Blue

Part #1

Rarely are we summoned to present ourselves to the coven’s councilors with the

instruction to make an effort and look presentable? I shake my head at the image in the mirror

and cringe. There is no way on this god-forsaken earth, I will look good. Homely? Sure, I

don’t even have to try. Peculiar? Aced it by being born. Pretty? Not in this lifetime or several

to come!

“Hey Blue,” I turn away from the mirror to look at my roommate Anja “Do you

think we’re being sold?”

Anja is gorgeous. Long legs, long hair and long lashes. Blemish free skin and a body

to solicit attention without encouragement. And she knows it. Among us, my coven-sister is

popular as a blood-donor and often receives invites to the most important events among

influential people. Other covens request her by name. Male or female, she entices and

delights with her gracious manners and tentative personality.

It is only six in the morning, and she looks like an airbrushed picture.

“If that is the case, Anja, I bet one of us ain't going anywhere,” I give her a knowing

look and flop down on the corner of my bed.

“Isn’t, Blue. One of us isn’t going anywhere,” she corrects me “Lords, how is it

possible we grew up together but you are ... you ... with so much verve?”

I roll my eyes in the sockets and stare up at the ceiling.

“Anja, I don’t even know what the word verve means. Anyway, they can’t give me

away for free, they’ve tried!”

We both laugh at the running joke between us. It is funny because it is true.

Anja continues to smile and gives me an encouraging look before she tries to tame

my unruly, super curly, shoulder-length hair. Ten minutes later, it is still exactly as it was.

“There is no fixing this, I’m afraid,” she throws her hands into the air in frustration.

“I’m afraid too, and it is my hair!” I quip to which she clicks her tongue to the roof of

her mouth.

“Blue! This is how you rub the Lords and Ladies the wrong way. You run your

mouth without thought and it is unbecoming to –”

The knock on the door cuts her lecture short. I take a small delight in the red

blotchiness on her chest. I know better than to set Anja off like this, but she’s comical when

she gets mad at me and tries to maintain her composure as the superior between us.

We are friends and family, after a fashion, but Anja knows her value and often tries

to turn me into her protégé. There was a time I bought into it, but in the end, the idea of

being a carbon copy of my donor-sister does not appeal.

“Girls,” Madame Levine addresses us with a look over the rim of her glasses. She too

is a magazine model in the latest fashion.

“I will not have a peep out of you today. Not one,” she hits me with the warning

which makes me grin inside.

Madame Levine is as close to a mother as we have, even if she is a vampire and a

mentor at the coven. She has no sense of humor. To a degree, it is obvious who Anja models

herself after.

After the stern notice, she turns to Anja with the usual dose of approval.

My donor-sister is dressed in the latest high fashion. A little black number reaches to

just above her knee. The triangular cut-out over her chest accentuates her perfect breasts

with class. She wears a long-sleeved, flowing jacket. It is the same length as her skirt which

lends softness and elegance to the outfit. To round it all off is a thin silver chain around her

ankle and black heels in a sandal-style, showcasing her pedicured feet to perfection.

Very stylish. Very Anja.

Madame Levine motions for me to get off the bed. She tilts the glasses to add more

disapproval with a severe look at me.

“Black denim, Blue, is not formal wear. And a vest? Dear gods girl, have I not taught

you anything about dressing yourself? Where are your shoes?” she scolds.

I rub the bridge of my foot against the back of my leg. I have shoes but I do not like

wearing them. I offer no answer because I know about rhetorical questions.

“We do not have time for this,” she resigns herself then waves us both after her while

she clucks down the passageway over her shoulder “I will just have to endure the

embarrassment. You are on cleaning duty for the next week once this is over.”

I grin bigger, happy with the punishment. Most of the blood-donors do not like

cleaning duty, but I love it. It allows me an escape from boredom; a genuine flight

imagination as I dodge coven members with every new mission. I become Agent Blue and my

mission, which I always choose to accept ...

-snap-snap-snap-

Madame Levine’s face replaces her snapping fingers.

Blue! Did you hear a word I just said?” Her voice is sharper than usual. Now she

has my attention, I note she is nervous! This stoic, regal woman is never nervous.

“No, sorry,” I give the mechanical, honest reply.

