Biting into a piece of sausage, Agnes very carefully did not think about how it had felt to dress Lady Rosemary. Nope. She simply did not have the time to think of how beautiful such a dangerous creature had been, or how soft and anxious her expression had been when she had looked at her reflection or how–

Rosemary was her target! Agnes reminded herself to stay distant.

The sausage. Think about the sausage. It was very good sausage, the kind that her mother would buy from the butcher on Sundays and fry up with bacon. It went well with toast, and there would be slices of tomato and mushroom, and a fried egg. Her favorite part had been the beans, once, served warm with thick slices of bread. But ever since she had been turned, the sausage had taken its place.

The meal tonight was not the breakfast of her dreams, but a random assortment of ingredients. Dried sausage (which admittedly had been delicious), vegetables boiled beyond recognition, and stale bread. There was someone who went to town for groceries, but this happened only once a month, and they had forgotten the bread last time.

“At least,” one of the other werewolves told her, a blonde woman named Eileen, “the vampires weren’t cooking today. They do not know what they’re doing.”

“They’ve had centuries to learn,” Agnes said. “Why haven’t they?”

“Why learn to do something that will never help them?” Eileen sighed. “Anyway, it’s nice to go out to town sometimes.”

“So you’re the one who goes?”

Eileen smiled. It was all sharp teeth. “Oh, we switch off the duty. Used to be, people would start to recognize us. And the wolf ears are difficult to hide, even under a cloak.”

“But it’s safer for you than a vampire?” Agnes ate another bite of sausage. It was the only good thing on her plate, after all.

“The vampires don’t care. They’ve got a century’s supply of blood down there, and someone regularly comes to drop off more.”

“Who would that be?”

Eileen laughed. “Well, you’re in luck. She makes her next visit today. But her name is Nyx. I think she might be Mister Aster’s sister, but I’m not sure. She’ll be coming to see Lady Rosemary, like she always does.”

Agnes stood. “Then I guess I’ll see meet her.”

“If you do, think you could ask her to bring the ingredients for a fry-up next time? It’s what my mama used to make me before she kicked me out, and these vampires don’t know how to cook it.”

Agnes nodded. “Sure, why not.”

Eileen’s eyes bulged. “Are you serious? You’re going to ask? Could you ask her to bring up some crusty bread, too? Or some sheep we could take care of so we could have fresh milk?”

“We would eat the sheep,” Agnes muttered. Bringing sheep into a den of wolves was perhaps the worst idea she had ever heard.

“I heard that!” Eileen said. “We have more self-control than that!”

“Could have fooled me,” Agnes retorted. Eileen burst into a cackle, one which Agnes ignored. She had a shy little vampire to find.

Rosemary, it turned out, was pacing in the foyer. Her face was pale, but her dark gown swished invitingly around her as she strode about the room. The bodice and skirt seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, struck in warm tones.

Agnes shook her head to distract herself. “I hear someone named Nyx is coming?”

At the sound, Rosemary startled. Silver hair billowing, she turned to Agnes.

“Yes, someone named Nyx is coming. She is...” Rosemary pressed her palms together, “...a great supporter of vampire kind. And perhaps one of the greatest vampires.”

Agnes raised her eyebrow. Now here was what she was supposed to do. Playing maid, so that Rosemary would tell her everything.

“I thought you were the greatest vampire.”

Rosemary shook her head. “I’m a flower in the garden that Nyx planted.”

She was definitely as pretty as a flower.

“I hear she’s Aster’s sister?” Agnes asked.
“She is,” Rosemary said. “Though they are strange siblings.”
“Oh.”

“Yes. They have an odd relationship. I would not ask him to comment. The spot is a little sore for Aster. Or at least it was... a century or two ago?”

Agnes hummed. “You don’t know?”

“I am a speck of dust in this castle, Agnes. I am nothing. Why should anyone tell me personal details?”

Agnes approached, taking Rosemary’s hands in her own. “Because you are the lady from whom this castle gets its name, and for whom all of the servants work.”

Rosemary’s face grew cold. “And they have worked here for centuries, Agnes. What am I, to them? What are they, to me? Nothing but housemates.”
Something stung in Agnes’ heart. “Oh, is that why I’ve selected your clothing, delivered you food, and come all the way here on your request? To be another housemate?”

Rosemary blinked. Her lips pressed together a moment, but before she could answer, Aster opened the castle doors. None of the welcoming grace with which he had greeted Agnes was there. 

