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stomach.
    “Keep it down,” Gabe says.
    My stomach clenches, but the nausea passes.
    “Good,” Gabe smiles. “That’s real good.”
    “They all drink water,” Tarren says.
    “That was tap water. I’ve never seen any of them drink tap
water,” Gabe replies. He sits on the bed next to me, tips the cup to catch some
water on a cloth and then carefully cleans the blood and dried vomit off my
face.
    I stare at the glow as it rotates on a slow current around
his body. I realize that it is made up of many different delicate, shifting
shades of blue. Pale purple filaments blink in and out of existence.
    Gabe looks me over for a long time, and I focus on his eyes.
They are a warm brown like caramel. I dig deeper, discovering tiny gold flakes
caught up in the caramel mix. There’s mischief in those sparks of gold, and
through the fog of pain and the implosion of my universe, I suddenly feel like
I know him. Something in his face seems so sad and so real. He said we were
blood, but I don’t understand what that means.
    He speaks. “Look Maya, I wish you could know how sorry I am,
we both are, that this happened to you. You’re probably freaking out right
now.” Gabe takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his wavy hair. “It
shouldn’t be like this. We should’ve been able to protect you.”
    He waits, but I am too immolated to answer. I turn my head
to gaze at the headboard, at the initials scratched in the wood. BJ was here
    “Look, I’m running out to get you something that’s going to
help,” Gabe continues. “Something for your uh…thing. When I get back and you’re
feeling a little better, we’ll explain everything. Maya…things are going to be
different for you, but Tarren and I, we’re going to take care of you.”
    Another pause. I’m not sure which one of us he expects to
fill the gap. BJ was where? Here? Lying against a headboard with his hands
cuffed behind his back? Body on fire? Boyfriend gone, gone, gone, gone?
    Gabe is speaking again. “That thing before with the gun;
don’t worry about that. Tarren won’t hurt you, I promise. I know that probably
doesn’t mean much, but…” Gabe kneads the visor of his cap. The glow, his aura,
is beautiful, and I think that I can see his pain — faint scarlet hues —
reflected in the shifting colors around him. “...well, it’s the truth. God,
that’s lame.” The last part is a mutter.
    Gabe waits for something. He keeps waiting. Finally, he puts
his hat back on. “We’ll explain everything. Soon.” He gives Tarren a long look
before he leaves. Their eyes say something to each other that I cannot fathom.
I feel Gabe’s weight lift off the bed. The door opens and closes.
    I let out my breath and feel the skin unfold back down against
my palms. My wrists are sore from straining against the handcuffs.
     

Chapter 8
    We wait in silence. I am too busy dying to care. It’s all
still happening — the blood boiling in my veins, my muscles and sinews melting
and my bones glowing hot like heated iron. I lie on the bed shaking, searching
for a moment of pure silence when the song is not beating inside my skull.
    “I imagine it must be very painful. The hunger,” a voice
says from far away. I blink and make the effort to turn my head. The words are
important. If I hold onto them, they may keep me afloat.
    “Someone once told me that it’s like a fire that consumes
you forever. Feeding will lower the flames, but it will never extinguish them
entirely.” Tarren’s voice is deep, rugged—the type of voice Hollywood would
cast as the misanthropic cowboy lead in a spaghetti western.
    There is a small table in the corner of the room. Tarren
takes a chair and places it near the bed, though still far enough away to be
out of arm’s reach. He sits and takes his time speaking so that each word is
clear and resonant.
    “I am sorry that you were infected, but it happened. You are
one of them. An angel. There are no halves. No hybrids.”
    Tarren