Page 11 of Oath of Blood and Joy

Joy

Zoe, and fifteen other girls and I were trapped in a room filled with evening gowns and makeup stands. The air was thick with perfume and fear, a suffocating mixture that clung to the back of my throat. The girls ranged from about fourteen to twenty-five. They were all young and terrified, their eyes wide and glassy, some silently crying while others sat motionless, their faces blank with shock. The youngest ones huddled together in the corner, still children really, their thin shoulders trembling beneath satin straps meant for women twice their age.

Most of them had been kidnapped from Crescent Moon University like me or off Bourbon Street, snatched from normal lives into this nightmare. Some of the younger ones had been lured with promises of modeling contracts or movie auditions—dreams twisted into weapons against them. They now faced a life of prostitution, their futures stolen in a single moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The ones that commanded the highest bids were the virgins like Zoe and the younger girls. I caught sight of a fourteen-year-old with braces still on her teeth, frantically trying to wipe away smeared mascara. My heart splintered. She should have been worrying about homework, not whether she’d survive the night.

I was supposed to escort them out onto the stage. It was mostly for Marsha and Maximo to know where I was. Or maybe it was something else, especially since I was wearing this slinky white dress that clung to my body like a second skin. Maybe it was to announce that I belonged to Maximo—his prized possession paraded before potential buyers to showcase his power and taste.

I could hear the whispers when the guards thought we weren’t paying attention—the astronomical prices they expected the girl’s bodies to fetch. “The redhead will go for at least fifty grand,” one had muttered. “And that little blonde with the dimples? She’ll fetch double.” They discussed the captives like livestock at a county fair. My temples pounded with rage every time I thought about it, bile rising in my throat.

I paced the perimeter of the room, fingers trailing along the cold wall, searching for any weakness, any hope. The plaster scraped beneath my fingertips, catching on tiny calluses. Time seemed to slow as my senses sharpened, the world around me coming into razor-sharp focus. My hands clenched into useless fists until they ached. I wanted to protect them. I just didn’t know how while being locked in this room where even the air felt like a prison, stale and recycled, tasting of makeup powder and desperation.

The memory of those pages in Anton’s book flickered through my mind, black ink on yellowed paper. They were able to draw on the shadows from deep inside themselves and project them out, making them do whatever they wanted. If I could project the shadows out, I could blind our captors and give the girls a chance to escape. My nerves sparked at the thought, a phantom sensation of darkness slipping between them.

Zoe sat on a stool. Her dark red hair was pulled up into a bun so tight it looked painful, the skin at her temples stretched taut. She had on a slinky white gown that barely covered her breasts. The silk caught the harsh fluorescent light, almost blinding in its brightness. It was disgusting. The scents of hairspray and cheap perfume clung to her like a second skin.

She sighed miserably, the sound cutting through the quiet sobbing from the corner of the room. She rubbed her sleek forehead with trembling fingers, betraying her attempt at normalcy. “Joy, why do you keep pacing? You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

“I told you what happened with Marsha.” Each breath scraped against my throat, a painful reminder of how much I’d screamed earlier. “If only I could bring up the shadows, then maybe I could blind the guards, giving you all a chance to escape.” My hands slid across my thighs, leaving cold trails where they touched, as if the darkness had already seeped into my skin.

She got off the stool, the metal legs scraping against the floor with a sound that set my teeth on edge. She stood in front of me. Her makeup was heavy, just the way Marsha wanted it: crimson lips and smoky eyes that made her look years older. She was prettier with no makeup on at all, with her huge green eyes and porcelain skin, but try telling Marsha that. The foundation couldn’t hide the fear that made her pupils dilate.

“Joy, you can’t help us.” She lifted my chin with cool fingers and I winced, a sharp intake of breath as pain radiated from the bruise.

No amount of makeup could cover up my cut lip or purple bruise. In fact, I thought it drew more attention, but at least I let everyone know I was a fighter. I touched the tender spot on my jaw, wincing at the sharp pain but wearing the mark like a badge of honor.

