chapter forty-one
THE POISONER
“ W hat is the point of bringing food if you do not eat?” I mumbled, taking a bite of one of the finger sandwiches while I annotated my book.
“I can’t taste anything,” Silas commented, looking out over the park as he took another drag of his cigarette. “I could eat it, but it would be the equivalent of uncooked rice powder.”
“Then why do you smoke? Or drink?”
“I can only taste things that are burnt or bitter. Like coffee, liquor, and the like.” He lifted the cigarette in emphasis. “Oh, and meat. The more raw, the better.”
I lowered my gaze to my book, thinking about his answer. We decided today that we would go to the park. Since the word was out, there was no need to hide our familiarity. I loved my lab, but sometimes it was too stuffy.
There were eyes on us at all times, even if they attempted not to see us.
Too many strangers greeted us, some of whom Silas knew, but the rest were a mystery to us.
Sometimes I forgot that Silas was some sort of celebrity, being the founder of his own company and using his wealth for philanthropic and business endeavors.
Not to mention he was considered one of the most eligible bachelors within our social circles.
While I usually had a counterpart dressed in pink when I visited the park, sitting next to Silas made me realize that our preferred way of dressing matched a little too perfectly.
We’d brought a blanket and a picnic basket full of little things to eat. His legs were extended and crossed in front of him. He was dressed in black with a high collar that buttoned down the side. He also wore circular tinted sun spectacles to shield the rare London sun from his light eyes.
We had put our blanket in the shade, so I was fine without any accessories. Today, I wore a black walking suit with a high neck, though it wasn’t anything different from what I usually wore, so the new markings on my neck were not an issue.
Now that I thought about it, we did look like a matching set—how annoying.
“Did you really have to wear black?” I grumbled, eyeing his clothing.
“Of course. How else will we convince the children that we are phantoms that haunt the park?” He rolled his eyes and leaned back on his elbows. “I do not like the rules regarding colors.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think too much is dedicated to different shades. They all look the same.”
“Can I ask you something?” I squinted at him.
“Of course.”
“Are my books the same color?” I held up two books.
“Yes.”
One book was magenta, and the other was orange.
“Are you color-blind?” I asked him amusingly.
“No,” he mumbled, squinting at the books. “Maybe. I do not know.”
As he squinted, the blood filled the whites of his eyes, and they darkened as they looked at the books. “Ah…they are different colors.”
“Does the blood flow to your eyes help you see better?”
“Yes, I can see more clearly, more textures, and obviously I can distinguish between more colors.”
“How do you differentiate between the colors normally?”
“Practice, subtle differences, or learning typical colors from what other people say they are. Most of the heightened senses overwhelm me most of the time if it is not to hunt. Too many colors and textures at once. It is just a headache at that point.”
“Fair.” I nodded, jotting something in the margins of my literature.
“Quid pro quo,” Silas spoke up.
I raised a suspicious brow before nodding in acceptance.
“Your father,” he started. “You avoid the subject whenever someone brings it up.”
I tensed, my pen strokes in my book becoming more aggressive. “Because there’s nothing to tell.”
“How did he die?”
“Hazard of the job. Tell me about your social structure. Are you pack animals or individuals?”
“Both. What hazard?”
“He was a chemist. I don’t know, must have touched something that he wasn’t meant to touch,” I answered. “How can they be both?”
“We have Nests, Dens, and sometimes we just keep to ourselves. Personal preference.” He took another drag of smoke. “Did you see him die?”
“Yes!” I choked, swiping his cigarette from his mouth and taking a long drag, flicking it away when it burned the tips of my fingers upon finishing. “Enough about him, please.” I sighed.
Silas looked at me for a long moment. It looked like he was going to say something, but he didn’t.
“What’s the difference between a Den and a Nest?” I asked, not taking my eyes off my book.
“Social class and money,” he answered cryptically.
“That’s not an answer.” I glared.
“Dens are like taverns. Food, a place to sleep, everything a humble man would need.” He looked at me over the rim of his tinted glasses.
“They are typically for the corrupted and those born to lower classes. It is a community effort just to keep the places running, and people will do it because it’s a necessity.
