"I'm fine," Etienne muttered. His gaze fixed on the woman in his bed. They had taken her from the hospital and brought her here to his home. His mother and Bastien had stripped her, strapped her to the bed, and fit an IV into her arm to feed her the blood she would need to facilitate the changes. Etienne didn't know what to expect. He'd never witnessed a turning. He wasn't too sure it was going well. The woman had been silent and still after he poured his own blood down her throat, but in the car on the way home, she'd started moaning and thrashing about. Etienne still wasn't sure he hadn't been too late, but he was a little more hopeful.
"You're not fine. You're still shedding burnt skin and you're terribly pale. You need rest and blood."
"I can have blood here."
"You need to lie down," his mother insisted. "You're swaying on your feet."
"I'll see to him," Bastien announced and took Etienne's arm.
Etienne considered arguing, but he didn't really have the energy, so he let his brother lead him without protest.
"Which room?" Bastien asked, pausing in the hall outside. "Have you finished furnishing the spare rooms yet?"
"No." Etienne grimaced. "But my coffin is in my office."
"Good Lord! Do you still have that thing?" Bastien shuddered in disgust. "I got rid of mine the moment they were no longer necessary. I don't know how you stand having it."
"It helps me think," Etienne said. "I come up with some of my best ideas in there."
"Hmmm." Bastien led him along the hall, downstairs and to the back of the house. The stairway to the basement was situated in the back corner of the kitchen. His brother urged him down it, holding his arm as his swaying increased. Soon he had Etienne in the coffin in the corner of his office. "I'll be right back," he announced.
Etienne murmured a weary response and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and growing achey. He needed more blood and knew Bastien was fetching him some.
Despite the growing pain of his body attacking itself in search of more blood, Etienne fell asleep. He woke up several moments later to feel a poke in his arm. Opening his eyes, he found Bastien leaning over him, inserting an IV in the vein below his elbow.
"Do I look like Lissianna to you?" he asked irritably.
He tried to move his arm away, but Bastien was stronger.
"No, you don't look like Lissianna. Her face isn't peeling off," his brother responded dryly. "I would have brought you ten nubile virgins to feast on, but I couldn't find any. Virgins are in short supply nowadays, you know."
Etienne gave a weary laugh and relaxed.
"More seriously," Bastien said as he worked, "you need a lot of blood, a lot of rest. It's easier this way. I'll change the bag while you sleep. You'll be back to normal by morning."
Etienne nodded. "Do you think the girl will live?"
Bastien was silent for a moment, then sighed. "We'll have to wait and see. I'll wake you if... anything happens," he finished.
Etienne closed his eyes unhappily. "If she dies, you mean. And if she does, it will be all my fault. I should have done something about Pudge."
"You can't blame yourself, Etienne. It's hard to know how to deal with such a fellow. I haven't come up with any ideas myself, and I've been pondering the problem since the shooting. We definitely have to deal with him, though." He straightened and frowned. "I'll call Lucern and see if he has any ideas. We'll brainstorm later, when you're feeling better. You just rest for now."
It was morning when Etienne awoke. He was back to his old self and feeling a hundred percent again. Lying in the still darkness, he could sense the presence of his mother and brother in his home. He could also sense her presence. She lived.
Easing out of his coffin, he removed the IV from his arm, collected the IV stand, and carried it upstairs with him. He stashed it in the kitchen closet where he kept it for emergencies or visits from his sister, then continued through the dark silent house and upstairs.
He found his mother and brother in his bedroom, watching over the woman.
She was writhing and moaning on the bed. Her hair was a damp tangle around her flushed, feverish face. Etienne frowned. "What's wrong with her?" he asked anxiously.
"She's turning," his mother said simply.
Marguerite's calm attitude soothed him somewhat; then Etienne noted the empty bags of blood stacked on the bedside table. There had to be a dozen. Even as he noted this, his mother stood and began to remove yet another empty bag from the IV stand. As if they had done this several times, which they obviously had, Bastien also stood and moved to the small bar fridge Etienne had placed in a corner of the room. He returned with fresh blood.
"Why is she taking so much?" Etienne asked.
"There was a lot of damage, son. She lost a lot of blood from the wound, and there are also thirty years of living to be repaired."