Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Before I can answer she is upon me, her body slamming into mine, forcing me back onto the bed. Then she grabs my shoulders with some superhuman strength, turns me—lining me up properly—and in the next moment, before I can even blink, she’s got the iron cuffs around my wrists behind my head and it is done.
I am on the bed and chained to the wall.
Lucia stands up—pressing her hands down her satin dress, smoothing out wrinkles—and lets out a long breath. “There we go. Now we’re back on track, aren’t we? Do you have any more stupid questions?” She says this as she grabs a sterile needle package from the armoire, rips it open, takes the needle out, and comes towards me, smiling.
“What is door number two?” My voice is shaky and weak.
“Well, I’m about to explain it to you, aren’t I? Just hold still for a moment while I push the needle in and then we can get on with things.”
She’s lying. They’re all lying. And I came to this place of my own free will! Why am I so fucking stupid?
Beautiful. That word echoes in my head. And it’s my grandma’s voice. He’s so beautiful…
And he is.
Beauty. It’s the ultimate deceiver.
I wince as the needle enters my vein, then look over as Lucia connects the tubing and I watch my Black blood race through the line and into the bag on the IV stand. Once a quantity is collected it changes color a little, from tar to scarlet. And then something surprising happens.
It turns… purple. A deep, royal purple.
Lucia laughs. “You’ve never seen your blood in a bag like this, have you?”
I look at her, shaking my head. “No. Why is it purple?”
“Because it’s overflowing with magic, Syrsee. More than most. I haven’t seen blood this color since I was a baby back in the Old World across the ocean.”
I look back at the bag, marveling at how beautiful it is.
“He made you, Syrsee. You were bred. You come from the Darkness, as we all do. Even me. But your lineage is very special. You see, when Paul was banished to America he took two people with him. Me and Josep. He took me because I am a witch, like you, but not as well-bred. I do not have the Black blood. They would’ve never let me come if I had. But I am a witch who was turned into a vampire. A challenging start for our Paul, but he’s very resourceful.”
I’m just staring at her, trying to put all these new facts together. “You’re a witch?”
She nods. Proud of this fact, I think. “Vampires come from witches. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Well, they do. Not from the kind of witch I am. But over many centuries it is possible to turn my blood into that.” She points to the bag on the stand. It’s almost half full now and the purple is much brighter. “And so we have.”
“What? Are you saying—”
“You come from me? Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Though we are so many generations removed, we are not really related.”
“How many generations? I mean, you said he’s been breeding for a couple hundred years. That’s, what, four generations at the most?”
“If one does things naturally. But that’s the second part of your story. Our story. Josep. He’s an old, old, old geneticist. One of the originals.”
“How old is that?”
“Thousands and thousands of years. But even when he came here with Paul and me, he was far, far, far past his prime. Washed up, as they say. Which was why the Obscurati allowed him to join in on this new venture.”
“Obscurati?”
Lucia smiles. “Everyone has a boss, darling. Even us.” She waves a hand in the air. “But they are beside the point. Maybe one day, if we’re very lucky, we will have the luxury to worry about them. But right now, we’re so far away from that day, they don’t matter. What matters now is that Josep is your actual creator.”
“What? I come from a vampire?”
“Not quite. He’s the scientist who made you from a lineage that started with me and…” She pauses, turning her head to side-eye me. “The Darkness, of course.”
I’m so confused.
And she sees this, because she laughs as she takes a seat on the bed next to me. “Would you like to hear the story?”
And now I’m just annoyed. “Ya know, for someone who says we’re in a hurry you sure are taking your fucking time getting to the point.”
She just chuckles, then gets up, closes the tube that’s collecting my blood, removes the full bag of now-lavender liquid, and places it in a chest of ice near the door that is disguised to look like a wooden box.
Then she grabs a fresh bag, hooks me back up, slaps my wrist to get things flowing again, and then sits back down.