Blue

Part #3

e does not want to be in the presence of this girl, let alone interview

her. Everything about her stinks of manipulation; that includes the perfume she wears in

abundance to dull his senses to the other donor’s natural scent. The tactic fails on him, but

she does not know that.

“Anja Armani,” he calls her name despite his internal retaliation. He does not look

up from her file when she approaches, nor when she sits down. He turns to Maylee and

narrows his eyes.

“Really? She’s your best?” he asks. Antoine and Maylee both pull up their guard.

Maylee fidgets but answers quickly.

“Of the blood-donors, we only have two of housing age, my Lord. Anja is high in

demand and remarkably well received,” Maylee answers, “She serves well, is sociable,

understands the subtleties of hierarchies and - ”

He lifts his finger to silence the matriarch. It is not a habit of his to be rude; he’s just

not convinced and he is positive there is nothing anyone can say to change his mind.

“The work I have is the opposite of all that. I do not entertain, as you well know

Maylee. I do not care for social engagements or people, and live in complete isolation. My

work takes me away for long periods at a time, which means,” he turns to Anja, “You will

be left to yourself for that time. With the kids.”

Anja bestows a sweet, understanding smile upon him. By the ease and quickness of

the application, Lord Rothchildes surmises she’s used it with great success in the past.

“I am sure I can complement your lack of social engagements,” she reaches for his

hand and he withdraws before she touches him, “I have good connections, my Lord. I shan’t

be wanting for much and the children will be educated to hold their own in the company of

influence.”

“Thank you,” his jaw tightens as he lifts the page in the folder and let it drop back

down. This girl isn’t confident, she’s arrogant. To a certain point, he admits, she has reason

to be.

“Your eyes are very dark, my Lord. I do have a permanent implant; or if you prefer a

more private, direct – ”

“That won’t be necessary,” his manner is sharp, firm and decisive.

Lord Declyn Rothchildes lowers his eyes onto the documents. He turns his head to

the side and nods as he gathers them. With a slow-lift of his eyes, he slide his gaze over the

faces in front of him until it rests on Anja where she sits. The girl opposite him gains a bright

smile. Her eyes dart to Antoine and Maylee. Declyn notes the lift at the corner of her mouth

on the right side. She purses her lips and squares her shoulders with sureness.

“Thank you, again, for your assistance Maylee,” he turns his glance to acknowledge

the other councilors too and nod his appreciation to them.

“I’ve made my decision.”

***

Rushing, I do my best to clean the stink off the children first. Only once the pair is

baby-smelling with the aid of a lot of powder, do I address the small matter of panic.

I stepped out of line; there is no manner to escape the kind of wrath I’ll face for it.

Perhaps I may see a small amount of leniency because I didn’t make a sound.

Whatever reason the important man has for being here, it probably won’t affect me. For all

the fuss made over him, he most likely needs a trophy donor and I am so very-much not

that!

I tilt my head to look at the babies where their flush-red faces stare back at me.

Are they getting sick? Their little bottoms were quite toasty – maybe it is something

they ate? The website here says to check their temperatures, and to make sure they get

plenty of water. How does first time mothers do this? I spend more time reading what not to

do, than finding out what I can do!

“Well, let me just check your temperature. Maybe I should have left you all stinky,

you won’t get eaten then, will you? Here, uh-up you come.”

The moment I bring the thermometer near the girl, her little hand grabs my finger

and aims for her mouth. She sucks hell for leather and I close my eyes.

They’re not sick, they’re hungry. Come to think of it, what is a vampire male doing with babies? Are

they adopted donors? Oh! Maybe he has his own coven. I must learn to pay attention to Madame Levine’s rants,

then I’d know this stuff!

The reading on their temperature is a little higher than it should be. I assume a lack

of nutrition to be the cause. Digging through the oversized bag, I discover why it is so

heavy. Inside is every tin of baby formula imaginable, several bottles of pureed foods, baby

bottles, pacifiers and things I don’t think is appropriate to have in a baby’s travel bag – like a

flask. I immediately regret my curiosity when the lid on the flask comes off.

The container smells ghastly. I prefer not to guess what is inside it.

“Poor things, what has he done to you huh? Come on then, let Agent Blue fix that.”

I check for fangs, just in case they are vampire babies. Not that it works that way,

because vampires do not have fangs, they use instruments or their nails for a direct feed.

But, one never knows, right? Vampires are known to consort with all sorts of things and what if one of

those things is your mommy? If you’re donors, then she’s human. I’m being stupid.

“Not that it matters, blue eyes and blonde curls are too puuurty, so what’s a pair of

fangs among donors hey?” I chuckle at myself, while both babies niggle.

Sorting through the formula and powdered coffee creamer – which confuses me even

more - I find a container with the same dry milk as the now expired stock in the nursery. I

like this mission; it is different from the everyday droll and for a change, I feel useful; in fact,

I think I am!

On the floor with a blanket for the infants and a bottle each, I sit down to feed them.

They gulp the milk down fast while I use my mobile to search the internet for general things

to know about babies and development. The bottles empty too fast and I know they couldn’t

have tasted a thing!

areful not to upset them, I wrestle the containers to remove the air they swallowed

down. I make sure to follow the exact instructions from the website. A loud burp from the

boy makes me giggle and I congratulate myself on getting the task done.

My success is short-lived when projectile-vomit hits my hair right after.

I wipe it out as best I can; it is not a big deal after all. The color on their faces even out

and both look content where I made them a pillow bed. I hum a random selection of song-

like noises to them until they fall asleep. With fondness, I look around the nursey. We stayed

here until we were three years old.

This is where I listened to songs, where I was safe and protected. This is where I bonded with

the other children as well as those who cared for us. Madame Levine wasn’t alone. The other coven

ladies who came to visit us were super nice too – and on rare occasion gents. They came – I know this

now – because they desperately wanted children of their own and it isn’t possible for some. They

came to dote on us. Then … we moved to the toddler area and the visits were fewer.