A few days ago, I had been staring at an onion and wondering if that alone would fill enough of my belly so I wouldn’t starve. Elias’s kitchen staff had served Madeleine and me beef roast as if it were nothing.

  I’d had meat before—mostly chicken or fish or game—and during Winter Veil, the fattened hog. Pa didn’t want to raise animals, so most of what I ate grew from the land: plenty of beans, and then mostly corn when Flora’s teachings got to him. Ma would sometimes bring rabbit, or Auntie Laura would invite us over for chicken.

  Beef, however, was something exclusively for the upper class. When Laura had cows, they were specifically for milk, and thanks to Flora’s commandments, when they passed, the body was burned as an offering. Only the rich could afford beef cattle, since their only purpose was consumption. Flora’s commandment frowned on that, and we farmers were superstitious folk.

  It felt like blasphemy to see it plated in the center, and it was a taboo when Ophelia carved slices off. Elias, for his part, sat at the head and had a glass of blood—no reason for any of us to pretend it was something silly like red wine.

  But for us, he had this prepared: soft, yielding slices of beef with potatoes. Our goblets were refilled with claret after either of us took a simple sip, and the servant disappeared back into the shadows. After we were served, Elias himself was served something different.

  Blood-red carrots. Potatoes that seemed to bulge. And, of course, the meatiest part of the beef roast in front of us. I looked at the vegetables and, even without inspecting, I could tell they weren’t mine. The skin was pristine and the fluid trapped underneath was uniform, not splotchy. All three bled onto his plate, but Elias was looking at Madeleine and me.

  “The price of good food is far too expensive for a lord,” he began. His knife pressed into one of the carrots, and the smell of blood pudding poured into the room. It was nauseating, and Madeleine turned her head to cough. I scrunched my nose, but Elias and Ophelia inhaled deeply.

  “The quality of your crops is subpar, Ashley. But you are the first [Acolyte] in Oakheart, and having a local supplier would make eating far more pleasurable.”

  “First? Also, you have so many staff—how do you not have your own... [Farmer]?” I asked him, letting my knife carve into my potatoes. Thankfully, they didn’t bleed out, but they crumbled—it was flaked in actual butter!

  Madeleine looked at me and sighed. “Chérie, Rhyvesta’s Gaze cannot be forced, and especially not by a [Night-Thing].” She raised her own claret to drink.

  Elias didn’t continue for her; he let her statement linger in the air.

  “Are you planning to continue, Maddy?”

  “...If I must. Lord—or, more accurately, Count—Elias and his kin are vampires. You told me you were considering the route of being one, right?”

  “Not particularly... I don’t think I can finish the last part of the quest.”

  “Mmm... good on you, chérie. But I kept trying to say you were becoming a [Vampyre]. A [Vampyre] is a mortal who made the choice to be condemned. A vampire is a [Night-Thing]—while our esteemed host here is relatively ‘old,’ they were all condemned by Amaril and spread their curse.”

  “I... what’s the difference?”

  Elias took the blood-carrot slice and brought it to his mouth. “For one, you will never be able to become one of us. You are protected by the Dying Mother, and attacking you would cause any of us to be twice-damned. Even your witch friend wouldn’t dare enter our abode without the protection she provides.”

  Maddy rolled her eyes and carved a piece of her beef. “I am protected by Mother Willow. I don’t need your dead goddess to protect me,” she spat back, then turned to me. “The big difference, Ashley, is that the only way to be an [Acolyte] is by choice. With how much Elias likes you, you could tell Ophelia to slap herself, and she’d obey.”

  “Obey implies choice, Madeleine. She would act,” Elias countered.

  Madeleine looked at Ophelia, eyes widening, and her hand softly reached her heart. “I forgot. Your kind,” she spat, “do not care for choice. The only thing a lesser [Night-Thing] can ever dream of becoming is whatever their master wills... or to be embraced, like Ophelia here is on the verge of being, and to become a true [Night-Thing].”

  “Mmm... how is your hunting of... what do you call them, Ms. La Croix... oh right, agneaux?” he asked, slicing into his potato this time.

  “...What’s wrong with lamb or sheep?” I asked them both.

  Madeleine looked softly into my eyes, and Elias laughed. “You think she hunts sheep, Lady Hart?”

  Madeleine looked away. “That’s different. To answer your question, chérie: only someone who willingly walks the path of the damned can be an [Acolyte]. There are very few in the world who could handle it.”

