Page 9 of When We Lost The Moon

Most people were dressed casually, like us. An eclectic mix of garments, that seemed to prioritize comfort. Mostly hoodies, T-shirts and jeans. But some of the women wore skirts or dresses, with a light jacket against the chill, and a few of the men had tailored suits. Several people were wearing dark sunglasses, even at night, which made me uneasy and covetous at the same time, as the flashing lights sometimes caught the side of my eye, momentarily blinding me.

The more I looked, the more I noticed the small flourishes and details. Most people were subtle about it, but had obviously chosen an ensemble that created a personal style; an arrangement of identity like a projected mosaic. A handful of figures took this to an extreme, peacocking with a collection of bizarre, bright garments and accessories that I couldn’t look away from.

We didn’t see any other elite, though occasionally I’d smell the scent of elixir and a rush of images raced through my mind, mostly of Damien. Luke was the one who first figured out that some people had small electronic devices, with a glowing interface. They were breathing in a vaporized substance, and blowing out sweet clouds that hung in the air.

There was something almost sacrilegious about it. Elixir always reminded me of the renewal ceremony, which was a solemn, respectful affair. Each drop, precious and sacred. We passed a woman with a teasing laugh, as she sucked on the small tube until her eyes were glowing. I even saw a guy piss against a wall, before zipping up and toking on his device.

We looked into getting one for Camina. None of us were critically injured, but we had grown accustomed to at least a drop each day. Even though I didn’t feel the sickness of addiction, I still yearned for it in a way that left me feeling empty, like my skin was stretched too tight. Plus, whatever we were planning next, it felt vulnerable to be without it. And I needed Camina with me, if it came to a real fight.

Someone finally pointed us to a machine tucked away in an alley, filled with small plastic refillable cartridges. But the price was several times more than what Augustine had given us; and just for the capsule, not for a whole device.

So, we gambled. Luke tried his luck at cards. It took less than an hour to run out of chips.

“I wish Jazmine was here,” I said wistfully. “She could really play.”

“I can play poker,” Luke sighed. “I just got bad cards. You need to have enough money to lose slowly, and bet big when you have a winning hand.”

“What about tomorrow?” I asked. “We’ll need to eat.”

“We’ll think of something,” Luke said.

We wandered a while through the dark streets at the far end of the strip. The lights here were more spread out, and the crowds were sparse. A handful of seedier establishments peppered the back alleys, with single red lights illuminating stairs that descended to unmarked doors. It started to rain, and we ducked into a covering just before the downpour started, hitting the tin roof above us with thunderous noise. But a few minutes later, it turned to a light drizzle. Puddles reflected the blue and pink neon signs, and steam rose from the gutters. A drunk stumbled past us, towards an empty booth at the end of the street.

I watched his silhouette as he raised his arm to some kind of machine. A green light came on, illuminating his face as he winced in pain. Then I heard the sound of falling coins. He gathered them quickly in his pocket and went off in the other direction, leaving the booth open. I stepped closer to peer inside.

“Nobody stays, unless they contribute,” Luke said, over my shoulder. He was reading a strip of graffiti done in white chalk to the inner wall of the booth. Just below it, was a machine hooked up to a coin dispenser. The sign saiddonate today.

“It’s a blood collection,” I said, my eyes widening. “This is grotesque, and profane somehow.”

“It’s efficient,” Luke shrugged. “Practical. Give blood, get money. Trade it for food or gamble to win enough for the elixir. Makes sense to me.”

“I guess,” I said, crossing my arms. “I mean, the citadel limits its use to one drop a week; but it also makes renewal mandatory. And everyone gets the same amount.”

“Just enough to get them hooked, not enough to create violence or mania,” Luke said.

“You think this is better? People can stay high all the time and risk their lives on pointless bets to obtain more?”

“You trade blood for elixir,” Luke shrugged. “Honestly I can’t see how it’s much different from the compound system; and I’d rather donate blood anonymously, in the privacy of a sketchy back-alley booth, than in some trumped-up ceremony in one of your fancy services, where everybody gives thanks to your elite lords.”

“So… you gonna get us some coins?” I asked.

“Not that desperate yet,” Luke said, pulling a face. “Plus,” he said, studying the payment chart inside the booth, “Even if the four of us give blood every day, it would probably take years to afford one of those hovercrafts.”

“We don’t have years,” I said. I was trying not to panic, but it was getting harder not to think about Damien, and my siblings, at the mercy of Nigel in the citadel. I leaned against the smooth brick wall of the alley.

“Aren’t you special or something?” Luke asked. “Maybe yours is worth more.”

“You think the payment varies according to the blood type, or purity?”

“Or the taste,” Luke smirked. “Imagine there’s some guy named Hank somewhere; an elite gets some very fine blood with a distinct taste. Six months later he wants some; he boosts the price for Hank’s blood. Next time Hank makes a delivery, he gets more coins. But then another vampire gets a taste for it, too. Starts a bidding war. Suddenly Hank’s blood is worth a lot. Hank’s living it up, the easy life. His friends get jealous and take his blood by force, farm him even.”

“Why are you like this?” I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, probably doesn’t work like that. Beatrice told me once, something rare is actuallylessvaluable; because there’s an invisible cost to everything of value: it’s a magnet for trouble, and will attract violence. The cost to protect it, is sometimes a lot more than the price you paid for it.”

We heard footsteps and I looked up to see a group of men rushing towards us. My heart pounded, but they weren’t focused on me. At the next corner, they stopped to shout and clap their hands.

When we joined them, I realized there were already hundreds of bystanders stretching down the strip. But not walking, just standing around in large groups, waiting for something. I pushed through them to see what they were looking at, just as a screech of tires and the smell of burning rubber blazed around the corner.

---