I noticed a difference in class right away. The only time I was ever allowed wine was during the Feast of Amaril or Winter Veil. The wine was cheap and mass-produced, drawn from kegs that were transmogrified, and the food, while pleasant for a poor farm girl like me, was a community feast.

  So when Madeleine and I entered Hawthorne Manor and were served Imperial Red as a waiting drink, it was my first time trying anything so rich and vibrant. It was deep, dark crimson, and where it pooled in the claret glass (which, as the maid informed me, was also the name of the cup) it looked like a black abyss. It smelled sweet—of a fruit called black currant mixed with sugar. It reminded me of the blackberry bushes Adrian and I would gorge ourselves on.

  And when I brought it to my lips, it was so smooth—I had never known wine to be so pleasant. It didn’t catch or choke or make me think I’d gag. It felt like Mrs. Bellamine’s silk dresses, and not Melissa’s farm-girl outfit; touched and perfected by a master.

  Also, Madeleine slapped me when I tried to down the entire cup in one go and told me it was a sipping wine, and to please follow her lead moving forward. Instead of sparking up to fight her, I just bowed my head in deference.

  I was already out of place; the maids here had better dresses than what Mrs. Bellamine had woven for me. Hawthorne Manor was part of Upper Oakheart, which, until today, I didn’t even know existed. There weren’t houses here—just manors with gates and guards and private security. A few even had cottages where the help lived, and perfectly manicured gardens.

  The only point of pride I had was that my farm had more acreage than some of these houses—but theirs were clearly kept much better.

  Hawthorne Manor was no exception. Golden gates stood in black brick walls that led to a paved path up to a manor straight out of the novels the girls and I read at the Academy. Flowers greeted the carriage in their perfectly kept beds, and I couldn’t parse the tone. The house itself was black and gray with marble gargoyles that watched outward, but the flowers were vibrant and lively.

  The inside was no different, and although I hadn’t met Lord Hawthorne yet, I had only to look at myself to see a raggedy farm girl walking into the house of a lord.

  One who just so happened to be a vampire—and no one really seemed to care.

  I glanced furtively at Madeleine, who gingerly sipped her claret. Her eyes finally met mine and she smiled. “Oui, chérie?”

  “Do... the staff know he’s a vampire?”

  Her hand rose and flattened, then wagged side to side. “Oui et non. The... how you say... night staff do. They are all [Night-Thing], after all. The morning? They are just hired help who have not even met their lord.”

  “But Adrian told me he had been out in the sun.”

  That made Madeleine look at me. “Oui? Intéressant... plus intéressant.” Her eyes shifted upward, then she went back to sipping her wine. I whined, wanting to know more. She opened her mouth—

  And the doors opened. Two people entered together, the man first, followed by the woman.

  Elias Hawthorne was so, so tall. He might’ve had something on Marky; he overshadowed the room. His skin was pale, his hair dark and combed over. His eyes were black, but when the light hit just right, I saw red glint beneath.

  Yet he looked surprisingly young—maybe a few years older than me at best. His skin was smooth, free of blemishes, and his athletic frame gave no doubt he was the fastest in the room.

  He wore a suit and dress shirt with a flouncy, frilly scarf—later I learned it was called a cravat—but it emphasized his serious face. His suit was black except for the accoutrements in gold.

  I stared, and my heartbeat picked up. I couldn’t pull my eyes from his, no matter how much I wanted to. I don’t think he was trying to hypnotize me like a vampire—I was pretty sure I was immune—but because... well, I didn’t want to look away.

  I wanted him to stare at me as well.

  And he did. His eyes met mine, and my heart fluttered too loudly. My fingers clenched around the glass and I tipped it forward, spilling crimson on Madeleine’s bodice, and even though she started saying... something, I couldn’t hear her.

  He smiled at me and snapped his fingers. That broke my reverie, and I turned quickly to the woman at his right. My eyes narrowed—until I looked at her neck.

  She was shorter than Elias and seemed like... well, a doll. Her white hair was cut just above her shoulders—which was exceptionally queer—and her eyes were vibrant red. Her hair had that strange headwear I’d seen Jasmine sport sometimes, and her uniform was immaculate—black and gold, matching her lord, with the same odd emblem. Elias had it too, but I wasn’t looking at it for more than a moment.

