12
THE POISONER
Iwoke slower this morning, but easier. The room was already hot from the open window, the sunlight on the neighboring buildings told me it could be past noon. Had I really slept that long? Concussed sleep wasn’t very safe, but I suppose it works differently when you’re already dead.
It was quieter than I’d expect for the time of day, perhaps everyone went out.
I threw on a billowy robe and left the room.
As soon as the door opened, the wafting of something savory hit my nose. The staff kitchen was brewing, yet no one was around. Is there some sort of event I’m missing? Not that I minded missing out, but I couldn’t help being a little hurt there was no invitation.
Each of my footsteps echoed through the halls, even without shoes. My bare feet tapped against the polished marble, my ghostly reflection following me rather than a shadow.
I ducked my head into the parlor room, which was cleaned and dusted, the flowers replaced with fresh buds, and completely empty. Back into the hallway, looking both ways to not one sign of a soul. I supposed the thing to do would be to follow the smell.
It got stronger with every step down to the first floor.
To my relief, people were present.
I stood about a third of the way down the stairs so I could skim over them.
Even with a careful study of the crowd, no pink.
No Phoebe. I didn’t see John or Rebecca either.
But plenty of familiar faces from around the Nest. Being surrounded by so many Vipera and Hosts was making adjusting a bit easier, especially the smell of fresh blood.
While I was in my nightwear, a red silk for the robe making it look slightly less informal, the rest of the crowd seemed to be in nicer day dresses and suits than normal. The men were waiting with their jackets on and their starched clothing neat.
Then, the doors opened.
The merry conversations erupted like a reunion.
As I moved from the stairs down to the floor, I found myself looking between people as they clashed together in such joyous greetings.
Couples kissing each other’s cheeks, men slapping each other’s backs, and the giggles of women spectating the men who weren’t paired.
Staff moved trunks up the stairs as everyone gathered.
The new guests were in a uniform of sorts, not quite issued but there was a similar style code they dressed to.
Smart tailoring, all black with gloves to match.
As one passed, I noted a repeating symbol.
Some had it on their handkerchiefs, sometimes on their cuff links.
The clearest one was on a card tucked into a flat cap—a lion with the second head of a goat and the tail of a snake. A chimera.
The crowd moved toward the door like an evening tide.
The voices grew louder, the energy of the room heightened like heated molecules.
It was like many had returned from some long journey. While the reunions were heartwarming, it left much to be desired. For myself, at least.
I moved past one couple, then another, until I approached the front.
As bodies parted and I reached the thick of the crowd, one arrival stood out in particular.
A tall, dark form, a crown of golden hair, and smoke blowing from his nose like a dragon atop a hoard. I didn’t just smell the thick leather of his gloves, I also smelled the blood soaked into the hide mixing with his cologne.
His hand brushed through his hair, the flash of ghostly blue eyes as someone talked at him—that Sidney fella.
Silas’s shoulders lifted with his next inhale of a cigarette, then settled after a very long breath.
His eyes were dark, much darker than I’d ever seen.
The type that were tired, the look of a man who may snap at any moment.
It was no secret my Creature had poor impulse control, yet he seemed to be holding it together.
Whatever happened these last few months must have beat some self-restraint into him.
I wasn’t familiar with such expressions from him. Is this what he was like when I wasn’t looking? Is this how everyone else perceived him? Or was I possibly just missing him?
I stepped forward, about to break through the last line of the crowd. Only a dozen bodies separated us. His scent was all the more present the more I let it burrow into my mind. I could almost hear his voice again through the others. I could almost feel his hands, taste his lips—
A sharp tug around my waist and my face was snuffed by another pair of leather gloves. I tried to thrash but the hand gripping my face just dug in harder. My heels scraped against the floor as I was dragged away, even the scent of him growing less and less.
My fangs sprang forward, attempting to sink into the hand in vain, the leather too thick to pierce. It elicited a growl from the man before he hooked his fingers behind a fang, hyperextending it like a pressure point, leading me like a bit in a horse’s mouth.
Suddenly yanked somewhere else, the slam of a door. My back hit a wall.
Then there was only darkness.
I swallowed as there was rummaging. The air was hot and stuffy. I assumed we were behind one of the hidden service doors. Though I could smell the hint of figs, cedarwood, metallic breath.
