Chapter 20
From the peaks of Umm Chanala, to the underwater caves of Chefrika, How pleasant is this land we know.
From the winding alleys of our blue diamond to the shining palace of our capital, How beautiful is this land we know.
Oh, sweeping sands of desert places, oh, glittering waves of the horizon, There is no more beautiful place to be.
Mekchaouen, we love and pray for thee.
Rulers rise and fall, some are just and some are evil, But the land remembers, the earth embodies the Creator's will.
When signs come from near and far,
When change is written in the stars,
The mountains will sing, the forest will rejoice,
People of faith will declare with one voice,
There is no more beautiful place to be!
Mekchaouen, we love and pray for thee!
—official anthem of the realm of Mekchaouen
Shay isn't sure what Deebi says to his brothers, but it he gets them to agree to her request. That night, she gives Aidi the address of Ghita's apartment. They'll go there first and familiarize themselves with her scent, to help with locating her grave in case it's unmarked.
“We will tell you what we have learned when we return,” the elder brother says, as the bone-eaters don their coats in preparation for their journey.
Shay frowns. She supposes it makes sense for them to perform the act at the graveyard, or wherever it is they normally conduct that aspect of their affairs. But something about it feels wrong. “Do you think you could bring her back instead?”
Deebi looks up from his bootlaces in surprise. “You want us to consume the body here?”
“I just …” Shay thinks she may never be able to accept that Ghita is gone if she doesn't see her one last time. “Want a chance to say goodbye.”
The brothers grunt their agreement, and Shay is left alone in the cottage.
It is not the first time, but after meeting Khawla and being reintroduced to Shadi, alone feels so much lonelier than it did before.
She wanders to the kitchen, surprised to discover the dishes cleaned, the floor swept.
In fact, there is not a sock that needs mending or a button in need of fixing to be found in the entire cottage.
Shay washes up and prays, and with nothing else to busy herself, she climbs upstairs and lies on her sleeping pallet.
For all her exhaustion, her eyes stay wide open, her mind stubbornly awake as the night drags on.
Moonlight weeps through the thatched ceiling, suspending diamonds of dust in its cold fingers.
In this deep quiet, her power slips from that mental drawer she keeps it in.
Shay counts more than one hundred different species of flies, spiders, beetles, ants, and other bugs she doesn't know that currently inhabit the sinks, furniture, and walls of the cottage. Rest does not seem to be on the agenda.
Giving up, Shay stands and gravitates to the window. She peers out into a darkness so rich, it shimmers. Shay used to fear what lived in such darkness. But that was before she came to understand that a greater darkness lives in the hearts of men.
As if summoned by her thoughts, a pale face pops up in the window.
Contradicting her brave thoughts, Shay startles back from the sight of Tarik. When did he grow bold enough to approach the brothers’ dwelling? And how did he climb to the second story? Shay's muscles go rigid, like she's an animal entering a paralyzed state to fake death.
Staring Shay straight in the eyes, Tarik taps a gloved finger against the window.
“I come in peace, little dove.” He raises his voice to be heard through the glass.
“Go away.” Shay wishes she sounded stronger. It hits her how alone she is. As defenseless as a fruit dangling from a tree branch, ripe for the picking. “The brothers won't be happy when they hear you were poking around here.”
“Then I guess you don't want the gift I've brought? I do believe these are of great value to you.” Moonlight catches on the blades of his cheekbones like they're silver knives.
He reaches into the inner pocket of his vest and withdraws something small and flat and made of … leather? A pair of leather gloves.
Shay's leather gloves, the ones Ghita gave her for her birthday.
Shay is half convinced they're an illusion. If the bloodsucker can transform from a bird to a man in a state of full dress, perhaps he can also make any other pair of gloves appear to be the ones the midwife gifted her. Or maybe she fell asleep after all.
Shay leans closer, her breath misting the glass between them. “How did you know they were mine?”
“Open the window, little dove.”
Even on the half chance the gloves are what they seem to be, Shay can't resist the lure. Because Tarik is right. They are of value to her. So much more so now that the midwife is gone. If she can only touch them, she's sure she'll be able to tell if they're real.
She unlatches the window and heaves it up. A cool breeze raises goosebumps on her arms as she extends her hand. “Let me see them.”
Tarik passes the gloves to Shay. He rests his arms on the windowsill, looking smug. “I thought you'd like them.”
Shay feels their concreteness in her hands, their familiar softness and stretch, their strength a tribute to the woman who gifted them. She brings them to her face and inhales deeply, as if she could glean the essence of Ghita's soul from their oaky scent and bottle it inside herself.
Tarik narrows the soulless pits of his eyes. “Aren't you going to say thank you? I went well out of my way to get them back, you know.”
