Over half an hour later, he checked his pocket watch. “Oh my, look at the time. Here I am going on about business. I have bored you stiff.”
“Not at all,” I replied with a smile.
The Baron inched closer to me on the couch. “Well, I have a wife at home to complain to. I won’t torture you anymore.” He chuckled. He touched my hair and set his hand on my shoulder. “Is it true I’m your first client?”
I nodded.
Lord Ramsey gulped. “That is perfect,” His voice was low and husky.
I leaned back to increase the space between us. The Baron was making me more uncomfortable than any other man ever had. Even Councilor Wentworth’s son’s drunken advances were more welcome than this. I put a hand on his shoulder gingerly. “Which arm do you prefer, sir?”
The Baron’s attention finally snapped away from my chest. “Hm?”
“Which arm, sir?”
Lord Ramsey cleared his throat and sat up straight. He adjusted the collar on his shirt and smooth back his dark hair. “Left, if you please.”
I pulled the black bag from a pocket at my hip. My fingers fumbled with the satin drawstring. I ignored the Baron’s breathing in my ear. Inside the bag was a black band, fresh bandages, tubing, and a hollow needle. I closed my eyes and sighed.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“I forgot the cup,” I answered through gritted teeth.
The Baron laughed. “No matter!” He finished the whisky with a gulp and offered it to me.
This glass was much larger than the tiny crystal cup that blood was to be served in. I wondered how I would measure the amount properly. I bit my lip, but there was no way I would call Heather over something so minor. She’d never let me live it down.
I smiled. “Thank you, my Lord.”
I followed the steps that Heather and I had gone over a million times. I pulled the black band tight around my upper arm. I was thankful that the Baron preferred the left arm, because I was still terrible at drawing blood with my other hand. I clenched my teeth and jabbed the vein, showing brightly under my pale skin.
Lord Ramsey sucked in a breath beside me.
I didn’t focus on him. I kept my hands steady as I let out the blood into the glass. I counted slowly in my head, a trick that Heather had taught me to ensure I didn’t give out too much.
The Baron took the glass from me and I quickly withdrew the needle and applied pressure onto the tiny wound. My heart was pounding in my ears. Stars swirled in my vision. I felt as if I had gulped a glass of wine, there was no other way I could describe the rush.
“Perfect.” The Baron said.
My eyes met his.
Lord Ramsey swirled the blood, his wrist moving only slightly. He breathed in the scent of my blood.
I could taste the tang in the air, thought it might have been my imagination.
I silence grew heavy, and the anticipation was palpable.
The Baron tilted the glass and drank every precious drop of crimson. He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. “My dear, it is better than I remember.”
I was blushing. My face felt like it had caught fire and I wasn’t sure why. I tore my eyes away from his face and busied myself with the bandage. When the knot was securely tied, I looked up again to find the Baron’s face only a hair from mine.
“Delicious.” His lips brushed my cheek.
My body froze as I felt his hand grip my knee. “You, you flatter me.” I stammered.
“No, I only speak the truth.”
I attempted to stand but his grip tightened. “We still have some time left,” he said.
“Yes, but I’m afraid I can give no more blood tonight.”
“I wasn’t asking for blood.” Lord Ramsey turned my head with his hand and crushed his lips against mine.
I gasped, throwing myself backwards and pulling myself out of his grasp. “You paid for my blood, not my body.”
The Baron looked furious. His eyes glinted dangerously. “Do you forget yourself, Miss Violet?” He hissed.
My stomach dropped in fear. My blood stained the corner of his lips.
Lord Ramsey grabbed me again, forcing me down onto the chesterfield. “I’m not finished with you, girl.” He growled.
“Does your wife know that this is what you do to Bloodletters?” I spat as I struggled in his grasp. He was much stronger than he looked.
The Baron laughed. “You’re a funny girl,” he said. “Smart too. So, you’ll understand why girls like you never say no to me.”
An idea clicked into place. “I wouldn’t dream of saying no to you.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “However, I feel like Madam might be unhappy if she found out about this.”
The Baron’s grip relaxed a fraction. “I won’t tell her if you don’t.”
I gave him my best smile and kneed him in the gut. I heard a seam in my dress rip.
Lord Ramsey gasped for air. The shock twisted his handsome face into a caricature of what it used to be.
I pulled my arms free and pushed him away from me.
“You bitch!” He spat. “You’ll regret that.”
Without a second thought, I kicked, and my foot collided with his jaw.
He staggered backwards, holding his face.
“I won’t tell her if you don’t.” I gasped before running out of the room as fast as I could.
NINE
“HOW ARE YOU FEELING?”
At lunch the next day I was the center of attention. The past week I had been kept busy with so much preparation that I had done little socializing. It was beginning to feel like home; I was used to living in a huge house without seeing members of my family for days on end.
Amelia sat beside me, asking how the first Bloodletting had gone.
“I’m ok,” I replied. I hadn’t mentioned the Baron’s advances to Heather and judging by her neutrality towards me that morning, neither had he. My heart pounded every time I thought about what could have happened to me. In comparison, kicking a Royal in the face seemed like the best alternative.
