by Kelsey Quick
Everything fell away from me in that moment, leaving only embarrassment, shame, and a soul so shattered that I still can’t tell if it’s mended.
“No broken bones, and absolutely no blood. So be mindful of your prowess,” Mettingskew finished. “Z85775, please step forward and perform your honorable duty.”
Even at the time, I expected the raven-haired girl to be hesitant, to look me in the eyes with a silent apology as her hands were tied… but that’s not what I saw. When I looked up at her, I saw disgust. Hatred.
She slapped me so hard I nearly fell over, my cheek catching fire instantly.
“Too hard dear, there’s at least thirty more girls behind you. Back of the line.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Mettingskew,” she replied earnestly, bowing. I watched her slink away as tears began to stream down my face, burning the afflicted cheek.
Why would she—?
“You would do well to stop your sobbing, lest it will hurt worse,” Mettingskew said to me. “Next, T54385.”
Girl, after girl, it was the same. An honest look of contempt, as if I was an offensive outsider, and a burning rejection swelling more and more along my face. Despite Mettingskew’s warning, my tears never stopped.
It wasn’t until a short, tan-skinned girl with rippling hair stepped up that I finally saw what I longed to see. Unlike the rest of the supply units who had offered me judgment, this one graced me with sympathy. Tears brimmed her long lashes, her lips quivering as she sniffled. Her eyes pled a wavering “sorry” before she slapped me pitifully, without sting.
She lowered her eyes and turned to the back of the line.
Not far after that, she became my only friend at Nightingale: number G89165, or as I chose to call her: Savvy.
We all funnel into a room. Girls on the left, boys on the right, with a raised pedestal in the center, holding upon it the biggest waste of space I ever did see—Mettingskew. She scowls at me as I walk in, and I happily return the gesture before scanning the crowd for Savvy.
She’s ahead of me, talking to another supply unit and completely oblivious. I smile as I weave through the other girls and their dorm mothers, pissing my own pair off in the process. Savvy is more stunning than usual in her mauve lipstick and purple silk dress; her number printed clear as day up on it. Unlike me, Savvy was born into this world with only a number for a name. And while most humans name themselves eventually, Savvy went nameless until I insisted I give her one, following the punishment episode. I finally came up with “Savvy”—the nickname of my favorite doll back in my home country.
Savvy’s beautiful figure, face, and dark brown hair has always been a distraction from her stunning personality. It was never a wonder why she was one of the more well-connected girls in our class, despite choosing to have me as company. She always smiled, and I never could figure out how she ended up that way… being born into this hell and still being so optimistic and likable, I mean. Because of her, I finally realized that never knowing or experiencing any better is the key to true happiness.
I’m nearly nose to nose with her before she realizes that it’s me.
“Wavorly!” she gasps, throwing her arms around me, and my day is suddenly so much brighter.
Savvy belongs to Hox Giomar, another of the elitist military leaders that rule the Stratocracy. In fact, all of the supply units admitted to Nightingale have to be represented by one of the five rulers to be accepted.
“What happened?” she whispers, turning away from her friend, Katarii, who pretty much snarls at me. She’s a real gem. Like the rest of our class, save Savvy, she took pleasure in slapping me that day.
“I was so close,” I say, fighting back tears of lost pride. “They caught me at the last second.”
Savvy grabs my shoulders. “What’s going to happen? Did they…” She trails off, looking around. Most supply units are expert eavesdroppers. She switches to French—our secret language that I taught her over the years in our spare time together. “...tell Lord Zein? Are you going to be able to leave before the Distribution?”
I respond in French, the nostalgia of the language warming me a little. “They told him, but he’s making the decision at the ceremony. There’s no way I’ll be able to make it out before then.”
“He could decide to keep you, still.” Savvy’s eyes light up a little.
“Yeah, right. My happiness is at an all-time low, so even my blood quality test is going to be a nightmare. I think not.”
Savvy makes a funny face and it’s so random that I chuckle.
“Maybe that will help the blood test,” she says, smiling sadly because we both know it won’t. She thinks a minute before speaking. “It is insane that Zein did nothing about it, again. I overheard Mrs. Mettingskew complaining about it. It seems most of our masters know your number now.”
“I don’t get what makes me so different... except that I have unique features, I guess?” I suggest, drawing on what Narref said back in the dungeon.
“He has been known for collecting humans based on their traits,” she confirms. Then she analyzes her body and picks at her fingernails. “I could be in the same boat. I hope Lord Giomar likes everything about me...”
I fight not to gag. I know pleasing her vampiric owner has always been Savvy’s sole desire, but it boils my blood. But I don’t let it show.
“C’est ridicule. What’s not to like? Quit it.” I say, offering what little assurance I can. “He’ll be enchanted, no questions asked.”
Savvy smiles.