  “Even fewer who would tell an [Elder Vampire] to slit the throat of his own progeny,” Ophelia added at last, looking at me with... disdain? Hope?

  Elias laughed again, then turned to me. “Eat, Lady Hart,” his deep voice commanded. “Then we can discuss business.”

  I turned my attention to the meal. My fork pressed into the slice of beef and, oddly, pierced in with no give. The flesh was too soft and fragrant, and although I smelled the ash and flames, there was another scent that felt too familiar. It was warm and inviting, and smelled oddly sweet.

  “Peaches,” Ophelia remarked offhand, still watching my face. “My father is right—you are too easy to read, Lady Hart. I was informed your favorite sweet was candied peaches, so a peach reduction on the meat felt appropriate.”

  “He’s your dad?” I said bluntly, even as my stomach grumbled.

  “No,” Ophelia started, but Elias looked at her.

  “Yes, I am. I might be hard on my daughter and star progeny, but the only way for a lesser to become a true vampire is to learn to serve. She will be a great woman when she is ready, but this is the way of our clan.” His attention shifted to Ophelia. “Do not mistake discipline and lessons for a lack of love, Ophelia. My unbeating heart yearns for when you’re finally ready to take the [Blood Oath].”

  “I see, Father,” she stated—blankly, coldly—which made Elias lose his composure.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “...I see. Take a seat beside Lady Hart, and be part of the family, then a servant.” He... asked her. Not ordered—I could tell the change in his tone.

  Ophelia’s blank expression didn’t change. A thought came to me: they were vampires, so that must mean they were the living dead. I focused.

  [Mortis Visio].

  While I could naturally see trails to dead bodies and sickness and death, I never tried to focus on the sensation unless I had to. But now? Each subtle shift of Ophelia’s eyes; every time Elias’s tongue rubbed his left canine; how Ophelia’s hands tensed and released every time her father talked?

  I could keep up. I couldn’t see the meaning behind these quick expressions, but I could see them.

  And it felt like Ophelia hated her father, but Elias genuinely loved his daughter.

  Rhyvesta’s Gaze, I was not going to relate to Ophelia.

  Instead of focusing on whatever melodrama they were doing, I cut into the beef. The knife was sharp, but the effort was minimal. Even a butter knife could tear into this. I watched Madeleine, who curled it around her fork, dipped it into the liquid seeping out, and brought it to her lips.

  She caught me staring and shook her head. “First, try it without the jus, chérie. I can assure you, it is delicious on its own.”

  I nodded and did so.

  It was so warm and soft! It tasted heavenly, and while I had never had beef before, the peach tinge on it was divine. My eyes closed as I chewed greedily, not wanting the taste to be over. My hand instinctively reached for a loaf of bread, but found none.

  I didn’t need it. The old farmer’s trick of extending meat wasn’t a thing I had to worry about... there was plenty of roast left, and empty food wasn’t a thing served at a lord’s house.

  I cut into the potatoes next and brought the buttery, warm bite to my mouth. So soft and hot... with the right mixture of tartness and salt.

  Salt? They had salt?

  Elias grinned, then spun his knife in his hand, letting the blade point at Madeleine’s throat. My eyes narrowed, and my heart slowed.

  “Before I speak of the rest, tell me, Lady Hart, why is this one still here? Her entire business here is as a broker, but I don’t need a broker to deal with you anymore. Shall I—”

  “Madeleine is my friend, and we come as a pair,” I said quickly—my heart speaking before my mouth. “We have a deal, and I value her company.”

  Madeleine’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, her usual smirk softening into something far less certain and far more genuine. She turned to Elias. “...Intéressant. You tried that trick before, and I made you a newt for a month, batard. You, Ch... Ashley...”

  Elias waved it off and laughed. “Interesting that you didn’t even let me offer anything. A cold-blooded murderer, an [Acolyte], and honorable to boot. Ms. La Croix, I think you’ve finally found a good partner for your hut in Darkmire.”

  Madeleine smiled, but my attention was on Elias.

  “I’m aware my crops aren’t good ye—”

  “I do not care about your crops. That will come in time. You’ve had five days. Why have you not started a [Blight]?”

  I looked at Madeleine, who didn’t return my gaze. She just cut her meat even smaller.

  “Why would I?”

  “It wou—”

  “Why would I for you?”