  What was odd was the thing on her neck. If I were being polite, I’d call it a choker. But I wasn’t. It was a collar.

  She glanced at me, but her eyes didn’t move and her lips didn’t scowl or smile. Instead, she looked to her lord and nodded, then pulled a cloth from her gown. She moved to Madeleine and began to wipe her breasts of wine, yet it was mechanical.

  The scary part was I couldn’t tell if she was real, a living doll, or just well-trained.

  “Well-trained, like lesser vampires should be,” his deep voice answered. It sounded like honey, a warm baritone I wanted to hear more of, and it grabbed my attention.

  “I-uh-yes-wait-hi-I—” I sputtered, trying to understand too many things at once.

  He laughed, then came to my side and took my hand. “Your face is too easy to read, Ms. Hart. This is my servant—my lead servant—Ophelia Hawthorne. No, no relation. Not one you’d understand.”

  “She’s your progeny,” Madeleine said bluntly, pushing Ophelia off. “Your first—and replacement.”

  “Please, noble witch, do not interrupt the lord when he is talking,” Ophelia rebuked—but her voice was plain and even, emotionless and balanced.

  “Come now, Ophelia. Ms. La Croix and Ms. Hart are our guests, and you are to serve them as you serve me.” Elias... also rebuked? He didn’t release my hand, and I didn’t really want him to.

  He had a cool to him I enjoyed. His black eyes were so inviting. “Hiiii,” I tried again, somehow even more pathetic.

  “Désolée, Lord Hawthorne. Ashley is just enamored by your presence,” Madeleine said dryly. “Now, instead of trying to court her, can we eat?”

  Elias didn’t remove his gaze from mine, but he kept talking. “Then we are two of a kind. I’ve yet to meet an adventurer I could look at and not feel my thirst. She truly is an [Acolyte].”

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  “Yessss,” I said, then took a breath. “I am, my lord. I have come to humbly discuss humble business with you... humbly.”

  Madeleine snickered, and Ophelia just stared at me without emotion. I vastly preferred Madeleine’s response, but then Elias’s fingers laced with mine and lifted.

  “Then, over dinner. Ophelia, please take our guests to the dining room. Ms. Hart, would you like one?”

  “Dinner?” I asked.

  “Yes, dinner—but an Ophelia of yours? I have many I can give you.”

  “Why would I want an Ophelia?”

  “He’s offering you one of his progeny, chérie,” Madeleine cut in. “It’s a beautiful offer, but as your friend, I tell you to say no. You do not want a [Night-Thing].”

  I looked at Ophelia, then at Elias. “To do anything I want?”

  “Yes?” Elias said, curious.

  “Extract their soul?”

  “...Where did you find this one, Maman? I like her already.”

  I bit my lip. Something about the way Ophelia acted didn’t strike me as human, and, although I knew it was wrong, my heart had already slotted her on my hierarchy of people as... just above a beast. I wasn’t sure how far above, and I didn’t want to question it.

  I released Elias’s hand and moved to Ophelia. I was a few inches taller, and my fingers touched her skin. She was just as cold but, unlike Madeleine, Jasmine, Melissa, Adrian, or even me... she didn’t react to my examining her. She stood pliant and waiting.

  “How did you even do this?” I asked at last, awe in my voice.

  “I know a [Vampyre], one of the few who can bind souls to another. Unfortunately, Ms. Hart, this one is mine. But if you truly want to extract a soul, I can offer you—”

  “They need to be decently intelligent. If they’re as dumb as a wolf, I’d just kill a wolf,” I replied flatly, still touching Ophelia’s face. She made no motion—not annoyance, not bother, not even arousal.

  My finger rose toward her eyeball. That made her hand snap to my wrist. “Okay! You aren’t a doll. Sorry,” I said, pulling back.

  She let me; I felt the muscles in her hand give way.

  Madeleine looked at me with curiosity. “Chérie, you really are diving into this headfirst. Why?”

  “Well... I was told tomorrow morning I have to start paying off my debt. So...” I began, but felt a hand on my back. Cool, angled downward—so I leaned in, instinctively.

