Red Blood (Series of Blood Book 2) by Emma Hamm (best short books to read .TXT) 📕

fingers clenched onto her arm. “Making friends with the riffraff, darling? How quaint.”

“No, mother,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t leave me alone.”

She could feel her mother’s nails dig harder into her arm as she was pulled away. Lyra couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the boy watching her with a strange expression on his face. She couldn’t imagine what was going on in his head. What did he think of her?

Not that it mattered anyways. She was far superior to him. That’s what her mother had always said about people like that, and Lyra had no choice but to believe her. She sniffed and stuck her chin higher in the air.

“You be careful; people like that have no right to talk to us,” her mother advised.

“Absolutely, Mother. I agree.”

She was rewarded with a pat on her head. “You’re a good daughter.”

The word sometimes hung in the air between them. Lyra knew that the word hadn’t been said, but tomorrow morning she would do something wrong again. Her mother would yell at her. Her father would scold her for being a pitiful excuse for a child. She certainly was no daughter of his. Not if she was a Siren.

But sometimes, just sometimes, she was lucky enough to be a good girl.

Later on that night, after her nurse had tucked her in with her new doll, Lyra crept out of her bed to stare out her window. She lived in the part of what used to be New York City. And it sparkled even at night. So many wealthy people walked down the streets without worrying about any danger.

They paid to make certain that this area was perfectly safe. Not to mention that if anyone dared to step a toe out of line in this area, there were plenty of powerful creatures that could tear their heads off.

She plunked her elbows onto her windowsill and tilted her head to stare at the world sideways. It was better this way. Nothing looked right, but that somehow made sense to her young brain. Everyone else always knew more things than her. This way, no one really understood the world.

A soft sound made her freeze. A footstep behind her. Next to her bed? Lyra was certain she had heard the sound and that it wasn’t her mind making up things in the dark.

She took a deep breath and told herself to be brave. She was a brave little girl who could handle whatever went bump in the night. Monsters weren’t real.

She hoped they weren’t real.

Spinning around as quickly as she could, she frantically searched the shadows for whatever had caused the sound. There wasn’t anything in the room with her. No one jumped towards her. No more sounds could be heard.

Maybe it really was time for her to go to bed. Lyra usually didn’t agree with anything her nurse said, but if she was hearing things in the dark then maybe the old woman was right. She shook her head and crawled back into her fluffy pink bed. She shoved her hands under the pillow and tried to get settled.

A soft rattling sound next to her head made her scramble for the light. Clicking it on, she stared down at the beautiful beads she pulled from underneath her lacy pillow.

“What?” she whispered.

These were the beads she had wanted. The beads the boy had urged her to steal. But Lyra was a good girl; she wasn’t going to steal something she could simply buy. Her family had enough money.

Yet here they were. In her bed. She blinked a few times and wondered if she was dreaming.

Her fingers danced over the smooth, glittering surface until she realized that these were, in fact, real. She was holding onto the one thing her mind had wanted. They were really here.

She grinned and clutched them hard to her chest. It had to be the boy. Somehow he had gotten the necklace and brought it to her without her nanny seeing. She was so excited she didn’t even hear the popping sound as the boy teleported out of the room.

Lyra didn’t know how this miracle had happened, but for the first time in her life she was grateful.

NOW

“My lord?” the simpering voice whispered the words as though the Graverobber was going to reach out and snap the neck of the speaker.

He had a good reason to be worried. He was the fifth attendant that the Graverobber had employed in a matter of six months. The others had not lasted very long, and it was likely that this one would follow suit.

“What is it?” The deep tone was laced with dark magic.

The goblin shivered. He was an unfortunate looking creature whose back had bent from magic. Unnaturally small for a human, his hands were gnarled and curled into his palms. Even worse were the warts that dotted his skin in abundance.

“Master. A letter.”

The Graverobber was seated upon his throne made of iron. He was the only magical creature who could sit upon such a throne. No other magical creature could stand the touch of iron as it was poisonous to their kind.

He was shrouded in darkness and covered by a cloak of night. The shadows around him stirred as he leaned forward. One scarred hand reached towards the goblin.

The little man shivered as he watched some of the runes upon the Graverobber’s skin begin to glow. It was a sure sign that the dark creature was using magic. The white light sometimes grew so blindingly bright that it was difficult to look at him.

A squeak echoed as the letter levitated from the goblin’s hands and into that of the Graverobber’s.

“You may leave.”

The goblin turned but hesitated before he took a step. “Master…”

“What is it.”

“Might I… Perhaps?”

“Fine,” the Graverobber shifted and slowly raised his hands from within his robes. The image of a black bird formed inside his palm, caged by skeletal fingers. With a loud caw, it burst from his hands and flew towards the goblin, beating its wings against his