Page 49 of The Blood Witch

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“What brings a Witch to this side of the city, huh?” the boy asked, advancing toward her. Amalia scrambled back away from him, only to be shoved back toward him by another of the boys.

“A rich Witch, too,” another said, stepping forward and fingering the hem of her cloak. His eyes fell on the golden bird clasp of her cloak and widened with a greedy hunger.

“Please don’t,” Amalia said, breathlessly, trying to pull out of the grip he held on her clothing. But they were all moving closer to her, surrounding her. She had to get out of here, had to find a way to escape.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the first boy said, chuckling. He was clearly the leader, the oldest of them. And the scariest. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re not savages. But that is an awfully nice coat you’re wearing, isn’t it? I’m guessing a fine noble Witch like you doesn’t leave the house without some gold, huh? You’re lost, aren’t you? Give us what you have, and we can get you safely home. Promise.”

Amalia’s heart was pounding in her chest as the boy came even closer, towering over her.

“I—I don’t have any money,” Amalia said, looking around her desperately. She didn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to her to bring any since she’d never carried gold before. She had to get out of here, had to?—

“Leave her alone, Jayce,” came another voice. Firm and female, this time. Deeper down the alley, someone hopped down from a fire escape ladder and started toward them.

This girl didn’t rush. She approached slowly, like she had all the time in the world. The crowd of boys parted to let her through.

And she was…

Beautiful, Amalia thought, heart beating hard against her ribcage. This girl was beautiful.

The boy towering over Amalia—Jayce—stepped back immediately. They all did, every single boy in the alley, heads lowered like they were in trouble, eyes on the gravel at their feet.

“Look at how scared she is,” the girl said, frowning at all of them. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Apologize.”

“Sorry,” Jayce mumbled, backing away further. They were acting like scolded children.

“Louder,” the girl ordered.

Jayce glanced up at her quickly, then looked at Amalia.

“We’re sorry,” he said, staring her full in the eyes. “We were never going to hurt you, and we didn’t mean to scare you that badly. Honest.”

“That’s okay,” Amalia answered, her voice a broken whisper, as she looked from Jayce to the girl.

She was Amalia’s age—sixteen, maybe seventeen, with soft brown hair, and big green eyes. She was breathtaking, Amalia thought—really, truly beautiful, not like her, with her mother’s incomplete face. With her too-thin face. This girl was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. So beautiful it made her mouth dry and her palms sweat.

“Ignore them,” the girl said, stepping to Amalia and brushing her hands over Amalia’s cloak as though brushing away the boys’ touch. “Boys have no manners, do they?”

Amalia had no idea, but staring up into this girl’s wild green eyes, she nodded. That seemed to be the right answer, because the girl smiled widely at her, and to Amalia it was like seeing the sun come out from behind the clouds.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked, still smiling that warm smile at her.

“Amalia,” she answered, a little surprised she could still speak.

“Amalia,” the girl repeated, her smile widening. Her canines were sharp and dangerous looking, visible between her plump lips. “What a pretty name. And my! What a pretty dress!”

She stepped back to admire it, looking Amalia up and down, taking in the crimson cloak and the expensive gown.

“And your hair! You’re so precious-looking, just like a little doll,aren’t you?” the girl asked. She tilted her head to the side when she spoke. “I’m so sorry about my friends. I hope you can forgive them. They’re just stupid boys. They don’t know any better.”

“Oh,” Amalia said, blushing from the attention. “Oh yes, of course. I forgive them.”

“Good!” the girl said, clapping her hands together, and Amalia gasped as she stepped even closer, taking Amalia’s arm and looping her own arm through it, pulling her close enough that their hips and shoulders touched. Her skin was so warm Amalia could feel it through the thick fabric of her dress.

“My name is Vivian,” the girl said, walking Amalia past the boys and back to the street. Back to safety.

Vivian. What a beautiful name, Amalia thought.

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