THE POISONER
While my mind was still orienting itself, a few things kept my attitude on the lighter side.
The first was Phoebe. If I hadn’t seen her when I first awoke, I may have been driven mad trying to find her. The instinct to seek her out was deep-rooted with a strong hold in my soul’s soil.
Knowing she was safe was half the anxiety. What followed would be the matters of my girls, my things, then my Creature.
Consuming information in bites had always been difficult for me, but I had no energy to pick up my pace. Whether or not I trusted the information would find its way to me was a question for later.
When we returned to the building from before, and as the fog cleared, the facade became familiar. It was on the corner, right along Fifth Avenue, a striking view of the park. The same one from the small photograph in Silas’s papers.
This was his Nest.
While Silas was absent for now, at least I knew he wouldn’t be far, not for long at the very least.
The first floor was interesting in design, like every room was a parlor.
People came to and from the dining room, the chiming of cutlery against plates as they scattered about to eat their breakfast in leisure.
There was the normal expected staff of a home this large.
A housekeeper with chatelaine chiming along, lean men in fine tailoring; there was even a secretary.
The home seemed a cross between a household and a hotel.
Though in all fairness, I was the only new arrival.
The second floor was brief in passing, it seemed to be mostly guest suites and possibly a bathroom. The maids were using the breakfast distraction downstairs to make any messes disappear.
So far, everything seemed so normal. The stress may be leftover, but it was hard to remember that even if this was enemy territory, I was no longer prey. I was no longer a Host, my blood was no good to them.
“Where are my girls?” I pestered Phoebe.
She waved her hand at me, dismissing my query as we passed another floor, the doors closed to wanderers, then up to the roof.
The door swung open, and it was blinding for a moment. A bright, harsh light and the sweep of wind threatening to snatch my hair right out of its pinnings.
Then, like songbirds, laughter.
The scene flowered as my eyes adjusted. The rooftop was lined with planters, roses creeping along lattice. Potted trees littered throughout the parlor furniture. In the middle, a glass solarium. The doors were open on all four sides, a small crowd within.
A dark-haired woman with a tawny-beige complexion. Rebecca.
Surrounding her, some girls I recognized from Buffalo, some I didn’t know at all.
When we were within earshot, Phoebe received some cordial glances from the bunch, but the eyes landed on me. One by one, smiles fell and postures straightened.
Suddenly, I was swarmed. Chatter erupting around us, Phoebe stepping out of the way. Rebecca was first, her hand grabbed my wrist, as if to make sure I was of flesh and not a projection.
While the chatter around me was exciting and joyous, our eyes met. No matter the environment, she looked grief-stricken, like I had torn open a wound. It made my stomach curl; I knew that look.
“How are you?” Her brow furrowed, her deep brown eyes surveying.
“Alive.” It was half a joke.
There was a small, conflicted smile before she herded me under the solarium.
“Looking a bit pale there, Crow.”
In the corner of the seated area, John began to stand, a tired grin on his face as he brushed down the wrinkles of his shirt.
I didn’t let another thought cross before I flung my arms around his neck, squeezing tighter.
“Whoa there, remember you have that Vipera strength now. My neck certainly does not.” He chuckled, arms wrapping around and rubbing my back. “It’s good to have you back.”
A sniffle escaped as I wiped my eye, not willing to let him see when I pulled away to laugh. “Still feels like I never left.” I choked back the bite at my throat, watching as everyone settled back under the glass. A gentle breeze carried the scent of climbing roses and honeysuckle.
I sat between Phoebe and John. The chiming of teaware began again, flower petals from the canopy swept over the ivory dishes. Some pecked at finger sandwiches and scones; others settled for bitter tea.
“Drink.” Phoebe poured me a cup, sliding the saucer toward me. “It will settle your stomach until tonight.”
“Tonight?” I mumbled, twisting the cup so the handle aligned with my dominant hand. “Another one of your outings?”
“No,” she said with a smile, “we are celebrating.”
I sampled the tea carefully. Miraculously, the first pinch of flavor since waking.
The bitterness was there, it registered on my tongue, but the undertones and other notes of the tea were more present, things I don’t think I would be tasting on a normal palate.
Something earthy, perfume-like. Perhaps I was more sensitive to the underlying chemicals?
“You know how I feel about parties,” I mumbled. “I may go back to sleep.”
“You’ve had six months to sleep.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides, not a party. A dinner.”
“Oh?” I mumbled, taking another long sip, adjusting to my new palate.
“It’s your first meal! We have to make it special.”
“Why? Guilty conscience?” I joked, but Phoebe’s face fell.
Instant regret settled in my stomach. “I’m sorry, I was trying to be light.”
The redheaded sprite took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing. “I know.”
“John.” I turned to my other side.
I caught him mid-bite, placing his sandwich back down as he chewed.
“What came of the Buffalo apartments? Not everyone is here.”
He rested his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, the wrinkles by his eyes creasing as he offered a gentle smile. “Mary stayed behind, so did at least half of the household. They have lives there already, it was understandable.”
“She stayed?” I shook my head. “Are you sure—”
“She didn’t want to leave Addie behind,” he said abruptly.
It was hard to swallow. I hung my head.
“She’s stepped up, forming into quite a good leader, just like you,” he assured me. “She can handle it. She is handling it.”
“Right, of course.” I took a deep breath. “And what of Edith?”
John gave me an odd look. The chatter around us went dim.
Phoebe squeezed my hand. “Oh, you poor thing, I didn’t tell you, did I?” Her voice pitched, the way it does when she lies.
I slowly turned to her. Instead of some smug look, those green eyes were sharp, warning. The others looked somber, pitiful, like I was learning about her passing for the first time.
“Tell me what?” My jaw was beginning to ache from tension, not just from the laborious revival.
Phoebe squeezed my hand tighter, nails digging into my skin. “The corrupted got her. A terrible illness swept the hospital. She was on shift,” her answer all too rehearsed. “That’s how you passed as well. You went to get her, remember?”
“Is that so?” I wasn’t sure my expression wouldn’t give me away. I was far too peeved to hide any inflection.
“We were lucky you came out in one piece. There was nothing left of her.” She patted the back of my hand.
There was only a nod, my voice would betray me. I am trusting her now, whatever reasons she had for hiding what truly happened. I hoped it was for their sake, that she was taking an interest in what was best for the girls. There wasn’t much of another explanation.
Against the sour pit in my stomach, I yielded, and we had our tea. Edith was not brought up again.