There was a squeak.
The gas lamp bloomed at the hand of my captor spinning the dial.
The light reflected off scarred skin and a dull eye.
“You fucking sable.” I hit him, then again, and couldn’t stop.
Luka raised his arms as I hit him before pressing his forearm against my neck, pinning me to the wall. “Quiet.” The word was drawn out and harsh.
The sounds of people passing us, muttering and talking in between their steps. We could see a faint shadow of shoes under the door.
I hoped my face was as expressive as I could manage to make my disdain known.
In doing so, I noticed the shape of his skin.
His damaged eye was in worse shape than it was the last time I saw him, or at least that I remembered.
His skin was also in decline. The deep scar cutting through down to his lip was taut and the color was a little darker where the burns were.
“I have a favor to ask of you.” He suddenly returned his gaze to me.
I lifted my chin, my neck pressing against his forearm. “Have your favor,” I spat in his face.
He closed his eyes, taking a moment to finally release me and hold his hands up in surrender, as if there was some immense amount of restraint to not strangle me right there.
“You can’t see him right now,” Luka said plainly.
I opened my mouth to speak.
“It is a matter of survival. Just a while longer. Then you may frolic all you like.”
“Why?” I squinted at him, crossing my arms as I leaned against the wall.
“He needs to focus.”
“The Appraisal?”
“Ah, you’re bright as ever. So clever.” The sarcasm was palpable. “Phoebe told you?”
“Some of it.” I shrugged. “I understand.”
He threw me a scrutinous look. “Do you, now?”
“Yes,” I said through a clenched jaw, “but he should still know I am awake.”
He looked like he was about to argue, so I reached for the door.
Luka slapped my hand away like I was some naughty child.
“Hit me one more time—” I raised my hand, but he caught my wrist, then tightened.
My hand began to tingle from numbness, the circulation cutting off.
“How about we make a deal,” he said tensely. He smiled as he said it, but his eyes screamed that he wanted to smash his forehead into mine.
“I’m tired of deals,” I hissed.
“Have you fed yet?” he asked.
I was quiet.
“Your breath says that you haven’t.” He grinned. “You smell hungry, my dear.”
Immediately my jaw snapped shut. I wasn’t sure if I was angry or embarrassed, or both. But both options made me want to hit him, preferably with something solid. Like a brick.
A smirk crept onto his dimpled face, his canine exposed by the tight skin around the scar. “Let us hunt together. Tonight.”
“Hunt?”
“It’s better than the stuff they keep in the icebox. Fresh is best, and I know just the place,” he offered. “I can give you a rather nice distraction in exchange for leaving Silas be in this very sensitive time of preparation.”
“I don’t know.” I leaned back, but he just came closer. It was suffocating. The tiny space, the heat, the smells of food and blood mixing where it was no longer appetizing.
“I know a place with many specimens,” he added.
“Specimens?”
“The big taxidermy kind,” he said with a wide smile, once he saw my attention was earned. “Antarctica, India, China, Africa.”
I was either insane, or considering it, or both.
“There’s a polar bear,” he said.
“Bring me,” I demanded.
“Well, you have to dress nicer than that.” His eyes trailed down then up. “Be ready and outside by midnight. Stay in your room until then.”
“Deal,” I said. “You promise I won’t be hidden for long?”
“Let the golden boy do his work, I’ll make your time worth it. Not to worry,” he assured me, “though, you may have to get to your room using the service stairs. Do you know your way around them now?”
“No,” I mumbled.
“Well, good luck then.” He suddenly opened the door, smacking it shut in my face.
I hit the door with my palms, giving it one last kick before venturing farther into the service hall to the steep stairs.
The bastard had an irritating way of being, but his offer did interest me for the short term.
The key to my disordered eating could just be as simple as the victim itself.
Consent could be something that is giving me some psychosomatic symptoms. Or my lab knowledge made me more paranoid about sterilization when I drink from a cup.
Either way, this would hopefully be a controlled environment to test some theories. Who am I to deny a good experiment?
“Now you just have to go up and request for two.” Luka squeezed my shoulders from behind as we stared across the street. “You must smile, pull one fang forward with your tongue.”
The night was busy, music weaving its way through the streets, warm lighting on the pavement, and comfortable temperatures allowing for more people out on the town.