“You look good,” said the bearded man. His name was Thomas. He had been Bloodletting for three years. I had been surprised to know he was in his mid-twenties; this lifestyle had aged him dramatically.
I tried to smile. “Thanks.”
“I heard you had twenty royals there,” Greta spoke up. “At your Sampling.” She clarified. “One of my clients attended.” There was a hint of poison in her tone.
There had been so many names and faces that night I could scarcely remember. “Oh, really?” I mumbled.
“I’m not sure what your plan is, but keep your hands off of my clients,” Greta said. She waved her fork around, pointing at the others. “Theirs too. We work hard for this. I’m not about to let you swoop in and undo all my efforts.”
Thomas, Amelia, and Jack, the boy who always wore gloves, looked away awkwardly. No one seemed to ever want to confront Greta. I was mildly annoyed that no one came to my defense.
“I’m sorry if your clients are tired of the same old blood, maybe some variety will do them some good.” I spat out the words before my conscious kicked in.
Greta’s face flushed with rage. “How dare you!” She shrieked. She bolted to her feet and threw her fork down with a clang. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been here? How much I’ve sacrificed for this?”
I clenched my teeth, biting back the flurry of angry retorts that came to mind.
Amelia held onto my sleeve. “Don’t get her going, please, Violet,” she whispered.
I exhaled and relaxed my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Greta. I don’t know what came over me.” My words sounded dead to me but seemed to appease her.
Greta smirked and sat down, smoothing her skirt. “Don’t you worry Violet; you’ll understand in time.”
∾
The next morning, Heather met me in the hall. “Violet, may I speak to you for a second?”
My heart jumped in fear and my mouth went dry. Had the Baron told
her what happened after all? “Yes?” I squeaked, holding back a million excuses that filled my chest to the point of bursting.
Heather had a bundle of envelops in her hand. She passed one to me. It was white and unmarked except with my name. “Your allowance from the Sampling.”
I stared at the envelope. “But Madam said the wages were held.”
Heather raised her eyebrows at me. “Do you not want the money?” She asked.
My grip tightened on the envelope. It was thick with the cash inside.
The woman laughed and shook her head. “Madam asked me to give you an advance so you could go shopping for clothes. Your appearance is second only to your blood, Miss Violet,” she explained. “So, Madam gives out small allowances once every month for you to use how you will.”
I beamed. After all, I had been through, some retail therapy would be most effective. “Thank you.”
Heather shook her head. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “I know Greta will go out today. I asked her to show you around. It is essential that Bloodletters don’t wander the Capital alone.”
My happiness deflated. “Greta?”
“Don’t pout at me like that!” Heather shook her head. Her curls bounced and swayed. “I’m not your sitter. I may have been training you, but I still have to take care of everyone else. Besides, it will do you some good to get to know your housemates.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I grumbled.
That afternoon I met Greta in the foyer. She was dressed in a pastel pink dress and matching jacket. She had a parasol folded in her hand and her hair was tied up with white ribbons. Roger was dusting the mantel and making small talk with her.
I cleared my throat. “Good afternoon.”
Greta glanced at me, looking at my burgundy dress. She wrinkled her nose. “Goodness, Violet, it’s spring. Don’t you have something more seasonal?”
“Well, I didn’t really have time to pack before being kidnapped!” I shot back.
“Ladies!” Roger gasped. “Let’s be civil, please.”
Greta sighed and rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s understandable,” she said. “Well, come along.”
Roger opened the door for us. “Do be careful, ladies.”
“Yes Roger,” Greta sang.
I followed Greta out the door and down the walkway. I had been to the market with Heather enough times to know the way on my own. Commoners such as ourselves, employees, and servants of the Royals normally staffed and frequented the stalls. Heather always made sure to point out influential Royals when we passed one, but for the most part, our trips to the market had always been unremarkable.
“I hope you plan on spending your allowance on a new wardrobe,” Greta said. She was rushing through the streets.
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, that was what Heather suggested.”
“What did Madam get you for your Sampling? What color did you wear?”
“Black.”
“Ah, yes, classic. I was younger when I had my Sampling, so Madam picked soft pink for my color. That woman is a genius. I was full up with clients for weeks after that night!” Greta laughed.
We stopped for a carriage to cross the road before continuing. “How old were you?”
Greta shot me a look. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“Twelve, if you must know,” Greta answered.
I kept my reaction subdued. She looked to be in her early twenties, so I guessed that she must have been Bloodletting for ten years by now. “That’s young,” I mumbled.
Greta smirked. “Yes. I’ll let you know that I am the most requested Bloodletter in the House now.”
I remembered the night that Amelia and I had spied on her and there was no doubt in my mind that she was probably a favorite of the male clients. I shivered; raw memories of the Baron crept into my mind. I prayed that I never saw him again.
The clicking of Greta’s heels on the cobblestone filled my ears. The streets were exceptionally bare for a Saturday. The tall buildings were crammed together as tightly as puzzle pieces. The streets were narrow and split at irregular intervals.
