A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,40

vampire… as well as my lack of a solid plan for escape. Shuddering at the thought, I pass the same auditorium from where I was first summoned, unsure of where I’m going or where everyone is.

The first-floor lobby is a vacant, large square room that hosts several bamboo benches surrounded by clay-potted plants. There’s a decorated manhole that lies dead center in the space, a spiral staircase at its center.

Although the darkness is a rough accommodation, I persist on my own after Gemini turns to mosey on back above ground. I stumble down the thin and steep stairwell to what looks like a factory. There are rows upon rows of connected desks that are bricked, grayed over from dust, and supporting the work of nearly every supply unit in the castle—from what I can imagine. It’s clear where the line is drawn between each duty. The laundry stations have teethed water wells built into their centers with two supply units assigned to each one. The water girl rinses and scrubs the assigned robes and sheets—given to them by the castle’s vampire servants—until they overflow their baskets with clean, dripping articles. Once her basket is full, the dryer girl drags the load toward the corner of the room where countless rails jut out from the wall, alternating upward and nearly reaching the ceiling that holds two huge… fans, I think they are called. A piece of technology from before the Days of Slaughter, meant to mimic high powered winds. That piece of history I learned from my mother, I’m fairly sure. The dryer effectively climbs the side rails while hanging the robes and sheets across several sections. Her partner cranks levers, spurring the cogs that turn the fan arms.

I refocus my attention to the center of the room where supply units are using cloths, water, and peeling devices to clean mounds and mounds of human food. Well, I suppose it is also vampire food. They can’t live off human blood alone, from what I understand. My mouth waters when I spot crates of potatoes, cucumbers, cantaloupe, strawberries, rice, and other such items. Despite having just eaten, no amount of food can curb an appetite that has grown accustomed to hunger. Plus, who doesn’t like food?

The next station is an assembly line of sorts. A wide, leather belt that holds glass tubes of product moves every minute or so between the circles of supply units. I spot the vials that are filled with chemicals, powders, and liquids, and I recognize the process immediately—thanks to the grade A self-education from Nightinghell. It is the art of blood compounding, the process of cultivating synthetic blood for impoverished vampires. During the Days of Slaughter, a few future-oriented vampires came up with a solution to the famine that had soon erupted. Synthetics. A technology so well-understood and harnessed that it only takes the mixing of a few ingredients to make a highly potent substitute for the real thing, even though it doesn’t fully satiate.

My eyes fall on the two girls at the end of the synthetics assembly. One stirs the thick scarlet substance in a barrel, while the other funnels it into empty blood packs and places them in crates on a carrier. Then I recognize them: Savvy and Katarii. Without a moment’s hesitation, I descend the rest of the stairs, nearly tumbling to my death in my shaken rush. The flat ground is more welcoming of my flying feet, thankfully.

“Sav!” I call out.

Both she and Katarii turn to me, recognition lighting up their features like fireflies. Savvy catapults herself into my arms, nearly knocking me over. Her new, ruby robes are thick and warm. Her hair, freshly washed, smells of rose-water—her favorite flower. That’s one thing they guarantee us. If it has to do with anything that could potentially offend or displease your vampire owner—such as bodily stench—you would be treated to amenities that offset that. It’s one of the few ways they try to convince you that enslavement isn’t really enslavement.

“Are you okay? I was so worried about you,” Savvy lets out in a breath.

Every muscle tightens in my face and in my lungs. I can’t respond. Instead, I wrap my arms around her, my face falling on her shoulder.

“Wave?” she questions.

I now know she can feel the warmth from my tears that soak into her new pull-over robe. For the first time since opening my eyes this morning, the severe weight of the previous night hits me. I relive it. Zein’s overpowering presence