Bought by the Ashbournes

Eva

The buzzer on the fryer screamed again, shrill and insistent. I poured burnt coffee into a carafe with a cracked handle and slapped it back onto the warmer. My hands were shaking — not from nerves, just too much caffeine and not nearly enough food or sleep. Again.

The scent of grease clung to my skin. My name tag was peeling. My back ached from carrying trays that didn’t tip well enough to matter. Midnight shifts paid more, but not enough to make any of this worth it. Still, it was something. And these days, something was better than nothing.

A man two booths down was snoring with his face in a plate of pancakes. I barely looked at him. Drunks passed out here all the time. No one cared. No one stopped them, just like no one stopped the kids who worked three jobs and dropped out of school just to keep the lights on at home.

I glanced at the tip jar on my way back to the kitchen: five dollars and some change. I didn’t even feel the bitterness anymore.

The paper someone left behind was crumpled and coffee-stained. I unfolded it anyway, let my eyes skim past the headlines: Vampire lobbyists. Blood bank protests. Another witch was arrested for illegal potion work. The world had changed. Supernaturals didn’t lurk in shadows anymore. They walked the streets like they owned them—because in most places, they did. Humans just learned to make room. I kept my head down. Always had until now.

I didn’t clock out until almost two. The sky was pitch black by the time I reached our apartment building — if you could call it that. The hallway light flickered as I pushed the door open. The air hit me first. Thick with smoke and something sour. I held my breath out of habit and stepped over a pile of laundry that hadn’t been mine in weeks. My mother was on the couch, curled around a bottle of something cheap and strong. Her hand twitched once, then went still. She was breathing, though. Shallow and slow, but breathing. Still alive. That shouldn’t have been a comfort, but it was.

I moved through the apartment quietly, careful not to wake her. Our bedroom door creaked when I opened it, and my sister looked up from her notebook, eyes red-rimmed, hair pulled into a messy bun. Her textbooks were stacked like a fortress around her on the floor.

"Did you eat?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

She shook her head. "There’s no milk."

"We’ve still got bread?"

"One slice."

I crossed the room and opened the fridge. Light flickered on. One slice of bread, three ketchup packets, a shriveled orange, and an open box of baking soda. I stared at it like it might magically fill itself. It didn’t. I dropped the slice into the toaster and turned away so she wouldn’t see my face. I hated that she had to see any of this.

"You’ve got school tomorrow," I said quietly. "Don’t let her see your report card yet, okay?"

"I’m not failing," she said. "I’m trying."

"I know." I smiled, just enough to make her feel like things were still okay. "I’m proud of you. I just… want you to finish."

She didn’t answer but looked back down at her book like it mattered. Like she still believed in her future.

The toaster popped. I gave her the slice and sat beside her as she chewed silently. I didn’t bother asking if she wanted the last of the oranges. She would’ve given it back to me. I couldn’t take that.

When she finally drifted off, curled into her thin blanket, I sat on the floor and pulled out my phone. The screen was cracked in two corners, and light flickered when I scrolled too fast. I opened my browser. My thumbs hovered over the search bar. The whispers hadn’t stopped. In locker rooms, break rooms, and bus stations. Girls who came back rich. Girls who didn’t come back at all. People said you had to know someone to get in. People said it was dangerous. It was dark. People also said it was enough to change your life. Blood contracts. Auctions. Vampires. Not legal. Not exactly illegal either. One of those gray areas where power and silence blurred the law. Where the right amount of money could make you disappear — or reappear in silk sheets and a diamond collar. I told myself I’d never be that desperate. And then I ran out of things to say to myself.

I typed: human auction vampire contract

The page loaded slowly. At the top, one site, coded in legalese, wrapped in red flags. I clicked anyway. A date. A time. A location. An agreement. No rescues. No refunds. No regrets. They had a form. It asked for everything. Height. Blood type. Medical history. Preferred buyer species. I almost laughed at that part like I had the luxury of choice. I stared at the screen until the light blurred and the words bled into each other.

I looked up. My sister had fallen asleep with a pencil still in her hand, her mouth slightly open, the blanket half off her shoulders. Her cheek was pressed against a page full of numbers I couldn’t help her solve. She deserved more than this. She deserved better than me. And if someone had to bleed so she could keep dreaming… It would be me.