Giomar, also known as the “ladies lieutenant,” is not as feared by the professors as Zein simply because he’s easy to deal with while handling blood supply issues, going so far as to donate them to the front lines or send them to Saya’s Breeding houses on the first offense. I guess that’s to be expected when you own a third of the school’s girls, and a few boys—it’s easy to find any one of them expendable. Zein, on the other hand, owns the least of all the slaves in the school. From what I understand, he usually accepts Nightingale’s will to punish out-of-line supply units, but then also enacts his own form of retribution upon the staff for interrupting his affairs. I suppose he’s too busy to concern himself with the likes of us, but I couldn’t care less.
“Attention, darlings. This way.”
Everyone simultaneously focuses on the garbage standing tall on the pedestal, Mettingskew.
“The Distribution will commence shortly. The dorm mothers have done well to primp you for your master’s liking. May our honorable council see the worth in all of you.” She then peers down at me and says, deadpan, “Although there is nothing of worth in aberrants.”
Everyone gasps and their eyes fly to me, watching me like I’m a rat feasting on the very last cracker in the box.
“I’d rather die, anyway,” I manage to say, quickly bandaging the wounds that those words so expertly reopened—the roots of a deep and ongoing pain that delve a little deeper within my heart. Savvy squeezes the hand at my side, lightly.
“You don’t mean that,” she says to me in French.
I don’t respond because, well, I very well might.
Mettingskew continues, moving on. “From here, each of you will file into color-coded categories based on your sponsors. There are only five choices, given the five honorable rulers, and if you don’t know the color of your sponsor by now then you should already be on your way to the fallen pit.”
Low chatter erupts, and a heavy anxiety settles on the room at the mention of the fallen.
“Once you come before your sponsor, the aid will draw blood from your arm and present it to him or her.” She glances to the boys who mostly don gold tunics.
“Should your sponsor find it, and everything else, satisfying, you will be on your way to your master’s residence. Should they not find you, or your blood satisfying…” As Mettingskew says this, she looks at me and me, alone. “...then you will be fed to Nightingale’s fallen reservoir.”
In this moment I carry all the weight of
what tonight will bring. A daunting realization so strong that my knees struggle to keep from buckling here and now. What’s the point in even moving from this spot? In hours I will reunite with Zein, and he will either sentence me to death or to a life worse than death. Everything. Every little hope I ever found anywhere, was all for nothing.
“I will miss you, Wave,” Savvy says, because she knows that whether by death or distance we most likely will never see each other again.
“Me too.”
chapter 3
Despite the rest of the herd moving straight ahead through the towering wooden doors, my escorts veer me left again, separating me from the traffic.
“We don’t have much time, but we must prepare your beauty to standard… or try to, at least,” one of the dorm mothers says in an airy voice, giving me the once over. I’m used to it. I’m not exactly as pretty as the humans bred for beauty.
But she’s right. I can’t go to Distribution in a hospital gown with greasy hair. If I were to be presented this way, my dorm mothers would be in as much trouble as me.
At the end of the hall, we turn right, entering a darkened room lit ever so slightly by enchanted, flower-burning lanterns. Enchanted, meaning a type of magical mechanism put into motion by a gifted, pureblood vampire who is most likely either ancient or dead. The flower-burning lanterns are beautiful; their wicks constantly burning a never-ending supply of Cain’s Triltree flowers harvested out of thin air, with the hue of the lantern determined by the flower’s color. They are tripped by our entrance, and the room alights in shades of pearly pink and frothy green.
One of the mothers points to the center, motioning me to stand upon a surface of wet brick with two bronze fountains on either side of it. I remove my clothes and bandages and hold out my arms. From the second the dorm mothers draw the fountain heads out of their shells, it takes only two minutes to accomplish the task. One fountain head sprays perfumed and soapy water, while the other follows behind it to rinse off the grime. I would think that with this level of technology vampires would have also discovered how to heat the water, but apparently not. One of the women takes a single, long glance at my anklet. Before she can even take the first step, I make it clear.
“You’re not taking it from me,” I assure. If they want it, they will have to chop off my foot to get it, but I know the game. They aren’t allowed to rough me up because I am, for now anyway, a precious investment.
Her eyes meet mine from beneath her eyebrows, shadowy orbs measuring my stature, my competence. She looks about ready to challenge me, but then chuckles before shrugging. The other one just stares, unamused by my display, but she doesn’t try anything, either.
I’m given a small towel before they corral me into the next area. My mouth drops upon entrance to the circular room; every inch of it covered by panels of luminous, reflective glass. For a moment I stand in awe as I study myself from all different angles and places. I haven’t seen a mirror like this since my home back in France. They were never allowed in the school or dorms.
“Ah, yes. The coveted mirror. Enjoy ravishing yourself.” The candid dorm mother snickers. I don’t reply, mainly because the energy that would be expended wouldn’t be worth it.
The other dorm mother tinkers with a mirror panel that has a crisp letter “Z” carved into the top. It slides open, and a single, long, ruby-red dress is revealed. Ruby is Lord Anton Zein’s indicative color in the Stratocracy of Cain. I lose interest as fast as I gained it, returning my attention to myself in one of the crystal panels, carefully analyzing everything about me. I see new things, like lightly colored birthmarks and blemishes that I never knew I had. Things that don’t necessarily displease me, but cause me to question how much I actually know my own body. Like finally putting a face to your own name.
