13
THE FIXER
The ceiling became my muse for the night.
I attempted to sleep, then attempted to not sleep, but ultimately I was haunted by that woman again. How she managed to spike my blood pressure only a couple days after resurfacing from her coma is quite a feat.
I slipped an arm off my shoulder to reach over another body for my lighter, sitting up against the headboard to scratch a match for my cigarette. Even a deep breath was less meditating now.
When I shifted, so did my blanket of body parts.
One woman turned her back to me, the ringlets of her hair tickling my arm.
A second woman tucked to the opposite side, her face buried in the pillow.
Last one was across the end of the bed, hugging a decorative pillow and curled in a throw blanket.
The bed was covered in a mess of twisted sheets, pillows, probably some other unsavory items lost in the ripples of slippery satin.
Even with such succulent distractions, one thing kept me awake like a fresh shot of cocaine. It was the taste, like something went rancid. Alina’s voice echoed in my head.
I took a deep, meditative pull on the cigarette before even that didn’t agree with my stomach. The tobacco embers waned and died between my fingers.
I shifted around the sleeping forms before my feet could touch the ground.
My arm hooked around my bicep, pulling it across my body to stretch before doing the other.
With one step forward, I stumbled.
“The floor? Really?” I hissed.
The nude man on the floor groaned, rolling over in his hungover state.
I flicked the cigarette butt at him before gathering trousers and a shirt at the very least. The room was in more of a mess than I’d thought.
An abandoned fruit cart, pillows, wine bottles, clothes.
Women specifically have cut down on the number of garments they wear in a single outfit, but I am of the opinion they could use even fewer layers.
Just the petticoats alone took up most of the floor.
I stepped on the heel of a shoe, the pain making me bite my tongue and hold back a clenched fist.
By the time I stumbled out of there I was finishing the buttons on my shirt. The smell of fresh-made coffee wafted from the parlor down the hall. Just in time for breakfast. A migraine was already bleeding through, the aura creating flashes in my vision.
I had accepted that my face would always be scarred, but what I didn’t prepare for was the constant pain of a dying eye. The poison had a long half-life, breaking down my flesh as it tried to heal, a vicious cycle of decay that was far too prolonged.
Voices cast in the background as I approached.
I never understood how everyone was so chipper, so early.
People bustled about, literally; there were a lot of women today, fully dressed, possibly a bit too formal.
I suppose when the Sire is in, it means hunting time for a different kind of predator.
Women. They’ll eat you alive if you don’t watch yourself.
Good-quality Hosts knew that sometimes, uncommon but not unheard of, proposals were made during visits from other Nests.
Cattle graduating to butcher, it seemed, but these ladies weren’t too concerned as long as they benefited from the transition.
Stability is one hell of a motivation. The Appraisal had been in the planning stages for months, with the small sidetrack that was our trip to Buffalo to collect Alina.
By the time I dragged myself to the table, most of the food had been picked at by the Hosts. Which was all fine, I was here for coffee.
“You look terrible,” came a chirp from beside me.
“Too early,” I mumbled at the redhead, pouring myself a cup of the beautiful black caffeinated liquid.
“It’s two in the afternoon,” Phoebe said.
“A socialite like you should understand that two in the afternoon is early, for those whose only responsibility is shopping and showing neck at evening soirees.” I took a long sip that turned into several gulps, desperate for the caffeine to cure my headache.
“Are you finished?” Phoebe’s little dainty arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes so sharp I think it made the migraine worse.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
She dismissed me with a wave of her gloved fingers.
“Have you spoken to the golden boy yet?” I mumbled. “I need a few days before we let him see Alina. Nothing will get done otherwise.”
“No, but you should overwhelm his schedule. I already set up some things and changed the lock on Alina’s door.”
“She knows not to see him yet. I spoke with her last night.”
“Oh?” Her chin raised slightly. “She didn’t tell me you two talked.”
“I doubt she’s even awake.” I refilled my cup.