“Nyx, is here,” he said, in a dull tone. “As usual.”
The woman who followed him into the foyer was tall and slim, her hair as dark as midnight. Her skin was as pale as the moon, and her red eyes were almost as bright as Rosemary’s. She wore a pale white suit beneath a traveling cloak.

Handing the bag at her side to Aster, she strode to Rosemary and lifted a leather-gloved hand.

“Nyx,” Rosemary said, pressing her fingers into Nyx’s palm. 

Nyx approached, kissing it. Then her fingers slid upward, wrapped tight around Rosemary’s wrist, and tugged. “Come then. We have much to do.”

There was a moment where Agnes thought that perhaps Rosemary might resist. The oldest vampire in existence stood in place like a silent ghost, then 

Rosemary followed silently on unsteady feet. She did not protest, nor did she look up.

Agnes turned to Aster. “Where are they going?”

“The tower. I’ll take you there,” Aster said, “but you won’t be allowed to follow them up. Nobody is. Come. They will spend some time there, and we should bring Lady Rosemary a drink.”

When they finally arrived at the base of the tower, a bottle of blood between the two of them, the door was locked shut. Aster, in a departure from his usual composure, slumped beside the door and let out a deep sigh.

“What are they doing in there?” Agnes could not help but ask.

“Continuing vampire kind,” Aster replied. Popping open the bottle, he poured himself a cup.

“Isn’t that for Rosemary?” Agnes asked.

“Yes, well, she won’t mind. We’ve known each other almost a thousand years after all.”

“Then why aren’t you up there with her?”

“Because I am waiting for her down here, as I always do. And this is where she knows to find me.”

Agnes furrowed her brows, but said nothing. Why should she have expected such ancient beings to change? Frustration burned in the back of her throat and emerged as accusation. “You just let this Nyx woman take her.”

“Nyx has come here for centuries.”

“And what does she do?”

Aster knocked back the blood, and placed everything on the floor. “She takes blood.”

Agnes blinked.

Here was one of the questions of her mission, so easily answered. And yet, it was obvious in retrospect.

After all, it was Lady Rosemary’s blood, kept in bottles, that the vampires distributed into the city. The hunters were still not entirely certain why. Yes, the consumption of vampire blood could turn a person, but only if they had been drained first. The prevailing theory was that the blood of an old vampire could increase their abilities, make them stronger, faster, better hunters.

And yet many of the vampires that Agnes had met had been weak even as their eyes had glowed a bright white. Strong enough still to terrorize a mortal (and how strange, that she could no longer count herself among them), yet not strong at all against her blade.

Still, she had taken the time to identify them. The vampires she had come across in her hunts had been wealthy, the type of person rich enough to purchase bottles and bottles of Lady Rosemary’s blood. Though they had hunted among the poorest districts, the same expensive, dark cloaks they used to hide their identities betrayed their origins.

Ariadne had yet to build up a case strong enough to allow them access to the homes of the city’s wealthiest inhabitants. 

If, Agnes realized, she could figure out how Nyx’s supply network functioned, there was a chance that she might be able to actually help.

“What is the blood for?” Agnes asked, finally.

Aster picked up the bottle. “So Rosemary can regain her strength.”

Not the blood she had meant.

“I mean–”

And with that, the door swung open.

Nyx passed through first, a satchel clinking at her side with each of her footsteps. She stopped only to nod to Aster, before continuing down the hall. Rosemary stumbled out after her, leaning against the doorway.

Aster stood. At first, Agnes presumed he meant to offer a hand, but he merely handed her the bottle and cup. “Here is your blood,” Aster said, and then he turned and began to exit the hall.

“What?” Agnes asked. “Where are you going?”

“This is how we always do this,” Aster explained, and then he was gone.

Agnes looked to Rosemary. Her face was terribly pale, her body strange and light, the deep red of her eyes diminished to a soft pink. She hung off of Agnes’ shoulder, but was clearly trembling, even as she poured herself a strengthening cup of blood to her lips.

Something in Agnes’ heart, as hard as it was supposed to be, softened.

“Come on, Rosemary,” she crooned. “Let’s get you to your room.”

“The library,” Rosemary croaked. “I spend this time in the library.”

How lucky that it was not far. Agnes began to lead Rosemary there, but her mistress’ feet caught on the floor and she stumbled, slipping downward. Grimacing, Agnes knelt, brought an arm to the back of her legs, and lifted her into a carry.

“Just a little more, Rosemary,” Agnes breathed. “Just a little bit more, and you can rest.”