by ERIN BEDFORD
“Here.” Marsha took me by the hand and led me across the room and out a door.
Cool air touched my bare shoulders. We were outside and it wasn’t like the balcony in the other room. The door led to a part of the garden I hadn’t had a chance to explore. Immediately I felt better than I had in days.
Marsha brought us over to a bench and sat me down. I tilted my head back and stared up at the dark sky, but just like in the Inner Circle there were too many lights to see any stars. Just one more thing they had taken away from me.
“Now,” Marsha said, pulling my attention away from the sky. “What happened?”
My anger had lessened since we had come outside but it raged back up as I thought of Zara. “They let her stay.”
“Who?”
“Zara,” I snapped. “She already killed one of the guests and tried to kill me. Not to forget she had just beaten the crap out of Violet in front of everyone. But here she is.” I jerked my hand toward the ballroom. “Walking around making people’s lives miserable with no repercussions. Why?” I asked turning my gaze to Marsha. “Why would they let her stay?”
Marsha shrugged. “She’s the mayor’s daughter,” he said as though it explained everything.
“So that gives her leave to commit murder?” I snarled. “She’s not untouchable. Being the mayor’s daughter doesn’t mean that much, does it?”
“Maybe they thought it would look bad if they got rid of her? She has made things a bit livelier.” I snorted and he paused shooting me a look. “Sure, the way she is going about it is completely wrong and messed up, but you have to think of it from their side. They sit up here in their palace having little to do with us down below. This is the only time they can make a real impact on us. Maybe they planted Zara to create the extra conflict to show the rest of Alban that they aren’t untouchable.”
I blew out a harsh breath. “It’s a shit way of showing it. Why make us all dress up just so they can slaughter us?”
Marsha patted me on the shoulder, “They’re the Crimson Fold; it’s what they do.”
We were quiet for a few moments before Marsha spoke again. “You know what’s funny?”
“What?” I glanced over at him, ready for anything to get my mind off what lay inside.
“That before this,” he gestured to the palace. “Before we both got invited, I was working up the nerve to ask you out.” He laughed bitterly before giving me a lopsided grin. “Looks like I’ve lost my chance.”
I sat there, dumbfounded. Not that someone liked me but that Marsha had actually thought he needed to work up the courage to ask me out. I wasn’t desperate by any means—I mean I didn’t have a lot of guys beating down my door. None actually. But I’d thought I was more approachable than he was making me out to be. Plus, I’d always found Marsha attractive but not someone who would be interested in me— a girl from the Glade.
“You should have just asked,” I said a moment later. “I would have said yes.”
“Yeah?” His eyes locked with mine surprise on his face. “Well, then if we get out of this alive and not bound to anyone, I’ll hold you to it.”
“Count on it.” I smiled and held his hand in mine, tightly.
Just then a throat cleared beside us. We turned at the same time to see Patrick Blordril standing with his hands behind his back and a frown on his face. Instantly, I dropped Marsha’s hand. I didn’t know why but I felt guilty for talking about going out with him when I was supposed to be aiming to be Patrick’s convert. Whatever that really entailed.
“I’ll...just let you two be alone,” Marsha said, standing from the bench. He nodded to Patrick and gave me a meaningful look before heading back inside, leaving me alone with the leader of all of Alban.
Chapter 17
Awkwardness fell over us as I sat on the bench with Patrick standing beside me. Marsha had seemed more than eager to get out of there, which I couldn’t blame him. I hardly knew what to say to normal people let alone the leader of all of Alban. Especially since we were sort of courting each other.
Would that be what it was called? I didn’t think so. I’d been threatened to show up or else my family gets shunned. Then paraded around like livestock for their pleasure. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d been poked and prodded by Asher and his girls. Though, they I could hardly blame for any of it.
I could blame Patrick though.
“You’re angry,” he stated after a moment. He stayed standing but put his hands in his pockets, pushing the suit jacket back slightly to reveal the off-white shirt beneath. Even from here I could see the outline of the muscles beneath. I’d never thought of him as a man, only as someone to focus all my problems on. It was a funny feeling.
“Yes,” I answered, finally meeting his eyes with a fierce determination. Attractive or not, it didn’t change the fact that he had done me wrong. Had done Violet and so many others wrong. I couldn’t let my weakness distract me.
He watched me intently before saying, “It’s because of that girl, correct? Zara?”
“Yes.” Simple answers were the way to go when trying to hold my anger. I didn’t want to blow my top now. There was too much at stake.
“I’m sorry if her presence upsets you,” he said sincerely and I believed him. “I don’t agree with her being here.”
“Then why is she?” I snapped and then caught myself before I could say anymore.
Patrick winced. “I deserve your ire for certain, but I did try to have her removed. I was overruled.”
I gaped at him. “You’re the leader of Alban, the head of the Crimson Fold, and you were overruled? How does that even happen?”
Patrick sighed and then moved to sit next to me but paused; he seemed to be waiting for my permission which I reluctantly gave to him with a nod. Sitting down, he leaned forward so his forearms lay against the top of his thighs. “I might be the leader but I do have to answer to the other members. I don’t have as much power as the people might believe.”