“Did something happen?”
I plastered on my calmest smile. “Nothing to worry about yet.”
“Yet?” Her brows furrowed enough to form stress lines.
“One thing at a time. We have to worry about your father’s arrival first.”
“Well, you may need to work faster.” I swore her eyes twitched.
The coffee nearly caught in my throat long enough to burn it. I stared at her as the words fermented.
“Please tell me some sort of deal is in process?” her voice strained. She ducked her head as she stood beside me, as if to block her words from spying eyes.
“It’s in process” is all I offered, “we have a good case.”
“I fear my father isn’t being docile to be kind,” she stressed. “He always has a blade up his sleeve. Do not give him time to use it.”
“I thought he had a daisy up his sleeve.” I gasped in mock surprise. “I’ve known your father since before you or Silas were born. I know him better than you ever will.”
“Then you have no reason to fail.” She shot me the most sour smile I could imagine.
“Always keeping us on task.” I smiled sarcastically before stepping away.
“Where are you going?”
“To give your brother something to do other than wallowing.” I dumped the rest of my coffee in a plant before abandoning the cup on a decorative table.
A shoulder collided with mine.
“A long night too much for an ancient thing like you?” Sidney joked.
His eyes glanced down, then back up. The lean build slanting as he tilted his head at me. I wanted to pull him by that stupid ponytail and shake him.
“Seasoned stallions have more stamina than green ponies,” I japed. “What do they have you doing now? Party planning committee?”
“Promoted to head of private security.” He smiled. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
“Couldn’t happen without my recommendation.” I slapped his arm. “Molodets, don’t make me regret it.”
He threw me a small nod before continuing down the hallway.
At the end of the hall were two double doors, solid mahogany that nearly reached the ceiling, the arch higher than the others.
The door handles were cold as I tugged one open, a heavy moan of the hinges giving way to the demand for entry.
The light was so bright it was like my eye was burning. The master bedroom was on a corner, large windows filling two walls.
At the head of the room was a bed far too large, and a fully clothed, completely inebriated blond lying flat in the middle.
“Happy to be home?” I closed the door behind me, leaning back on it. He was temperamental lately, territorial.
An agitated clicking became louder.
“That’s a no?” I teased.
“Leave,” Silas demanded, not even bothering to open his eyes.
“Come now, you know we have work to do.” I stepped farther into the room. Bottles everywhere, specifically bloodwine. I stepped on one of the bottles, rolling it back and forth under my shoe. “You have to feed on something other than bloodwine.”
“Fuck off,” he spat, lying still as a corpse.
“I’m partial to blondes, but no thank you.” I tilted my head at him.
Silas’s chest fell deeply as he exhaled.
With a lazy grip, he pulled at his shirt collar, loosening the tie.
Like a man raised from the dead, he sat up.
When he opened his eyes, he never changed from the drained expression he fell asleep with.
His irises were bright against the bloodshot whites of his eyes.
He hadn’t been sleeping, so it was some relief he even made it to bed.
“I can get you a Host, get it over with before we get busy?” I stepped closer, holding my hand out to help him up.
“No.” His eyes squeezed shut, as if the suggestion was a bullet in his shoulder.
“You have to eat something.”
He lifted the empty bottle in his hands, shaking it like a dinner bell.
“Silas, let me ask you something,” I began.
His eyes shot my way.
“If Alina wakes up—”
“When,” he corrected.
“When Alina wakes up a Vipera,” I rephrased, “what will you do, now that her blood cannot sustain you? You will need to at least try cold stored before you resort to fermented, if you will not feed on a live Host.”
He got up out of the bed, as if he could outrun the question.
I grabbed the back of his shirt.
He swung around, hitting me square in the face.
I tenderly touched my nose, blood dripping down my shirt from the blow.
“Do not touch me,” he warned, even if it was a bit late. It seemed the alcohol hadn’t worn off completely.
