by Kelsey Quick
We near the top of the staircase where the expanded hallway waits—the path to Zein’s room. Although the lasting uneasiness that used to accompany me to this spot has since disappeared, I still get a rush of anxiety every time I see his doors.
“See you in a bit, then,” Gemini says along with a nod of his head. He appears nervous, too.
“Thank you... for escorting me.” I dip into a lazy bow before making a kill-me-now face, my last attempt at humor. He shrugs, acting like he’s contemplating it.
The soldiers ahead open the doors for me, and my heart skips a beat. Two days ago, I would have strode right in without a second thought, making idle conversation before setting up the kortrastet for Zein to partake. But now, the feelings from my very first summoning revisit me. I have no idea what I’m about to encounter.
I push the lingering fear to the back of my mind and pass through into familiar and enveloping darkness. Nothingness greets me with a wave of cool air smelling of citrus-washed linens and scented oil. Like always, once the doors to Zein’s room close, the lanterns above flicker on by their magic—showering the room with their uniquely blue haze.
Zein is seated at his desk in the far corner of the space. A towel is draped across his neck, and his hair—damp with water—clings to his tunic. He must have just bathed, but I don’t dwell on that too long.
“Good evening, my lord,” I mutter about an octave higher than usual. “Shall I prepare the kortrastet?”
My ears await his toneless, “Yes.” At first, he would always reply with that single affirmation—though apparently not today. He doesn’t say anything, leaving the room to automatically fill with the tension I most dreaded, and I find myself pretty crippled by that fact. After a few moments of standing around, I head for the credenza anyway. It’s not a big deal if I take it upon myself to do the only thing I know to do, is it? My eyes sweep over Zein. No change in body language, no swivel of the head. Maybe the tension is all self-contrived, maybe he’s not angry with me.
I take the kortrastet package to the bed and connect the tubing and the silver-carved needle, waiting for something in the atmosphere to give. The drone of Zein’s pen skritching across parchment seems to last as long as my usual time in a summoning, until it finally clanks down into its wooden holster.
Zein stands and turns to look me in the eye, reminding me from the night before that this is something he only allows in secret. I avert my gaze anyway when the anxiety becomes too much to bear. Prior to this evening, eye contact wasn’t an issue. In fact, his company was just starting to become bearable. Did I ruin that? Am I… unhappy about it?
He saunters over, his eyes never leaving me.
“I should have expected such indignance from you,” he says, an unorthodox tone lacing it. Immediately, I know what he’s talking about. “I would have thought you smarter. To read the room well enough to at least pretend to be a hopelessly devoted mortal.”
My chest tightens with an ever-nagging frustration.
What was I going to apologize for, again?
“I am hopelessly devoted...” I seethe, watching his clenched fists loosening. “...to my mortal friends, and to no one else.”
Before I can comprehend his movements, his hand has me by the girth of my neck. He pulls me closer to him, his lips finding my ear in half a breath. “Always such daring words. How can you remain so embittered when I have been nothing but merciful to you?”
A slave house with shelter from the rain, and a slave house without shelter from the rain are still slave houses. And it seems the former’s master wants a pat on the back.
If he wants the truth. I’ll give him the truth.
“Mercy to you is not mercy to me,” I say, thinking about the previous night while trying to push away from him. “You think you’re being kind when all you’re doing is standing by and letting atrocities happen.”
He may not have taken Giomar’s offer on his supply unit’s blood, but he could have stepped in and said something. Zein has that privilege. I don’t, yet I still tried.
“You overestimate my patience,” Zein ominously replies, dropping his head to my neck. In an instant, pain explodes across my skin, the white-hot sting giving way to something blood-red, hot, and slick.
He bit me.
I scream and writhe but his fingers dig into my arms—I can’t move. I scream louder. He takes my blood carelessly, cutting so deep and awful with his canines that the aftershocks blur my vision. In moments, he pulls away—his silver irises swimming with unknown intentions.
