Chapter Thirteen The Eclipse
Chapter Thirteen
The Eclipse
There was never such a crowded empty house. One dweller, but many memories called it home.
Adjusting to only five senses was the hardest part of being in this place.
My shadow formed an arm, a hand, even fingers.
Each one moved with each other, to grasp and touch.
Due to my diet, feeding occurred, technically, at all times.
Energy was absorbed through the surface, my skin, as the fleshy people would say.
The phalanges dragged against the walls.
The fingertips could find crumbs of residual energy.
I could taste it. All energy had flavor, each a different savor.
Upon touching the walls, a glimpse of laughter, someone engaging in a playful chase.
When my hand brushed against the railing, the distant thuds of footsteps over the years.
At the end of the hallway, a photograph.
The same one I’d seen when I first built my human shape.
The frame was old, the photograph was not. The wood seemed to be handmade, nothing elaborate but also not too plain. The second my finger touched the photograph, a conversation blossomed.
“No, you must smile.” The wailing Iris’s voice, now soft as petals.
“How long will it take?”
“Not long. Just be still.”
“If you wanted me to be still, perhaps a comfortable chair?”
“Would you like a lobster and champagne too?” A joke, it seemed.
“Extra butter, make sure the champagne is cold.”
The voices faded in playful laughter when my hand was removed, the lingering taste the sickly-sweet warmth of a hearth.
The tall hallway window was fitted with molding, intense rays of light piercing the veils and combating the darkness of the furnishings. When I touched the window, there was that sour sense of worry, the depth of longing.
In the hallway was a display of glasses, a decanter filled with golden fluid.
I touched a crystal glass; the light from the window scattered when it hit the surface.
I turned it, watching the specks dance across the marble table.
The energy on the bar was gloomy, dark. There were small hints of joy, but overwhelmed by the taste of classic despair.
I opened the decanter, my finger stretching within to touch the liquid. A bitterness stung like the bite from an insect. Quickly, I capped it again.
Disgusting things. How do they drink this? They might as well drink the river water.
Before I could get any more upset about such a foul taste, something came wafting from within the home.
Like a sudden symphony, a calling.
It was melodic, the call of someone who had known the stars.
Lucia.
The call was sweet, a decadent note covering the bite of apprehension.
With the bottle in hand, I formed my human skin, my more tangible form, just for her. I remembered the coverings this time, the clothing I’d seen at the funeral. But with each step closer to the call, a shot of dread. It was almost aromatic.
I ventured to the end of the hall, right in front of the library door. It was grand and closed off. Would it open to me?
I knocked, but no answer.
My ear touched the door. There was no noise I could hear, but I could sense her in there, waiting. I could let her marinate in anticipation a while longer, but I had a feeling I could do that without hiding from her.
With a heavy palm, the door opened without a fight.
The inside was much like the other parts of the home, a prized display of craftsmanship and wealth succumbing to disrepair and dust. Things once a point of pride now abandoned, forgotten.
Not only the indoor foliage, but even the lives that used to come and go, the furry ones.
Water dishes dry, the sounds of paws no longer scattering in the halls, they did not check for food in the garden anymore.
The cut flowers in the vases were just as crisp as the formerly living potted plants.
Within the library, small ambient lights of burning wax. The glowing water bugs were still covered. I wondered if those were deceased like the plants as well.
My new eyes were forced to adjust to the dark as I stepped deeper into the lair.
Among the furniture, in her own habitat, she sat still.
As I approached, the glow of her markings gave her away, and a stark ring formed around her pupils as they latched on to my position.
She was lounged in a seat, as if she had been waiting.
A thicker, rather luxurious robe swathed her body.
The slight sheen of the weave was almost polished like precious metals.
The silver fabric was dotted with little glass beads, depicting four fantastical-looking animals that I was sure were iconographic to their culture.
The four animals seemed to appear often, from art to stately buildings.
Her hair was down, gentle curls arranged to look effortless despite a liberal amount of scented oils. There was a shine to her lips, and one particular giveaway that this was the most appetizing trap . . .
She smelled of irises again.
“Have you made yourself comfortable?” She tipped her chin toward the decanter in my hand.
