The Bloodletters

by Samantha Bell

  “How was it?” I asked.

  Amelia shrugged. Her round eyes were watery and tired. “The usual. They don’t take much, but there is paperwork and health forms to fill out.”

  “They’re so strict,” I said.

  “Well, death from diseased blood is close to the King’s heart. It’s how his father died after all,” Roger said.

  “Your blood goes straight to the King?” I asked.

  “Well, the ruling family gets the first pick and then the other nobility picks from what’s left,” Amelia said. She shivered. “I hope I get passed over again.”

  “The way Jack talked about it, it sounded like being Collected would be a charmed life,” I replied. “For a Bloodletter anyway.”

  “Oh, it would.” Greta sat down beside Amelia. She fidgeted with the bandage around her arm. “Being a Bloodletter for a Prince.” She threw her head back in a swoon. “Now that’s a life.”

  “It’s a life sentence, more like,” Amelia muttered.

  “Like you’re going to accomplish anything better?” Greta shot back. “Save your money, find your true love and live happily ever after?” She sneered.

  Amelia looked away and bit her nails. The slightest pink tinge shone in her cheeks.

  I glared at the blond. “Don’t mock her dream.”

  “Oh, pardon me!” She laughed.

  I gritted my teeth. “You know, I can see why you never get Collected. If I were a Royal, I bet your blood would make me sick.”

  Greta’s beautiful face contorted with anger. “How dare you!” She shrieked. Without warning, she leaped towards me like a wild animal. She tackled me against the chair, slapping my face.

  “Ladies!” Roger shouted, dropping his duster.

  Amelia cried out. “Stop it, Greta!”

  I shoved her back, clawing at her with the same ferocity. All my pent-up anger and frustration came rushing out.

  Strong hands pulled us apart and Thomas shoved himself between us. “Violet! Greta!” He boomed.

  Greta took a step back, breathing hard. “She started it!”

  “I did not!” I screamed back.

  “I don’t care who started it!” Thomas hissed. “Stop acting like children.”

  I plopped down on the sofa beside Amelia. She was starting at me with her round eyes, terrified. I looked away, ashamed of my outburst.

  “What’s going on in here?” Heather stormed into the room.

  I didn’t meet her eyes.

  Greta pointed at me, but Thomas quickly slapped her hand away.

  Heather glared at us in turn. “There’s a representative from the government here with Dr. Coleman, I’m sure I need not remind you of the severity of the Collections.” She hissed at us. “Keep it down in here, or you’ll answer to me.” She slammed the door behind her as she left.

  Thomas let out a breath he was holding in.

  Greta choked out a sob, hiding her face with her hand. She had scratch marks on her arm. I had done that.

  I had never physically attacked anyone in anger before. I looked at the red lines on her arm and clenched my fists.

  Roger cleared his throat. I had forgotten he was there. “I think,” he said. “I think I’ll put on a pot of tea.”

  ∾

  Over two weeks passed when the results of the Collecting came back. It had been a relatively quiet two weeks with few clients and lots of rest. My cold hands and feet were warming up, my skin was looking healthier and the weight I had lost was coming back slowly.

  Amelia told me to enjoy the lull. Winter was the longest season for a Bloodletter. Hungry clients, lack of sunshine and absence of fresh fruit and vegetables made recovery hard.

  Amelia and I were sitting in the garden when the news arrived. Amelia was trying to teach me a card game common in Chwetir, where she grew up, but I couldn’t get the hang of it. Not to mention that the wind was adding an extra level of difficulty.

  She was giggling and I couldn’t help but stare at her. This was the first time I could remember having a friendship with a girl my age. The girls I met at balls and made small talk with, I used to hold on to those conversations and pretend that they were my friends, but I was only a rung in the social ladder. They agreed with me to win favor and investigate me for their brothers who only saw me as a political conquest.

  Amelia snorted and blushed. She had only seen two clients this past while and her health was returning as well.

