Page 7 of Vervain

I thought they were a myth. Legends. I fucking wish they were.

It all changed the night Darkovish Feeding Ground fell. Not only are they real, but they are filled with malice towards me. A vegodian. As soon as one saw my moonflower tattoo, he saw red and shot me.

“Do you have a name, or shall I call you Serun’s consort?” I snap out of my thoughts and face the woman resting against her cage. When I don’t answer, she exhales a laugh and says, “Serun’s consort it is, then.”

“Sold!” The nightwalker in the dragon-adorned suit gestures towards the man in the front row. “I see Mister Martin now has a swordsmith apprentice!”

The crowd claps while Devan’s cage is placed next to mine. His gaze settles on me, and those tense muscles relax. “Hello again, heartbeat. We should get to know each other while we are in the Undercity.” He leans forward, resting his broad arms on the metal crossbar. “You may be of use to me.”

His cage shudders violently. Devan stumbles with a choked gasp when shadows creep up from the corners of his cage like clawed fingers. They inch closer, filling the bottom with a writhing, hungry presence.

I taste Serun’s rage as if it were my own. He could tear Devan to ribbons, and a bitter part of me wants him to do it if it means one less nightwalker for me to worry about.

Long, taloned fingers dip down from the top of the cage. Devan’s eyes widen, but he seems paralysed by fear. We watch as what I saw back in the delivery room—dripping shadows from the ceiling—extend from either side of him, a pointed fingernail a hair away from carving out Devan’s eye.

“What the—” the woman nearest us grabs onto the bars when her cage starts to move. Before we can fully process what is going on, the shadows dissipate.

“Fuck me,” Devan breathes, which I find odd because he is acting as if he has breath. Nightwalkers are dead. They don’t need to breathe.

Maybe as a newborn nightwalker, he hasn’t realised that yet.

From across the theatre, Serun hasn’t moved an inch—but his fiery eyes aren’t on me anymore. Serun’s violent focus is on Devan while everyone below is none the wiser.

“Next, we have Olivia. She was from Coven, near the sea. After the murder of her master, Reyes took her to await her new House. Since she is eleven months into her transition, she’s still considered a newborn and will need a master for her final month. So, would any of you like an apprentice?”

A nightwalker in the fourth row rises from his seat and says, “And what did she do to her old master?”

Serun’s brother bows, a wicked grin beaming across his face as he lifts his head slightly to the crowd. “Bid on her, and I am certain she will tell you.”

Another wave of murmured conversations unsettles the crowd. My ears twitch, listening in as they question Olivia’s reliability. But when the bidding gets underway, I watch Serun. He still hasn’t moved, but those dark eyes are back on me.

I let out a deep breath and ask Devan, “Why do newborns need a master?”

He dusts his shoulder with an unbothered sigh, but his focus doesn’t stray from the corner of the cage where he first saw the shadows. “Become my friend in the Undercity, and I will tell you all you need to know, heartbeat.”

Devan glances towards the gallery, but nothing happens.

“Sold!”

Olivia’s cage joins ours. “I already want to kill my master. He gives small-dick energy,” she mutters.

I follow her intense stare to a man wearing silk. Shiny red diamond eyes fixate on her, and I cringe when the man darts his tongue out to moisten his lips.

Disgusting.

Olivia sighs and slumps back. Looking between the two of them, I lean closer to her and say, “I will give you my name if you tell me more about why newborn nightwalkers need masters.”

“Done.” Olivia turns away from the auction and rests against the bars. “It’s weeding out the weak. Newborns who break the rules aren’t worthy of living in Serun’s world, and newborns must be registered if they want to live in the Undercity. I’m fortunate to get a second chance. If I hadn’t, Lucifer would have killed me.”

I cock my head to the side. “Who is Lucifer? And what happens to newborns without a master?”

Olivia nudges her head forward. “Him. The one on the stage.” I stare at Serun’s brother—Lucifer—as he raises his hand to welcome another cage to the bidding. “As for newborns without a House, they come here and wait for the next auction.”

“And how often are they?”

“Annually,” she says with a shrug. “To keep us in check, and to prevent newborns from slaughtering senselessly. A master must teach them Serun’s Law.”

“But how do they know? Surely a nightwalker can change a hundred newborns topside if they want to. How would Serun ever know?”