By the time Thursday came around, my teeth had shifted in a painful way. My bottom canines had been pushed against my molars, leaving a rather large gap between them and my incisors. Deep in my gut, I knew teeth were going to grow in. It was the same feeling I got when I thought about my horns; I was certain they weren’t done growing, they had only stopped for the time being. I wore a face mask on the train from Boston, not wanting to show my teeth to anyone. I kept a beanie and a hood on, Malachai sitting in the aisle seat to keep any attention off of me.

I was practically pounding painkillers, anything to stave off the pain. I kept ignoring my advisor’s emails, I had too many other things to deal with then try to form a response to his questions. It was already a struggle catching my tongue poking at the gums in the gap of my teeth. I only hoped none of my teeth would fall out. I tried to let the hum of the train put me to sleep, something I wasn’t getting enough of anymore. I was more scared of how fast my horns would grow, or if my teeth would move around more, than I was of the dreams. They were all of Malachai, only fueling my desires. I’d never felt this strongly about anyone before.

There was nothing I felt I could stomach on the train, nor even feel I could eat with the state of my teeth. I was sure every bite would bring unimaginable pain to my jaw. Malachai and I spent the time in silence. Upon arriving at our little bed and breakfast in Marades, I could barely stand up, the pain becoming more than the painkillers could suppress. I crawled into a bed, not caring about taking a shower. I just needed something to keep me from falling over from the pain. Maybe, I’d pass out, which would be a better relief than anything painkillers could give me.

Engulfed in the smell of honeysuckle, I woke up wrapped in Malachai’s arms. This happened once before we left. He had told me I was whimpering in my sleep, and the only thing that got me to stop was when he had hugged me. I breathed in the scent, giving myself a moment or two before untangling myself from him as slowly and gently as possible. I dug out the bottle of painkillers I brought with me, popping some into my mouth, then went to the bathroom to assess what new changes had taken place during my slumber. Nothing had poked through my gums yet, but they were tender, and I was sure teeth would grow in in a day or two.

When Malachai woke up in the afternoon, I had already curled up in a chair. Once he was dressed and I had my horns and mouth hidden, we made our way to where we’d meet this Dr. Hristov. We walked side by side to what looked like a private school right out of a movie. Brick walls adorned with vines, large windows that looked into classrooms filled with uniformed teenagers. It felt like the absolute wrong place for a meeting with a magical historian. Malachai doublechecked the address, we walked in when he confirmed it was a match. The receptionist who gave us guest passes, made me take my beanie and hood off, to my dismay.

The students were staring at me, walking without looking in front of them. More and more trickled out of classrooms after the bell rang. I tried to focus on Malachai as they surrounded me. Teachers attempted to get them to stop looking, while I attempted to keep myself from panicking. If I took my eyes off Malachai, I’d lose him. I wasn’t sure he even realized he had walked ahead of me a few steps, the gap widening as more students needed to gawk at my horns. They were going to suffocate me if they didn’t move on soon. Then, I felt a hand in mine, tugging me forward and moving the teenagers away. Eventually, they all had their turn and hurried off to their next class; Malachai walked in step with me, squeezing my hand. He knocked on a closed door, and we waited like students in trouble for the call to come in.

Dr. Hristov’s office was an utter mess. There were books and papers scattered about his desk, stacked on the floor, and pushed to the side on a couch underneath the window. There were two men behind the desk, one sitting with more authority than the redhead standing at his shoulder. They both looked up at our entrance, papers being shuffled and shoved into hands. “I’m Dr. Mikhail Hristov,” the man sitting stood, gestured to the redhead. His voice carried the slightest accent. “This is Damien, my…assistant,” he said over the word “slave” coming from Damien’s mouth. Dr. Hristov motioned for us to sit, and after moving piles of books from the chair across his desk, we sat. “Malachai?” He asked, saying Malachai’s name with a guttural sound I’d never heard. “Damien, why don’t you show Malachai around? Answer his questions and all that, you’re more suited to his matters.” Malachai was reluctant to leave, but whatever it was he had written in that email was immensely important to him. Dr. Hristov then turned to me, “And you’re…August?” I nodded and he narrowed his blue eyes at me. “So. The horns. What else?”

“My eyes changed from black to red,” I said, watching him dig around his desk. He pulled back the sleeve of his green sweater for a moment, and I got an eyeful of puckered scars. “Um, and my teeth…have shifted.”

“Shifted?” He asked, making a stack of books on his already crowded desk.  I pulled down my mask to give him a view of my messed up teeth. He studied my mouth. “Where are you from? Or, uh, where is your family from? Genealogy wise.”

