The Bloodletters

by Samantha Bell

  I slipped into bed. Amelia was curled with her back towards me fast asleep. I pulled the quilt up around my shoulders and blew into my cold hands. I had never been so cold in all my life. It was May and though the weather was warm outside; the House kept the radiator on full blast.

  I tossed and turned. Closed my eyes and stared at the ceiling or watched Amelia sleep. I was exhausted but couldn’t rest.

  With a groan, I rolled out of bed and pushed my feet into my slippers. I walked downstairs, avoiding the third step from the bottom that squeaked. I could smell coffee brewing and bread baking; I was not surprised to see the kitchen bustling with life. I sat by the hearth, warming myself by the fire and watching the pot of oatmeal bubbling.

  Vincent turned, nearly dropping a pan of buns when he saw me. “Violet!” He gasped. “What are you doing up? There are no chores for you anymore, child.”

  I laughed bitterly. “No, only Bloodletting.”

  The cook’s face softened. He set the pan down and pulled up a chair beside me. “What’s eating you?” He smiled. “Besides the Royals, that is?”

  I couldn’t help chuckling at his dark humor. “Nothing, I just can’t sleep.”

  “Famous last words.” Vincent shook his head. The wooden chair creaked under his weight. “I know this is tough, but you have to stay strong.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re new, they always feed like crazy on fresh blood. But, don’t worry, the novelty will wear off and it will slow down,” he continued.

  I rubbed my throbbing head. My hands felt like ice on my forehead. “How long have you been here?”

  Vincent paused to think about it. “Oh Gods, Madam hired me the summer before Heather came, so just over twenty years now,” He smiled and pulled the white cap from his head, revealing his baldness. “I know I look good for my age, but this helps hide evidence.” He winked.

  I smiled.

  Vincent poured me some tea and went back to work.

  I wrapped my hands around the mug and breathed in the steam. “Vincent,” I asked. “What keeps you here?”

  “Violet!” Heather’s voice cut off his reply.

  I jumped in my seat, managing not to drop the tea. “Yes?”

  Heather emerged from the stairs the lead to the garden. She shut the door behind her and dusted off her apron. “What are you doing out of bed? I told you to sleep!”

  “I can’t sleep,” I replied.

  Heather narrowed her eyes at me. “You need your rest.”

  “You need to stop booking me appointments before I die!” I shot back.

  Heather gritted her teeth, biting back whatever she wanted to say. She breathed in and out. “You won’t die as long as you get your rest. Trust me, I’ve been at this for a while.”

  I looked away and took a sip of tea.

  “Listen, I know you’re having a hard time adjusting, but you should be grateful. You could have ended up in worse Blood Houses than this.”

  I made my way towards the stairs, clutching the mug with trembling hands. I looked over my shoulder at Heather. “A gilded cage is still a prison.”

  ∾

  Heather and I didn’t speak for days. She escorted me to and from my appointments wordlessly.

  On the third day of my self-imposed vow of silence, Heather cornered me after dinner.

  “Violet.” she said. I didn’t know when she had dropped the formalities, but she spoke to me as if she was as familiar with me as she was with Vincent.

  I turned and waited for her to continue.

  “You think you have it pretty hard here, huh?” She asked with her hands on her hips.

  I heard the clattering of flatware as the maid, Miss Prescott, cleared the table.

  I raised my chin, my lips sealed.

  I expected Heather to get angry, furious even, with my childish resistance. She only sighed and shook her head. “Come with me.”

  I hesitated.

  “Come,” Heather commanded.

  Something in her tone made me comply. I followed her to the foyer, managing to keep my silence even when she handed me a long coat. Roger was missing from his usual post by the front door. I pulled on the coat and followed her outside.

  Heather walked quickly. Her face was nearly concealed by the shadow cast by her hat. She said nothing to me and did not glance over her shoulder to make sure I was following.

