Free Redlisted by Sara Beaman Page A

blinked twice.
“Markus?”
    “I had a
vision. About Aya and someone named Markus,” I said.
    “Interesting,”
he said. “Markus was another of my initiates. He passed away
not long ago.”
    “Aya turned
him into a ghoul, didn’t she?”
    Julian cast his
eyes downward. “Adam, Markus did something very cruel to her.”
    “Oh. I see.”
    “I’d
prefer not to speak further about it, if you don’t mind,”
Julian said.
    “I
apologize.”
    He shook his head.
“You couldn’t have known.”
    I didn’t
know what to say. I stared into my glass, embarrassed.
    “I will
leave you now,” he said, and then he slipped out of the study.
    The visits to
Julian’s office always involved drinking blood from the
amphora. It was always his blood. Every time I drank, I got that same
initial rush of blissful pleasure, but it was always short. Next a
wrecking ball of emotional agony would hit. For two or three minutes
after swallowing the last drop, twenty-four hours’ worth of
rage and grief would burn through my system. There was no way to hide
how distraught I was. The best I could do was to ask Julian to leave
the study, to give me some time alone. I only had to ask once; after
that he knew when to leave.
    At least he gave
me that.
    ///
    “What time
is it?” I asked Aya as she pulled the door to Julian’s
office closed on the third day.
    “It’s
a little after two A.M.,” she said, her eyes fixed on her
shoes.
    Normally at this
time she’d chauffeur me back to the suite. The idea of
returning there was enough to make me feel like killing myself again.
    “Could we go
outside?” I asked. “I’m starting to feel
claustrophobic down here.”
    “Of course!
I’ll show you the grounds.” She gave me a bright smile
full of white teeth.
    We walked through
the halls to a wide, sweeping staircase, larger at the base than at
the top. In front of the highest stair were two doors inlaid with
stained glass, each depicting an androgynous figure holding a goblet.
The two figures faced each other, smiling.
    Aya produced a key
ring from a hidden pocket in the side seam of her skirt and unlocked
the right-side door. Outside, the night air smelled of roses and
fresh earth. We walked down a gravel path into a garden. Past the
garden there was a pond, and beyond the pond rolling hills dotted
with trees; beyond that, the trees thickened into a forest. The
scenery was lush, even gorgeous, but something about it filled me
with a troubling sense of déjà vu. After a moment, I
realized why it was so familiar: I recalled it from Aya’s
memory.
    “It’s
beautiful, isn’t it?” Aya said. “This is my
favorite part of the estate.”
    “We’re
in Georgia, right? This doesn’t look like a plantation...”
I scanned the horizon, looking for potential routes to the outside
world. I couldn’t see any roads in any direction, only
footpaths.
    “It’s
not. It’s modern. Master Julian has only lived in the South for
about a century.”
    I frowned. He’d
said he was old. How old was he? How old was she?
    “So how long
have you been living here?” I asked.
    She paused for a
few moments, considering. “Twenty... no, twenty-five years
now,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes.
    “Working for
Julian?”
    “No. Well,
not that entire time, anyway. When I first came here, I wasn’t
in any condition to assist Master Julian with much of anything.”
    My throat started
to tighten. My eyes burned. For a moment, I thought I might cry. Why
was I upset over this, of all things? A glance back at Aya answered
my question: It wasn’t me who was upset, it was her. I was
having some sympathetic reaction to her emotions.
    “I didn’t
mean to upset you,” I said.
    She laughed. “No,
no, it’s fine.” She stopped at a stone bench and sat
down, crossing her legs at the ankles.
    “Why do you
work for him, anyway?”
    “I owe him a
debt of gratitude.”
    “For what?”
    “My line,
the Line of Thalia, is different than yours. We have