“The fear you feel now is the fear that most mortals shoulder every waking moment within the vampire world,” he whispers. “In this world, you are powerless. The best a human can ever hope for is to belong to a merciful vampire.”
“You could never understand,” I snarl.
Zein’s hand wraps around my back while the other pushes me down to the bed by my neck—his grip like that of death, softened by the wetness my blood. My thoughts and vision, drown with this new fear.
“You would be surprised.” He holds me fast to the edge, conflict filling the gaps in his expression, hand tightening on my neck. “Apologize.”
Fear ties my tongue into knots. “I… I’m sorry,” I cave.
He leans over me and drops his lips centimeters from mine. A moment passes where all I can feel is his breath and all I can hear is my heart. Something in this strange moment leads me to question his motives, his desires.
His chest heaves against mine with every anger-ridden breath.
What does he want?
“...Good,” he rasps. Reluctantly, he releases me and stands, his eyes fractal from uneasy anger to bitter torment.
“Get up,” he commands, clearing his throat.
I comply, but everything within my vision is a blur. Wobbling on my feet from blood loss and adrenaline, he steadies me with a single hand on my back. A part of me wants to rip it off, clean from the bone. Another part, the part that doesn’t like falling, wants to let it stay.
Zein retrieves the small red towel that I had staged before everything and holds it to my neck, firmly. Moments pass like this, silence gradually enveloping us as I try to grab a hold of myself. I stare blankly into his chest even as the weight of his eyes linger on my face.
“You’re not going to send them away, are you?” I don’t specify who, but I know he understands.
“...No. By the law, they don’t belong to him anymore.”
Relief envelops me. At least, that part of me.
He eventually drops the towel only to secure a salved arument bandage along the fresh puncture wounds. The immediate evaporation of pain is enough to make me gasp.
Zein’s hand slowly drops to my back and pulls inward, pulling me to his body. Rage gives way to utter shock and confusion.
What is he—?
His heat radiates across borders, warm and comforting—starkly different from the deranged and chilly atmosphere, from his very actions moments before. The citrus scent of his skin fills my nostrils and for a moment, I am not myself. For a second, the walls drop, and I am suddenly aware of his heart beat.
Ba-bump, ba-bump.
Exactly like mine.
Even as I’m drawn into stagnancy by Zein’s sheltering gait, I rediscover myself and curse my weakness. Vampires and humans are not alike in the slightest. His fingers slide across my shoulder blade, but I push away, everything a jumbled mess in my mind as I turn to stumble toward the door.
“Permission to leave, my lord,” I request as the knots tighten within my stomach.
“Granted,” he replies reluctantly.
“Thank God,” I mutter, pushing open the wooden doors. I don’t know which is more powerful—the strange throbbing from my heart or the painful throbbing from my neck. But what I do know, is that Zein is not my ally.
✽✽✽
“He did that?” Katarii’s jaw drops like the wooden fork from her hand. “You said that?”
“Yes, but don’t tell anyone
,” I beg her and Savvy, my mind swimming in a constant, horrid replay. “I think there are enough rumors going on right now. I don’t need anyone to know about this.”
“That’s crazy,” Savvy says shaking her head in disbelief and I can’t tell if she’s referring to what Zein did, or how I reacted. “What do you think it meant, though? One moment he’s angry and the next he’s… embracing you?”
“He’s unpredictable. I have no idea,” I answer, burying my head in my elbows. From what I’ve noticed so far, punishment is conflicting for Zein. I wonder if he actually hates power plays, which would be so not vampire-esque.
“You don’t think he’s planning on dipping into your other services, do you?” I ask, trying to recall what my Other Services of a Supply Unit professor had taught on the awkward subject. Although I think I’m the only one who found it awkward. The other, brainwashed supply units seemed fond of the idea.
Savvy looks miles away in her own thoughts. “I mean, maybe? But it shouldn’t even be an issue with Zein. Remember what Emi said? He’s never messed with supply units like that. Not even Anaya.”
