Chapter Two – Blood on the Contract
I waited until my sister’s breathing evened out before slipping the folded bills beneath her schoolbooks. It wasn’t much — just enough for food and a few bus passes. I’d pulled the cash from the emergency stash I’d been saving for rent. This was the emergency.
She stirred slightly when I touched her shoulder. “Eva?” she mumbled, still half-asleep.
“I have to go,” I whispered, crouching beside her. “I picked up a job. Better pay. It’s a live-in for a few days.”
Her eyes opened, blurry and confused. “What kind of job?”
I smiled, the kind that made my face ache. “Cleaning. Some private estate in the hills. Fancy place. Good money.”
She sat up a little. “Is it safe?”
I didn’t answer that directly. “I’ll call you in two days. Maybe sooner.”
“But—”
“I need you to keep going. Do your homework. Keep Mom from setting the stove on fire. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded slowly, and I kissed her forehead before she could ask anything else. Her skin was warm and soft from sleep. She smelled like the cheap lavender soap we used to love when we could afford to care about little things like scent.
As I stood and reached for my bag, she grabbed my wrist. “Don’t disappear.”
I swallowed hard. “I won’t.”
It was a lie.
The car arrived on time. Sleek. Black. Windows tinted dark enough to reflect nothing back. The driver never said a word, just opened the door and waited. I climbed in, heart hammering. The city blurred past in silent streaks of red and gold, until we pulled off the main roads and slipped into back lanes and wooded turns. The building we finally stopped in front of looked nothing like I’d expected. It was... beautiful.
Modern lines. Pale stone and black glass. It could’ve passed for a high-end wellness retreat if not for the silence, the kind that felt rehearsed. No traffic. No sound. No signs. I stepped out into the crisp air, my legs unsteady. The doors opened before I reached them.
A woman in a tailored gray suit greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Miss Marlowe. Right this way.”
She already knew my name. I followed her through a pristine lobby and down a corridor that smelled faintly of blood and orchids. Every step echoed. The walls were too clean, the lights too soft.
She stopped outside a polished black door and handed me a folded pile of clothing. “You’ll change in here. The exam will follow. Please remove all jewelry and personal items. There is no need to bring anything with you beyond what we’ve provided.”
Inside the suite, the door clicked shut behind me. I stood there for a moment, staring at the black velvet gown laid out on the bed. It shimmered faintly in the low light, too perfect for someone like me. Beside it sat a folded contract, a silver pen, and a small glass vial. Instructions were printed in delicate serif font:
Sign in blood. Seal with a fingerprint. Read the fine print.
I read it. Every word. But none of it sounded real.
Your body, presence, and service are hereby transferred to the highest supernatural bidder… until the contract concludes or is nullified by death.
Charming.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. “Come in,” I called, voice quieter than I meant it to be.
A man entered wearing white gloves and no smile. He looked… normal. Handsome in that sharp, untrustworthy way. I couldn’t tell if he was a vampire or something else. His eyes never quite met mine.
“Please sit,” he said.
I obeyed, hands clenched in my lap. He drew blood efficiently, quietly. There was no ceremony. No pain, even. Just the cold press of alcohol and a needle that disappeared before I could flinch. But his fingers lingered. Cold, too long, too clinical. Something shifted in his expression as he capped the vial. A flicker — curiosity? Recognition? He turned it slowly in his hands, then slipped it into a lockbox without a word.
“You are in acceptable health,” he said. “No diseases, no disqualifying conditions. Well-nourished, for your class.”
My cheeks burned for my class. “Is something wrong with my blood?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me when he answered. “Nothing concerning.” Then he left.
I stared at the contract. My name. My blood. My life. I jabbed my fingertip with the provided lancet, watching the red bead bloom. Then I pressed it against the signature line and wrote my name in slow, deliberate script. Eva Marlowe
The blood shimmered once, like it recognized something. Then it vanished into the paper like it had been waiting for me all along.
It was done. When they left me alone, the room changed. Or maybe I did. The gown clung to me like a second skin. The fabric was cool against my thighs, cut low enough to bare my back and high enough to keep me unsteady on my feet. I barely recognized the girl in the mirror. No, not a girl. A product. The girl in the glass didn’t flinch. She just stared, dressed in someone else’s nightmare. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to remember how to breathe without feeling like something inside me was caving in. This is how I save her, I told myself. This is how I stay useful. The mirror didn’t answer. I folded my hands, swallowed my fear, and stared at the door. Tomorrow, I’d be sold.