Page 48 of The Blood Witch

A small part of Amalia wasn’t at all surprised to find out it was a lie.

The city looked just as it always had, and the streets became busierand busier as she walked further into the city center and away from the imposing shadow of the palace. There wasn’t chaos here. People were not being murdered in the streets, being dragged from their homes in broad daylight. No one was being tortured, no one was being violated or ripped limb from limb…

The sidewalks were full of citizens walking with their friends and family, full of people hurrying to and from work, full of people shopping, and talking, and laughing. After a while, Amalia lowered her hood, unable to stand the heat a moment longer. Her feet hurt, and she could feel herself getting blisters from shoes that weren’t meant to be walked in for more than a short distance, but she didn’t care.

There were more people on these streets than she’d seen in all her life.

She looked around at them all, wide eyed. She’d known, of course, that the city was full of people from all four Factions, but at the palace she’d had little contact with anyone besides other Witches. Here, there were Shifters—some in their animal forms. A Wolf prowled the street, stopping to scratch behind their ear with a long back foot. Not a single person other than her looked twice at it. There were even Demons, some with horns of various sizes and textures, but others with scales and long snake-like tails. She saw no Vampires, of course. The sun was high in the sky, and they were a nocturnal Faction by nature. But their presence was clear here, even during the day. A candy shop advertised their lollipops as “fang safe, for Vampire children,” and another sign further down the walkway specifically assured patrons they were open until dawn “to accommodate all Factions, day or night.”

After almost two hours of walking, Amalia knew she should head back to the palace, knew that even if no one noticed her absence she should at least go back before she was too tired to walk at all. Yet… she couldn’t seem to leave. Every street brought new wonders, new shops, and new people. It was nothing she had ever experienced before, and she drank it all in, staring around at her city in wonder.

Demons were, by far, the Faction she’d had the least contact with, and the first Demon she’d seen with horns—actual horns, that curved from the side of his skull and ended under his ears, like a ram’s—had smiled at her so sweetly she’d almost tripped over her skirt and fallen.There had been no menace in his eyes, no anger. He seemed nothing at all like the creatures Linh had warned her about. Nothing at all like the savage things her mother had described.

That was another thing—her skirts. Even though this dress had been the simplest of her mother’s gowns, and even though she’d worn dresses just like it every day of her life, Amalia looked around at the people on the street and felt wildly out of place.

None of them wore clothing like hers, not even the women. They wore pants, and skirts, and shorts. They wore things unlike any she’d seen before, and though their outfits weren’t fancy, Amalia coveted every garment she saw.

And the clothing changed! As she walked, the neighborhoods shifted around her, and so did the people. Demons gave way to Shifters, and young student-filled neighborhoods gave way to businesses, and then to warehouses.

Amalia was so in love with the world around her, so in love with the changes and the people, that she didn’t notice at first that she was lost. She had been following a song in her heart, a feeling rather than a road, and suddenly all the businesses were gone. There were people here, sure, but they looked… harder. Angrier.

Suddenly, no one was looking at her dress and smiling. There were no friendly nods or approving glances. If she’d felt overdressed before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Eyes followed her. And they did not look welcoming.

She had somehow managed to make her way into the shipping and warehouse district, and the workers here were not impressed with the ribbons in her curls, and her rich crimson cloak and hand-stitched dress. Amalia tugged her cloak tight around herself, trying to hide her clothing as best as she could, and began to avoid making eye contact. She looked around the streets and tried to remember where she’d been, tried to remember how to get back.

She couldn’t see the palace anymore for all the tall buildings around her, but as she circled the block, she noticed that one direction seemed more uphill than the others. That should be the direction home, shouldn’t it? After all, the palace sat at the highest point in the city—surely if she made her way uphill, she should eventually find her way back to a place she recognized.

Her legs were in agony by now, and she knew her feet were bleeding from where blisters had formed and popped. Sheached. But she had no choice now. She had to keep going, had to get home. Steeling herself, Amalia pushed the pain down. She could do this.

At least… she thought she could.

Amalia’s foot caught the curb at a wrong angle, and she tripped, stumbling into a large male Shifter who was smoking outside a factory.

Instead of offering her his arm, or asking if she was okay, he gave an irritated grunt and pushed her until she stumbled away from him.

“Watch where you’re going, Witch,” he barked, curling his lip at her.

Amalia felt her cheeks heat. She’d never heard someone say Witch that way, as though it were an insult, not a blessing. Weren’t they the greatest of the Factions, the most beloved by the Goddess? Why would anyone say it in such a manner?

She mumbled an apology and hurried away, glancing behind her often to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

The Shifters didn’t chase her. But they laughed as she left, and Amalia felt herself blush hard enough that she was sure her neck was the same color as her dress.

After a few blocks, Amalia wasn’t sure she was going the right way, after all. Uphill was a harder concept to judge than she’d thought, and she backtracked several times, trying to figure out which direction was which.

She should just pick a direction and keep going, Amalia decided, stopping for a moment to look around once again and decide which direction was her best bet. If she turned right and then headed straight, that seemed like the best possible?—

Amalia gasped as someone grabbed her arm and yanked her into an alley. They pulled at her with enough force that she lost her footing and stumbled, falling to her hands and knees.

“Well, well, well,” came a voice from behind her. “Look what I caught, fellas.”

Scrambling to her feet, Amalia looked around in horror.

A boy stood between her and the entrance of the alley, blocking her way back to the street. He was maybe a little younger than she was, but he was big. Tall, with dark blond messy hair, and wild looking eyes. A Shifter.

A predator.

She glanced around at the rest of the alley. There were more boys here, a whole group she hadn’t even noticed when she’d been trying to find her way. She’d been so distracted, so focused, she had walked right into trouble.

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