“Then what’s the point?” I asked without thinking. “Are you just a figurehead? A pretty face to put before the people to make them less likely to revolt against your deeds?”
Patrick turned his head toward me and smirked. “A pretty face, huh? I’ve never been called that.”
I ducked my head in embarrassment. I hadn’t meant to let his looks affect me so. Or to let on how I felt. Patrick Blordril was a mystery for sure. One I wished to figure out but not at the expense of my life. And I had little doubt Zara would take it if she could.
“Anyway,” Patrick continued, bypassing my little comment. “When something like what happened with Zara occurs, we have to vote on what to do. I was one of the ones pushing for her removal. Especially, after this.” He reached up and touched the side of my face where the scratches had scabbed over, but even Asher’s talented hands couldn’t completely them cover up. “But too many of the others thought she was good for the audience. To see that even one of their own could turn on them in the right situation.”
“So Marsha was right.”
Patrick’s brows raised at my comment. “Marsha? He’s the boy who sat here before, correct?”
I nodded wishing I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t want Patrick to go out of his way to make sure Marsha was sent home. Or worse.
“Do you like this boy? Marsha?” he asked suddenly.
My mouth dropped open and I struggled to find an answer. “He’s my friend, so of course I like him.”
Patrick gave me a look. “You know that’s not what I meant. Do you care for him in a romantic manner?”
I turned my eyes away from him and stared up at the sky. I didn’t want to lie, but also wasn’t sure how to answer him. I’d never really thought of Marsha that way until now.
“I could have,” I said after a moment.
“What’s stopping you?” He shifted closer to my side pushing my large skirt into my thighs. “You could be with him now. No one is stopping you.”
“But aren’t t
hey?” I half laughed and the sound was not pleasant.
“If you could go home right now, would you?”
“Home is a relative question,” I argued. “Back to the Inner Circle where I’m the strange girl who dresses funny and doesn’t think like they do? Or back to the Glade where I’m the overseer's daughter who can’t be trusted to be their friend but I can stand by and watch them starve. Which one would you prefer me to go back to?”
“You can fix it.”
Patrick’s words startled me, almost giving me whiplash as I did a double take. Asher had practically said the same thing. I could fix it. All the wrong going on in Alban. I could make it better, make the Fold see the way things were set up was wrong, and here the very leader of them all sat saying the same thing.
“The system is broken. You and I both know this,” Patrick explained. “Hell, even the other members of the Fold are aware of it, but it doesn’t benefit them to fix it. Those who make the food and do the hard labor shouldn’t be the ones who starve in the streets while those close to the Core throw up what they eat from overindulgence.” The only thing that allowed me to believe his words was the utter disgust on his face.
“And I can fix this?” I asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Yes,” he said, a bit excited as he grabbed my hands in his. “You could make all the difference. I knew the moment you stepped foot in the first impressions. You were the change we need.”
I stared down at our hands, glad to have the gloves on to hide way my fingers were sweating. “Why can’t you do it?”
“What?” He frowned at me.
“Why can’t you tell them to change it? Why does it have to be? A know-nothing girl from the Glade.” I shook my head and tried to take my hands back. “You’re their leader, they should listen to you more than me.”
“But I’m not you. It’s hard to change a lifetime of thinking overnight. If I spoke up they would revolt against me.” Patrick held fast to my hands, drawing me closer until our faces were inches apart. His voice lowered as he spoke. “If I had you by my side, you could put those thoughts into their heads. At first, they would be tossed to the side as being new to our ways but soon they will come to believe it too.”
“How do you know?” I asked, mesmerized by the determination in his pale eyes.
“Because I have faith...in you,” he murmured, stroking the side of my face. “All you have to do is say yes.”
Before I knew what was happening, or could even block it, his mouth descended onto mine. It was the first kiss I’d ever experience and I didn’t know how to react. At first, I sat frozen in place and then curiosity came over me. I pressed back returning his kiss.
We stayed that way for a moment, his warm hand caressing the side of my face our lips locked. It wasn’t unpleasant but I didn’t feel a sudden rush of feeling like some girls talked about. I didn’t want to marry this man or throw my whole life away. But I could sit there and let the leader of Alban kiss me for a few more moments.
Those moments were over too soon when a clock somewhere struck the hour. I jerked away from him and a sharp pain hit my lower lip. I reached up to touch it and blood came away. A growl sounded and it took me a second before I realized it had come from Patrick.
My gaze locked onto him and what I saw caused me to jump to my feet. Brow furrowed he had an intense look in his eyes, eyes that had changed from a lovely blue to a bright red. My heart pounded and I took several steps back.
The movement caused Patrick to seem to remember himself and his eyes changed back. He stood to his feet, a hand reached out to me, but I shook my head and stepped out of his reach.
“Please, Clara. Let me explain.” His pleas were too late because I’d already turned on my heels and ran back to the palace.
