Based on the way Dr. Wells' mouth quirked up, I got the impression he didn't hate it. He turned his attention to me, ignoring his friend. "It's good to see you, Evelyn."
I pulled out the two vials of powdered venom, already labeled properly with the CBRI-approved sticker over the seal. "I have twenty grams for now. They should pick up a bit more as the weather warms up."
Dr. Wells took the vials from me, smiling warmly. "We're lucky to have our own source. Thank you, as always."
Benjamin leaned over, peering at the vials. "You uh… milk those bees yourself, ninja?"
Adjusting the bag on my shoulder I furrowed my brow. "'Milk' them?"
Dr. Wells snorted, rubbing his nose. "Certainly not. She has bee milking machines. Don't you, Evie?"
I really had no idea what either of these men were talking about. "No, no. It's not a machine."
Dr. Frost remained calmly genial, shifting a half-smiling look from me back to Dr. Wells. "Funny, is that?"
"Enormously," Wells grinned. "In fact, I think Dr. Frost should join Evelyn at the bee… farm… sometime."
Ah. They were joking. Sometimes I wondered if my IQ was low or if sarcasm simply hadn't been written into my genetic code. Hopefully the latter. My social graces were limited to "buy my thing, please" and "I'm sorry I inconvenienced you by existing." I was cognizant of how pathetic that was, but I wasn't interested in learning the finer nuances of sarcasm and social wit after twenty-eight years of life. Not when most of my time was spent on an apiary with bees and at a home with a nine-year-old cousin and an eccentric grandmother. I gave Dr. Frost a placid smile. "I'm happy to demonstrate the milking machines."
"Bugs? Pass." Dr. Frost straightened and added graciously, "As fascinating as the bee venom milking process is, I'm sure."
I squinted a side eye his way. "Technically, bees are arthropods, which aren't a part of the Hemiptera order." Both men stared at me blankly. I added, "They're not bugs."
Benjamin's lips twitched, and his eyes roved over me with keen interest again. "Fascinating." I got the faint impression that he meant me and not my apicultural expertise.
"And what they produce is magical," Dr. Wells added kindly with another warm smile for me. "Thank you again, Evie."
"You're welcome." I returned his smile. "Same time next month?"
"Absolutely," Dr. Wells confirmed. "Diya," he said over my shoulder to the receptionist. "Will you write Evelyn a check? Twenty grams."
"Sure thing," Diya said easily, opening a drawer and taking out a checkbook.
Dr. Frost took one of the vials from his colleague, and holding it up to the light, he shook it. "It's powder," he said with interest.
I tamped down a laugh. "You reallycancome by the apiary sometime. I can show you how we get it."
"Respectfully, as you are very pretty and seem lovely," Frost said, handing the vial back to Dr. Wells firmly, "not a chance."
Dr. Wells rolled his eyes. "Thank you for making the trip, Evie. Ignore Dr. Frost. Your life will be easier for it."
My mind had snagged on the "pretty" part of what Benjamin had said. Did he really think that? I wasn't sure I had ever had someone tell me I was pretty. A little dazed, I waved. "Sure."
They turned to enter Dr. Wells' laboratory, so I joined Diya at the desk where she handed me a written check with a professional smile. She had the nicest smile, straight and white, and it stood out beautifully against her tan skin and large, dark eyes. "We're glad to have you. I heard there are venom shortages all over the country."
"There are," I confirmed, dropping the check unceremoniously in my tote bag. "But there's something to be said for awareness. The bee population has climbed back up after it became widely known that we had an issue."
"Oh, well that's good," Diya replied politely. "Be careful going home."
My thoughts plunked back into a cold pool of worry at that. I felt my brows drawing together as I left Dr. Wells' office. I'd nearly forgotten about the email and its warning. At the door, I hesitated, glancing over my shoulder. Both doctors were gone, and Diya was cleaning up her desk, getting ready to go home for the night. Sighing softly, I opened the door and resolved to keep calm. Nan would know what I should do about the email, even if she didn't understandemails,precisely.
I made my way back down the expansive staircase, keeping my thoughts on my footsteps so I didn't trip. And then I let my train of thought meander to my bee hives, all of which were named after different countries. Albania had looked a little full this morning, and I worried they might be at risk of swarming—leaving the hive. I needed to put another box on there so they had enough room and didn't take their queen and vacate of their own volition.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I decided to use the public restroom in the building before getting back on the bus. Nothing was worse than having a full bladder on that route. Even after I made it to my stop, I had to bike two miles home. I hooked a right, going under the stairwell and out of the echoing foyer, my mind on Albania. I pushed open the restroom door, only to find the lights off. The door snapped closed behind me.
Someone much bigger than me and smelling like rancid cigarettes wrapped me in a bear hug from behind. Another pair of hands covered my mouth and wrapped around my throat, and just as I had the presence of mind to scream, a third personyanked my sweater off. I thrashed, panic filling my chest, my throat, my mouth, like bubbling foam. A sharp prick on the inside of my arm lanced through my fear, and I found that I couldn't scream anymore. My breath had whooshed from my body, strangled by the hand around my neck and too irregular to produce noise.
Warm blood trickled down the inside of my arm. Golden blood.