  I smiled, appreciating the moment.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” Roger approached with a tray of tea and scones. He set it down on the table between us.

  “Hello, Roger,” Amelia said. “I’m trying to teach her Five Fingers.”

  Roger laughed. “Oh, that one.” He winked at me. “She tried to teach me last winter when we were snowed in by a dreadful blizzard. If I must say, it’s better with more than two players.”

  Amelia waved her hand. “She needs to learn the basics before she embarrasses herself in front of Thomas.”

  “Is Thomas from Chwetir too?” I asked.

  Amelia shook her head and tightened the ribbon around her ponytail. “No, but he is a lover of card games.”

  Roger poured us tea and then pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “This came for you, Miss Amelia. About the Collection.”

  Amelia blanched. She took the envelope with trembling hands. She read the letter quickly, her eyes flicking back and forth wildly, before letting out a sigh and falling back in her chair. “Denied. Thank the Gods.”

  Roger nodded. “Glad to hear it. So, we won’t be losing anyone this season.” He bowed his head. “I’ll see you at dinner, ladies.”

  I watched as Amelia crumpled up the paper and threw it into the fountain. “I guess that means Greta will be staying with us too?”

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately.” She gasped and pressed her fingers to her lips. “That was not kind of me.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  TWELVE

  LADY BENEDICT WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITE CLIENTS. She returned from her holiday early due to her husband’s urgent business matters. The Countess was always reserved, quiet, and patient as one would expect a lady of her station.

  She sipped my blood and made polite talk while she drank. She was most interested in my upbringing, but I never revealed my family name, only that I had grown up with the nobility of Wythtir. She asked many questions but seemed satisfied with weak answers.

  When our time together was done, I bowed my head to her. The Countess thanked me for my company before leaving.

  As I left, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror and paused to adjust the mint green dress. I smoothed it over my hips and straightened the bodice.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” I called.

  “It’s just me.” It was Heather. She opened the door. “You hadn’t come out, so I was worried.”

  I waved away her worries. “Fine, just needed a moment to myself.” I collected the Bloodletting tools and handed them to her for sterilization.

  “Great, I’ll see you at dinner then,” She said. “Oh, and happy Summer Festival.”

  I startled, realizing the date. The first day of summer and a holiday for all the provinces. The people of Wythtir were celebrating with parties, buffets and drunken dancing. My heart fluttered with a hint of homesickness. I buried the feeling deep inside myself and carried on.

  ∾

  Dinner was perfect as always, with red meat and an assortment of vegetables and side dishes. Thomas, Penelope, Jack, and Amelia were there. Greta was in her room sulking from yet another rejection to be Collected.

  “She’ll come around,” Thomas said with a shrug.

  “It’s been three days, how much time does she need?” Penelope said. She was wrapped up in only one beige sweater that night. “I mean, after ten years, isn’t it obvious that they’re not interested?”

  “It’s not necessarily that her blood is bad; there just might be better opt
ions in other Houses.”

  “No.” I slipped into the conversation. “I’m pretty sure her blood is just spoiled.”

  The others stifled laughs.

  Heather walked in with a large chocolate cake decorated with white icing and enormous strawberries. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

  We gasped as one. The others turned to Amelia and grinned. “Happy Birthday!”

  Amelia squealed and buried her face in her hands to hide her face. “Oh, you didn’t have to.” She mumbled.

  Heather set down the cake between us. Miss Prescott cleared away the dinner plates as silently as a ghost. Vincent stuck his head around the corner. “Do you like it?”

  Amelia turned a brighter shade of red. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

  “Hey, it’s not every day a girl turns seventeen.” Vincent winked before heading back to the kitchen.

  I smiled at her. Two more years and she would take her savings and go back to get married and start a life. I admired her for her goals.

  I was still in limbo.

  ∾

  The next morning, I didn’t feel like my normal self. The puncture wound from my meeting with the Countess was red and throbbing. I rolled over and groaned.

  Amelia was sitting on the edge of her bed, brushing her long hair. “What’s wrong, Violet?”