A tug on my arm pulls me from the panel, and the mothers remove my towel. They proceed to dress me, primp me, and curl my hair with hot rounded coils. They place lavender scents upon my chest and arms. And while I should be in awe of myself like everyone else probably was during their dressing, I can’t help but find it all very... useless. A waste of time. My mind wanders to my inevitable fate, and I find only enough motivation to prevent myself from crumpling to the floor.
There’s no point to any of this.
“No,” I say, when they bring out the bottles of red, black, and fleshly liquid. They pause and tilt their heads, probably more shocked that a human tried to give them an order.
“You both must know what I did to land me in that infirmary. I’m sure you’ve heard your fair share of rumors, too, so what’s the point in all of this?”
They glance at each other, still shocked I assume, before the more assertive one speaks.
“That is none of our concern. Making you presentable is our job whether you will be subjected to death or not.”
I hold in a tight breath as the brushes make contact with my face, scouring the crevices. The other vampire, the candid one, offers a strange reply.
“If you know that you are going to die, why not leave this world with all you’ve got left within?”
“...What?” I wrinkle my eyebrows. Unsure if I heard her correctly.
“If you will die no matter what, you might as well die doing something fun. You know? If all you have left is your pride, leave this world with your pride.”
The other dorm mother narrows her eyes at her companion in scorn, but she pays her no mind.
“Pride?” I say, mainly to myself. The conversation stops there.
When they finish, it becomes difficult to look at my reflection. The person that I see in the mirror does not seem right. It doesn’t feel like me. What’s more is that as my time slowly seeps away, I grow even more regretful and angry; unbelievably anxious and scared. Even if Zein keeps up his streak of not sentencing any humans to death—for whatever reason—still my life is only as great as what it can do to fuel the vampire race. That means Saya’s Houses… where I will be forced to bear child after child, each one damned to live out their lives pining for vampire attention and hosting an endless bloodlust, until they finally end up back where they all started… where I will most definitely end.
I clench my teeth and lower my head as we make our exit back. I was unable to escape this prison that I have been confined to for ten years, and now, what faces me are only the most insufferable paths. Paths that converge to serve the very things I hate in the most horrible ways I can imagine.
But what can I do?
I lift my head as we enter the doors from before, the hallway now cleared of supply units and dorm mothers. We find them all in the sanctuary. Five long lines of supply units face away from us, each stationed in front of a colored banner—Ruby, Amethyst, Emerald, Gold, or Sapphire. Right now, the Sapphire banner is lit from the staged blue, flower-burning lanterns on the ceiling, meaning that Reginald Amaorin’s supply units—who are all dressed in sapphire blue—are the first to be judged. Two vampire guards from the connecting hallway, dead center, motion for the next unit to proceed from the front of the sapphire line.
Meanwhile, my dorm mothers direct me to the end of the Ruby banner’s group which is undoubtedly the shortest but filled with the most beautiful. My eyes trace over them as I recognize only one of the ten or so girls. Glera is one of them, a strange and timid one who shared my bunk at the dorm. She was admitted into Nightingale late, like me, but as a gift to Lord Zein from an ally across borders. She, like the others in the ruby line, radiates with a raw and unique beauty making at least one thing true. Anton Zein is definitely a collector of rare humans.
By the way it’s proceeding, I will be the very last supply unit through the Distribution. The sudden urge to run overcomes me as I fumble over how long I will have to wait; how long I will have to distract myself from what’s ahead until it actually comes. What I wouldn’t do to be the first in line, if only to rip the bandage off.
The Gold banner alights—Marina Schovir’s indicative color. All of her supply units, nearly all of t
he male slaves in the school, save for a few, are dressed in bright gold. After Marina’s, it will be Trovier Tsala with Emerald green, followed by Hox Giomar with Amethyst purple, and finally, Anton Zein with Ruby red.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glint of familiar dark, wavy hair. Near the middle of the longest line of supply units is Savvy.
I call out to her, gathering strange looks from the other units, and evil glares from their dorm mothers. My own dig their sharp nails into my skin with disapproval, but I ignore it. Savvy turns my way and I lift my hand. She reciprocates and offers a weak smile—definitely a result of her spent nerves. Behind her is Katarii, who scowls at me.
Savvy opens her mouth to speak but her own dorm mothers reprimand her before she is able. I watch as she turns back to face the front, reluctantly so, and I am forced to do the same. Hox Giomar’s banner is eventually illuminated and as each moment passes, Savvy inches closer and closer to the front, farther and farther out of reach. This moment carries the feeling that it will forever be branded into my memory: watching the personification of meekness get swallowed by the monstrous darkness of the judgment hall. Soon, she’s gone, and before I know it, my own line moves forward.
Heat flashes consume me. Tunnel vision. The blood in my veins flush straight to my head, making my body dangerously close to collapsing to the floor.