  “I see. The Queen’s Arm is already after you?” Elias asked. His fingers grazed the silken strap of my back and guided me toward the dining room. Ophelia and Madeleine followed.

  The dining room was extravagantly big; the table could seat at least four families and their children. With only three of us, we sat near the head, with Elias taking the crown. He snapped his fingers, and other maids and footmen along the walls began to play... music.

  A live band as we ate! Modern hits—gentle violin tones and the pleasant reverberation of a piano string. It was minute, and though I’d heard modern symphonies at the Academy, his servants were so well trained.

  Ophelia arrived with the rest of the waitstaff... and one more man. Ragged, beaten, famished, but with the same pale skin and glistening red eyes Ophelia had.

  “Do you want to know his story, Ms. Hart?” Elias asked.

  “Not particularly,” I admitted, looking to Madeleine. She didn’t meet my gaze; she looked at her plate, lips curved to a frown. She saw me glance and shook her head.

  “I do not know him, no. But I know what’s coming next. Sorry, chérie—I should have told you.”

  I tilted my head and squinted. Elias looked at me with that pleasant smile. “If you want to work for me, I want a demonstration of your worth. You made a... joke earlier, that you would take one of my servants’ souls. This one, then.”

  I glanced at the [Night-Thing], placid and obedient. No give, no fear, no anger. It wasn’t like the wolf—this was far worse, and far, far different.

  I looked back at Elias.

  “Slit his throat, then.”

  “Excuse me?” Ophelia began, but Elias raised a hand to stop her. This wasn’t her conversation.

  “And why would I do that, Ms. Hart?”

  “Because you want a demonstration, and I can’t take the soul of someone alive. They have to be dying or just recently dead. Slit his throat.”

  “Why don’t yo—” Ophelia started, but Elias’s stare shut her down.

  “While my servant spoke out of turn, she brings a valid point and thus will not be punished for her disobe—”

  “Save the pomp,” I said, still meeting his eyes. This was... fun. I wanted to tease and push him, and I wanted him to push back. “You want a demonstration, and I’m not getting my hands dirty before I eat. I’m sure you can get your disobedient servant to do it for you, but what—does the ho-ho—Rhyvesta, screw it—the hot vampire think he’s above that himself?”

  Elias grinned—a genuine smile. For once, Madeleine looked shocked. Ophelia stared at me with the slightest hint of rage and hate.

  He slipped off a glove, exposing manicured, perfect nails. His hand flicked, and the human shape dropped away, revealing razor-sharp claws.

  I was kind of into it.

  He moved to his servant and pressed a finger to his throat. “Are you su—”

  “Just get on with it, Elias.” At that, Ophelia started toward me, but a quick look from Elias made... something... shoot from her collar. She stiffened with pain, but honestly?

  Fuck her.

  I watched Elias, refusing to break eye contact. “If that is what you wish... Lady Hart.”

  I swear, Ma, my heart skipped a beat.

  His finger sliced the man’s throat with no resistance. Black, rancid-smelling ichor spilled out.

  I waited.

  Finally, when the light began to leave the [Night-Thing]’s eyes, I stepped forward. My fingers touched the black blood and smeared it on my index finger.

  Then I offered it to Elias, whose smile hadn’t faded. His mouth opened, revealing sharp fangs. His tongue slid out to lap the offered meal.

  I watched his lips. I wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked.

  The eulogy of death burned around me. Maggots squirmed beneath the shriek of bats. I smelled damp earth mixed with harsh blood and stronger wine. Normally I lost myself in the cast, but there was something more pressing this time.

  I saw Elias in his... true form. Massive, tall, inhuman. Two black bat wings spanning wider than the table. His face remained attractive, if monstrous. It was hard to describe in the eulogy.

  I held the [Night-Thing]’s soul and placed it in a vial. I’d inspect it later.

  I hadn’t started out wanting to become a [Vampyre], but if it meant I could spend more time here? Tempting. That last one—a commoner—was a bit too far. I didn’t care about animals, and I definitely didn’t care about monsters, but actual people?

  I shook the thought off.

  “Well, I’m hungry. Can we eat?”

  “Of course, Lady Hart.”