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“Was it a display for our benefit?” I asked. “I mean, she won a bet and then ate a guy. I think.”
This time he sighed, and seemed a little annoyed.
“Tate makes her own decisions.”
“I get why the humans would do it. Desperation, addiction, thirst. But why do the elite do it at all? You must have plenty of blood. I’ve seen your collection devices.”
“The real curse of immortality is boredom,” he said, “a yawning eternity of dissatisfaction.” He stopped at a small store crammed full of yellow boxes, filled with colorful toys and piles of what I’d mistaken as trash, but was actually just shiny junk from the Before. Watches, cameras, pocket knives, and devices. Even some gold chains. Piled up under a hanging, metallic claw that gave me the chills. Augustine put a coin in the machine and expertly guided the claw toward the center.
“We’ve tried gorging,” he continued. “We’ve tried starving. Some of us fast for years, on the brink of starvation, just to feel something. Some elites don’t choose to live forever. We replaced an addiction to blood with an addiction for something else. The thrill of risking it all, with real consequences.”
The metal claw dropped, digging into the pile and closing its fingers. When it raised up again, it was clutching something I hadn’t even seen inside the box. He tucked it into his pocket and gestured for us to continue.
“For bored elite,” he said, “wagering a small vial of elixir for the possibility of an unexpected surprise is an easy bet. Plus, blood given is blood tamed.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“Terrified blood is a high, like a drug. Spiked with cortisol, and adrenaline. Simply put, it makes us feel good. Though, for Tate, I think it’s also about the spectacle. She likes me to watch her destroy what I’ve built, while playing neatly within my rules. Last night’s very public, violent murder, for example. Sometimes I’m sure she’s taunting me.”
“Couldn’t you just tell her to stop?” I asked.
“If she broke the law, she would be held accountable. But she’s too smart for that. From what I surmise, they made a wager on a race, with clear terms. If the driver died in a crash, any elite would be within their rights to claim the blood before it went bad. The law does not protect the dead.”
“What’s her story? Tate, I mean?”
“She was one of the first. A survivor. We’re not exactly friends, and sometimes I think we hate each other. But we keep each other’s worst tendencies in check. Or else respect each other’s depravities enough to believe so.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t really listening. I was wondering if we’d made enough small talk to discuss more important matters, but it felt strange to resume negotiations while walking together down the street. Moving lights down an alley caught my attention, and Augustine followed me inside. A rounded plaza had been filled with small carnival rides and games, rusted and aging, but their lights were still on, and a handful of people rode the mechanical beasts in dreary silence.
Augustine offered to buy me popcorn or cotton candy, but I refused, even though both sounded good. We took a seat on a bench in view of the games. They reminded me a bit of the citadel, but with a mechanical automation. They felt tragic to me, built for happier times, now derelict and creaking, crowded into the spaces between the buildings.
“Your king Richard,” Augustine said, “he locked up all the humans. He kept them safe, and happy. Healthy. But now you think he coerced you. Took your freedoms away.”
“Maybe he did.”
“It’s not the worst deal, for the humans.”
“I’m aware,” I said. “I’ve spent some time beyond the protection of the compounds. But in the wild, humans are forced to hide to survive.”
“And you’d still fight for the system that entrapped you? Even after you’ve finally broken out?”
“It’s my home,” I shrugged. “My family.”
His eyes shone as he considered this. At least we were finally getting somewhere.
“I see. Brother or sister?”
“Both,” I said.
“So you would kill hundreds, in a war to reclaim someone else’s throne, for a pair of children. Does that seem like justice to you?”
“Of course not,” I snapped. “It’s not just about them. It’s about what they represent. Thousands of other children, in all of the compounds. They’re all hostages, and they’ll die if I fail.”
“Whatever,” Augustine said, waving his hand as if he could brush my rationalizations away. “Your concern is justified. But to my earlier point, you think Richard’s great achievement was in sourcing his own blood through the compound system. The greater accomplishment is how he tamed the elites.”
“Tamed them?”
“As I mentioned before, Emily, I like my food warm. Fresh, raw blood. Fear and anger, a potent, delicious brew. In the immediacy of the moment, tasting their memories as they’re still being written. Succumbing to their own death and mortality; an experience we will never share.”
