Heather double checked every little detail; lining my eyes with black and my lips with a rich red. “Ok,” she breathed and took a step back. “You’re ready.”
I glanced at the mirror again. I looked ready on the outside, but on the inside I felt terrified.
According to Heather, twenty royals had accepted the invitation to my Sampling. Madam Desjardin’s Blood House was one of the most prestigious in the Capital. The House was known for providing high quality blood in a comfortable setting and none of the Royals minded paying the exorbitant fee. Going to a Blood House was more economical than keeping a personal Bloodletter. The costs of housing and feeding one on top of the Royal’s usual staff ran higher than one might expect. Only the wealthiest Royals could afford their own Bloodletter.
“When they call you to enter, you need to be a vision of poise and grace,” Heather said as she plucked a stray hair off my dress. “The Royals who are attending tonight paid a premium, and they expect nothing but the best.”
“Twenty of them,” I whispered.
Heather smiled. “Yes, that is quite the turn out. I expect that Madam hinted at your privileged background to get such a crowd.”
“Are they all going to,” I grimaced. My words lodged in my throat.
“Drink your blood?” Heather finished for me. “Yes, of course. But this is a Sampling. Don’t worry they will not take enough to put your health in danger.”
I clenched my hands to stop them from shaking.
“I remember my Sampling,” Heather said with a faraway look in her eyes. She smiled. “Now that was a turnout. Madam Desjardins is an excellent businesswoman.” She added. “Twenty years later, I still have regulars I met that night.” Her voice was dreamy, like the night of her Sampling contained fond memories.
The clock chimed.
“Nine o’clock!” Heather gasped. “Let’s get you downstairs. They will begin any minute.”
On the ground floor of the house there was a small ballroom that would hold a party of about fifty. The marble floor was polished to perfection. The walls were covered in mirrors in gilded frames that gave the illusion of the room being much larger.
A string quartet was playing in the furthest corner. The guests were dressed in evening finery. The light from the chandelier glinted off gold and diamond jewelry. The men were dressed in black while the women’s gowns were shades of red, green or purple, and made of velvet or silk taffeta.
Madam Desjardins cleared her throat, and the music quieted. The guests turned to face her.
I waited outside the double doors, glancing in.
Heather tapped my shoulder and frowned. “Poise and grace,” she hissed.
I stood straight and tried not to glare at her. I had attended countless balls in my life, but this was different. All the etiquette training in the world couldn’t prepare me for tonight.
“Be yourself, Miss Violet,” Heather added. “They know you come from a wealthy background, and they are no doubt expecting you to be a perfect lady. This in your chance to get some clients.” She explained. “The more clients you have, the more money you make.”
I nodded.
Heather had dressed in a long red gown with lace sleeves. Tiny rosettes traced the high neckline. Her unruly hair had been fastened into a bun. Her lipstick matched her dress. She was breathtaking.
“You look beautiful, Heather,” I whispered.
Heather looked surprised. “This is your night, Violet. I’m just here for moral support.”
I could tell she wasn’t used to compliments. I had been praised my whole life, but they were almost empty words from my father’s business partners or potential suitors. I bowed my head and lowered my lashes as my mother had taught me.
My eyes stung. I hadn’t had the time to dwell on my mother’s death since coming here.
Heather noticed my eyes going misty. “Don’t you dare cry! I worked hard on that makeup,” she whispered. The woman leaned back towards the door, listening for my introduction.
Madam Desjardins was going on and on, thanking the guests and telling them about me. So far, I hadn’t heard her reveal my family name or where I had come from. She was only reassuring them that my blood was the best of the best.
A polite applause rounded off her introduction.
I set my shoulders and held my head high. I slipped my arm through Heather’s as she had instructed me. Heather was the mentor of the Blood House, so she could take some credit for well preforming Bloodletters.
I plastered a smile on my face as we entered the ballroom.
The twenty Royals looked me up and down; some did it discreetly, others eyed me down like hungry wolves.
I followed the instructions that Heather was murmuring in my ear. Giving me names and titles much too quickly for me to comprehend.
The music resumed and some Royals went back to their conversations.
Madam Desjardins joined us. The large opal broach at her neck glimmered in the light. “Good evening, ladies.”
Heather bowed her head to Madam, and I followed suit.
A middle-aged man dressed in a black suit approached Madam and kissed her gloved hand. “Ah, Madam, it has been ages, hasn’t it?”
Madam nodded. “Far too long,” she replied and introduced me to the man. “This is Lord Ramsey.”
The Baron kissed my hand. “Charmed.”
“The pleasure is mine,” I managed the correct reply. I hoped he wouldn’t notice me shaking. He was very handsome, thought he looked to be as old as my father, I now knew that a Royal’s true age was not easily guessed.
“She is quite lovely,” he said to Madam as if complimenting her on a well-bred horse.
Madam Desjardins smiled. “Thank you. I was surprised to get your response.”
The Baron laughed. “Oh, just because I have the luxury of keeping my own Bloodletter now wouldn’t mean I would give up the chance to meet your latest addition.” He shot me an appraising look.
I blushed and bowed my head.
