviews—but occasionally someone slips through that safety net.”
“Well, a secret inclination for cannibalism isn’t something Slagle would want to share.”
“True. He checked out fine and his money was good, so we went for it.”
“You might need to adjust your approval process,” I say.
“The problem is, anyone we deny tends to get vindictive,” Jay replies. “You know, threatening to expose us. We usually get around that by putting them on indefinite probation, giving them hope that maybe one day they’ll be approved for the transformation.”
“And then you never approve them? That’s so mean!”
“Never is a long time, Daisy. We just started this thing. Every new business has its kinks to work out, policies to adjust. It’s fine.”
“Well…the cannibalism thing sounds like a deeper issue than I’m qualified to deal with. I don’t think I can just mind control him out of that.”
“I’ll have Miriam come talk to him soon. She’s a psychologist I turned at half price because she does pro bono work for people who can’t afford mental health care. In return, she helps us out from time to time.”
“I don’t want to talk to Miriam,” groans the glutton. “I want to hear this little snack talk again. Such smooth, pretty words. Her voice sounds so warm, so liquid and red. It sounds like—”
“Her voice sounds like blood,” Jay says abruptly.
My eyes go wide, and I stare at him.
He grimaces. “Sorry, but it’s true. I can’t remember what you made me do when I was under your sway, but I remember your voice, how it felt. When you talk in that tone, I can’t help listening because it sounds like everything I crave the most. Like sex, and love, and blood, all melted together. Like the one thing that will fill me up and make me perfectly satisfied.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Her voice is full of blood,” sings the glutton.
“Thanks for that.” I make a face. “I guess I should put a directive in place for him, and then we can leave and see how long it lasts. Jay, go wait at the end of the hall and cover your ears so you won’t be affected.”
He hesitates. “I don’t like leaving you alone with him.”
“He’s locked in, right? And I’m in control. He can’t hurt me.”
“Fine.” Jay claps his hands over his ears and stalks away, cursing.
“He’s worried about you,” says Slagle. “Concerned for his little love button. You must be the tastiest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. I’d love to have a taste, too—just a lick, just a little finger.”
“You’re a disgusting creep, you know that? I’m beginning to think Jay should just finish you off.”
“But then my family gets a refund, see? And Jay doesn’t want that,” Slagle says. “He needs my money. Millions of dollars, that’s what he takes from each of us. A small price to pay, he says, for eternity. I took out a second mortgage. Lots of years left to pay it off, see? An eternity to get myself financially sound again. At least that’s what I hope for. Gatsby says nobody knows how long we’ll last. But I’d rather not live with this hunger, this thirst, and no one kind enough to temper it for me. All I need is a drop of your sweet, sweet blood on my tongue, Daisy, my fresh little Daisy. Come on. You can spare a few drops, and he’ll never know.”
I advance to the door, leaning close to the window. “I may be blond, but I’m not dumb.”
“Not dumb, huh?” He leers into my face, the thick glass the only barrier between us. Then, quick as a thought, he ducks, and something slashes across my shin. I yell, stumbling back. The creep stuck his claw through the grate and made a shallow scratch on my leg. He pulls the claw back and licks off the blood that beaded on it.
“Mmm.” He moans so lecherously that I feel sick. And I feel stupid too, because Jay warned me about the grate, and I just…forgot. I suppose after everything I’ve been through lately I’m allowed a mental slip-up, but it still stings—literally and figuratively.
“You’re a sick man, Slagle,” I croon in my special voice, and the glutton stops chortling over his taste of blood. He rises, eyes glazed, watching me through the window. “I want you to understand that your lust for blood and flesh is wrong. You will only drink enough blood to stay alive. You will control your desires and impulses. And—” I need something visible, a control that we can observe when we come back to check on him, but not something that will harm him if he does it repetitively. “I want you to pat your head three times, once every five minutes. Starting now.”
His hand rises slowly and taps his head three times.
Satisfied, I close the shutter over his window. Without the dim light from his cell, the gloom of the dungeon seems to thicken and crawl like a living thing. I try to walk calmly, but after a few steps I break into a run, racing for the rectangle of pale light that marks the exit, where Jay is waiting for me. I rocket out of the dark, and Jay slams the door shut behind me before catching me in his arms.
“What happened?” He presses his chin into my hair. “Are you okay?”
“I got too close to the grate and he scratched me.”
“I’m so sorry—”
“It was my fault. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You’re exhausted. You should take a nap while I’m working,” he says. “There are a bunch of bedrooms, dozens of couches—sleep anywhere you like.”
“Is there a couch in your office?”
His brown eyes soften with pleasure. “Yes, there is.”
“Then I’d like to be there.”
“I’ll be talking on the phone. It might disturb you.”
“It’s fine.” Because eight years was enough separation. Because I’m making up for lost time. Because even though he’s introduced more danger into my life than I’ve ever experienced before, Jay makes me feel safe in a way Tom never did. When I’m with Jay, I am cherished. Not coddled or treated like a fragile little ornament—not weakened or subdued when he needs to feel strong. I am cherished, like something powerful and beautiful and worthy of respect.
Everyone should have a person who makes them feel like that.