I must go without the information as we are in front of the meeting room and

Madame Levine is most certainly not going to repeat herself. We step inside the massive,

florescent-lit room. It is huge, but mostly empty. The white carpet paves the way ahead,

which means we’re meeting with someone extremely important. Looking dead ahead, I

become aware of this not being usual service-selection or sales gathering.

There are several blood-donors from our coven and more from other neighboring

covens! They’re all polished and groomed to a high finish and exudes modern, formal,

sophistication. I stand out like a sore thumb. Even if I were to dress up more or apply make-

up, I’d still be standing out like a sore thumb.

Glances turns on Anja fills with awe and admiration. She stands out for several

reasons different to mine, but she stands out.

With our coven’s councilors, are representatives from the other covens. To avoid the

disapproving glares at me, I bite the inside of my cheek and look down on my toes. I do not

blame them for their judgement, I’ve earned it by being all of me. While I should be

ashamed, I am not. I refuse to become a product of my circumstance and give up every part

of my individuality. We were not told nor raised to do so, it is a choice I did not, and do not,

subscribe to. Although, I know very well Madame Levine whishes I do.

“Maylee,” our coven-ruler, Prince Antoine, speaks to Madame Levine “thank you for

bringing us all together for this momentous event.”

Wait, what? Oh hell, what did Madame Levine tell us when I went on my impossible mission tangent?

What is so momentous about this event? Is this one of those traditional situations where blood-donors are

offered to the councils as sacrifices? I don’t mind dying of natural – all be it assisted – causes at a young age,

but the –the –the-

“You are welcome, Lord Antoine,” Madame Levine is the poster child for fake

humility, I hear the pride and indulgence in her voice. “The Rothchildes Prince does not

often call upon anyone for assistance let alone make us aware of his presence; I am humbled

by his consideration of my council.”

Self-defense and autopilot kicks in. As of this instant, my brain refuses to entertain

anything outside of the mechanics where output is in direct proportion to input. A collective

gasp breezes through the donors at the mention of the name Rothchildes.

Sideways, with my chin down, I glance at them.

Recognition of the person and his importance paints their faces with excitement and

fear. All but Anja. Her confidence knows no bounds. She tucks at the sleeve of her jacket

with a crooked smile and I know she’s sending a message saying ‘I’ll take it from here’.

At a guess, I suppose this is one of those prized homes I never bothered to memorize.

It is not as if I consciously sabotage my own ‘adoption’ – but I am not the kind of package

the vampire Lords and Ladies hanker after. I cannot even class myself as an acquired taste

because, it turns out, nobody is dumb enough to try.

Vampires prefer their food to be intelligent and able to hold an educated

conversation. Humans eat things that can’t argue or plead their case to stay alive, and we

have no interest in holding any form of intelligent conversation with our food. But, blood-

donors - the source of sustenance for this race? We learn and grow and show signs of above

average knowledge on a variety of dull and unimaginative subjects; we must if we want to

live a semi long, comfortable, life.

I tell myself I’m not a bad student; historical information tends to bore the life out of

me, that’s all. Geography and math do the same. To get through schooling, I did just enough

to pass the usual exams. I am not dumb, but I am easily distracted which does not sit well

with the attention-giving requirement from buyers and users alike.

The doors behind me open and the donors’ charm turns on. Anticipation brightens

their eyes while each one’s body language practically shouts “Pick me!” louder than the

person next to them. I rub the corner of my eye. My head turns back to my wriggling toes.

My life reminds me of the pageants I see on the internet or T.V. We’re competing

with one another but we’re not allowed to undermine each other in the open. I am the

duckling who supports and cheers with no real participation other than being here.

A mass of movement passes at my side. A huge bag drops next to my feet.

“Here, take this,” a deep angry voice barks.

I have no idea what ‘this’ is, but my hands go out to take it anyway. Promptly two

itty-bitty babies fill the empty space.

Ack! They smell terrible!

My autopilot straps in tighter while I look down on the cutest little things I’ve seen in

my life! Sure, I’m a kitten and puppy person, but bright, big, blue eyes peel open and stick to

me.

Bleurgh! You smell! I don’t care how cute you are, you need cleaning! Right. Now.

The world and people around me dissolve. I don’t care about the blood-donors or the

councilors. Without permission or any mind to ask I maneuver the heavy bag up high

enough for it not to trip me, and stroll out with the two babies down the hall to the nursery.