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing,” I said. I inspected my arm discretely. There was a large purplish bruise where I had inserted the needle yesterday and the skin was especially tender. I went over the steps in my head and I knew I had taken care of the wound properly after the appointment.

  I excused myself to the washroom and pressed a cold wet cloth against the burning skin. I dug fresh bandages from a basket on the wall and wrapped my arm tightly.

  By that evening, I felt as if I were running a fever. I laid on my bed in my nightgown; the cotton stuck to my skin. I shivered uncontrollably.

  Heather’s distinctive knock woke me from a restless nap. “Violet?”

  My parched mouth struggled to form words. “Yes?” I croaked.

  The bedroom door flew open and Heather rushed to my side. “Violet! Are you ok?” She dropped to her knees and felt my forehead.

  I tried to speak, but the words came out in an indistinguishable wheeze.

  Heather seized my right arm and ripped off the bandage. The tiny wound was red and leaking puss. “Infection!” She hissed and hauled me to my feet. “You need to see the doctor now.”

  I nodded and allowed myself to be led down the stairs to Dr. Coleman’s office. I was dizzy and nauseous by the time we stopped.

  Heather rapped on the door. “Doctor!” She called.

  The doctor opened the door and raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  Heather pushed past him and helped me onto the cot. “She has an infection in her right arm.”

  Dr. Coleman inspected the swollen wound and tutted. “Yes, that’s what it looks like. Lucky you caught her when you did.”

  “She had an appointment later, I came to get her,” Heather said. She gasped and snapped her fingers. “I must arrange a replacement. Excuse me, doctor.”

  Dr. Coleman waved her off. He held my arm up to the light and pressed on the bruise.

  I winced.

  He wet a towel and placed it on my burning forehead. “Don’t worry, Miss Violet,” he said. “I’ll fix you up and you’ll be right as rain in no time.” He rummaged through his tools. The doctor sliced into the wound with a scalpel and squeezed the pus out. I didn’t even so much as whine until he pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut.

  The doctor wiped the cut and patted it dry before wrapping it with a fresh bandage. “There you go.” He said. “You’ll have to keep an eye on it.” He went to his cabinet and returned with a tincture. He poured some into a paper cup and handed it to me. “This will help with the pain.”

  I drank it quickly and grimaced at the taste. “How did this happen? I’ve always taken good care of my wounds.”

  Dr. Coleman shook his head. “Even all the precautions in the world won’t stop an infection now and then.” He took off his glasses and wiped them on the hem of his white coat. “Bloodletters have several challenges to face, health wise,” he continued. “Your immune system is under constant pressure, so the occasional infection should be expected.”

  I nodded and took the cold compress away from my head.

  “Now all you need to do is rest,” The doctor said with a stern look. “I’ll have to check your blood in a few days to see if it is fit to be ingested.”

  Heather returned to help me to my room. She closed the blinds tightly and tucked me into bed.

  “You don’t have to do this.” I murmured.

  Heather shook her head. “Of course, I do. I’m the house mentor.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Why?”

  Heather looked puzzled. “What do you mean, why?”

  “Why do you do all this? A Bloodletter, a mentor, Madam’s assistant, half the maid’s work,” I could have gone on, but my mouth was too dry.

  Heather smiled and shook her head. “I thought you would have realized this was my life now, Violet.” She said, smoothing my hair back from my forehead with care. “For some people, the thought of being a Bloodletter for life seems crazy, stupid even. The average lifespan of a Bloodletter is twenty-two, based on a starting age of fifteen. Playing with fire, I believe the saying goes,” She said.

  I nodded, trying to keep my eyes open. The medicine the doctor gave me was making me sleepy.

  “Besides, Madam is nearing the end of her lifespan,” Heather said quietly. “No one is immortal, not even the Royals. She has to give the House to someone.”

  “What do you mean?” I blinked a few times. My voice was weak.