  The sun was setting, the buildings spilled long shadows over the cobblestone street. I followed a few paces behind her. As we walked, the buildings became shorter and in obvious disrepair. In the few times I had ventured out of the House, we had always walked east to the markets. Now we were walking west with the blood red sun blazing in the distance.

  Horse carriages rolled past us and pedestrians stared just long enough to give me chills. I dashed a few steps to catch up with her.

  “Where are we going?” I couldn’t hold my silence any longer.

  “You’ll see,” Heather said.

  I glared at the back of her head and glanced around. The surrounding houses were slanted and slouched. Broken glass from windows littered the ground. The yowling of stray cats filled the air. I had never witnessed such poverty before in all my life. My nose wrinkled at a pungent smell of rotten food and urine. I held my sleeve to my nose.

  Just as I was going to try to convince Heather to turn around, she stopped.

  We were standing in front of a two-story building with a slanted roof. The front bottom windows were boarded up, but the top was lit up. There was noise coming from inside. The building was nondescript except for a red lantern hanging above the door.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “What is this place?”

  A loud bang echoed down the lane beside us and a skinny white cat shot down the street.

  “You don’t like your gilded cage?” Heather whispered. “Do you want to see what a real prison looks like?”

  The sky was growing dark above us and the breeze brought in a chill. I wrapped my arms around myself. “No, no, that’s ok. Let’s go back, please.”

  Heather smirked. “Too late, Violet.” Without warning, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the dark alley.

  I pulled against her, but she was stronger than she looked.

  A window down the side of the building was open. I could hear laughter and voices talking. The stench of rotten meat drifted into my nose and I covered my face with my hand again. If Heather noticed the smell, she didn’t say anything about it.

  Heather nodded her head towards the basement window. “Look.”

  I braced myself and peeked in the window. There were people inside a tiny room with hardly any furniture. A woman who was barely dressed was speaking to a man with a familiar glint in his eye. In the corner were two men passed out and dressed in stained clothes. Another woman was by the door, swaying and looking at her hands.

  The man grinned as the scantily clad woman held her arm up. She picked up a dagger from the floor and sliced into her skin.

  I choked back a gasp and tried to turn my head. Heather’s hand was on my neck, immobilizing me. I shut my eyes tightly instead.

  “Watch, Violet. Consider this your most important lesson.”

  I forced my eyes open to see the man drinking blood directly from the woman’s arm. She was pale and riddled with bruises. Her eyes were sunken into her skull. She smiled and swayed as the Royal drank her blood.

  The buzzing of flies in my ear couldn’t drown out the sounds of her laughing hysterically. Her eyes were glazed as if someone had drugged her. The man released her arm, and she sank to the dirty floor.

  Finally, Heather let me go.

  I gasped and sank down onto the ground. I held back tears, hiccupping and trying to catch my breath.

  I heard shouts from inside the slanted building. Heather grabbed me and pulled me into the shadows. I put my hand over my mouth to keep silent.

  More shouting and the door slammed again. A man stumbled out, stared down the alley and shuffled off.


  I sighed and sat on the ground, abandoning any dignity I had left. I held my hand to my chest, feeling my pounding heart. “Is this a Blood House?”

  Heather snorted. “If you can call it that,” she said. “Royals come to places like this to get their kicks. It let their demons loose for a little while.”

  I shivered, remembering the Baron. My other clients had been polite, respectful, and not very talkative. Strictly business. I was suddenly grateful for their restraint. I relaxed against the side of the building and let my hands fall to my sides.

  The flies buzzing was overwhelming. My hand brushed something cold. I glanced down and, in the shadows, saw a human hand a strange shade of blue. I bolted to my feet, clapping my hands over my mouth again. My wide eyes unable to move away from the body. It was a woman; her face rotted beyond recognition.

  Heather caught me as I reeled backwards. She kept a tight hold on my arm and pulled me from the alley. Walked as quickly as possible without attracting attention. I muffled my sobs, biting down on my lip until I tasted blood.

