He stole a single drop of blood from her every morning.

But this morning, Matiko didn’t take one drop of blood. He took two.

Kita felt as he pushed her hair aside and pierced the base of her neck with the sharpened bone of a sea bird. Not once, but twice.

A scream jammed in her throat. She wanted to stick out her bare foot and trip him, to send him sprawling in his belt of paka leaves, but she resisted the urge. Instead, she stayed still and listened to the shush-shush of his slippers on the grass mats as he left her room.

When she was eight and had just begun her life as his servant girl, eight long years ago, Kita had fought Matiko...and suffered for it. Now she knew better. For though his magic was waning by morning, he still had the power to hold her with unseen hands. One time, she’d even stopped breathing, so now she raged at him in silence.

Matiko disappeared into the room where he worked his terrible black magic and slid the panel shut. Soon Kita could hear his ugly chanting and she wondered when he’d dare to take three drops, then four…

And on what morning would he decide he must have it all?