"How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world."
~ William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
__________
Dr. Reed's eyes narrowed. He pressed his lips together, and the skin between his eyebrows creased. The cues were subtle, but Lucy could see that he was in turmoil. A great battle between caution and need was waging in his mind.
He didn't know if he could trust her. However, so depleted was his energy, that he now had no choice.
An impasse.
At last, Dr. Reed let out a weary sigh. He turned toward the staircase on the far side of the room and began moving toward it, his footfalls slow and unsteady.
"This way," he said.
The uttered words sounded strained and hollow.
Brow knit with worry, Lucy followed, remaining close enough to break his fall should unconsciousness take hold.
The climb up the stairs proved slow and painstaking, but Lucy was far too anxious to be vexed. She'd found another of her kind...and he needed her help.
As the pair passed through a series of narrow, dim hallways, Lucy could hear the anguished cries and moans of the hospital's patients. She suppressed a shudder. This was not a place one came for treatment. This was a place one came to die.
"Is it true Joseph Merrick lived out his last days in this hospital?" she asked, her voice sounding flat in the claustrophobic corridor. "I remember reading about him in the papers."
The inquiry served only as a means to distract herself from the gruesome sounds bombarding her. Lucy's ears and nose were now far too sensitive for these surroundings.
It was several seconds before Dr. Reed responded. "The infamous 'Elephant Man'? Yes, poor soul. He passed on in 1890 — several years before I arrived here."
He spoke like a man mumbling in his sleep. Lucy realized it was advantageous to them both to keep him talking.
"He passed at a very young age, didn't he?"
"Twenty-seven. Or so I was told."
"Good lord..." she remarked. "Only six years older than I. Poor soul, indeed. I can't imagine dying so young."
"You already have."
Lucy froze mid-step. He was right.
Dr. Reed ceased his lethargic trek, stopping afore an unassuming door at the end of the hallway.
"My study," he said. He held the door open for her. "Please."
Lucy entered.
The room was cramped but tidy. Furnished with a work bench, several medicine cabinets, a wardrobe, a bookcase overflowing with medical textbooks and charts, and a large desk. The desk was old, but well-preserved, and the chair behind it had been used often enough to strip the varnish from the wood.
Dr. Reed closed and locked the door behind her. A hand pressed to his forehead, he crossed the room and collapsed onto the worn wooden chair. Eyes closed, he leaned forward and rubbed his temples.
"How can I help you this evening, Miss Penn?" he asked.
Standing opposite the weary doctor, Lucy shook her head, bewildered. Even in his precarious state, he was still offering aid rather than asking for it.
"I suggest we set that aside for the time being," she said. "Instead, let us discuss how I can help you."
"You... You cannot help me." Dr. Reed's tone was resolute.
"Forgive my impertinence, but I believe I can," she countered.
Dr. Reed dropped his hands from his face and sat back. "Are you offering me your wrist?"
Clutching her closed fists to her chest, Lucy took an involuntary step back.
"No," she said. "No. I'm not."
"Well? What, then?"
Lucy swallowed and squared her shoulders. From a hidden pocket in the folds of her gown, she retrieved a small black vial. Twisting and removing the lid, she spilled two oval-shaped tablets onto the palm of her hand. They were deep burgundy in color, and she set them on the desk in front of Dr. Reed. Knowing from experience that her kind could receive strong mental images from others by the mere touch of their skin, she thought it best to refrain from handing him the tablets directly.
Dr. Reed stared down at the pair of capsules, dubious. "Iron tablets?"
"Yes. Iron tablets," she confirmed. "Intended for those with anemia."
"We are not anemic."
"Aren't we, though? In a way?"
Dr. Reed opened his mouth to retort. After a beat, his eyebrows elevated and a thoughtful frown settled on his face. He nodded.
"Very astute, Miss Penn. I hadn't thought of that."
Lucy smiled. His approval caused a slight fluttering in her stomach — a sensation she had all but forgotten.
"A member of my household is a doctor," she told him. "Though, unlike you, he does not work at a hospital. He has more interest in biological experiments than in curing the sick."
"You live with a man to whom you are not married?" Dr. Reed asked.
Lucy raised her eyebrows at the insinuation in his query. Unladylike, perhaps, but she would not be deterred from her course.
"Two men, actually," she stated. "But that is hardly the point."
Dr. Reed looked surprised, but said nothing. He motioned for her to continue.
"A fortnight since, the doctor made these capsules for me, to help...curve my appetite. He coats the iron tablets in the blood of a female member of my household. She's..."
Lucy paused, unsure of how to describe Evelyne Ives' role in all of this. Gazing at Dr. Reed's open yet fatigued face, she recalled something her father had once told her: "To be trusted, you must first trust." He had been right. Dr. Reed would never trust her — never swallow the tablets he so desperately needed — if she didn't tell him exactly what they were.
She plunged in: "She's a witch. The tablets are saturated with witch blood. I doubt I need tell you how much more potent and satisfying a witch's blood is. One of these tablets keeps me sustained for hours. Please, take them."
She expected a reaction of skepticism, disbelief, or even horror. Instead, she received only a drowsy shrug.
"I am in no position to refuse witch blood," he said.
Dr. Reed tossed both tablets into his mouth and swallowed.
Lucy stared at him, mouth agape. "You believe me?"
"Shouldn't I?"
"Well, yes," she said, dumbfounded. "But...we've only just met. I could be a liar. Or stark-raving mad. That could have been poison!"
Dr. Reed sighed. "The truth is, Miss Penn, it makes no matter. Your visit, and subsequent offered aid — capricious though it may have been — was, in fact, heaven sent. My choices tonight were as foolish as they were reckless. I agreed to take on more patients to relieve another physician who had fallen ill. I was so fixated on administering medications, stitches, and splints for broken bones, that hours had passed before I realized I'd forgotten to feed. I began to feel delirium setting in just before our fortuitous introduction. Mad or not, poison or not, you saved me from turning into a monster. I am in your debt."
Lucy was stunned. Compared to the drained, listless Dr. Reed she had met downstairs, this version was downright loquacious. His voice had a rich, melodic quality to it, and his verbiage emanated elegance. She imagined he was ideal for soothing patients with injuries or fevers. Perfect bedside manner.
His eyes had lost their glassy, unfocused sheen. The unhealthy pallor of his skin waned. The tablets were working.
Good lord, but he was handsome.
Warmth spread across Lucy's cheeks in a way that it had not since prior to the stoppage of her heart, and she glanced down at the floor. She hoped Dr. Reed's preternatural talents did not extend to mind-reading.
"Your coloring has returned," she noted. "Feeling better?"
"Much."
Dr. Reed stood and removed his stained lab coat. He stretched and rolled his shoulders, testing his mobility. Then he sat once more, his features arranged in a pensive expression.
"The effects seem to be instantaneous," he commented, his tone pleased. "What an ingenious creation."
"I agree. I carry them always."
Dr. Reed leaned back in his seat, his hands resting on his midsection, fingers laced together. He stared at Lucy with his dark, attentive eyes, studying her.
It took all of her resolve not to squirm under his silent scrutiny. What was he looking for?
At last, Dr. Reed spoke: "Tell me, Miss Penn. How long have you been a vampire?"
~ * ~