  Heather smiled, staring off into space. “It’s rumored that commoners can become Royal, though the science is weak, and experiments are inconsistent,” she whispered. “I’ve given my blood to them for twenty years. They can give me some of theirs.”

  THIRTEEN

  “I’VE GIVEN MY BLOOD TO THEM FOR TWENTY YEARS. THEY CAN GIVE ME SOME OF THEIRS.”

  I believed that Heather only spoke to me that way, thinking I’d be too drugged to remember, but I couldn’t forget a word.

  The infection passed and I was cleared to begin Bloodletting the week after.

  The summer swept in a blazing heat that I could barely feel in my frozen hands and feet. The days and nights passed slowly, and I fell into a complacent rhythm of bleeding, eating, and recovery.

  “Amelia,” I said to her one day as we were lounging in the garden. The doctor was convinced that spending time in the sun would be good for us.

  Amelia shaded her eyes from the sun with the book she was reading. “Yes?”

  I shut the book in my lap. We had started a miniature reading club to pass the slow summer months. She was a slow reader, so I often had to hold comments for a day or two, waiting for her to catch up. “I was just thinking,” I continued. “It’s been four months since I came here and there’s only still the six of us at dinner, when the table could easily sit more. Why has there not been any new Bloodletters?”

  Amelia hesitated, and I wondered if it were a more appropriate question for Heather. As much as I appreciated Heather for what she did, I knew that she told me half-truths. Amelia, when she spoke, seemed to be more reliable.

  “Well,” Amelia started. She set her book down and took a sip of lemonade. “It’s a slow season, with all the Royals being on vacation. Besides that, I think Madam is very choosy with whom she hires.”

  I asked the question that had been burning my tongue for days. “Do you think she just took me in to replace Rose?”

  Amelia paled and looked away. No one ever spoke of Rose, who had died only weeks before my arrival. No other names of dead Bloodletters grazed their lips. Even speaking of Greta’s former roommate Beatrice, who had retired healthy and very much alive, was taboo.

  “Maybe,” she whispered.

  I w
anted to regret my words that made her eyes swim with tears, but I couldn’t. On the outside I did everything that was expected of me: Bloodletting almost daily with no complaint of exhaustion or sickness. Inside, Heather’s words rang like booming temple bells.

  ∾

  July passed into August, and August faded into September, and the business began to pick up again. The days grew cooler and the nights longer; my schedule began to fill. Back-to-back Bloodletting appointments were exhausting, and I was thankful that I had recovered my strength over the summer.

  One evening in mid-September I was called to an unexpected appointment. I was tired, nearly too tired to put on a smile as I climbed the stairs and followed Heather to the small rooms on the third floor.

  Heather gestured to the first room. “This is your last appointment for the evening, please make sure you join us for dinner after.”

  I nodded, and she left me. When I opened the door, a small sound of surprise escaped my lips and my skin went cold.

  Lord Ramsey was sitting there, looking as fearsome and calm as ever.

  I let a mask of pleasant indifference slide over my face. “Good evening,” I said as I shut the door behind me.

  The Royal smiled. “Hello. Your beauty has only grown since last time we met.”

  I clenched my teeth. How dare he show his face in this Blood House again? I had never reported his inappropriate actions towards me, and he had not filed a complaint against me either. I had been led to believe we were in some sort of silent treaty and I would never have to give him my blood again. I was wrong.

  Lord Ramsey looked me up and down and then motioned to the chair beside him. “Well, are you just going to stand by the door all night while I starve?”

  I bit back a snide remark. Instead, I silently sat down and prepared my Bloodletting tools. I kept myself focused on the needles and tubing as to not make eye contact with him. I could feel him looking at me.

  “You’re blushing,” he whispered and reached out to me. He wrapped one of my curls around his finger. “Have you missed me? I apologize for not returning sooner. I had business in the North, you see.”

  I turned my face from him and cleared my throat. “Quite alright. Which arm, sir?” I kept my tone business-like. I did not want him getting any ideas.