A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,28

and helps me up as I desperately try to piece together what just happened.

“How dare you?” An annoyingly loud voice echoes across the stone walls, causing the three of us to jump. Anaya is plodding down the hall, looking even more cross now than before—which is a feat. She plants herself in front of us, staring down at me from her easily six-foot height.

“You were given simple instructions to follow. Nothing too elaborate, or so I thought,” she hisses, mainly focusing on me. “Should you neglect adhering to my word in the future, you can expect a one-way ticket to the Sabbanthian fallen chambers.”

My blood lights up at her power-play. As if she has the ability to decide my fate. She’s human too. All head supply units are good for is sucking up and pouring out, and maybe leading a tour, that’s it. Before I can stop it, my ever-boiling sass presents itself.

“Get off your pedestal. No one with any real power would back your threats.”

Katarii and Savvy both clam up behind me as Anaya’s soft expression of surprise thaws to amusement.

She snickers, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. “Oh, taking that route, are we? You don’t know much about the rules of a seraglio, dear. Anything you need… new clothes, more food, maybe a pen and parchment… all of it comes through me.”

I swallow and shift my focus between her gray-blue eyes. By this point, my better judgment has successfully wrangled my loose tongue, and I remain silent even as she smiles coyly, reveling in the victory. “I hope you understand the extent of what you’ve just done. I can, and will, ruin you here.”

Her crisp and ominous words are enough to make my stomach writhe.

She puts distance between us to speak to Savvy and Katarii.

“Everyone is already in line for tagging. Move now before I increase your punishment.”

“Increase?” Katarii asks softly, almost unsure if she’s allowed to ask at all.

“Yes.” Anaya says, the curve of her mouth a fierce snake that curls into her cheek. “Thanks to your friend, you will begin your next few days scrubbing the supply latrines. Move along, or else.”

It’s hard to feel anything, anything at all, except for pure rage and confusion. What I saw behind the violet wall was real. Whether I stumbled into an alternate reality by mistake or into a vortex of witchcraft, I don’t know. But it was real. And another thing that’s real… my budding hatred for Anaya. Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to my friends.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t know that this would...” I trail off, uncertain of how to properly apologize for what could very well be sheer craziness.

“Don’t worry about it, Wave,” Savvy whispers, “It’s obvious Anaya has something against you.”

“Even I can see that,” Katarii mumbles, although clearly upset by her punishment-by-association as she now stands with her arms crossed and body turned away from me.

I’m slow to nod as my eyes linger along the black wall behind me, aching to see the violet light again. To at least prove my own sanity to myself.

God, I hope I’m not crazy.

✽✽✽

The small lobby of the Seraglio is well-lit, brighter than any other room I have ever seen while in the Stratocracy of Cain. It’s a nice change, being able to see clearly for once. Compared to the dormitories at Nightingale, the Seraglio is in better shape, even though the cracked walls and dusty remnant decor of horses and landscapes are barely comparable to the rest of the castle.

Everyone is already through the line once we get there. The counter assigned for tagging also happens to be the Seraglio’s official entrance, guarded by a single male vampire servant, who sits behind and beneath an archway that reads,

Blood Supply Seraglio

Submission. Sacrifice. Obedience.

The servant looks up at me, after having just admitted Katarii and Savvy, from behind the long counter.

“Number?” he questions me.

“Z29734.”

He rifles through his drawer of clacking metal tags before fitting the matched one to a contraption with protruding, fang-like teeth.

“Right wrist.” He outstretches a bony hand.

I obey only after I consider all other options, dreading the sheer thought of the pins skewering my arm. He moves the contraption that holds my tag between two clamps, adjusting the pins and brackets to my wrist size to render my arm immovable. The clamps release and the two pins pierce through my flesh until they are met and fastened into the brackets.

I yelp, trying to stifle my cry the best I can at the sudden flood of pain.