Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“987 …”
“Be ready,” he whispers, notices the first few faces coming into the pipe room, then slips from the table while wiping away his tears. Kaleb stays there awhile, staring at his friend’s back, his heart hammering with anxiety, picking at his fingernails.
He’s still thinking about it hours later when he’s back in his cell, sitting on the very edge of the bed, violin pulled out from underneath to tune the strings, now and then giving a stroke of his bow to test the notes, or a pizzicato pluck of his fingers. His mind is stuck on the urgent, almost childlike excitement in the eyes of his friend 987, how he heeds no danger, how he acts like those above them are merely some stuffy parents they’re trying to outsmart so they can sneak out into the night to party.
Do none of the others realize they are being kept here by gods and goddesses?
They will not be so easily outsmarted.
And any number of Bloods attempting an escape will be no match for even a single one of them upstairs. Kaleb doesn’t care that the brash and forceful 77 is leading the plan, nor that the hulking 100 is joining him. He remembers one time in the pipe room, perhaps a whole year ago, when a similar plan was being discussed, and 987 excitedly let slip his real name—a rule none of them are allowed to break—but either no one noticed or no one cared, because the name was never uttered again. Kaleb doesn’t even remember it. 987 will be his name, always.
Just as 1025 will be Kaleb’s name, forevermore.
The only ones who utter the name “Kaleb” are within his dreams now, his imaginary mother and father, his brother Kyle, their ghosts and no one else, no other set of lips, no breath.
There is a rustling at the door.
Kaleb lowers his violin. Is it 987 again? It can’t be. It’s too late for a visitor. Everyone should be in their cells, save for the few who are on specific nightly labor assignments.
Then the door clicks—another unexpected action—and in a swift, graceful movement, it opens.
Standing there is a woman from above. One of the goddesses. The one with half black, half white hair, woven together in a thick braid sweeping down her left shoulder, lying across her beautiful breasts, her body a sight that at once arrests Kaleb as his eyes fall upon it. His heart races for new reasons now, all of his insides curling with admiration the moment he sees her.
She stops moving suddenly, growing as still as a statue. It is amazing to Kaleb even now, how still the gods and goddesses can become when they so desire, at once made of wax, perfectly and beautifully immobile.
Kaleb panics, having forgotten himself. “S-Sorry.” He sets his violin aside, goes to his knees on the floor at once, lays his hands before him and lowers his head.
The violin bow drops off the bed, skitters along the floor, comes to rest at the woman’s feet.
Then she says: “Ugh, these formalities.”
Confused, Kaleb barely lifts his head. “Ma’am?”
She takes a step inside, crouches down, picks up the bow. “I don’t know the first thing about music.” She frowns. “Do you not remember my name? I remember yours.”
Kaleb stares at the floor. “Y-Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s Raya,” she says anyway. “That’s my name. You can use it. In fact, I’d like that.” At once, she sits on the end of the bed, still inspecting the bow as if it were an artifact of great interest. “I’m amazed such sounds can come from an odd stretch of horsehair. Is this horsehair? I don’t even know. Actually, I don’t care. The real reason I’m here is that I’m tired and annoyed.”
Still kneeling, still with his hands on the ground, Kaleb is utterly and absolutely and completely unsure how to behave. So the result is that he says nothing at all, his wide eyes glued to the floor where his hands, still pressed, begin to sweat.
“Would you like to hear why I’m annoyed? Actually, I will say it anyway. I am annoyed because, after being dragged along on an errand I did not wish to experience, I am then told I am not allowed to visit you anymore or utter your name.”
Kaleb finds that last part strange, frowning at the floor.
“Something to do with your safety. Or that I’m bothering you. Don’t you enjoy playing your violin? Would it really be so bad if I came here to listen to you turn horsehair into song and sadness? Fine, if I cannot call you Kaleb, then I will call you My Blood, or Blood 1025, or whatever it is the rules say. Oh, did I just break the rule, calling you Kaleb right now? Ah, I seem to have broken it yet again, and again, Kaleb, Kaleb, Kaleb.” She blows air through her lips and rolls her eyes. “Nonsense, all of this. By the way, do you enjoy being on the floor? Isn’t it filthy? You can sit next to me if you prefer. I hope you do.”