We turned a corner and entered the fashion district. The shop windows featured gowns in the same jewel tones that the women had worn to my Sampling. The Capital was further north and the warm weather was always short-lived. My mother had always taken her fashion queues based on what my father told her about the Capital. The Councilor’s wives had whispered behind her back for wearing plum in July when they were dressed in lilac. I supposed that Greta’s obsession with springtime colors might be attributed to where she was brought up.
A bright red gown in a window caught my attention. It was the most brilliant scarlet I had never seen in my life. I lingered, looking into the shop. A woman was there talking to the clerk. If I had to guess, the woman looked like a Royal. Her luxurious clothes and perfect posture were excellent clues.
The woman perked up and turned, feeling my gaze.
I gasped and stepped back. My heart shriveled at the predatory shine in her eyes.
“Come along Violet,” Greta called without looking back.
I tore myself away from the window and ran a few paces to catch up with Greta.
“Try not to fall behind,” Greta said. “Believe me, there are Royals who be more than happy to lead you astray.”
We walked two more blocks before Greta came to a halt.
We stood in front of a dressmaker’s shop, though it was much smaller than the others we had passed. The window was streaked with grime and the sign that hung above the door had faded beyond recognition.
I grimaced. “Here?”
Greta laughed. “Looks aren’t everything.” She opened the door, and a bell tinkled to announce our arrival.
Inside the narrow shop, there was a table and a few readymade garments hanging on a rail. The rest of the front room was filled with bolts of fabric nearly taller than me. Dusty floated through the air. I held my hand over my nose to prevent a sneeze.
“Ah, there’s my favorite customer.” I could hear a voice behind a pile of navy-blue velvet.
“Maurice,” Greta said.
A frail old man emerged. His back was bent over in a permanent slouch. A pair of glasses dangled around his neck on a golden chair. “Greta, my angel, how are you?” He kissed her cheek.
“I am doing wonderfully.”
Maurice caught sight of me. “Ah, and who is this lovely young lady?”
I waved nervously.
Greta spoke before I could open my mouth. “This is Violet, one of Madam’s newest Bloodletters.”
Maurice nodded and peered through his glasses. “Lovely, lovely. Madam Desjardins has some of the best in the Capital.”
I tilted my head trying to figure out if he was a Royal or not. Some of them radiated power while others had felt as ordinary as me.
Greta rested a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “She just came here, and she needs clothes.”
Maurice nodded. “Leave it to me.”
Three hours later, we left. With Greta’s help, we selected fabrics, Maurice took my measurements and ordered five new dresses. I hoped that the old man was as skilled as Greta swore he was. I had left nearly all my allowance in that dusty shop at the end of the street.
“Really, wait until they get delivered.” Greta gushed. “I mean, he made this one.” She twirled in her pink dress. She had ordered another pink one too. “The details are just exquisite.”
I nodded, not bothering to listen to her going on about the embroidery. While I had a rough idea of what was fashionable, it was not something I cared about. My entire life, my focus had been on learning politics and history. My mother had ensured I dressed well for social events but was always so focused on being the perfect heir that I never had time to look at fashion catalogues.
That gave me an idea. “Greta?”
“Yes?” She opened her parasol. The afternoon sun was growing hotter.
“Is there a bookstore nearby?” I
asked. “Or anywhere that I could buy a newspaper?”
Greta wrinkled her nose. “Why would you want those? They just get your fingers all black.”
I managed not to roll my eyes. “Well, before, I would read the paper to keep up with what was going on in the world.”
“Oh, I forgot, you actually had a future ahead of you, didn’t you?” Greta teased. “I forget, now that you’re just like us.”
I clenched my teeth and forced away my anger. I couldn’t snap at her now because she knew how to get back to the House. “So, is there a place where I can buy the paper for Wythtir?”
Greta led me out of the fashion district and towards the main road. The buildings grew taller; a mix of banks, restaurants, and shops. There was a stall outside laden with newspapers from the Capital and the provinces. A skinny man sat on a stool sleeping. His mustache twitched as he snored.
I searched through the stacks of papers. One side of the cart was weighed down by publications from the Capital and the other side had papers from the provinces. As I scanned the dates, I realized that it had nearly been a month since my father had betrayed me. Over a month since my mother died.
I clenched a fist and slammed it down on a shelf.
The man snorted but didn’t wake from his nap.
Greta sighed impatiently. “Hurry up, please.”
The papers from Wythtir were closer to the bottom. My hands found a thick weekly digest. The headline reached out and slapped me across the face.
ACKERMAN FAMILY MOURNS DEATH OF HEIR.
TEN
I STARED INTO THE MIRROR. My skin was pale, and my hair had lost its sheen. I scrubbed the makeup off my eyes and lips with a sponge and dried my face with a soft towel. I shivered and wrapped a bathrobe around my body tightly.
I tiptoed down the hallway to my room. It was nearly dawn. Heather dragged me from my sleep to tend to a last-minute appointment. She and Madam had kept my schedule full the past two weeks. Draining me just shy of death as often as the Doctor would allow them.
The Bloodletters Page 7
