written in blood

Chapter 1 Lydia The bar smelled like spilled beer and fried oil. Not exactly Chanel No. 5. I wiped another smudged glass, pretending I didn’t hear the table of three frat rejects shouting, “Hey, waiter, get our drinks over here!” “Coming,” I called, voice sweet, hands tight around the glass so I didn’t crush it. Yes, this is my life: broke college student by day, waitress by night. Glamorous, huh? I stacked four drinks on a tray, weaving through the crowd. The music thumped in my ears, a bass that rattled my ribs. As I leaned over the table, a sharp slap landed on my ass. My jaw locked. Fingers clenched around the tray until the metal bit into my palms. One second. Just one second more and they’d be bleeding on the floor. But no. I need this job. Rent doesn’t pay itself. “Your orders, sir,” I said, every syllable dipped in ice. As I turned to leave, one of them grabbed my wrist. My pulse shot up like a trapped bird in my chest. “What else?” My voice cracked before I steadied it. “We’re out of beer.” “Hey, baby girl, you brought four drinks,” the guy smirked. There were three of them. I knew. I counted. “That’s what you ordered.” My glare could have burned a hole through his smug forehead. “Sit with us. Drink with us. You know you want to,” he drawled, breath sour, words stabbing my ear. My stomach dropped. Girls like me don’t “sit for a drink.” Girls like me go missing. Girls like me end up on the news. Ding! The shrill bell from the counter cut through the noise like a lifeline. “Shift’s over,” I blurted, and bolted. Cold night air slapped my face as I sprinted out. The bar was only a block from campus. Thank God. My sneakers slapped the pavement, echoing between honking cars and the rattle of a cyclist swerving past. By the time I reached my dorm, sweat plastered my hair to my forehead. I shoved the key into the lock, pushed the door open, and was greeted by… chaos. Dirty clothes on the floor. Empty noodle cups stacked like trophies. My sad little kingdom. Maybe this is why Kat bailed on being my roommate. Can’t really blame her. I dropped my bag and sighed. “I should really clean this place.” Hours later, the floor was visible again. In the process, I found: A crumpled twenty-dollar bill (score). My old journal. (Less of a score. Page one: my crush on my music teacher. The same man who told me in front of everyone, “you lack good vocals.” Translation: you sound like a choking frog. I shoved the memory away and kept folding clothes, when my fingers brushed something strange in the drawer. A keyhole. Wait. Since when? I grabbed the ancient red key I’d found while cleaning that hotel room last week. Fifty percent chance it wouldn’t fit. But—click. It slid right in. My stomach flipped. I twisted. The wardrobe shifted. A knob appeared where none had been before. “What the…” My throat went dry. I leaned closer, heart hammering. Then my stomach growled so loud it knocked me back on my ass. “Seriously?” One bowl of noodles later, I tried to laugh it off. Power went out mid-bite. Again. Bills. Two hundred dollars for this dump? No thanks. On the way back from the convenience store, a bouquet of crimson roses lay by my door. I bent down, fingers brushing velvet petals. Sweet scent filled my nose just as the opposite door flung open. Sophia. The campus queen herself. Blonde, polished, and unfortunately still breathing. She eyed me, then the flowers. “Lydia, I think those are mine.” “Oh—sorry, I just saw them at my—” “Lydia, please.” She yanked them from my hands. “Good things don’t just happen. They’re bought. And you can’t afford them.” My face burned. My fists itched. Drop-kick level irritation rising. But she slammed the door before I could speak. Ex-friend. Ex-best-friend. Whatever. I dragged myself inside, bathed, and slipped into my panda-print oversized shirt. Comfort first. Always. But when I opened the wardrobe to hang it—there it was. The golden knob. Still waiting. Against all reason, I turned it. The dark yawned wide. My hand reached in and closed around something solid. Heavy. A chest. Antique. Old. A fingerprint locks? I almost laughed. Until I saw the writing etched faintly across the top. “By the blood that courses through my veins and the ancient whisper of the moon, I stand as your guide. My will is bound to yours…” Chills raised goosebumps down my arms. The chest creaked open. Inside lay a necklace. Crimson. Crescent moon. Glowing like it held a heartbeat of its own. Without thinking, I slipped it on. Cold. Then light. Then silence. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I whispered. The necklace pulsed once against my skin.