Chapter 10: A Strange Accord

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  I have never considered myself particularly impatient, but according to the longcase clock in the entrance hall, it’s almost midnight, and Chiselle is still keeping the master company in the library. Normally she retires to her room long before then. But not tonight. Of course not.

  But I have made up my mind, and I am going through with it before I chicken out. If I want change, I have to seize new opportunities. This is one.

  Nearing the door, I swallow hard, my heartbeat quick and my throat dry. At one point during my long wait on the third step of the staircase, I feared my roasted pheasant and butter-and-sage-braised pumpkin supper would try to leave my stomach vertically. In time I managed to calm my nerves, but now I feel my hold slipping again.

  The faint laughter I’ve caught sporadically the past few hours seems to cease entirely a second before my knuckles meet the door.

  Sharp silence. Then the door opens from the inside. A crown of red hair and a pair of glacial blue eyes meet me. Giving me a quick once-over, Chiselle narrows those piercing orbs at me - either as a warning, or because she can tell that I never went to bed when she dismissed me hours ago.

  “Let her in,” orders the master somewhere behind her.

  Ever the faithful servant, Chiselle steps aside and allows me through, even though every movement of her body screams repressed defiance. I catch the scent of alcohol on her breath as I brush past her.

  The library is warm and properly lit for a change, mostly thanks to the crackling logs in the fireplace. Before it, in one of the upholstered armchairs, lounges the master, both in a state of formality and casualness wholly foreign to me. For once, he is properly dressed; the usual black silk nightrobe is replaced by fitted, black trousers, a deep red silk shirt, and an embroidered, black waistcoat, partly unbuttoned to accommodate his slightly slouching position. Despite his more formal attire, his posture reveals some level of inebriation, supported by the lively tint on his cheeks. A stark contrast to his usual sickly pale skin.

  Splayed on the table before him is a deck of cards, the arrangement unfamiliar to me, and peppering the edge of the table is an assortment of glasses with remnants of various liquids. I care not to identify the drinks as I step forward.

  “Kia,” the master greets, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I must admit I did not expect your company. What can I do for you this late evening?”

  “I have considered your offer,” I say a bit hesitantly, feeling the redhead’s gaze drill into the back of my skull.

  My words seem to cut through the jovial haze behind his eyes.

  “Is that so?” Shifting to sit upright, the master buttons his waistcoat and clears his throat. “Chiselle, would you be so kind as to clear the table? I will need a moment alone with Miss Kia.”

  I don’t have to look back over my shoulder to know that Chiselle is signing some kind of disagreement. The master watches her patiently, then forms a calm-faced reply. Whatever he just said appears to be enough to make her compliant. But she is definitely not happy about the situation, the tenseness in her shoulders and jaw tell me.

  Picking up a tray, she gathers the many glasses and a single clay carafe and leaves the room, door slamming shut just a tad too loudly to not be a message.

  The master ignores her tantrum and gestures to the vacant seat on the opposite side of the small table. A trace of warmth still lingers on the cushion when I sit down.

  “Tell me,” the master begins, tilting his head, “to which conclusion did your deliberation bring you?”

  It is strange how the atmosphere has changed so suddenly. Two days ago, I could barely stand being in here, the weight and intensity of his attention almost suffocating. Now he appears far less… intimidating. Perhaps it is the alcohol softening his features, perhaps it’s because of the different circumstances. Or perhaps it’s the fact that I walked in here with nothing to lose.

  My nerves have released their grip on me already; my hammering heart has stilled somewhat, and my breathing has eased.

  I can do this.

  “I won’t deny that I am tempted,” I say, straightening the mended skirt of my old dress. “But I can’t help but wonder… You have already been more than generous with me, letting me stay here until my ankle has healed. Surely you can’t offer me tuition for free on top of that?”

  The master’s gaze glides to the door for half a second before returning to me. He folds his hands in his lap. “I never said it would be free.”

  A frown pulls at my brows. “I thought you refused payment last time we spoke?”