“An attempt was made.” I lifted my shoulder. “I thought maybe you could use it better than I.”
“I could use something else.”
“Of what nature?”
“A harvest.”
I ventured deeper into her little den. She might think she was clever, but I didn’t answer to things like her. But she’d allowed me into this realm; it was only polite to help encourage her in other ways. “For what, if I may ask?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not necessarily, but I figured a conversation couldn’t hurt.” I smiled when her expression just deepened in irritation. How delicious. “You know, the thing humans do? You typically talk to people when you want something from them, the act of being pleasant before you ask for things.”
I thought she would bite me if I got too close. The sneer my response prompted from her was as creature-like as it gets.
“Because that’s what you want to do, correct?” I kept going, standing before her. “To use me like a genie, just rub your legs together and—”
“Enough.”
“Entertain me,” I dared her.
She rose from her seat, her gaze not breaking contact with mine.
Her hands left the arms of the chair, finding their way to the front of my hips. Her fingers pinched the fabric, even grasping my skin at some times.
Is she checking to see if I am real?
Her hands ventured upward, pressing flat against my chest. The silks covering her were not secure, opening wider on her chest. The glow of her patterns disappeared underneath, but just one brush of a hand and the robe would be only aesthetic in function.
“Entertain you?” she repeated, her voice as smooth as the balm on her lips.
A few curls fell in front of her face, bringing my attention to her eyes.
They were as intense and as hungry as those of one of their large cat species.
“You could use me all night long if it would make this exchange more to your liking?” she whispered, her face nearing as she spoke.
Each word pierced me, striking my memory like an incantation itself.
I placed the bottle in her hands.
She glanced down before I pressed my palm to her face, shoving her back down into the chair.
“You!” she hissed at me.
I hooked my palm under the chair, dragging it as I stepped backward. The legs scraped against the floor, bunching the new carpet, then finally I dropped it in front of the sofa.
She jolted, her expression just as disjointed.
While getting comfortable on the sofa across from her, I extended my legs with one over the other, my head against the cushioned arm of the furniture.
She stared, still clutching the bottle.
I glanced around, raising my hands palms up, as if to invite her.
“Well,” I began, “you wanted to harvest. Let us begin.”
She shifted in her seat, her nail tracing the intricate crystal bottle.
Do I sense insecurity?
“Apologies, were you expecting something else?” I mocked.
She glared.
“I’m not interested in cheap food, my dear.” I clicked my tongue at her.
“It works fine for the rest.”
“I’m not like them, but you know this already.” I tipped my head at her. “This will benefit you more.”
“Perhaps I will retire for the night.” She began to stand.
I pulled a shadow from the floor to shove her back into the chair.
Her heart skipped. I felt it.
“Sit,” I said.
She didn’t argue.
“Physical vulnerability is too swift, undear, and the meal is fleeting. Emotional vulnerability is much more filling.” I settled into my lounge.
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” She uncorked the decanter. It seemed she had given up on keeping her mystique. “Sex can be more than physical.”
“You’re right. But as you said, that involves much more than your body”—I paused, watching her legs shift back under her robes—“unless you’ve gotten that attached in my short time here. Am I so endearing?”
“Absolutely not.” A blush filled her face. She took a sip from the crystal bottle. “Just get on with it.”
That’s what I thought.
“Let us start with an easy one.” I sat up a bit. “Tell me about your husband.”
I could see the anger flare in her eyes.
It was worth a try.
“Fine! New question.” I switched fast so she wouldn’t abandon the effort altogether. “How did you learn to do your rituals? To open doors to realms that are not your own?”
“Practice.”
“Don’t be short with me,” I chided.
“I just can. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Nobody can just do anything,” I laughed. “Go back to the first time.”
Her body language was guarded, closing up fast.
“Here.” I opened my hand in her direction. “I’ll drink if you answer. Let’s see how fast you can poison me with your elixir.”
A small pull at the corner of her mouth, perhaps a smile. She did hand me the bottle.
I held it to my lips, glancing over at her to wait for her answer.
She slouched into the chair, pulling the robe tighter over her chest. “I was lonely. I talked to myself until I realized there was someone—or rather, something—that would listen.”
“Your little pets? Peculiars, as you named them?”