chapter seventeen
THE POISONER
I was not superstitious.
Upon my father’s grave, small flowers grew.
They say that if you were a good person, flowers would bloom on your grave. If you were a bad person, there would only be weeds.
I still believed it was a tale that people told themselves to make them feel better.
My body ached like no other. I was falling apart at the seams. My body had old and new bruises and scratches from my many encounters with that animal of a man.
On top of the physical ache, my muscles strained from sleeping so long bent over a desk and not moving an inch for hours upon hours.
It was still unbelievable to me that I’d escaped with my life by being too odd or too much of a nuisance on several occasions.
I knelt before my father’s grave. Even his headstone was as intimidating and imposing as he was.
It was a tall, dark carved stone of something like granite.
His death mask was placed in the middle.
Though even at “rest,” he was stern and focused.
I learned just how permanent those creases in his face were after he was laid to rest. It was a shame that he was not buried next to Mother, but they disagreed on where they wanted their final resting places to be.
Jacek Aleksander Lis
April 1845–January 1889
“It’s better to have a sparrow in one’s hand than a dove on the roof.”
It was his favorite saying. A frequent phrase he used to repeat to me, enough that I could hear it in his voice as I read it. It was often relevant to my ambitions. He constantly warned against taking on more than I could, critiquing my ideas for being too grand, vague, and unachievable.
“I’m sure you’re thrilled to see me, isn’t that right, Father?
” I winced, as if he would answer. I knew he would be disappointed in me if he saw me now.
It had been over a year since I saw him at the funeral before hiding away in the countryside.
“My delay will be worth it. A lot has happened since I arrived.”
We—I—spent the next hour talking, just out in the open. He was the only person I could tell everything to, as the dead rarely passed judgment. It was therapeutic, but a bit pathetic on my end. The deceased were the only ones who would understand my troubles.
“Phoebe and I are still friends. I’m in the old town house now.
I’ve collected a few more friends—maybe an enemy or two.
You always said those go hand in hand. A natural balance, though I don’t know what I did to deserve this one.
” I laughed, picking at my red fingertips. “Before you ask, no husband yet.”
I took a deep breath, my throat clenching from restraining the grief.
“I’ve discovered something,” I started to say, plucking a flower from the grave and twisting the stem between my fingers.
“I think I can study them. Make something good out of it. A new creature. He’s…
fascinating. Something I’ve never seen before.
” I gulped, my eyes stinging. “I wish you were here to help me. I don’t know if I can do this on my own.
When you left, it was like my Library of Alexandria burning.
I don’t know what I don’t know. It’s like the more I learn, the less I know.
I hate it,” I mumbled, tilting my head back to beg the tears to go away and to reabsorb into my eye sockets.
The overcast screen of clouds hung low above us.
Thick drops of rain started to plummet from the gray expanse.
First, a few, then many. Before I knew it, the water would soak me.
It was an unusual rain, heavier drops than usual.
Another tall tale would say that meant death was near as well.
I supposed death would always be near, my closest companion.
The stray cat that purred against my door, knowing me as a reliable source of food.
My knees ached from sitting for so long when I finally rose to my feet. The blood returned to my legs in a tingling rush.
“Let us do this again, on a happier day,” I said, tossing the flower back onto the bed of foliage.
The rain reminded me how cold it was getting already. Autumn was ending quickly. Even in my black attire, there was no stopping the cold from penetrating my bones, my mind, my perpetual state of being.
Walking through the foggy path, I saw a few magpies settling in and a cat or two running through the graves for cover. The fog danced in their wake, curling and disappearing into the air. There must be a storm coming if even the crows had nothing to say.
Aside from the rain, the cemetery was a forbidding type of beauty.
Centuries of secrets tucked away under the ivy-ridden floor, forever to be kept in their crypts.
This cemetery enjoyed the cover of trees, like an arboretum of sorts.
In life, my father would forage here, since there were not many places to do so that were close to the city like this.
The statues stood tall, looking down on me with pity as I passed.
The angels’ eyes were always a bit stern, despite their elegant forms. They were judging me, looking down on me.
That was why some of my favorite statues in the cemetery were those of dogs, horses, and one sleeping lady basking on top of a tomb.
As I passed a dark footpath, low, harmonizing clicks penetrated the thick fog. The thin air allowed the sound to travel like the light flashing across the sky.
Not now.
Moving down the footpath and through a covered bridge in the cemetery, I hid underneath the ivy that hung in front of the forgotten catacombs.
Thunder rumbled across the sky, giving a low vibration to the walls.
The trees outside began to thrash, picking up their pace as they smacked together in a chorus of cracking, smacking, and swishing.
If there was more clicking, I would not hear it between the sounds of brewing weather, but I did not wait to find out.
Under the bridge, a path of catacombs opened up, a cedar tree growing from the top of the structure in the middle.
It was a circular sunken path that went all the way around the tree, lined with many doors to private tombs and stairs to the upper level, dividing the circular structure into quarters.
Tall sprigs of spiny bear’s-breech grew along the path, neglected by the groundskeeper. It was a tall plant with small fruits, something resembling olives placed neatly up the spine. The leaf edges bowed into tight spikes.
I ripped one out of the ground, pricking my hands in the process. I did not bring anything sharp, so this would do just fine in a pinch.
Footsteps echoed from under the bridge, so I ran up the stairs to get to higher ground, ignoring the cold air that bit at my skin and the chafing of my damp mourning gown.