  “Yes and no,” the master says and taps his fingertips together a few times. “I refused your money. Of which you have none, if my impression was correct.”

  I feel the heat drain from my face. This is bordering dangerous territory. Without money I have but one valuta left to trade. And I will not be trading that.

  “Then what would it cost me?” I force the words across my lips.

  For a moment he is silent, reading me carefully. But his answer is not the one I feared. Or expected.

  “Seven drops of blood for every lesson.”

  I blink several times, the confusion making me second-guess my senses. That cannot be what he said.

  I open my mouth to ask for repetition, but he clarifies before I manage to do so:

  “Seven drops every day. Human blood.” He offers me a smile, calm and sincere, one meant to disarm an adversary. “Yours, preferably.”

  I find myself staring at him in disbelief. My first instinct is to ask him if this is merely some twisted jest, but something about his expression tells me he is deadly serious. Besides, I have not forgotten the hare’s blood. No matter how much Chiselle tried to hide it, it is apparent that they - or at least one of them - has some use for blood.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Perhaps I will finally get an answer straight from the source.

  “Dare I ask what you need it for?”

  I get the impression that my directness humors him. Thrills him, even. His smile widens, playful challenge pulling his lips apart so I can see the string of pearly white teeth beneath.

  “Blood happens to be my primary source of sustenance.”

  I cannot say his words are entirely unexpected. At one point I entertained the idea myself, although never in actual seriousness. But here he is, casually insinuating that he is a God-damned vampire; one of the heart-ripping, flesh-eating monsters Presbyter Markus loves babbling about as he circulates the panicked churchgoers with a chalice of so-claimed holy water in one hand and a rapidly filling offering plate in the other.

  Needless to say, the notion that vampires exist is utterly absurd. A tale meant to scare children and the weak-minded. He might as well have told me he is a merman or a fairy.

  Disbelief must be showing on my face, I realize, as the master leans back in his chair, his expression roguish. “I suspect you have made the connection by now, and yet you do not seem convinced. Or frightened, for that matter.”

  A snort slips from me before I can help it. “Pardon me for not believing in religious superstition.”

  “Whether you believe me or not, the price remains the same,” he says, assessing my reaction closely. “Offer me a bit of your blood - entirely contact-free, I assure you - and I shall teach you to read.”

  The thought of extracting my own blood does not bother me as much as it probably should - I’ve accidentally snipped or cut or pricked myself so many times I care not to recount them. The blood itself is not the issue. However, the thought of him consuming it willingly - likely enthusiastically - sends a lurch of unease through my stomach. Of disgust. Why would anyone convince themselves that they need - or even want - to drink the flowing essence of life of another being?

  If this is his primary diet, I understand why he looks the way he does. He is ill and weak from malnourishment. Humans are not meant to live like this.

  I want to decline, want to leave this God-forsaken place and its strange residents at once. But the taste of opportunities and freedom lingers on the tip of my tongue. If I go home now, I know exactly how my life will unfold: I will return to The Rabbit and the Rooster, marry some no-name guy from the village in a few years, birth him children until my body cannot anymore, watch my parents die one day, and finally inherit the tavern. And watch the cycle repeat itself, like Mama did before me.

  Never again will I receive an offer like this, especially not one with a price I can actually afford to pay. Rich or poor, we all have a fountain of life running through our veins. In this one regard, I am as wealthy as the king himself.

  It's my only chance. And the price is nothing more than a bit of discomfort. And time.

  I stop chewing my bottom lip absentmindedly and take a deep breath, grounding my consciousness.

  “One month, correct?”

  “One month,” the master confirms.

  “Alright. Seven drops a day, contact-free - and not one more,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “I can change my mind at any point, and I am free to leave anytime. Am I clear?”

  “As crystal,” he hums, his eyes gleaming against the flames from the fireplace.

  “I also have one condition. A gesture of benevolence, if you will.”

  “Do enlighten me,” he grins, flashing his perfectly normal and flat human teeth.

