‘Between his sickness and your genetics, we don’t know how the gift will affect him. If you are willing to take this risk, Mémère will guide you, on one condition.’
‘What condition?’
‘You will move to Paris and live with us so you may understand what it is to be vampire. What it is to wield such a gift.’
Gigi asked me at the start of this trip if I would ever move to Paris. I don’t want to leave Big Wang, Gigi, Old Zao, Bullhead, even Horsey. I don’t want to miss my visits with Madame Meng, or my beloved pixiu. A sudden selfishness seizes me. I’ve only just started to appreciate all the good things in my life. I don’t want to give them up—
‘His heart is giving out, Jing,’ Marianne says. There’s no reproof in her tone. ‘Make your decision. Help us help you.’
Tears drip from my chin as I listen to Tony’s fading pulse. Even his laboured gasps have grown quiet.Madame Meng, give me strength.
‘Tell me what to do.’
Thirty-Three
The Gift
While Marianne mists home to fetch supplies, Mémère instructs me on the ritual of benesangue.
‘Every gifting is sacred,’ Mémère says. ‘Only the giver and receiver may be present.’
I will have to do this alone. What’s worse is Mémère’s guidance is not based on first-hand experience. She’s never seen the gift in person, only gleaned the process from conversations between my father and his father before him. There may well be elements to the ritual she doesn’t know.
I can’t breathe through the panic.
Marianne returns with half a dozen bottles of fresh blood. She squeezes my arm. ‘You can do this, Jing. You have to, if you want to save him. Remember, don’t let him weaken you. You’ll need your strength to break his latch. Drink while he drinks.’
With that final piece of advice they mist away, leaving me alone with Tony.
I take a deep breath and gather my courage. The strain of his heart echoes against mine – a connection I wish I had paid more mind to when we had time... I shake my head, not wanting regrets to distract me. I need to focus. Mémère said I have only a small window to get this right. The final heartbeat is key. And then to break the feeding connection when the benesangue rouses him.
I use my senses to find his pulse. His blood is sluggish in his veins, struggling and slowing with every second. The smell of it – overripe persimmons layered with tart apple slices and crispwatermelon rind – is laced with the unmistakable taint of decay. I’m racked with doubt.
I never want to be one of them.
His words haunt me. If I don’t turn him, he dies and I lose him and grieve for eternity. If I turn him, but he hates me for it, I still lose him and grieve; but at least he’ll know me. At least he’ll know why he hates me. Is that better than not knowing me at all?
That’s the conundrum.My choice is a world with Tony or a world without him. Framed that way, there’s only one decision to be made.
I inhale deeply and commit to my course of action. The sweet tang of his blood fills my lungs. Tony must sense the danger; his eyes flutter open, terror in the whites as he struggles against my embrace. He’s no match for my strength.
His scent changes from fear to something else – betrayal?
I hesitate. ‘Tony,’ I say. ‘It’s me, Jing.’
He struggles harder. ‘Get away!’
‘Please, Tony, I can’t let you die.’
He whimpers and moans, hiding his face like a frightened child. ‘Go away,’ he cries.
Hating how scared he is, I force myself to tilt his head back. His pulse spikes. My heart answers in turn. The sound fills my ears, makes them ache. I press a kiss to his throat, then my teeth to his skin.
I do my best to make it painless. My fangs pierce his arteries with ease. It’s like biting into a sun-warmed peach. His blood bursts into my mouth, sweet and viscous. It is more delicious than anything I have ever tasted. Even better than Mr Caramel. The thought makes my stomach cramp but I can’t stop if I want Tony to survive. A sob claws its way up my throat but I refuse to give it voice. I force myself to keep drinking, to immerse myself in the flow of his blood. His yang qi. His life. I drink until I ambeyond full. I drink until his pulse fades to a whisper, until there is none of the corrupted blood remaining in his body.
I drink until he has no blood left at all.
Thirty-Four