An unorganized free-for-all filled with the most impulsive people you could imagine. ”
“Corrupted?”
“Yes, humans who were corrupted by venom. Keep up, darling,” he grumbled. “Nests are something like that, except they’re more like tight-knit explorers’ clubs, exclusive and often limited to those of higher class. You have to be invited.”
“So the difference is if you’re rich or poor?”
“Not necessarily, but it does tend to work out like that, doesn’t it?
” He shrugged. “No, Nests are run by families that have known each other since before even I was born. They pool their resources and share only with their small entourage. A Nest is like a general label for connected families under one estate.”
“Do you have one?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it? What families?”
“I can’t tell you that.” He laughed. “If anything, it’s for your own sake that I don’t.”
“What do they keep there?”
“Pretty little things like you,” he teased.
“I am serious.”
“So am I. They keep Hosts there. A quality collection is a must.” His eyes trailed over me. “I’m actually surprised you hadn’t been snatched before I got to you.”
“Take me to one.” I snapped my book shut. “I want to see it for myself.”
“You want to go to a Den?” he sneered at the thought.
“Yes, and a Nest.”
“You will be going to neither. Do you hear me? Do not seek them out,” he warned.
“Do not speak to me like I am a girl. I can handle myself.” I pointed at him with my pen as I tucked my book under my arm.
“Alina.” He grabbed my arm. “Promise me.”
I mumbled something begrudgingly, twisting my arm from his grip.
The alleyways of the docks were gloomy as usual.
Nearly every news clipping contained some sort of incident from down here.
It made sense that this was where a Den would be.
It was a familiar hunting ground for me.
I’d suspected for a while that one of these back-alley holes would be a Den.
I’d narrowed it down to a place by the harbor, not too far from the brothel.
Rest in peace, mistress of the house.
Based on the papers, bodies were suspected of being dumped around this area. No one bothered to follow up, as the victims were typically women with promiscuous lives. Always sought out but never looked for afterward.
I approached the alley where the entrance would be, as there was also one at the front of the building.
Some figures were looming outside, cooling off in the night air with a quick smoke.
I wore my best impression of working-class clothing, a simple long-sleeved blouse with a brown skirt.
Though I wore it higher on the waist, even the tops of my boots could be seen at this hemline. How embarrassingly improper.
Shoe polish stuck to my eyelashes and brows, hiding the white hairs that would give me away as anyone in particular. My hair was worn down as well. It was like walking around in sleeping attire. Entirely too vulnerable.
Moving past the figures who leered in the dark, I knocked on a wooden door, and it creaked open. The noises from inside spilled into the alley, as well as a dim red light.
“Business?” a gruff voice demanded.
“I’m a…Host? I’m a Host,” I said unconvincingly.
“You don’t sound so sure, love.”
“It…it’s my first time.” I lowered my voice. “Please let me in.” My voice shook as I glanced at the figures looming in the alley.
The door opened wider, granting me entry.
“Thank you,” I breathed. The tension thickened as I moved farther into the Den. It was crowded in the skinny hallway, with many rooms only blocked by thin curtains as I passed.
Movement and small snippets of images caught my eye as I passed.
In one room, a woman was in a chair, letting three, four, maybe five men latch on to her and feed.
It was hard to see in the dim light. In some rooms, I could see pipes being passed and sluggish bodies sprawled into piles around one another.
It was worse than I would expect even a brothel to be.
So unsanitary and taboo, but maybe it only seemed that way to me because I did not consume human flesh to survive.
At the heart of the building, there was a large room with a sunken lounge in the middle.
The platform was lined with a perfect-fitting seating area where a group was occupying it.
Along the sides there were stairs leading up to a viewing area around the edges.
The place looked like it had been a run-down theater, repurposed for the formidable.
Topless women with fresh blood trailing down their breasts from their necks walked through the tables as if to collect new clients.
Their long legs moved slowly, and they were only decorated in stockings and a corset, though it looked like they were used more as decoration than functionality.
Privacy was optional when feeding, since there were couples scattered about, tangling with each other.
All seats were occupied and covered with Vipera and Hosts.
The sounds of laughter, drunken men, and sucking filled the air, weaving its way around the crowded area.