Shay lowers the gloves, understanding falling over her like a shroud. The bloodsucker shares more than a neighborhood with the bone-eaters. “You didn't just taste my blood. You drank my memories. Didn't you?”
“Only some.” The bloodsucker smiles, baring his fangs. “But since that day, my craving for the taste of you is my soul's constant companion.”
“What?” Shay steps back in horror, remembering Khawla accusing Tarik of being obsessed with her.
“Never mind.” Tarik curls his lip over his fangs in a feeble attempt to conceal them. “As I said, this is a peace offering. Please, do try them on.”
Shay imagines how Ghita would deride her lack of self-preservation.
But the thought only increases her longing to hear that reproving voice she never thought she'd miss so dearly, only makes his suggestion that much harder to resist. She slips her hands into the gloves, their snugness a balm she hadn't known her heart needed.
As she flexes her fingers and admires the gloves, the moon's pale glow strikes some dark substance that flecks their sleek surface. A substance that, on closer inspection, looks an awful lot like blood. Whose blood?
Shay's stomach pitches at the thought of the last person known to have had the gloves in her possession. She can't peel them off her hands fast enough. She thrusts them at Tarik, who takes hold of them if only to keep them from tumbling to the ground below. “What did you do to her?”
“The barkeep?” Tarik asks innocently. “Don't be jealous, little dove. I promise she meant nothing.”
Shay paces back and forth in front of the window, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What about the truce?”
“What do you know about the truce?” He chuckles.
She stops, facing him. “I know bloodsuckers aren't allowed to prey on humans within the medina's boundaries.”
“Take that up with the Vampiiruh Presidium,” Tarik says, his fingers constricting to a fist around the gloves. “But I would suggest ensuring you know the facts before making baseless accusations. How confident are you that this is even human blood, not that of an animal?”
“I think you should go now.” Shay attempts to close the windowpane, but Tarik reaches out and effortlessly blocks it with the heel of his hand.
“Are you rejecting my gift?” He frowns, looking much closer to delighted than sad. “And here I thought there was still a chance for us to reconcile our differences.”
“Differences?” Shay balks. “Such as your desire to kill me, you mean?”
“You take one little nibble of someone, and they hold it against you for eternity.” Tarik clutches his free hand to his chest, feigning heartbreak. “If that were all I wanted, I could have already jumped through this window and eaten you.”
Shay wraps her arms around herself, calculating how fast she could run to the kitchen and where to locate the biggest knife. Maybe if she shoves the dresser up against the window, it will buy her time. “And why haven't you?”
“Fair question.” Tarik pins Shay with his dark gaze. “Would you believe me if I told you stress affects the quality of blood? It's so much tastier when given freely. And blood like yours deserves to be savored.”
“That is never going to happen.” Shay shudders, the pain of Tarik's bite all too readily remembered. “I am asking you, again, to please remove yourself from my window. How are you even there? Are you floating?” She raises on her toes to peer down, confirming that Tarik is indeed levitating.
He moves back, still hanging in midair, but now a foot away from the window. “Remember this moment, little dove—the moment you were offered peace and turned it down. But make no mistake, I am equally fond of enmity.”
With that ominous proclamation, his slender torso sinks like a flagging kite below the window and disappears into the night.
Shay quickly shuts the pane and latches it.
She stands there for what feels like infinity, breathing heavily and not quite believing he's gone.
Sure enough, untold beakers later, something slaps against the window with a force that shakes the glass in its frame.
Once her soul returns to her body, Shay braves a look down to the ground, knowing the gloves will be there before she sees them.
She scans the yard for Tarik, not finding him until she looks across to his house.
His silhouette looms in the upstairs window that faces hers, backlit by the halo of a candle.
It has the makings of a trap, but while Shay didn't want to accept the gloves from Tarik, it feels wrong to leave them discarded like refuse. Besides that, the blood on them is evidence of Tarik's crime.
She could wait for the brothers. Should wait for the brothers. But what if it rains or an animal finds them? What if, what if, what if?
Stop overthinking, she tells herself—and quails.
Ghita's voice, she's used to hearing, but when did Hind take up a lectern in her head?
Nevertheless, Shay darts downstairs and hurls herself into the night.
She doesn't pause to check whether Tarik is still at the window. Doing so would only slow her down.
She retrieves the gloves as fast as she can, her heart a maelstrom in her ears. Only once she's safely back inside does Shay catch the tang of vinegar and see that the blood has been scrubbed away. Dropping the gloves in her lap, she collapses on the seddari and cries.
She cries for the beautiful woman who accepted the gloves, hoping they might resolve the pain in her hands, a mistake she paid for with her life. For all the women, reduced to what men can take from them, who have paid a similar price for daring to want more.
She's still there when the brothers return.