Page 39 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“How did you do that?” I demanded, coming over to inspect her hand.
“I…don’t know,” she replied in bewilderment. “Perhaps it was an exceptionally weak table, the cheaply made kind, you know? I didn’t think I struck it that hard, but… I don’t know, Antoine.”
Her astonishment turned to concern.
“I’ll fetch Doctor Van Helsing,” I offered.
Charlotte nodded, dumbstruck.
“Don’t bother,” came a bleary voice at the door. “You two make so much noise, a person cannot sleep anyway.” Van Helsing entered and rubbed at her eyes, then caught sight of the destroyed table. If she was surprised, it did not show. She regarded Charlotte carefully. “I take it you did this?”
Charlotte nodded again.
Van Helsing pulled Charlotte’s hand from mine and turned it over. There wasn’t a mark to be seen.
“Hmm,” the doctor mused. She unwound the bandage from the smaller cut on Charlotte’s forearm, where Hugo’s teeth had found purchase. Beneath the linen wrappings, the skin appeared unblemished.
“That is interesting,” Van Helsing murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Finally, she unwrapped Charlotte’s shoulder and tossed the bandages aside, revealing unmarred, perfect skin.
“It appears you have healed,” Van Helsing said simply.
“Healed?!” I exclaimed. “Doctor, no wound could have healed so fast. It looks like she was never in that attack to begin with. What the hell is going on?”
“Van Helsing,” Charlotte murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “I have only seen people recover from injuries this quickly because of one reason. Tell me, please. Have I succumbed to the blood plague? Am I a vampire?”
I could have sworn I saw a shadow of concern cross Van Helsing’s face, but it faded so quickly, I might have imagined it.
“Vampire? No,” Van Helsing said quietly. “Look, Charlotte. You’re sitting quite peacefully in pure sunlight.”
Charlotte tilted her face up toward the window and held her arms out before her, letting the late afternoon rays spill across her skin.
“Vampires cannot do so,” Van Helsing continued. “Do you feel any ill effects?”
“No,” Charlotte replied. “No, I feel rather good, actually. Quite hungry, though.” Punctuating this statement was a rumble from her stomach. She chuckled. “Apologies.”
“I’ll get you something to eat,” I offered. “There’s a bakery just down the way.”
“Are there any butcher shops in town?” Charlotte asked. “I’m ravenous for something more fortifying than bread. A joint of mutton, perhaps, or some beef? I’ve plenty of coin in my purse. In fact, that would be a delightful errand for me to get out and stretch my legs. Don’t bother fetching me anything, Antoine. I shall go myself.” She made to stand, but Van Helsing held her back.
“Relax, Charlotte,” the doctor said. Her tone turned cryptic. “I have something here for you.”
She went to a small wooden table with a cloth-covered tray and came forward. Charlotte sighed.
“Again, you attempt to imprison me here against my will. You’re lucky I’m too famished to care and that whatever gastronomical delights you have on that tray smell too delicious for me to belabor the point. Is it stew? Bring it here, Van Helsing.”
The destroyed table all but forgotten in the wake of Charlotte’s hunger, the doctor brought the tray forward, a line of worry creasing her brow. She set it on the foot of Charlotte’s bed and removed the cloth.
It was a thick slice of beef, so rare that I couldn’t be certain it wasn’t actually raw. Charlotte stared at the meat, then lifted her eyes to Van Helsing.
“I…I don’t understand,” she said, the fear and worry from earlier creeping back into her tone. She wrinkled her nose at the plate when Van Helsing pushed it toward her. “I can’t eat that! It’s practically mooing! Send it back, please, and have them cook it properly.”
Van Helsing sighed. “Charlotte, listen to me. I have only seen something like this once before. I’m not even entirely sure that I’m right about it, but all your symptoms… Well, assuming this is the same thing, I fear you may have contracted a variation of the blood plague.”
My jaw dropped. Charlotte paled.
“But you said I’m not a vampire! The sunlight—look!” Charlotte cried, flinging back the sheets and standing. “I don’t have fangs!”
“No, you’re not a vampire. To become a vampire means an exchange of blood has taken place—you must feed and have been fed on. But this…this is something different. There is some other fluid exchange or combination that has taken place in your bodily humors. You were scratched by thebêteand scratched by this mysterious creature out in the woods. Antoine said it was like a wolf, yes?”