  I finally collapsed on a bench when we reached a safe distance.

  Heather looked shaken but kept her voice steady. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” She whispered.

  I gagged and threw up, keeping my head between my knees, not caring when the contents of my stomach splattered against my boots.

  Heather handed me a flask of water from her coat pocket.

  I drank deeply and closed my eyes, unable to get the memory of the woman’s rotting face out of my head.

  Heather sat beside me and took off her hat. She ran her fingers through her tightly coiled hair and sighed. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she said. “I just wanted to show you what could have happened if Madam hadn’t signed your contract.”

  I snorted and shook my head. “Lesson learned,” I muttered, hugging my arms around myself. A passing carriage broke the silence. “How did you know about that place?” My voice was raspy.

  Heather looked at her hands. “That’s where I was before Madam found me.”

  For a moment, I didn’t believe her. “You?” I gasped.

  Heather nodded. “Yes.” She shrugged. “Not long, though, thank the Gods. When I was fourteen, a man came to my father, this was back in my home country,” she added. “We were poor, and he told my father that the Royals would love a beautiful dark-skinned girl as a servant. He promised security and good pay. He agreed, and they sent me to the Capital. Now, even to this day, I believe that the man was telling the truth. He worked for the highest nobility, looking for exotic blood. But when we arrived, I was kidnapped and brought here.”

  She gestured down the way we had run. She looked at her hands for a moment before continuing. “Thankfully, Madam always has her ears open for new Bloodletters. She found out about me and bought me shortly after that. Then I had a proper Sampling, a list of clients and, most importantly, given a home and treated with respect.”

  I rubbed my hands together to warm them. “I see,” I said. “I’m sorry, if I would have known, I wouldn’t have –”

  “Don’t worry.” Heather cut me off. “Nothing will change the past. I just wanted to teach you how lucky you are to have Madam.”

  “And you,” I added.

  Heather sniffed and shook her head. “I guess so.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I looked up. The sky was dark now, brightened by a crescent moon and twinkling stars.

  “What?”

  “Why do you stay?”

  “With Madam?” Heather sounded surprised. “Well, I’m the mentor. It’s my job to train new Bloodletters.”

  “Yes, but twenty years? Haven’t you cheated death long enough?” I looked at her. “You could have gone home.”

  “The Blood House is my home.”

  I didn’t argue. There was no point.

  “Maybe,” Heather said. “It will be your home, too.”

  “Not for long,” I said.

  She chuckled. “You sound determined.”

  “As soon as I’m a legal adult, I’m gone,” I said, clenching my cold hands.

  Heather nodded. “Then that’s your choice.” She paused. “I saw the headlines, you know. You’ll find there’s peace in being dead.”

  ELEVEN

  I WAS DEAD.

  Part of me felt strangely relieved. I sat on my bed with the front page of the newspaper in my hands. I read the article over and over. I must have read it a thousand times. The thin paper was wrinkled and smeared with ink.

  It was wonderfully written, telling the story of a family had only begun to heal from the loss of a mother and wife, only to have their daughter disappear on a boating trip. Her body had not been found, and she was presumed to have drowned.

  I shook my head. How convenient. What the article had not mentioned was that the father had sold his daughter for her blood. And that she was a great swimmer.

  There was a peaceful side of being dead. No more expectations, no family name to tie me to and no history. Here I was, Violet. Just plain Violet. No, not plain, I decided. I could start new. And I would not waste this chance.

  ∾

  From that night on, I didn’t waste a single moment pouting or whining or getting angry. Every time I felt my mood begin to sour, I closed my eyes and imagined the dead Bloodletter left to rot in the alley.

  The dresses I ordered from Maurice finally arrived and I was not disappointed. Two in black, one a robin’s egg blue, a mint green, and a rich red. They all had full skirts, cinched in waists and low necklines, as was the fashion for the Capital – according to Greta. I dressed in darker colors for my evening appointments, lighter for my daytime ones.

