Chapter 9
THE POISONER
The chill of the snow stung the bottoms of my feet, no matter how numb the cold made them.
Each step was like walking over tiny shards, but standing wouldn’t be much better.
Small crunches sounded from under my heel.
My feet were pale, a bit red at the tips, a sure sign of poor circulation under the weather.
Despite the pain, the snow under me and around me looked so soft. Undisturbed and peaceful.
Looking back at the farmhouse, it seemed to me like the last ember in the ash. Windows alight, soft muffled sounds of life within. It was a warm feeling, knowing that even if I wasn’t missed, I was somehow responsible for creating a place for people to belong. A labor of love.
Even so, domesticity as it was did not bring me the comfort I had hoped for; something was missing.
Within the dark wood, the powdered path between the old, proud pines, an endless shadow loomed just beyond reach. They say you are born with the fear of the dark, of the unknown. I say we are born with an insatiable curiosity, and that hunger alone is enough to ward people from dark places.
Some see it as self-harm to leap into unforeseen circumstances right as the dust settles. The danger of insatiability, yet the dark is filled with wonder, practically teeming in the void. It called for me, I hungered for a taste.
Every step was no different from the last, the pain ensued, and the void always at arm’s length.
The physical limits of my body screamed and begged me to stop the more I pushed. The ache of my joints, the prick of the pads of my feet, the numbness that followed. Yet, the void still called louder, not unlike the groan of some large ship, something so calm yet unable to be ignored.
Even when I tried running, my bones must have turned to lead with the gravity of it all, the equal and opposite pull to protect me from myself. A constant trudge upstream of brackish water.
The pain grew, an unforgettable memory bled into my throat like tasting a long-lost flavor of adrenaline.
An unmistakable dread came over me, and when I looked down, the snow had changed.
Blood dripped, staining the ground. Blood seeped through my nightgown, the drip turning to a dribble, and my blood spilled over the expanse of rice.
Millions of grains cut into the sole of my feet.
Every step was more painful than the last, and there was nowhere to go but over.
“Alina.”
Something wet in my hands, dripping down my forearm.
I blinked, my vision coming to me slowly like the steam clearing from glass.
Phoebe stood in the archway of the kitchen, hugging the frame. Her face was stern, alert despite the soft way she called my name.
The tiles of the floor were cold on my feet, but not as cold as the snow dripping down my ankle until it made a puddle where I stood.
The house was gray at such an hour. The chairs were neatly tucked under the table, the table spotless, not even crumbs for mice.
No pots and pans on the stove and the sink vacant of any dishes or cups.
One would find it hard to believe that anyone lived here, never mind over a dozen, with no evidence to suggest otherwise.
I glanced back at my hand, wild belladonna berries dripping from my palm in clots, escaping between my fingers.
Soft, pale hands took mine, then placed my hands over her shoulders. Phoebe wrapped her arms around my torso and squeezed me tight, not caring that the berries stained dark across the back of her nightgown collar.
There was no use for words, because not even I could come up with what to say.
The snow cast a stiff shell of ice over the ground, gracing the morning with a seasonal mystique.
Rebecca and I used the morning to forage for things needed or wanted.
Past the tree line surrounding our field was a forest with much to give.
Despite the season, there were many delights hidden among the foliage.
I used to refuse to partake, as I had my reservations about eating wild plants.
That was until Rebecca showed us the safest things to forage and worked from there.
It was a harsh transition moving to a place surrounded by nature while not being too far off from civilization. I became more comfortable as the months went on. Rebecca and I bonded over our wilderness finds. She was quite handy, that one.
There were old tracks in the snow, mine. Last night’s footprints in a stiff trail. I kicked the fresh cold powder to fill them in, erasing last night’s wanderings.
“What is on your list for today?” Rebecca nudged my side as we stepped through the unbeaten path.
“Staghorn, sumac, and rosehips,” I answered, staring down at the places I was stepping to avoid the roots.
