Page 20 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure
"That's another benefit of becoming immortal." Thomas lifted his glass. "You'll get a special car equipped with self-driving and windows that turn opaque. I'm sure you noticed that when Andrew brought you here."
"Yes, I did." Tim took a small sip from the superb whiskey, determined to savor it. "Your hidden vampire lair. That's essentially what you are, right? Vampires? The whole biting and venom thing is like something from a horror movie."
"We're not vampires," Thomas said. "We don't drink blood, we don't burn in sunlight, and we don't turn into bats."
"Shame about the bat thing. That would have been useful." Tim studied Thomas. "Hey, since we're going to be roomies and all, do you want to tell me your story, starting with how old you are?"
"I'm not much of a storyteller."
Right, so he was the silent type. Although that wasn't the impression Tim had gotten so far.
"Come on, give me something. I'm nervous as hell about tomorrow and could use the distraction."
"What would you like to know?" Thomas asked.
Bingo! When snark failed, it was pity to the rescue.
"The biting thing. How does it work? And don't give me the sanitized version. I want to know what I'm in for. Does it hurt? Can it kill me?"
"It hurts, but only for a moment. As soon as the venom hits your system, you'll go on the best psychedelic trip of your life. We've never had a guy die from being injected with too much during the induction ceremony, but theoretically, it's possible."
"Great." Tim took another sip. "You look like a competent fellow. Can you be my inducer?"
It was a long shot, but there was no harm in asking.
Thomas shook his head. "I'm not the right person for that."
"Why?"
"I lack the required finesse. The bite needs to deliver exactly the right amount of venom. Too little and the transition fails. Too much and it can be fatal."
Tim's hand tightened on his glass. "But you've just said that no Dormant ever died from too much venom."
"That's because we're very careful about who performs inductions. Only those with excellent control are permitted."
"And you don't have excellent control?"
Thomas's jaw tightened. "I'm out of practice. I haven't induced anyone in centuries."
That sounded like an excuse. The guy just didn't want to do it.
Tim held out his glass. "I'm going to need more whiskey."
Thomas obliged, pouring another generous measure.
"You know…" Tim studied the amber liquid, "I've been thinking about this whole thing. What if it doesn't work? What if I'm not a Dormant? That would be such a tragic waste of my two-week annual vacation time."
Thomas shrugged. "I'd say it's worth sacrificing to find out whether you can turn immortal or not. If you try and fail, you'll just go back to your life, and we'll make you forget that this ever happened. We can even implant fake memories of a wonderful vacation in your head."
"You make it sound so appealing."
"It is. Just tell whoever is going to do the thralling your preference. Paris? Tokyo?"
"Can I ask for a hot babe to accompany me on my imaginary vacation?"
Thomas's expression turned doubtful. "That depends on how good that person's thralling is. It's easier to implant visual memories of locations than the emotional complexity of a relationship."
"Right." Tim emptied the second shot down his throat.
