Chapter Twelve
Theodore
Ido not mean to fall asleep at the Widow's Chateau, but when I wake the next morning, it's to the gentle sound of waves crashing against the cliff and the scent of spices and bread wafting through the bedroom.
Bedroom?
It takes a few moments for my groggy mind to awaken fully, but I recognize one of the spare bedrooms in the east wing of the chateau. One I’ve only recently cleaned and put back to order, and one only a few doors down from Lady Azizi’s personal rooms.
The drapings around the bed have been drawn closed, working in tandem with the heavy duvet atop me to fight away the chill of the coming autumn, and my satchel sits on the bedside table in clear view. As if whoever placed it there wanted me to know they did not take it.
Curious.
Kolfina and I ended up speaking late into the night, but I distinctly recall falling asleep in the parlor in front of the fireplace.
I certainly never would have found my way to one of the bedrooms and tucked myself in, and as far as I am aware, ghosts are unable to touch the living, much less carry them up the stairs and into bed.
With a quiet grunt, I push myself into a seated position, struggling for a moment to breathe past the burning of my lungs and ribs where my chest bindings squeeze too tight.
My father would be furious to find out I slept in them, but at the very least, I can be grateful that whoever put me here respected my privacy enough to leave me fully clothed.
Kolfina is nowhere to be seen when I finally manage to stumble out of bed, the wooden floor cold on my socked feet. She isn’t always around when I am, but more often than not, she has been bleeding into view as soon as I arrive at the house.
I have half a mind to climb my way to her attic first to check on her, but my stomach rumbles loudly as I step into the hallway, and the scent from the kitchens below is calling me.
It’s revolting—the smell of bread sour in the back of my nostrils and the herbs sharp against my senses the closer I get—but I cannot recall the last time I ate, so I follow the smell hesitantly.
Seeing Lady Azizi stood before the large stove, dressed in a simple sapphire day gown and a crème apron, is not at all what I expect to find upon entering the kitchen.
I’d thought perhaps Mr. Allard returned from his trip to the city early, and to be honest…
well, I simply didn’t think Lady Azizi even knew how to cook.
Kolfina smiles at me from the stool at the kitchen island, her bare feet kicking back and forth and her chin resting sweetly in the cradle of her palm. She looks more solid now than she has in the past. More present. Though I cannot tell yet if that means Lady Azizi can see her or not.
“Ah, good morning, Theodore.”
I jump slightly at the voice, turning to meet the red-tinted gaze now pinned on me.
“Good morning,” I repeat politely, tucking my hands in the pockets of my trousers to keep from fiddling with them. I swallow, rocking on my bare feet for a moment. Trying to decide if I should run or not. “I apologize for intruding. I wasn’t aware you’d be home for a few days yet.”
The lady smiles and waves her hand dismissively.
“I decided to cut my visit short when my brother started insisting I attend some gala or another with him. I’ve little taste for them, and Mr. Allard had already concluded our shopping for the next month, so I saw no use in drawing it out any longer.
” She watches me with a coy look in her eye, like a cat perched above an unsuspecting mouse.
“And you’re hardly an intruder, Theodore,” she continues.
“I did invite you into my home after all.”
“Yes, but you also asked me not to stay past the evening,” I point out.
Her smile turns a bit sharper, the lamp light glinting off her sharpened teeth. “Ah, well, alla come viene, viene, as my babbo would say.”
I wonder if she can hear my heart beating in my chest. If she can smell my fear from across the room. I know so little about whatever she is—a devil? A vampire? Something else entirely?—but she both terrifies and intrigues me, and I do not know which is more dangerous.
“No need to be frightened,” she says, gesturing to the tall island. “Have a seat. Breakfast is nearly finished, and I’m sure you have plenty of questions.”
It’s the shock that draws me to the empty seat beside Kolfina’s. She doesn’t look nearly as frightened as I feel, but I suppose there is no reason to fear a monster when one is already dead.
“Would you answer them? My questions, I mean?” I ask, glancing away from the ghost to find Azizi setting something on two plates.
It smells awful, like dirt and grass and rotten compost. Perhaps that is why I am so surprised when she sets the plate before me, and I am met with a small pile of raw meat instead, a fresh egg cradled in the top of it. “Oh.”
