Warm Blood

thirteen

13 

present day 

 Amara stands still but defiant in the characteristically small kitchen of her quaint two-bedroom. I don't know what I should have expected from a multi-family home on Kenner Street, but it isn't having to sit at a wobbly bar table in the corner of a kitchen that is only a hallway's width. Her parents were not blessed with wealth, and even if they were, I imagine that living below their means is a common way to avoid being discovered by other mythical beings. They live paycheck-to-paycheck like everyone else in the area, so they don't stand out more than necessary.

The air is thick with uncertainty as I contemplate my fate. Amara's hard gaze burns holes into my skin, and it's been this way ever since I told her about my suspicions of Theo. I am surer than I have ever been, and yet Amara doubts me. To her, I am the enemy who is trying to deflect blame by pointing fingers, but that can't be farther from the truth. Because the truth is, I am somewhat of a hero by deciding to kill Theo. If he is the mystery killer, then I would be doing New Orleans a favor by getting rid of him, and at the same time it will allow me to focus on what I truly came here for.

But I can't do it alone. Whatever curse Theo's blood had bestowed upon me makes me incredibly wary and cautious. He was harmless before, but now he's capable of things I can't understand. I'm way too wise to go into a confrontation without knowing my enemy completely.

"Theo wouldn't hurt anyone," Amara whispers with clear disbelief, breaking the tense silence.

I know it must be hard to come to terms with the idea of someone you know suddenly becoming this disgusting, evil thing, but it happens, and it happens all the time.

Because no one is ever truly good.

I do what I can to convince her. "You told me that you sensed bad things about him from the start," I say, reminding her of one of the many conversations we had about her powers before she even knew what they were.

"No—" Amara shakes her head profusely and raises a hand to silence me, "—Theo's a dick, yeah, but he's not a fucking murderer! You don't think that I would know something like that?"

I tilt my head to gaze at her, questioningly. It doesn't do us much good to argue about whether Theo is a murderer. The evidence is clear, and I'm rarely ever wrong; the only logical action is to kill him, and I'll gladly take that chance even if I am. "Amara, I tried to drink from him, and he almost killed me. I was sick, and I have never gotten sick in my life. I'm immortal—do you understand what that means? I can't die! And Theo—this guy you think is just a dick—almost killed me."

Her demeanor grows cold and unfriendly as she narrows her scrutinizing gaze and with it comes a slight prickling feeling on my skin. I take a deep breath, preparing for the worst. "Are you even listening to yourself?" she shrieks. "You tried to drink from him. You tried to kill him, and now you expect me to believe that he's the problem here? How are you so sure that he's the killer?"

"He killed the dean," I reiterate for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. I'm not fond of having to repeat myself or letting my words fall on deaf ears. I've had a lifetime full of people who didn't listen to me and ended up getting themselves hurt because of it. If I didn't need Amara, I would have ripped off her head by now.

Still, Amara shakes her head in disbelief and continues to stare at me like I've wronged her when all I've ever done since her existence was protect her.

"I don't believe you," she says softly, and for a second, it hurts. She looks at me in the same way that Paul Mackus does. In the same way that Ann does. Like I am a monster for wanting my miserable endless life to be something more than it is. I realize then that talking to Amara about the way things are will get us nowhere. I have to appeal to her emotions and her ability to feel everything so deeply—one of few things that sets humans apart from vampires.