Page 43 of Plug and Drain

The common room was dark now, with low-burning candles casting a dim glow that hinted at the red carpets and draping.

“Not this chair,” Arken protested as Nathaniel led him to his favourite armchair by the fireplace. “I don’t like this one.”

“But it likes you,” Nathaniel smirked as he pushed Arken into it. The chair’s armrests came to life and twisted around Arken’s arms.

“Hello, there,” Arken said reluctantly.

The chair purred happily, the vine-like grip tightening around his forearms. It was a clingy sort of thing, even for furniture.

The fireplace had burnt low, but it sprang to life when Nathaniel threw a log on it, the purple flames engulfing the wood.

“Make it orange,” Nathaniel instructed, and the fire’s hue turned to a more natural colour.

“You really should sleep in the teachers’ quarters, you know,” Arken said. “You’re not a student anymore.

“We’re not discussing my sleeping arrangements now.”

It was only then that Arken realised that Nathaniel was on edge. He looked his friend up and down: an immaculate charcoal grey suit, with a crisp black shirt and tie. His polished black shoes reflected the flames.

“I see you’re dressed in your finest,” Arken commented. “Is today the day you fetch the girl?”

“Yes. I was on my way down here when I found you,” Nathaniel replied. “But I’ll need to head off shortly. Stay there.”

Nathaniel went to the kitchen and reappeared shortly with a brown paper bag. “Eat.”

“More dried mushrooms? I can hardly wait,” Arken said sarcastically, trying but failing to reach for the bag with the armchair trapping his hand. “Stop that,” he tsked, but the chair giggled and tightened its hold.

Nathaniel deposited the bag on his lap, then leant back against the mantelpiece with crossed arms, his lean frame silhouetted against the fire. “This is a new mix. Dried cherries and cranberries coated in dark chocolate.”

“Just lovely. Well, they’ll go well with the cherry brandy I’ve been saving. Now, I don’t suppose you have a vial of blood stashed away, do you?”

“No.”

Arken chuckled. “How you subsist without drinking blood is something I will never understand.”

“I never said I don’t drink blood,” Nathaniel scowled. “I only said there are reasonable alternatives.”

“Bah.”

Arken’s fingers stretched but couldn’t reach the bag. He watched warily as one of the armchair’s vine-shaped tendrils reached into it.

“What happened to the dried mushrooms I gave you?” Nathaniel asked.

“Witches ate them.”

The corner of Nathaniel’s lip twitched. “I see. Perhaps if you’d eaten them like I suggested, you wouldn’t have lost control tonight.”

Arken opened his mouth, then shut it again.

There was no denying the bitter truth. He had lost control, in more ways than one. He’d nearly died from blood loss, and he’d attacked poor Susie like an animal. He’d then let himself leave without feeding at all and had apparently seen fit to collapse on the stairs. It had nearly cost him his life, and the mode of death would have been laughably embarrassing. If Nathaniel hadn’t found him, he’d probably have died…

Except he no longer felt half as weak as he had earlier. In fact, with each minute that passed, he began to feel almost normal. Suspicion unfurled in his mind as he fixed Nathaniel with searching stare. “You still haven’t told me how you revived me.”

“Nor do I intend to,” Nathaniel replied, striding away.

Arken watched him go; his heart fluttered as realisation dawned on him.

Nathaniel hadn’t been the one to save him—Susie had. The taste of her blood confirmed it.