“Deeper than wine?” You shiver.
You’ve got a bad feeling you might already know what that means.
What kind of establishment this place is.
Leaning forward slightly, he lowers his voice and says, “Blood, my dear sorceress. The Crimson Palace prides itself on serving only the highest-caliber clients the most premium ofcrimson wine.”
Before you can stop yourself, you blurt, “Like…a blood brothel!?”
Malcolm frowns. “That is quite a vulgar term for it.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God! It’s a brothel!” You stand up, pushing back from the chair. “I should have known.”
You’re half-expecting Malcolm to stop you, for his eyes to glow bright red and for darkness to rush around the room, maybe for a cloud of bats to emerge from the rafters in sudden, screeching anger—or for any other number of scary things to happen.
But Malcolm only laughs, still sitting calmly, watching serenely as you stand.
Soft tunes of classical piano drift from the hidden speakers somewhere above.
“You react as many do. But before you go, know this: Everything that goes on beneath this roof is entirely consensual. In fact, most find it highly pleasurable.”
You blush, trying not to remember all your, uh,experienceswith Ziros, just in case this Malcolm guy can actually read minds or something.
There’s no denying that it felt good, but…it’s not like you set out looking for strangers to drink your blood.
“Sorry,” you say, turning for the door. Hoping you won’t find yourself locked-in. “I think I’m going to have to pass.”
“I won’t stop you if you choose to leave,” Malcolm says without getting up. With a wave at the door, he says, “Go ahead. It’s open.”
Can this dude actually read minds or something? Because right now it’s sure feeling that way.
You vow to keep your thoughts in check just in case, grabbing the door handle—and to your relief, he’s not lying.
It really is open.
“Have a good night,” you bid with a tone of finality as you start through. “Thank you for the offer.”
Just before you can leave, you hear him say, “Wait.”
You pause.
Once again, just like when you walked in and when you visited that strange, magical bookshop where you found the book Ziros was trapped in, you find yourself pinned by curiosity.
There’s that sensation that youshouldleave, yet you can’t seem to bring yourself to.
Instead, you turn around, one hand still on the open door.
“Yes?”
Malcolm smiles that serene, unreadable smile.
“I have a proposal to make you, sorceress.” He flashes you a glinting, pointed-teeth grin. “If you agree to offer your services, I can offer you mine. I am, you see, very gifted at finding out information. Information, which I sense you greatly desire.”
You freeze.
How does he know?
Is he seriously reading your mind?