“Phoebe’s favorite.” She smirked. “I have juniper and pine. I thought it would be nice for seasonings and tea.”
“That is only because you like how Adeline tastes after,” I teased, nudging her back.
“Is that so unfair? She doesn’t mind. She loves pine tea!”
“I would rather one of you made use of the juniper and learned to make gin.”
“We have nothing but time.” Rebecca stopped to rustle through a small shrub, plucking small waxy berries from in between the brush.
I helped her gather, rolling the pale berries between my fingers before putting them in her bag.
“How are you and Adeline?”
“What about us?” She frowned, her attempt at hiding her blush was poor.
“Don’t get flustered! It isn’t unusual for feeding partners to get so close,” I laughed. “I figured it was a matter of time, and the two of you have been paired the longest out of the rest of them!”
“It is purely beneficial. An efficient pair doesn’t need to be changed,” she said matter-of-factly, a small smile tugging at her lips.
I saw a lot of myself in her. Stern, purposeful, concise.
There was nothing she did without a plan or purpose in place.
Neither of us were very good at empathizing, which led to our walks in the woods to escape the chatter.
Sometimes we would just silently walk, perfectly content with a presence without the noise.
She was one of those Vipera that had been in the Americas for a while, only two hundred years old. She often spoke about her culture, the one that was here before settlement taught by her mother. She had a particular interest in my work and had helped me plenty with native flora.
Her parents currently owned a butchery in town where she worked during the day and often brought us meat.
On our way to the house, I spotted the raised spears of staghorn along the tree line. The reddish-purple berries tasted of bitter lemon, tangy to the senses. They were perfect for the tastes of Vipera.
The house looked perfectly quaint from afar, like a painting you may see on the wall of a nice estate.
It was almost as pale as the snow surrounding, bleaching the landscape in an innately pure blanket of frost. The only movement in the frozen wonderland was the sluggish rise of smoke from the chimneys.
Occasionally, you could smell whatever was cooking if the wind direction allowed in between nips at your nose.
Upon entering the house, I could smell cider brewing passively in the fireplace. We left our boots and outerwear in the mudroom next to the tools and small wood splits.
Adeline and Mary were sitting on the couch, chatting amongst themselves as they kept a steady eye on the flames.
They were identical with brown hair, milky skin, and dark blue eyes.
Despite the two of them being twins, Mary always looked colder.
Her brow was always drawn tight, and a smile was rare to grace her features.
To her credit, Mary was the critical one.
“Did you find any?” Adeline squeaked as she shot up from her seat, planting herself in front of Rebecca once she entered.
“Of course, I can put the kettle on for some tea. No need to move from the fireplace,” Rebecca chuckled, looking down at the bubbly brunette.
Watching Adeline and Rebecca interact was as confusing as watching a cat and dog meet for the first time. Adeline’s high energy and ironclad optimism would make even the most experienced pessimists hopeful. Rebecca did not smile often unless she was alone or with Adeline.
I was to blame for pairing the two, as I always believed one needed an opposite.
I took pride in my girls; they were my family.
It was even more important during the winter months, when bitter memories liked to surface.
They kept me going, all of them. It may be that I just liked having a purpose, people to take care of.
“Your eyes are red.”
“Tell me that I am hideous once more, dear friend.” I pressed my palms into my eye sockets, chasing the relief of the pressure.
The market was busy, as people were beginning to put out Christmas decor and taking delivery orders for Christmas geese. While it was a seasonal delight, the scent of pine and cinnamon was overwhelming the market today. I much preferred to wait for the fresh shipments of citrus.
“We need to talk.” Phoebe’s voice lowered.
“About what?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.” I pulled my hands away from my face, blurry vision clearing the image of the haughty redhead. “There is nothing to speak of.”
“Ah, yes, because your behavior is so very normal.” She looped her arm in mine as we walked along the market for fear she might lose me in the packed walkway. “What if you walk somewhere dangerous? Freeze in your sleep? Lose a toe to frostbite if you walk on a particularly nippy evening?”