This Book Sucks Blood

Chapter 4: Bloodsuckers

Griffin's whole body trembled in the emperor's presence, his eyes cast to the ground. Seeing the other contestants, holding Harrison Blue's cylinder in his hand, it had all cemented one idea in his head: this was not a reality show; this was an execution. Eight weirdos (minus Elody and Claudine, who looked poised and perfect), all trapped together in a small room. And in the castle, no less?

And it was too much. How silly, that he could stand on stage and make history puns to hundreds, if not thousands of people, but seven other contestants chattering and snarking at each other made him want to press his hands to his ears and squeeze the sound out. If this was an execution, he wanted it over with. No begging for mercy from him. Just boom.

Polished black shoes inched into his vision. Griffin shuddered, eyes fluttering over the pale pink nails and silvery strap of a heeled shoe beside it. And behind those, scuffed sneakers. He could feel the eyes burning into the back of his neck, and then there was more, the warm tingly sensation of fingers trailing across his curly hair.

It was a minute of silence. Goose flesh rose on Griffin's arms. And then laughter burst from a woman's voice, and the emperor copied. It was a purr, a sound that Griffin had never heard from a human.

"Oh, Haldyn. I think you have to work on your presence. They're terrified!"

"Can you blame me for being intimidating? I don't try to be. If I was them, I'd be terrified as well." Honey. His voice dripped over the room, this slow, sweet thing that made Griffin want to drink it in. He cleared his throat. "Don't move. Not yet. Wait for your microphones to be clipped in."

It was a flurry of matching shoes and quick fingers. A thick black wire curved below Griffin's light blue shirt, the microphone head heavy and pulling down on the collar.

"Alright." The woman clapped her heads. "Stand up, bums!"

It was a scramble. Eight people rushing to their feet as quickly as they could. Someone, the woman in red heels, sucked in her breath out of pain.

Griffin surveyed both people standing beside the emperor. There was a man in scuffed sneakers, tight jeans, and a pink vest with a prim collar peaking up behind it. He had a furrowed brow, a blocky face, and dark eyes that watched the room impassively. His pageboy hat gave him a youthfulness, though Griffin thought he must be in his forties. The man caught Griffin's eye and glowered, so he turned to look at the woman.

At least six feet tall and in silvery stilletos. Her dress was a giant ruffled thing in tangerine-orange, studded with small sequins. Her blonde hair was in wild curls, contrasting her lovely olive skin. Her silhouette and shadow loomed large, but compared to Haldyn?

Griffin couldn't even look. It felt perverse. Dangerous. The air itself was sharp and clawed him with every breath.

"We've been watching from the other room," the woman said, smiling sunnily. "The introductions were cute, but none will make it into the show without your microphones. You might be excited to hear that there will be no more cameramen after this part."

She turned to the door, which made a familiar whir. The robots that trailed in looked quaint, all small wheels and boxy gray frames. They buzzed and chirped, their shoebox-sized heads studded with two camera lenses for eyes.

"There will be no interference between the contestants. We expect professionalism, but we ask that for your safety." The woman licked her frosted pink lips. "Not ours."

Griffin trembled. Maybe this would be an execution after all, not directed by the emperor but rather witnessed by him. It would be easy to excuse; eight contestants gone stir-crazy, clawing each other to shreds. He stood stiffly, watching the light play on the woman's eyes.