  “Once our time is up, you will do everything in your power to secure me a safe and direct trip home to Trefield in Redbirch Vale.”

  Still lightly touched by intoxication, but now notably sobered up, the master stands up and extends his hand toward me almost ceremoniously. “We have an accord, Miss Kia.”

  I look at his outstretched hand: pale-skinned and with long, sleek fingers, several of them adorned by wide, bejeweled rings a tad too loose. Slowly, I get to my feet, my hesitation all too apparent.

  “Fear me not; I do not bite - as promised,” he goads, then chuckles softly to himself.

  “Just ‘Kia’, please,” I reply and give his hand a quick shake. For someone who has been sitting in front of a fireplace for hours, his skin is surprisingly cool. I bury my hand between the folds of my skirt.

  The sudden sound of footsteps in the entrance hall tells us that Chiselle is either about to return or on her way upstairs. In any case, I ought to be going.

  “It’s getting late. I should retire for the night.”

  “Of course,” the master agrees, following me to the exit. “Let us meet again tomorrow evening. I will let Chiselle know about your lessons. But none of us will mention the payment to her, is that understood?”

  I pause before the door. “Why is that?”

  He has been remarkably forward with my questions tonight, so I might as well just ask. But the lift of his eyebrows tells me he did not anticipate this one. Or perhaps he simply didn’t expect anything other than undiluted compliance when giving a direct order. Either way, he cocks his head in the manner of patience and gives a light shrug, the movement sending a silvery lock of hair brushing past his bony shoulder.

  “We risk her getting envious and wanting a share of the payment,” he says matter-of-factly. The tone of his voice betrays the underlying threat, however. “I imagine you would rather not extract blood for two?”

  Chiselle is a ‘vampire’ too? The thought makes my stomach sink. Not that I believe them, but I had the impression she was somewhat… normal. Despite her eccentricities. For a moment it didn’t occur to me that she might also be partaking in his strange practice.

  “I suppose not,” I croak.

  “Then we have an agreement,” he says and inclines toward the door. “If there are no pressing matters left on your mind, I will hereby bid you goodnight.”

  I would be lying if I said this conversation answered more questions that it created, but now is not the time for more inquiries. I just secured myself an entire month with him - if I want to probe, I’ll have plenty of chances.

  Gathering my thoughts, I turn the door handle. “Goodnight, my lord.”

  “Rest well, Kia. Tomorrow you will need a sharp mind.”

  The second I climb the final step of the wide marble staircase, Chiselle pops out from the first doorway to the right - my room. Arms crossed over her chest and a frown on her face, she advances on me.

  Instinctually, I want to back up, but my foot finds the edge of the stairs quickly and reminds me that retreating like this could become dangerous. So I stand my ground and try not to reek of insecurity as she comes to tower over me.

  Like the last time she caught me on my way out from a private meeting with the master, she means to search my body. This time, she grabs my chin and lifts my face to assess my throat and neck on both sides, pulling at the neckline of my dress to check the skin of my shoulders as well. I remain like frozen to the spot, letting her work, enduring her menacing proximity and ruthless violation of privacy.

  I’m beginning to understand why she is doing this. The master’s words about her wanting in on any potential blood deal resonates in my mind. She is paranoid that we are engaging in such activities without her - that she is being excluded and deceived.

  I will have to hide any sign of extraction thoroughly from her.

  The redhead finishes her examination by pulling up my sleeves and turning my arms before her narrowed gaze. Of course she finds nothing. Somehow that fact makes her seethe even more. It is af if she cannot comprehend why the master and I would meet without her if it doesn’t involve my blood.

  Not that she is entirely wrong, but she will never know.

  Letting my arms drop to my sides again, the slightly older woman sneers at me.

  “Now that we’re at it,” I say, keeping my face neutral, “I think I might have some sort of bowel issue - care to check that too?”

  Growling in exasperation, she turns on her heel and stalks to her own room a few doors down from mine. The door slams shut.

  I can’t wait to see how she will react to the news about my tuition.