  Ophelia glared at me, but my heightened vision saw her fingers relax. The very tip of her lips curved upward, then flattened. Elias, however, had the same reaction.

  Vampires hated sycophants, it seemed.

  “I see you already know what a [Blight] does for you, but have probably decided against it. Wh—”

  “A [Blight] allows [Night-Things] to ignore Amaril’s Gaze—or, more accurately, Lady Ha—” Ophelia interrupted her father.

  “You can call me Ashy, Ophelia.” I... again spoke without thinking. That’s twice now, Ashley. They’ll think less of you.

  Ophelia smiled. She actually smiled. “Okay, Ashy, a [Blight] lets us ignore the sun. Father’s ground is blighted thanks to his [Vampyre] friend, but the way that man became a [Vampyre] is different than yours. If you were to blight the areas, eventually we’d be able to walk out in the streets.”

  Elias glared at Ophelia, who took a sip of blood from her own claret. “Ashy clearly prefers people being straight with her and treating her like an equal so she can make her own decisions. She stood up for Madeleine, and she stood up for me. I’m sure if you just asked, Father, you’d have had her approval.”

  She really got me. My face felt warm, and I could feel the blush spreading.

  Elias sighed. “Yes, that is the main reason you are here. You are proud, honorable, and able to make food that isn’t just blood. And even more? You can let my kin and me walk around Oakheart without Rhyvesta’s Hour—the night. We need a [Blight], Lady Hart.”

  “Right. But that makes it easy to identify and, besides, Addy could easily end it.”

  “Who?” Ophelia and Elias both asked.

  “Ashley’s boy-toy,” Madeleine interjected before I could, and I glared daggers at her. “The Ordo-Inquisitis leader who was brought here because of you, Elias.”

  “Pardon?” Lord Elias said.

  “Well, one of...” Madeleine looked at me for a moment, realized what she was about to say, and stopped. She reconsidered. “Ashley, do you want to explain?”

  “...Add—Adrian—Lord... Inquisitor Skye? Whatever. He knows you’re a vampire, but doesn’t have cause to do anything.”

  “How did he find out?” Elias asked.

  “I don’t know. Also, he’s not my boy-toy; we just grew up together.”

  “I see.” Elias took another sip of his wine. “So we have an inquisitor who is aware of me, who knows you. Interesting. And here I was getting bored.”

  A lull settled over the table as the four of us ate quietly.

  “If you would, Lady Ha... Ashy, would you consider a [Blight]? I would love to go to town on my time off and see the city in the morning,” Ophelia asked quietly.

  “...If you buy me new dresses.” I joked.

  She didn’t catch it. “Deal. You undersold yourself.”

  “I am sure she did, Ophelia,” Madeleine said, her voice low before turning into a laugh. Her gaze shifted to me, but I wasn’t watching her.

  I turned my attention to Elias, wanting an answer to one question I hadn’t considered. “How are you so rich?” I asked at last.

  Madeleine coughed, sputtering her wine. Ophelia actually snickered, but Elias laughed.

  “[Vendor] farms. And being well over 100 years old with resources. And before you ask, a [Vendor] farm is many people trained as [Merchant] or so, using [Vendor] to create money out of trash or items people won’t miss, until their maximum. Individually, it’s not a lot, but imagine hundreds of [Night-Things] doing it. Of course, that has to be properly converted—made into currency that can actually be used...”

  “...You know how to launder?”

  “Hawthorne Manor owns much land, taxes people, and of course, mostly...” Elias paused. “...You don’t know how to launder the payments you’re being given, do you?”

  “I do not, Lord Hawthorne,” I admitted.

  His fingers laced together as he looked at me. “Interesting...”

  Ophelia sighed. “Just buy a shop like Madeleine’s and sell your crops there. The key to laundering is making sure you have legal tender with your illegal. It’s the fact that Madeleine’s giving you the money that’s the issue. You should just have her buy your crops from your store. That way it goes to Madeleine, who is a [Vendor].”

  I turned to Ophelia and... leaned in to hug her. She jolted, but didn’t pull away. Then she pushed me back—no tension in her muscles. It was a show, not hostile, and I was left with the impression I was allowed to do it again.

  “In fact, we could buy from your store too,” Ophelia finished, glancing at Lord Elias, who nodded. “...If you brought a [Blight].”

  Back to the blight.

  “I’ll highly consider it. If you buy me new dresses and shoes,” I joked.

  “Father?”

  “She’s joking—but it can be arranged.”