Giving up on dinner, I strip off my clothes and the Somi-pendant and toss myself into bed. Before too long, exhaustion carries me away from the sting of her absence and into unconsciousness.

I wake in the dark, early hours of the morning. Vague memories of strange dreams—all of them involving food—linger like a mist about my awareness.

For thirty fitful minutes or so I try to return to sleep before tossing back my covers and sitting up. I need to eat. Snatching my Companion from the bedside table, I check the time. Four a.m. No way I'm waking someone up to wait on me now.

Quietly I pad my way to the kitchen, grateful for the subtle violet glow that awakens at the base of the walls as I pass, lighting my way. The moon outside is a narrow, waning sliver. Obscured by whirling puffs of snow and clouds. Almost gone.

I breathe a sigh of relief to find the kitchen unoccupied. I almost wouldn't put it past that terrifying chef to have taken up permanent residence in the pantry or a shadowy corner. I'm quiet as I make my way over to the huge black refrigerator, still half afraid someone will jump out to reprimand me at any moment. But the silence is perfect.

Stop being ridiculous, I chide myself, taking another deep breath as I reach to open the latch. You're not committing a crime, just getting a snack.

The light when I open the door is so bright I squint, and it takes a few seconds before I can make out what's inside.

The answer is a lot. I scan the contents for something I can grab and make off with quickly—but all I see are ingredients. Deciding I could settle for some ice cream, I step sideways to open what I presume to be the freezer. Inside is row upon row of white pouches with capped, nozzle-like openings and clinical-looking, printed labels.

Curiosity peaked, I grab one—bringing it up to my face to squint at the tiny text.

Petran: Type O negative

06/13/11

Wait...what? Twisting off the cap, I sniff at it—but there's hardly any smell. Then I glance inside, angling the opening towards the refrigerator light.

It's dark red.

My breath catches.

Hands shaking and more terrified than ever of being walked in on, I shove the pouch back into the freezer and shut the door. Then I promptly get the hell out of there, hunger entirely forgotten.

~*~

At first I don't even try to go back to sleep. Curling myself into one of the room's two armchairs, I grab my Companion and pop in the voice-link.

"Hex," I whisper. "Are there any types of Umbran who need blood?"

"All humans—whether ordinary or Umbran—need blood."

I grit my teeth, drawing a hissing breath through them. I never should have let mom hack you, you snarky little jerk.

"Are there any types of Umbran that rely on external sources of blood for any reason?"

For a moment, Hex is silent.

"Each of the five types of Umbran has their own particular physical needs, but what those are is not widely known."

"What about Crimsons?" I ask. As far as I know, they're the only type of Umbran that can heal with a touch. "What's known of their needs?"

Another pause. "Crimsons absorb the Umbral energy passively given off by other people, usually by spending time around groups. If they have any other needs beyond the usual human ones, they aren't public knowledge."

I shift my weight uncomfortably. I shouldn't be prying into this, but...

"Ok, so are there any types who are known to feed on blood or...or use it in some way?"

"That information isn't available."

I sigh, taking the voice link out and tossing it in the little abalone dish on my bedside table. I shouldn't be surprised—Umbrans are notoriously secretive about the specifics of their biology. I think over everything I know of them, assessing. I'd assumed E.J. to be a Crimson, what with her healing abilities, charisma, and overwhelming attractiveness. If that's true, the blood isn't for her—but perhaps one of the other residents?

Viridians, with their ability to grow plant and fungal life from their bodies, are known to rely on sunlight to supplement their diet, while Petrans eat minerals to fuel the growth of stony armor and appendages. Of all the Umbran types, Reapers and Shifters are the most mysterious—no one but they themselves know what—if anything—fuels their abilities beyond ordinary food, water and rest.

Speculation and unwanted thoughts plague me for what feels like a very long time, but eventually I slip back into bed, returning to the dreamworld only to be hassled by bats who hunger for blood-flavored ice cream.

~*~

A knock at the door startles me awake. The bedside clock reads 8:06 a.m.

"Ashwyn, are you up? It's me." E.J.'s voice.

I pull on the robe from yesterday and hurry over to let her in. I'm quiet as she tends to my injuries, fighting back the urge to ask her about the blood.

When she finishes with my arm and looks up at me, her eyebrows knit together and her lips pull into a small frown.

"What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Just worried about when I'll get to start working on my commissions." It's not really a lie.

"Please don't worry about that," she pleads. "It's not an issue, really. We can call up Ms. Thornstrap if you don't believe me."

I put up my hands instantly at the thought. "No, no it's ok. And really, it's only a little bit stiff and awkward at this point. I don't think it'll be long before I can get to work, anyway. I just worry, you know," I babble.

"Don't push yourself. That's a—well, I'm in no position to be giving you orders. But it's a request."

"Ok," I hedge, rubbing my arm. The absence of her touch doesn't hurt, exactly, but I feel it in a bad way.

"Thank you." E.J. meets my gaze, holding it for heartbeat. "I'm sorry I have to leave you alone so much right now. I hope tonight makes up for it, at least a bit."

"Tonight?"

"I always throw a party for the household when I come back home. I'm not letting some little assassination attempt tamper with that tradition. Besides, it's Hornsby's birthday. The timing is perfect."

"Oh! When is it? Do I need to dress up, or...?"

"Not any more than you normally do." She smiles, flashing her brilliantly white canines. "I'll find you for another treatment around lunchtime, then I won't see you again until the party at seven. It's in the basement, by the way."

"The...the basement?"

"Yes. The bottom floor of the tower." With that, she dips her head. "See you at lunch."

I spend most of the day wandering around the house and grounds until it's time to get ready, aside from lunch, of course—which I eat with E.J. out on one of the tower's many balconies.

As it gets closer to seven, I select my outfit for the party and slip out onto my own balcony with my Lady Royale to wait. The blue-misted darkness and the fresh air are somehow even more soothing than my bad habit. Absorbed in a view like that, I can almost forget nearly getting killed and discovering blood packets in the home of the woman I adore.

After about twenty minutes I go back inside and into the closet to find my freshly-made clothes and accessories ready for me. Changing into the stretchy, knee-length dress, I check myself out in the mirror-screen. Just as I'd hoped, the rose color compliments the tones of my skin beautifully. I add the matching heels and ribbon—twice-wrapped around my neck—then a bronze belt purse for my companion and the Lady.

Politely disregarding Somi's suggestion that I take the elevator, I find my way to the long, curving tower stair.

Why is the party in the basement, anyway?

As I get closer to the bottom floor, I begin to hear a rushing sound that gets louder the further I go. Reaching the last of the stairs, I find myself face-to-face with a heavy oaken door. I drag it open, step through—and immediately yelp in shock. The rushing sound is a huge waterfall, surging from a cave just a few paces to my left. Below me is a sheer cliff, open air, and the dark cascade of forested mountains hundreds of feet down.