“La Grande Sanguination Theatre,” Spence said, and something in his voice made Emmy shiver.
The huge stage dominated one side of the room. It was both wide and deep, and she could see the professional spotlights above the stage, so she knew the effects a decent lighting person could create.
And she figured Zander had either hired the best or paid for someone to go learn from the best.
There were no fixed seats, but based on what she’d read, they’d have either tables or mats in place, depending on the night’s theme.
Carved molding traced the curved ceiling overhead, and the back wall bore a mural — low-relief carvings of fangs and mouths and wounds, erotic and grotesque in equal measure.
“Feeding Frenzies take place every night there isn’t a ball,” Spence said, quieter now. “You’ll perform here, and provide your blood to be consumed here, direct from the tap. Unless you’re in high demand and frequently purchased as an add-on, every guest vampire in the silo will likely feed from you in this space over the next ninety days at least once.”
No one spoke. No one cracked a joke.
The photos in the online manual hadn’t prepared her for the sheer weight of it. The beauty, the extravagance, and the feeling of being watched, even now.
This wasn’t just theater, it was life as a play — a dramatic, overindulgent, decadent vampire opera fever dream, and she was the food.
No, not just the food, but part of the blood-soaked feast.
As she’d learned from Lucien, Byron, Alistair, and others, the majority of bloodsuckers don’t see daywalkers as people, but as the cows and chickens of the vampire world, existing solely to be consumed — never to be part of theirsocial structure.
And that was fine with Emmy. More than fine. They could pay for her blood while giving her orgasms, and it was win-win all around.
And yet, this room still unsettled her.
She was happy to leave the theater and head farther down.
The next floor was another large room, a cafeteria nearly half as large as the ballroom and theater. She figured the rest of this floor was probably the kitchens and food storage. Though, she’d read that frozen food is kept topside in a steel, bearproof building, so probably mostly kitchens.
Her stomach rumbled at the smell — a rich, savory reindeer stew, if her nose had it right.
Wide islands had signage designating the burger bar, taco bar, and salad bar, made so people could approach from two sides. Along a wall were a carnivore line and an herbivore line. The literature had said there would be two meals per day made, one for vegetarians and one for everyone else, with the various bars fully stocked and open around the clock.
There was also a breakfast line, available all day, with eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, biscuits, gravy, hash browns, and more.
“No limits on quantity,” Spence said, “but you’ll pay by the ounce for anything left on your plate when you turn it in. Don’t take more than you’ll eat.”
A woman stepped out of a door and told them, “We need a three-hour notice to put together an expedition package of food for a single meal, for up to a dozen people. More people,or more meals, we prefer twenty-four hours. Also, no food can be carried off the floor. If you have a need to do so, one of the managers will need to give us a heads-up on the app, and we’ll prepare it in to-go boxes. No food in your rooms under any circumstances.”
“No one wants us to have to spray for bugs,” Spence said. “You’d think they wouldn’t be up here in the frozen north, and they aren’t outside, but there were apparently problems in the silo pre-Zander. Most of the expeditions outside the dome aren’t long enough to need food. Twenty minutes, tops, to see the sky, and most of us are more than ready to come back inside and max out the sauna.”
Emmy walked away from the group to look inside a little nook. It held comfy chairs with side tables, coffeeshop style, for people who wanted to hang out, maybe even read while snacking.
In the main room, there were larger tables for groups of six or eight, and smaller tables for two to four people.
She could see this becoming part of her daily rhythm. Food, warmth, and familiar faces.
From there, Spence once again led them down the stairwell, this time to the flock’s common areas. The living area was first, with armchairs, warm lighting, throw blankets, and shelves full of puzzles and books. Emmy hadn’t expected anything this normal. She felt her shoulders loosen a little.
Sofas were in conversation groups, but nooks also held space for the introverts to sit away from the group but stillbe part of it. The space felt like a typical living room, homey and comfortable.
Next came the media room, decorated more like a den. A dozen screens, each with multiple gaming consoles, controllers lined up on chargers, tons of couches and gaming chairs, and lots of cushions on the floor. “You were told to bring your own Bluetooth headphones,” Spence said. “Some of you also brought your own controller, which is fine, but you should etch your name into it and charge it in your room. Please don’t make me mediate an argument over who owns a controller. It likely will not go well for either party.”
He led them to the workout room, with mats, heavy bags, and racks of dumbbells over rubber flooring. Across from it, the sauna, its heat pushing out into the hallway when Spence opened the door to show it to them.
Emmy soaked in the blast of warmth. How awesome would it be to run in the cold topside and then come down here and get warm?
She couldn’t wait.