The next hour passed slowly. I was introduced to and assessed by every Royal there. I made polite small talk and laughed when appropriate. I felt as if I were walking on glass, but Heather guided me through every step.
I had never been more nervous in my life. When would I be forced to give blood? Would it be some terrible frenzy, or would they patiently wait their turns like the poor at a soup bank?
The housemaid, Miss Prescott carried glasses of champagne on a tray. Heather swatted my hand away when I reached for one and glared at me.
Madam Desjardin rejoined us shortly after that. “I believe it is time,” she said to Heather.
Heather nodded and led me out of the ballroom.
Dr. Coleman was waiting for us in the hallway. “Evening, ladies,” he said. “How are you feeling, Violet?”
“Fine,” I lied. My feet were sore, my hands were sweating, and my jaw was stiff from smiling.
“Excellent!” Dr. Coleman took us to a small antechamber off to the side of the ballroom. His Bloodletting tools lay on a crisp white towel. “Now because this is your first time, we will draw the blood privately. With time, you will become skilled in doing it on your own.”
I nodded and sat down. My vision was blurring again.
Heather snapped her fingers in front of my face. “No fainting this time,” she added.
I bolted upright again and resisted the urge to rub my eyes.
Heather dabbed the sweat from my face with a towel. “You’ll do fine,” she added in a softer voice.
I stared at the ceiling as the doctor sat beside me and tied a band tightly around my arm. He pressed my inner arm, looking for veins. I bit my lip, hearing him sort through the needles and humming to himself. I winced, feeling the needle puncture my skin. I squeezed my eyes shut.
Heather patted my hand. “Relax, it will be easier that way.”
My heart was pounding. I breathed in and out slowly until the doctor finished. I opened my eyes and gasped at the sight of my bl
ood in a glass jar. I looked down at my arm; he had covered the small wound with a bandage.
Heather wrapped a black satin ribbon over the bandage and tied it with a decorative knot.
I realized I had been holding my breath. I exhaled and leaned back in the chair. The ceiling was swirling above me.
While I rested, Heather, and the doctor poured the blood into tiny crystal cups. They divided the blood evenly amongst twenty-one glasses, each holding what I guessed would be barely a mouthful. “Are you sure you didn’t take too much?” I croaked.
Dr. Coleman laughed. “The human body is a strangely resilient machine, Miss Violet.”
Heather gave me some water and patted my face dry again. “Alright, the Royals are waiting.”
I looped my arm through Heathers and tried not to lean on her too much. My legs felt like rubber and my vision filled with stars.
“Pull it together,” Heather whispered.
The maid followed behind us with the tray. The tiny cups were arranged in a spiral.
The music in the ballroom faded as we entered. The twenty Royals turned as one at the sound of the door opening.
Madam Desjardins came to us first. “How are you feeling?” She whispered.
I only managed a tiny nod.
“Ah, excellent, we were hoping you hadn’t gotten cold feet.”
I recognized the Baron’s voice before it was lost in the sycophantic laughter.
Madam Desjardin’s jaw clenched a fraction before she stepped back from Heather and me. “Now, it is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Miss Violet has some of the purest blood that I have ever presented at my House and I am pleased to be sharing it all with you tonight.”
They applauded again. I could feel the anticipation growing.
The maid, Miss Prescott, went around the room with the tray. One by one the crystal cups were selected by Royals, who then went about examining the color and smell.
I felt nauseous and held onto Heather for strength.
The last cup was for Madam Desjardins. She caught my eye briefly before examining the blood.
At some unspoken cue, the Royals began tasting. Some knocked back the entire mouthful while others took dainty sips. There was a low murmur that grew in volume as groups of guests discussed, sipped and talked more.
“A wonderful rich color.”
“Such a velvety texture.”
“It is a joy to taste such blood.”
“Absolutely satisfying.”
I heard snippets of the multiple conversations swirling around me. I stared at the floor to avoid their glances. There was a shift in energy, the hairs prickled on the back of my neck.
Feeling the sudden urge to look up, I saw that Madam Desjardins was watching me and gripping the empty cup. There was a flush of color in her pale wrinkled cheeks. Her eyes flickered with the same spark of the other Royals; an unsettling glimpse of the beast that lurked beneath.
EIGHT
AFTER THE SAMPLING, MADAM STARTED SCHEDULING APPOINTMENTS FOR THE FOLLOWING WEEK.
Now that I was officially a registered Bloodletter, I no longer had to run errands with Heather. I woke up closer to noon than dawn and was instructed to do nothing but rest for the first few days. Dr. Coleman had explained that it took much longer than a week for a body to fully recover from giving that much blood, and I had done to everything in more power to help it recoup.
Heather’s sternness had eased off slightly since the Sampling. The first day she taught me how to care for the puncture wound, what signs of infection looked like, and how to prevent bruising.
“There’s nothing more unappetizing to a Royal than seeing the bruise left behind by the last appointment.” She told me.
On the third day, my curiosity took hold of me. “Why do Royals need blood?”
Heather faltered, dropping the diagram of arm veins she had been holding. “Excuse me?”
“Why do Royals need to drink blood?” I repeated. I felt like a child again. A girl asking forbidden questions about the Royals after my father’s ceremony.