“...He told me I overestimate his patience right before he bit me,” I admit, readjusting the ribbon around my neck.
Savvy offers me a surreptitious side-glance.
“Finally. You hit on the subject that actually matters.” Katarii’s naturally deep voice booms. We whip our heads toward her.
“Is it impossible to be quiet? For once?” she barks at me, her knuckles curling on the cement table. “Whatever it was, Lord Zein was not happy. What does it mean for Savvy and me when he finally runs out of patience? When you run out of chances? Do Savvy and I run out of time?”
“Katarii...,” Savvy says as I lower my head to my thumbs, everything in my body turning numb.
“No. She needs to think about it, Savvy. We are at the mercy of how she acts around him. We are only here until she messes up.”
My hands shake, but I’m not angry. Guilt swarms my chest like a hive of bees. I had yet to think about how Savvy and Katarii play into all of this; how they operate and feel day in and day out within the castle of someone who never wanted them; how my actions, even small ones, could determine their fates. I seem to always feel heroic in my times of stupidity. They think Zein became upset because of a snarky quip I made, when in reality, my true trespass was far worse. My mistake with Giomar was driven by selfless intentions, but to the opposite effect. Even if I could tell them what happened with him, about his sickly supply unit and how he wanted to subject them to the same fate, it would come to no good end. Because I went about it all wrong.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I say quietly while nodding. “I hadn’t…”
Katarii un-balls her fists and mean mugs her plate—as if suddenly disgusted by the green beans.
“I know you hadn’t considered it,” Katarii whispers, struggling to keep her composure while she stands. “I’ll see you guys on the synthetics line, though I don’t know why I would work if there’s no point.”
She stomps off to the stairwell. The sound of her footsteps are now the loudest echoes in the room. Everyone had stopped their eating to stare at us at some point during the outburst. I pretend not to notice. The longer their eyes are on me, the longer it takes for me to recover from it. Savvy dips her face down so that she’s in my line of sight.
“Wavorly… she didn’t—”
“Stop,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Stop. I don’t need you to save my feelings, but apparently Katarii does, so…” I take a deep breath, feeling the walls shoot up around me. Katarii and Savvy are one in the same compared to me. “...you should probably go where you are needed.”
Stunned, Savvy stares at me.
“Wow. Okay,” she says, pushing her tray across the table so hard it clangs against mine. She spins on her heels and leaves. For the first time ever, I can now see the gap between Savvy and me. We are on two very different planes of existence both mentally and physically. I suppose we always have been, and what’s worse is that Katarii is on her plane.
Why did I say that? I do need Savvy. More than I want to admit.
The struggle against crying is near unbearable, but my pride ultimately wins. The cafeteria, full of warm bodies that would never let me live down a live cry, reminds me to leave on the mask. If only Glera and Emi weren’t already on the work lines, I might have someone to talk to about it.
✽✽✽
At some point I took my bowl to the washing station and cleaned it, though my mind became so burdened that I can’t even remember doing so. I dismiss myself to the recreation room, refusing the thought of following Savvy and Katarii up to the work stations. I’m sure the two of them are having a pleasantly closed-off conversation, anyway. The kind that immediately stops when you walk into the room.
When I reach the recreation floor, I’m relieved to find no supply units. The cement tiles, stone pillars, and sandstone walls are the same as the other seraglio floors, with the only real difference being how the space is divided. Rows upon rows of iron-rod stations stashing paper, pencils, paint, cloth rolls, sewing pins, and colored compounds are all aligned in organized disarray. The goods that can be made from these provisions are why supply units work extra hours. Things such as wool pajamas, leisure dresses and tunics, resin jewelry, and makeup compounds can be traded for meal tags, and then meal tags can be traded to the vampire attendants for more supplies to make them. A single group of older supply units and their apprentices make the goods, who then sell to the other girls based on their good standing. Since arriving, I’ve learned that the amount of clothes, jewelry, and makeup that you wear is directly correlated to your seniority, likability, and how often Zein summons you. It’s critical to be on the good side of the barter girls since they have no problem refusing trades. I’ve never tried to trade, but with Anaya being the head out of all of them, I can guess that I won’t get far with it. My rec station, as indicated by my number is unsurprisingly, very empty.