“There has to be a way. We can’t give up.” My voice rang with determination, clear and steady despite everything. I pushed back my shoulders, instinctively trying to radiate the confidence I’d always relied on.

I glanced at the other girls, my gaze sweeping across the room. Some were dressed in white, the fabric glowing unnaturally under the harsh lights, while others were in different colored gowns, marking them as not virgins. A blonde in emerald green caught my eye, her shoulders slumped in resignation as she stared at the floor. I offered her a small, encouraging smile, unable to stop myself from trying to lift spirits even now.

Men’s fantasies of purity made me sick. A bitter taste formed in my mouth, making my nose wrinkle. It was as if we were still in the Dark Ages—women still treated as objects and property. Heat rose to my face, anger simmering just beneath my skin, the optimism I clung to temporarily eclipsed by righteous indignation.

I wasn’t being sold, but in some ways this was even worse. Escorting each girl out on that stage and being forced to watch the bidding was torture. Maybe Maximo knew that. Either way, there had to be an opportunity in this change of plans, a weakness I could exploit. Tingles of nervous energy snaked over my skin, but I took a deep breath to steady myself. Even in this chilly room with its stale air, I could feel the warmth of hope flickering inside. All I had to do was to wait for the perfect time to escape, then I would bring the cavalry to free the girls.

Screams of terror echoed behind the door that led out of our room that had no windows. The sounds pierced through the air like jagged glass—high-pitched wails of horror followed by abrupt silence even more chilling than the screams themselves. My lungs seized, each breath a struggle against the vice grip of adrenaline, but I forced my breathing to steady. Somethinginside me shifted: the desperate woman replaced by a predator with a single purpose: protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.

I spread out my arms wide, the white fabric of my gown billowing slightly with the movement. “Zoe, everyone, get behind me.” My voice came out stronger than I expected, clear and commanding even as my palms dampened with sweat. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered once, twice, casting strange, dancing shadows across the walls that seemed almost alive.

BAM BAM BAM

Someone slammed against the door like a freight train, each impact reverberating through the floor beneath my bare feet. Wood splintered with a sound like dry bones snapping, sending tiny splinters flying into the room. The door’s hinges groaned at the pressure, metal straining against metal in a teeth-grinding screech. The air in the room seemed to compress with each blow, pushing against my skin, making it harder to breathe in the already stifling space.

The girls whimpered behind me like does surrounded by wolves, their fear a tangible thing that perfumed the air with the salt of tears and the sharp tang of adrenaline. I could feel them pressing closer together, seeking comfort in their shared terror.

Chapter Eight

Joy

Fierce protective instinct blazed through me, a warm current of courage that chased away the chill of fear. This was what I was meant for—standing between the darkness and the innocent. My blood sang with purpose, a melody of hope despite our dire circumstances. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt these girls. My lips curved into a defiant smile despite the sting from my cut, the pain nothing compared to the fire of resolve burning through my blood.

Something happened inside me—a fluttering in my chest like a thousand butterfly wings beating in unison, gentle at first, then stronger, more insistent than when it had happened in my room. The sensation traveled through my limbs, a current of energy seeking release. I arched my back, my spine curving like a drawn bow, and raised my hands.

The shadows from every corner of the room responded, pulling free from their anchors and racing toward me. They gathered around my body in a dark aura before flowing to my fingertips, swirling around the room in ribbons of livingdarkness. They twisted and writhed with purpose, cool as night air against my skin, bringing with them the scent of rain-soaked earth and lightning-charged skies. The darkness responded to my will like an extension of my own body, eager and alive.

Without conscious direction, the darkness spread between the girls and the door, thickening into a barrier that pulsed with protective intent. I stared in wonder at what my emotions had created—a shield born of instinct rather than skill.

The door crashed inward with a deafening boom, hinges ripping free from the frame as if it was made of paper.

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