Chapter 18
Pulling the doors to the ballroom open, I threw myself inside. The room turned at my entrance the camera zooming in on me. I held my hand up to hide my face as I pushed my way through the crowd.
I could hear Marsha calling out my name but I ignored him. The only thing on my mind was getting as far away from Patrick Blordril and the rest of these monsters.
Getting up the stairs in my long dress proved to be harder than when I had entered. I hadn’t been in a rush to get away then though. I kept tripping over my skirt and knew I’d torn it in some places from my careless steps. I grabbed the full part of the skirt and held it to me as I ran up the stairs.
The doors didn’t open for me this time. I had to tug the large door open myself but once it shut behind me relief didn’t come. My feet kept moving me further and further away from the music, the laughter, the prying eyes.
Eyes. Red eyes. The feral look on Patrick’s face came back to my mind and my feet moved even quicker.
I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to get away. I couldn’t go back to my room; if Patrick came looking for me that would be the first place he’d look. I thought briefly to search for Asher but then he was Patrick’s cousin, he must know what they are and he’d kept it from me.
I found a large set of double-doubles—the sign above it said library. It was a good a place as any to hide. I had said in my interview I didn’t read so maybe they wouldn’t look for me here.
Once inside, I found myself alone. I found a chair and collapsed in it. I didn’t cry or scream. No theatrics from this girl. But I did take in large gulps of air as I tried to come to terms with what happened. My mind reeled with confusion and horror.
What were they? I’d never seen anyone look like that. Were they sick? I’d never heard of anything like them. Then a thought came to me. It might not be all of them, it could just be Patrick. If it was, then the Fold has been hiding a big secret from the rest of us. But if it turned out to be all of them then they needed to be outed. The people deserved to know who was ruling them.
But would anyone believe me without proof? I didn’t have anything but my word against theirs and they could say I was out of my mind. Seeing things. Then I’d be put away where I couldn’t tell anyone or worse yet have my memory wiped.
No, I couldn’t go public until I knew what I was up against and could prove it. Then I remembered I was in a library. Getting to my feet, I rushed to the shelves. Surely, there had to be something here about them. Something to help me prove my case.
At first, I didn’t find anything. The majority of the books were stories or books about numbers and history. I knew some of our history. There used to be lots of cars and large buildings, more people than we had now. So many that the world became overpopulated. Then an epidemic had hit and barely anyone survived. Alban rose up from the ashes of what was left, in some place they had called Alabama. I was sure it was why we called our little country that, to honor where we came from.
The history that had been passed down to us was a watered-down version we all just accepted because we didn’t know any better. Too worried about surviving to care about how we got there. But I’d been wrong. I should have been worried, asked questions. Because if our leaders were monsters then there was a reason they were at the top and we at the bottom, barely scraping by.
After what seemed like hours of searching I finally found something. A book with a leather cover, a bit beaten up but still the title legible.
“A Guide for the Newly Converted,” I read aloud. Moving over to a chair, I opened the book carefully, afraid it would fall to pieces in my hands. I stared at the words searching for something that could help me. Anything.
The first few chapters were about the election. How the person should be tested before electing them for conversion. Then there were warnings about picking someone based solely on looks, or one of too strong a mind.
“They’d screwed up there,” I scoffed to no one.
I continued to read until I came to a part about marking the elected. “On the night of the election, one must draw the blood of the one they wish to convert to make the claim official,” I read aloud. “This will mark them as yours and
keep any other potential members of the nest at bay.”
Nest? What the hell are they talking about? We weren’t birds. The marking worried me. No one, not Asher or Daphne had mentioned anything about being marked.
My finger touched my lip where it had already begun to scab over. I didn’t doubt that it had been Patrick’s way of claiming me. Though, I had been the one to jerk away if I hadn’t done it, would he have found another way? I didn’t like to think so.
I turned my attention back to the book. It went on to explain the ritual of changing over a convert. Some fancy words would be spoken, I’d have to promise to be part of their nest, and then the last part made my stomach coil into a tight knot. The marking was not the last time I’d have to have my blood drawn. It would be part of the ceremony as well.
“The blood of the convert must be drained until the heart slows,” I said my heart beating harder, panic setting in with each word I read. “It is important to get the moment right or else the convert will be lost. Then, when the time is right, the convert must drink from the master.”
Master. Patrick.
The thought of drinking anyone’s blood made me sick to my stomach. I decided then and there that I wouldn’t be drinking anyone’s blood. They’d have to kill me first.
I came to the end of the chapter as it described what would happen to the convert after the exchange. Three words stood out for me. Hunger. Immortal. Vampire.
As I tried to process these words, the door to the library swung open. I dropped the book to the floor as I stood to my feet. Marsha stumbled in, holding his neck with his hand. He had a small smile on his face, as if he’d drunk too much wine.
“There you are,” he giggled. I rushed to his side as he tripped over his feet and almost fell to the ground.
“Marsha,” I held onto him though his weight pulled me down, “What happened?” I tried to move his hand to see but he pushed me away.
“I think someone spiked my drink,” he laughed and turned about the room. “I was talking to one of the members—Tris, I think is her name.”