I let out an exasperated sigh as I weave through the rows of individual rec stations—a desk with a slip of tape that reads the unit’s number and given name. At the back of the room there is an open space with zabuton seat pillows. In the corner sits a small bookshelf holding about thirty raggedy books. Picture books without words, since supply units aren’t supposed to be able to read.
I grab a faded zabuton and throw it in the corner and throw myself on it. I curl my knees to my chest and bury my head into my lap as I imagine Savvy, Katarii, and the constructs of their current conversation. They are probably talking about me the way Katarii used to before we became friends. The way Anaya and the rest of the supply units do when I’m out of earshot. Imagining it creates a low and constrictive burn in my chest. The pressure snakes its way to the corners of my eyes, threatening to erode the dam.
Seclusion has always been a way of life for me, but I’ve never felt its weight quite like this. At least, not since before Castrel was permitted to keep me company in the cathedral. When I lost him and met Savvy, until recently actually, I thought that it was her and me against the world. That we were two out of the millions: best friends. I suppose that sort of thinking was delusional. I didn’t want to believe that Savvy had other friends as important as me, since I no longer had anyone as important as her. Castrel’s form from behind the violet wall illuminates my thoughts just as brightly as Savvy’s. Loneliness is my truth. It always has been.
My mouth distorts as tears freely fall.
Why wouldn’t Savvy have other, more normal friends? Why shouldn’t she have people she can talk to about the things that I can’t? She needs them because I can’t cover the gap. I cry into my thighs; long wails that have been boiling in reserve for months now. My fingers claw the tag on my arm. I want it to go off. I want to be summoned. I want to be wanted.
An overwhelming urge—alongside a rushing wave of shame—fills my heart, so as to replace my muffled sobs. Right now, I want Zein to su
mmon me. I do. Even if the bastard never wants anything more from me than my blood and obedience, at least he wants mine. At least a part of me is wanted—needed—somewhere, more than everyone else. Realization coats my cynicism.
How could I possibly want him to summon me? After what he did to me last night?
But he held me afterwards… I shake my head.
Angrily, I lash out at the wall, damning it for being there, and bruising my knuckles in the process. I’ve never needed to be wanted so bad in my entire life. I can’t even find the gall to refute it. I want away from this place, from this cruel world of the seraglio. Running away might not be so hard on my conscience either now, since Savvy and Katarii—
I immediately stop the thought and sink further into the ground. I’m the worst.
Despite the conflicting desires, my tag doesn’t sound, and why would it? It’s my day off.
I’m alone.
✽✽✽
After I pull myself together and wash the redness from my face, I go to the workroom and instantly find Savvy. She lifts her gaze uneasily from her station but offers a small wave. She never changes, even when I expect her to. It’s one of the many things I love about her. I give her a half-hearted smirk and wave back. Katarii is beside her. She meets my gaze but then turns her head like she didn’t notice me, letting her raven-black hair fall in such a way as to eliminate all peripheral views as well. I fight down the biting edge of rejection.
All the stations are practically full now since breakfast ended almost two hours ago, so I’m forced to fill a scrubbing station on the laundry row, isolated from my friends. Not that I feel like talking anymore anyway, so I don’t mind. When Savvy looks at me, I mouth the French word for “sorry” and she nods my guilt away.
Vampire servants shuffle in through secured doorways at the back, bringing in loads of sheets, towels, and other linens to be washed from the castle and guest houses. Other servants carry baskets of food items and drop them at the cleaning and peeling stations while the synthetics are stocked for processing midday during shipment hours. Madam Coffet stands watch over us at the back. She’s an awfully big woman with a nose that curves down, seemingly past her lips when she’s glaring at us. I have never once seen her-