“Come now, we have work—”
“Her room was locked,” he interrupted, lazily sitting in a decorative chair in the corner. As if the light couldn’t get any brighter, it reflected like gold off his hair.
“As instructed by you.” I wiped the last bit of blood from my nose before tossing the handkerchief. I sat down beside him, surveying the mess of a room.
“I couldn’t find Phoebe. She has the keys still?” he mumbled.
“Yes, we can find her later and you can see Alina.” I kept my demeanor as neutral as I could while battling the growing annoyance.
“Locked from the outside in case she wakes?” he clarified.
“Yes. So she will still be there when you come back,” I assured him.
His slumped form didn’t allow me to see his face.
He had been such a mess these last six months.
It wasn’t unbelievable that watching Alina die caused him some distress, but I had a feeling it had more to do with his venom being the thing that turned her.
Guilt can cripple even the strongest of men.
“Phoebe will let us know if she wakes.” I patted his arm. “You know these measures are for her safety from others, right? This isn’t to torture you.”
His head lifted up then down.
“Great, now change into something else. We feast tonight to celebrate our homecoming. You will feed, and you will perk up. Do you hear me?”
Another nod, less enthusiastic this time.
“Meet me downstairs in an hour.” I stood from my seat, already nearing the door. “I will drag you downstairs if you aren’t punctual.”
He threw the empty bottle at the door, the glass shattering beside me.
“I’m glad we have an understanding!” I chimed, closing the door behind me.
My smile fell, my motivation to keep myself personable quickly faltering with every friction the day offered.
I passed the rooms, even the one I woke in this morning. Every day felt like a different room, never my own, not until moments like now, when all I wished for was to be alone, just briefly. But this morning I would hide away in my room for a few moments of peace.
It was dark, no windows. A bed for one, a small desk in the corner with a stool that didn’t quite match. The sheets hadn’t been peeled back since I’d returned; it looked like the maids skipped it the entire time I was away.
I sat by the desk, very few belongings displayed. There were some dull pencils, one wasn’t sharpened at all. Papers piled, a couple spare notebooks stacked to the side. Then a box . . . a Christmas gift never used.
The pen inside only resurfaced soured memories. Every time I had the motivation to draw, it died the moment I saw the box. Her name decorated the tag.
To Luka,
From Edith
My lip curled in disgust, no matter how I tried to suppress it. All I could do was look away. The rest of the room was bare, not even a carpet. My trunk sat in the corner waiting to be unpacked.
I reached for the flask in my pocket. The lack of light was kinder to my eye, but the pain persisted.
With a quick unscrewing of the cap, I dumped the remaining liquid in my mouth.
It was a mixture, I just put anything I could inside.
Even with strong concentrates of cocaine and laudanum, my tolerance was too high.
The curse of having low venom concentration also meant a lower pain tolerance. Maybe I could remove my eye myself if someone brought me iodine and a mirror.
My back slouched until my face landed in my palms. The throbbing didn’t stop, and neither did my worries.
If what I suspected was true, Alina didn’t have much time left before she suffered permanent damage to her brain. The issue is that this seemed to be an involuntary inability to feed; her body was rejecting it. If her body rejected the turn, she would be dead. Simple as that.
She took much longer than expected to turn, for a Host, at least. A typical person would take a day to turn, a day without feeding to go feral and corrupted.
A Host could take up to a month to turn, the same amount of time without feeding before it caused permanent brain damage.
But six months? Never had I heard of it.
Her timeline was unsure, but it was her sixth day awake and I was somewhat confident she had until the end of the month to sustain herself.
Plenty of time, even if we had to resort to force feeding.
But never had I seen a body reject food after turning and waking successfully. Nothing about the situation sat right.
On top of her presence being a distraction for Silas, her illness would positively send him into a state of no return. I couldn’t pull off this trial without his head on firm. The entire ordeal hinged on his image and behavior. Just a little longer and it would all be done with.
But I was beginning to doubt the integrity of the threads by which our fate hung.