  My schedule remained busy but not as full as the first two weeks. Thankfully, I had not seen the Baron since my first Bloodletting. My other appointments had been uneventful, and I was getting much better at the entire Bloodletting process.

  I rested well and ate my fill at every meal. The doctor was happy with my health and hadn’t removed me from the roster yet. Amelia was on bedrest often. As for the others, I didn’t know, because we kept conversation light and casual during meals.

  May rolled into June, bringing long days and hot weather. The amount of appointments slowed to a trickle.

  At dinner one night, I mentioned it, worrying that it was only my clients that had tapered off. “Does the amount of appointments change based on the season?”

  Thomas looked up from his plate of liver and onions. “What do you mean?”

  I hesitated, hoping I wasn’t the only one experiencing a lull in appointments. I felt their eyes on me. “Well, I found business has slowed down a bit.”

  Thomas nodded. “Lots of Royals go north to their vacation homes when the weather gets too hot.” He took a bite of bread.

  Greta smirked. “Those who can afford to anyway,” she added, daintily picking at her meal. “It’s terrible for Bloodletters like me who host the best of the best, knowing they're getting their blood from somewhere else.”

  Jack, the boy with gloves, rolled his eyes. “It’s not always about you.”

  I stared. He barely ever spoke.

  Amelia gasped beside me. This was her first meal with the rest of the house in a week. She was having trouble recouping and the lull in business would no doubt serve her well.

  Greta glared at Jack.

  The tension in the room was high. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one worried about the lack of business.

  As if reading my mind, Thomas spoke up. “Don’t worry. They’ll be back in the fall. We should enjoy the rest.”

  Penelope, the girl who was always buried in sweaters spoke in her tiny voice. “I know I appreciate the break.”

  Greta pouted and pushed her plate away. “If not giving blood is something you all celebrate, maybe you are in the wrong line of work.” She spat and stood.

  No one called after her as she left. We sat in silence for a while. Tea and brownies were served for dessert.

  Thom
as glanced around the quiet table. “Oh, come on now, everyone,” he said around a mouthful. “Don’t let her get to you. She’s just sore because a Collection is coming up.”

  I set down my teacup. “Collecting?”

  Thomas nodded. “The ultimate goal, for a Bloodletter like her,” he explained. “The highest Royals and the ruling family request blood samples from the most exclusive Blood Houses. Then, if they taste blood that they like, they will buy out the contract from the owner of the House. Then that Bloodletter will become private property.”

  I frowned. “Why would Greta want that?”

  “To be a personal Bloodletter to a Royal?” Jack peeped. “Just imagine the luxury. A private room, no line of clients, living in a mansion or a chateau.” His voice went soft. “That’s right up her alley. She’s a princess in her own mind, after all.”

  The rest of the table nodded in agreement.

  “And another thing,” Thomas added. “Greta’s been here so long and never been Collected. She takes it personally. So, maybe steer clear from her until the Collection is over.”

  I leaned back in my chair, leaving my brownie untouched. “I see.”

  Amelia patted my hand. “Don’t worry, you’re too new, they won’t be Collecting from you.”

  A strange feeling settled in my gut. Disappointment?

  ∾

  When Dr. Coleman came to take samples from the more experienced Bloodletters, I sat alone in the parlor and waited.

  “Feeling left out?” Roger was cleaning again. I doubted even a speck of dust could hit the floor without him hearing it.

  I shrugged and curled my legs underneath me. I was sitting in a green wingback chair by a window that presented a beautiful view of the gardens.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Violet,” he said. “You’ll have your chance soon enough.”

  I forced a smile and looked out the window. Bees were flitting from one flower to the next. I couldn’t explain why I felt disappointed. I had just begun to adjust to this new life; the last thing I should want was a change. Yet, that was what I craved the most.

  Amelia entered the parlor with a sigh and sunk onto the sofa opposite me. A fresh bandage was tied around her arm. She pulled a blanket around her legs.