Heather’s jaw tightened. “Some things are just better left unknown,” she whispered.
I frowned. “That’s what my mother said, too.”
“Then your mother was a wise woman, Violet,” Heather said. “Please, don’t question it. Things have always been the way, and they will always stay this way. We give the Royals blood, and in exchange they give us a fair government, protection from invaders, good food and medical care. Without them, we would be lost to chaos once more.”
I let Heather’s words sink in and they satisfied me for the time being. One day I would know all their secrets, but for now, I would keep silent.
Seven days after my Sampling, my first appointment was booked and several more in the two weeks that followed. Heather and Madam seemed ecstatic with the influx of orders. For me, it was overwhelming.
Friday night, Heather helped me prepare. I dressed beautifully and done my hair and makeup. As I sat in front of the mirror, I couldn’t help but feel like a stage actress.
“You look wonderful,” Heather said. “Now, for the hard part.”
I flinched, remembering my previous lessons. Bloodletting technology had improved a thousand-fold since it began, but the process was still unsettling.
Heather handed me a black silk back that I knew contained a hollow needle and tube. I would have to pierce myself and let the blood flow into the tiny glass that the Royal would drink from. I knew that I must never allow the Royal to feed from me directly, as that was a factor in spreading disease.
I clutched the bag. “I’ll be fine,” I breathed, more to reassure myself than Heather.
Heather nodded. “You will,” she agreed. “But, just in case you need my help, there will be a bell on the side table. I will be just outside in the hall, so please don’t hesitate.”
I nodded, trying not to think of all the hundreds of things that could go wrong. I had practised inserting the needle a few times, and I was getting better at it. But doing it in front of a hungry audience was something different entirely.
I checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly seven o’clock. “So, who is my client?” I asked.
Heather raised a dark eyebrow. “Why does it matter?” She asked. “Either way, you have to do it.”
I shrugged. “I know, I just thought maybe you’d know.”
Heather sighed. “The House’s records are classified,” she explained. “Really, the only people who should know who your clients are, are you and Madam. That prevents jealousy, competition and keeps the matters of the Royals private.”
I blinked. “Why would the Royals care who knows? It’s not like it’s a secret who needs blood.”
Heather frowned; I knew she hated talking about the Royals. “Well,” She said hesitantly. “For example, I had a client once, many years ago, and his wife hated that he would see a female Bloodletter. She thought he was being unfaithful. Of course, we did nothing but exchange blood, but not all Bloodletters have the same ethics. Madam forbids it, of course.”
I felt a tinge of red creeping up on my cheeks. I wondered if Madam knew about Greta’s personal relationships with that man I had seen.
“Others don’t want their peers knowing that they can’t afford to keep their own Bloodletter,” Heather added.
The clock chimed and our conversation fell silent.
Heather took me to the third floor. “Your client is waiting in room three.” She pointed down the hall. “I’ll be sitting here if you need me.” She gestured to a chair at the mouth of the hall. “Just ring if you need anything.”
I took in a shaky breath.
“You’ll do fine,” Heather assured me.
I nodded. My success or failure would reflect on her and Madam just as much as it would on me. I walked down to the end of the hall, glancing once over my shoulder. I stopped at the door and set my shoulders. I stood straight, keeping my head held high and closed my eyes. I breathed in and out slowly unt
il I calmed my nerves.
I opened the door without a knock, as Heather told me to do.
The room was small, built for its purpose of hosting only two people. There was a chesterfield against the far wall. The wallpaper, upholstery and carpet were all rich shades of blue. A beautiful golden chandelier illuminated the room.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” A voice from the corner startled me.
A man was standing there with his back to me pouring whiskey. Ice cubes clinked against the crystal. He turned and took a sip of the drink. It was the Baron.
“Lord Ramsey.” I gasped, nearly taking a step back before remembering myself. I bowed my head. “Forgive me, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I thought as much,” The Baron chuckled and took another sip. He walked towards me slowly, not hiding the back that he was looking me up and down, inspecting every inch of me.
“How are you doing this evening, my Lord?” I asked. Heather’s tips came to my mind in a whirlwind: always make the meeting about them, be attentive, be polite, and flirt but do not mislead.
“Spectacular, my dear,” Lord Ramsey replied. He took a step back, his eyes not leaving mine as he sat on the chesterfield. He patted the tufted seat beside him. “Come, let’s get to know each other.”
I suddenly wished that my first client had been a woman. I smiled and sat a polite distance away from the Baron. I discretely glanced at the small bell that sat on the table to my left. I hoped I would not need to use it.
The Baron twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. “You’re beautiful, did you know?”
I cringed inwardly, feigning modesty as I turned my head. “You’re too kind, sir,” I said. “How have you been since I saw you last?”
Lord Ramsey perked; he was keen to talk about himself, as I soon found out. “Oh, the usual, my dear. Business, politics, all of those boring things.”
“Oh, do tell.” I hoped that he would reveal more of the Royal’s secrets, but he went on about his business partner using company money for gambling. I made responsive noises whenever he paused, letting him direct the conversation in whichever direction he chose.
The Bloodletters Page 6