“I’m from Japan.” That gave him pause and he started removing books he had already placed on his desk. “My great-great…great-grandpa was American, though.”

“When did you first start noticing the changes?”

I looked down at my lap, feeling embarrassed to admit this to a stranger. “When…Malachai…fed—bit me.”

“Nothing to be ashamed about,” he said, almost as if to reassure me. “Damien ‘bites’ me all the time. Word of advice from one blood bag to another? Stay in control. It’s up to you when they can feed from you, for how long, and how far it ends up going.” He typed something on his computer, having to push a stack of paper out of the way to access it. “It sounds like, to me, that these changes may be some sort of defense mechanism in your blood that was triggered when it came into contact with Malachai’s saliva.” Dr. Hristov leaned back in his chair. “But why is your blood that way?”

I moved my jaw around under my mask, telling myself I was shaking off the pain. “Malachai says my blood tastes sweet. Like sugarcane.”

He was about to say something when a new voice joined us from the doorway. “Misha, what have I told you about letting Damien wander?” I glanced over at the man leading against the doorframe, eyes firmly on his phone. “And who’s that with him?” He looked up as Dr. Hristov opened his mouth to answer, pushing strands of black hair away from his face. Dr. Hristov let out an exasperated sigh as the newcomer’s eyes lit up, “No!” He hurried over to me, wrapping his arm around my head, squeezing me just right sharp pain shot through my jaw. “Give him to me. Please, Misha.”

“No.” Dr. Hristov pulled up a contact for a Danny on his phone and showed it to him, thumb hovering over the call button. “Sit, Ro.” Ro tsked, but sat in the empty chair next to me, muttering something I didn’t quite know, but understood to be curses. “If you know what’s happening with him, enlighten us.”

“He’s an oni.” I started choking on my spit, coughing as quietly as I could. “A young one, at that.” Ro eyed me and I hit my chest to get everything moving. “Have your teeth come in yet?” I shook my head, balling my hands up to keep from rubbing on my thighs. “Can I have a teensy bit of your blood and like, a handful skin cells?”

“N-no,” I said, too quiet to be heard over a ringtone. I felt relief, tasted iron as I watched Ro step out to answer his phone. I chalked the taste up to my imagination, like I was conditioned to taste it the minute anyone said the word blood.

Dr. Hristov started shoving handfuls of tissues in my direction. “Here,” he said. “I don’t have an extra mask. Damien might, though.” I stuck my fingers under my mask, feeling something trickle from my mouth. There was blood coating my fingers. I pulled my mask down and shoved the tissues against my bleeding gums. “I can pull some things up on oni if you’d like?” I nodded, pressing the tissues against my gums a little harder.

“Um, how do I stay in control?” I asked, trying not to spray blood on my clothes or on Dr. Hristov’s papers and books.

He glanced at me for a second before returning them to his computer screen. “Well, it depends. With Damien,” he cleared his throat, “I trained him, sort of. I keep him on a very strict feeding schedule for my own benefit. Speaking of which, he’s going to need to get fed soon.”

Just like he said, Damien and Malachai returned within a minute or two, followed shortly by Ro. Our respective vampires came to our sides like trained puppies. Malachai was hesitant to sit down in the empty chair, clearly worried about my bleeding mouth, but unsure what to do about it. He stood closer to me as Ro once again asked me for a bit of my blood. I felt my face heat up, Malachai hissing, “His blood is mine,” half a second before Dr. Hristov spoke.

“Stop asking August for his blood,” he didn’t take his eyes from his computer screen. He was standing now, Damien behind him with his fangs squarely in Dr. Hristov’s neck; he didn’t seem affected by it at all. “What do you even want it for?”

A printer whirred to life. “Research,” he said. “Oni blood has…distinct and interesting regenerative properties.” Chewing his lip, face starting to flush, almost breathless, Malachai asked if he could explain. "Well, they heal a lot quicker than most other magickals. Not only externally.”

Malachai continued to chew on his bottom lip, glancing over at me every so often. I had the feeling he was thinking of something obscene. Dr. Hristov handed me a stack of papers barely being held together with a binder clip. It felt surreal scanning the documents while Malachai and I walked back to our bed and breakfast. Countless pages written in Japanese and English containing words I had never seen in either language. It’d take me a few days to go through a quarter of this, at least. Not to mention I still couldn’t come to terms that I was something other than human. I had barely come to terms with Malachai being a vampire.

He licked the blood from my chin, shoving his tongue into the gap of my teeth, sending little bits of pain that started to feel good into my neck. He wanted every bit he could get from that tiny cut, and I wanted so much more than for him to feed off me. “Um, Malachai?” I asked once he moved to my neck, teeth scratching at my skin. “Can…Can you…eat me?”