“I think, perhaps, we owe each other some answers,” she says. There is a knowing look in her eyes as she sits across from me with her own food, a glass of red liquid in her other hand.
For the first time since meeting her, I realize it’s likely not wine that she has been drinking at all.
Her words have me swallowing past a lump in my throat, and I avoid her gaze by looking down at my food instead. As terrible as it smells, it looks quite delicious. Just barely cooked judging by the bloody puddle beneath the meat.
“Beef tartare,” Azizi answers my unasked question. “I do not tend to eat normal foods, but I find myself missing it on occasion. My new body does not always agree, but I have found a compromise in raw meats. It is safe to eat, I assure you.”
I’m not sure what to say in response, so I spoon a bit of food into my mouth instead, pleasantly surprised with how easily it goes down.
There remains an aftertaste of ash and bile in my throat, leftover from the fact that it’s still not right, but my stomach accepts it easier than most meals I am used to choking down.
“It’s very good,” I compliment.
Lady Azizi hums, her lips twitching at the corners as she watches me carefully.
“Yet it’s not quite what you want, is it?
” When I don’t answer, she leans forward and rests her chin elegantly in her palm.
Her free hand toys with her cup, drawing my eyes toward the dark liquid swirling inside, and her smile grows ever sharper.
“You are a very interesting creature, Theodore Villin. Not one of my kind, and yet you seem to have the same cravings.”
“I don’t—” The words fall short from my lips before I can finish them. What’s the use of arguing, anyhow? We were both there when I licked her bloody fingers clean. When I devoured the taste from her mouth in a starving trance. “You said ‘your kind.’ What—what does that mean?”
There is a long moment where she takes a sip from her glass and I am left with nothing to do but stare at the way her throat bobs with the action.
A drop of blood remains on her lip when she sets her glass back down, and her tongue darts out to catch it before it falls. My cheeks grow hot with the sight.
“I’m sure you have your theories, yes?”
“Demon,” I choke out immediately, only to flounder at my own lack of decorum. “Or rather—that’s—I mean no offense, my lady. It’s only… that’s what the church would call you.”
If she is offended, she does not look it. Instead, she laughs—a low, sultry sound that curls in the pit of my stomach like warm milk on a cold day. “Not quite.”
I swallow. “A vampire then.”
“Technically true, yes.” Azizi stretches an arm across the island and tugs the sleeve of her dress up, revealing two puncture wounds on the inside of her wrist, long since healed judging by how easily they blend in with her dark skin.
“My father calls us strigoi. Souls risen from the dead and forced to sustain ourselves on the lifeblood of the living.
The word 'vampire' is a more common term for our kind, however.”
“So you…”
She takes my pause with grace and pulls her arm back.
“Died? Oh yes, though it was not so dramatic as one might think. I chose this life when my gifted father offered it to me. He gave me a name as soon as I was reborn—to honor my new life, he said—and our family celebrated the occasion for nearly a month. You, however,” she gestures to me with the hand currently holding her glass, “did not choose whatever beast ails you, I suspect. You fight against it, I can tell. Tell me about it. You have met my monster already; I would very much like to meet yours.”
My monster. That is one way to put it.
“I don’t know what it is,” I say quietly, poking at the meat on my plate, “or what I am.”
My gaze shifts to the side where Kolfina sits, listening on as if she’s nothing more than a wallflower. She smiles encouragingly at me, and it gives me a bit of courage to get the words out. After all, she was not frightened of me last night when I told her the same thing.
“I have these… cravings. A bit like yours, I think, but different. More.” Just thinking about it makes my stomach rumble again. Makes my mouth water. I breathe deep. Shove some beef tartare in my mouth in a poor attempt to quell the beast.
“A hunger for blood?”
“For all of it,” I correct her.
My gaze finds her throat, and I imagine tearing it out with my teeth.
Imagine digging my hands into the thick of her and prying her open with my blunt fingernails.
I can almost taste it on my tongue—the sanguine ambrosia dripping down my throat, the chunks of meat squishing beneath the strength of my jaw.
Would she be tough to chew? Soft on the palette?
Would her shoulder meat taste different than the meat of her thighs?
Would she struggle as I tore into her like an animal?
Pulling flesh from her bones. Swallowing her down to live anew inside me?
Cool fingertips brush my lips, and I cannot help but lick out at them, tasting the metallic liquid that stains those dark digits.