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Meeting the Devil Himself
I stare at the blood-soaked room with disgust. Dead animals lay scattered on the ground, their lifeless eyes staring up at me. This was not the kind of detention I was expecting. Yeah, I know I went too far with what I said in magical history class, but I said it with a clear goal in mind. I wanted to get into the Headquarters. Too bad I messed it up, right? I rub my nose, trying to block out the metallic smell of blood that permeates the room. I can’t believe Mrs. Fritz just willingly sent me to the Strigon Residence. What did she think I’d be doing? Sweeping spiderwebs from the chandeliers? As I scrub the blood-stained floor of the feeding room, my mind wanders. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm a witch, and vampires aren’t picky about blood, unless it’s werewolf blood. Go away intrusiv
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