I peered from above, crouching low, watching that blond Creature move into view. Another set of clicks could be heard as he walked underneath me. He kicked the wall in frustration, muttering and running his hand through his wet hair.
As I leaned on the edge of the higher ground, some dirt crumbled from the edge and landed on his shoulder.
His head snapped up, and we both froze for a moment. Like we were holding pistols to each other’s heads. We were both still. A snap of lightning lit up the sky, and his eyes flashed their reflection back at me, a perfect analogy of how intense his stare truly was.
The stalemate was broken when he moved quickly for the stairs.
I stumbled back and ran toward the tall, house-like tombs littered through the cemetery like a miniature town.
The sealed doors gave no leeway as I tugged on each handle, desperate to find one left unlocked.
I ran through the headstones, jumping from bed to bed as he neared in my peripheral vision.
I climbed on top of the mossy sarcophaguses, ascending higher up the steep hill before reaching the next landing.
I stopped at a crossroads. My throat burned from exhaustion, my pause granting me little relief in the panic.
The crowd of imposing statues surrounded me like a jury, and my executioner was close behind.
Pieces of wet hair slapped against my face as I turned, glancing at each of the paths.
There was no road that seemed better than the next, all equally dark and unknown, as the rain muddled everything in the shadows into one.
Only then did a flash of lightning clue me into which path not to take. The light illuminated a tall figure in the middle, approaching with a calculated steadiness that could only have come from something truly cold-blooded, ready for the kill.
The path I chose did not matter, as long as it was not his.
I cut across the stretch of graves. Small, humble headstones were kicked over as I hastily ran without regard for the disturbed souls beneath my boots.
I lost sight of him, but as I approached a large tomb, two clasped hands carved above the frame of the doorway read, We shall meet again . My hands met the doors for only a moment.
My body was jolted forward, crashing through the doors, and strong arms wrestled with me on the floor. I grabbed both ends of the bristly plant and pushed the sharp weed up against his throat, keeping him far enough away where he could not bite.
He hissed at me, baring his fangs with such violence and anger. It made me realize how his threats to kill me could very well be honest, and he would not break a sweat. This was a predator through and through. I had no reason to expect anything human from him. I would be a fool if I did.
I used all of my strength to push the thorny shrub against him. Black blood began to trickle from his skin as he pushed harder against it. I brought my knees up and kicked outward, shoving him back to allow me to stand again, but his persistence knew no limit.
The thorny stalk slashed across his face when I swung, cutting his skin, but it did little to faze him.
His eyes were blackened and narrowed at me as he lunged again, grabbing me by the neck and forcing me backward.
The back of my knees hit the edge of the stone sarcophagus, and he slammed me down against it, my head hitting the stone as I went down. The wind was knocked out of my lungs from the sheer force.
I dug my nails into his wrist, gasping for air. My heart banged against my ribs, threatening to make its own escape if I was not going to be able to run. His grip tightened, pinning me to the slab below.
I tried to raise my knee again, but he kicked my legs apart, firmly placing himself between them.
“Let go!” I tried to shout, but his grip was cutting off my voice.
Then he tugged my dress up with his free hand, yanking my leg over his shoulder.
“ No! ” I screamed. My eyes widened, and I fought against him, grabbing at anything I could. Tears welled in my eyes. This was the first time I found it within myself to be terrified of him. There was nothing I could do. He would do it, and I would be too weak to stop him.
He slid his hand higher up on my neck by my jaw, forcing my neck to extend, opening me up to his mercy. He was close enough that I could see his fangs twitch at the sight of my pulsing neck. He was shaking like a rabid animal, ready to tear through whatever he could catch.
“ Silas! ” My plea came out as some sort of cross between a scream and a sob, unable to decide if I wanted to die fighting or frightened.
He paused, his quaking body hovering above me, eyes fixated on my neck. His wet hair left waterdrops on my face, mixing with the fresh tears.
It was like hearing me cry his name snapped something in him, but he could not decide how he felt about it. The look on his face was harrowing. He was livid, frustrated, or conflicted—whatever it might be, he was not going to tolerate me any longer.
“Say it again.”
“S-Silas…” I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat.
“Not like that.” His voice shook.
“Please don’t—” I squirmed. Hot tears stained my face and pooled in my ears, but I kept a stern expression as long as possible.
He moved close, our noses almost touching. It was like he was looking at an enigma, not recognizing me in this state.
“Again,” he said, his voice low.
“ I hate you. ” My voice cracked, and my throat was starting to ache from anxiety and the pressure of his fingers.
“Again,” he demanded, burying his face in the crook of my neck, pressing his hips tighter between my legs and letting his long, needlelike teeth brush against my skin.
“ Silas ,” I choked out, “ I’m not ready — please. ”
This is the end, isn’t it?
His head tapped against the stone next to my head in annoyance.
“I can’t do this,” he breathed, letting my leg slide off his shoulder.
He leaned back, studying my pitiful state.
When he released my neck, the blood rushed back to my head, and I groaned, relieved to finally breathe in the damp air.
I closed my eyes and coughed. The rush of fresh air irritated my throat as I greedily tried to suck in anything I could.
I waited for whatever came next, but alas, the other shoe never fell.
The presence against me vanished, and the air became lighter in its absence.
When my eyes opened, I only saw an empty tomb. The metal double doors slapped lazily together as the gloomy tantrum of weather continued, unaware of the commotion under it, not one blond devil in sight.