14
THE POISONER
Ice crackled and chimed a song as it hit the mild evening air. With the bathroom window cracked, I watched the haze lift over the park as the sun slipped away.
A swishing, then splash.
“That better?” Phoebe shook the bucket for the last few chips of ice.
I sank lower, lifting one cube in the palm of my hand. They were perfectly square, cut for whiskey.
“Utterly divine,” I hummed.
I didn’t realize that the hungry fever wasn’t just the swampy summer heat. Even when the bath was full of ice, it was completely comfortable on the skin. For me, at least.
Rose oil stained my skin with a lovely fragrance.
Phoebe brushed my hair outside of the tub, plaiting it before twisting it onto the back of my head.
I plucked a lemon slice from a tray, biting directly into it.
Even when, in my mind, I know it should be sour and displeasing, my tongue said otherwise.
The flavor was simple but not like I remembered it.
It tasted like it smelled: refreshing, with notes of something complex.
My best comparison was like how alcohol was biting, yet we still found flavors we appreciate aside from that.
The chill of the water was helping with the pestering anxiety. It was like I’d had coffee on an empty stomach. A racing heart and an emptiness at the pit of my gut. It made my mouth dry, my hands clammy.
“I hope this helps to settle you.” Phoebe began sticking my hair with pins to keep it in place.
She was wrapped in something nice for the evening, a blush pink evening dress with rosy pin stripes.
“Stomach hurts.”
“We just have to get you moving with fresh air,” she insisted.
“I feel like I’ve lost it.” I turned to look at her. Her green eyes snapped up to me, then she removed the pins held between her teeth. “My body can’t keep pace with what’s happening. I can feel it.”
“Don’t speak of such things,” she scolded, her finger pointed warningly. “You are fearless, confident, and strong. You always have been. This is a feeling you will overcome.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Banish that suggestion from your mind,” she advised.
“If I am honest,” I began, “I don’t feel quite myself.”
“How so? You are just having a bit of trouble—”
“I feel weird, different.” I winced. “I’ve cried more since waking than I ever did in five years.”
“Your body is going through changes, it’s understandable.”
“But only you see it that way,” I snapped. “Like you said, appearances matter, and they aren’t in the favor of a perceptively hysterical woman.”
“You are especially vulnerable right now. Not just physically, but mentally. You need to give yourself some grace.” She tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering by my neck.
“This is a big change for you, and I know it isn’t the favored outcome, but that’s just how the cards fell. ”
I rubbed my face with the cold water. The pressure from my palms against my eyes was grounding, just not enough to dismiss the sour feeling at the pit of my stomach.
“Will you be all right tonight?” She stood, brushing off the wrinkles of her skirt.
“I don’t like parties anyway,” I reminded her, sinking farther into the bath.
“I’ll sneak you some food later,” she teased, “and we can share it with some champagne.”
“Sounds lovely.” I smiled, but it was more to show I would be fine without the fuss.
“Sidney is watching the hallway tonight. No one is allowed on the upper floors while guests are here.” She slipped on her gloves, flexing her fingers to make sure they were fitted. “You’re sure you’ll be fine alone? I could blame my absence on illness if you feel you need the company? Or maybe—”
“Phoebe,” I said sharply.
She was still fidgeting with her gloves like she was unsure whether they were staying on or off.
But she did give me one of those sad looks when she finally glanced at me.
She worries herself sick over separating, she always had.
It was as if we were twins, an unmistakable bond that transcends friendship.
“I’ll be all right,” I told her. “I’m going to rest.”
Phoebe’s shoulders immediately settled.
“Then I suppose I should leave you to it.” She stood there awkwardly, like there was something else she wanted to say, which seemed like most times. Always biting her tongue. “Don’t spend your appetite,” she teased.
“If there’re any exotic fruits, please save some.” I clasped my hands in prayer. “Pretty please?”
“Missing sweets already?” Her fine brow rose. “We can test if you can handle bloodwine if you want something sweet.”
“Deal.” I crossed my arms over the lip of the bath, resting my chin on them. “I’ll wait for you.”
With that, she threw me a smile, a nod, and one last look before the door clicked shut on her way out. Finally.
I leaned forward to tug the plug from the drain, reaching toward the rolling cart for a towel.
I reached under the clawfoot bath and pulled out my disguise for the night.
A plain black gown, an apron, and a maid’s cap to hide my hair under.
While relaxation is certainly something I could do, I thought my time was best spent studying.
Instead of scientific study, this was more of a social study.
I had a vague grasp of the household as it was.
The layout was familiar to me now, I knew which of my girls came from Buffalo, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.
These new faces that arrived with Silas made me uneasy; I had to get a lay of the land.
A social event was the perfect place, and these people don’t seem to pay any particular attention to the staff.
I dressed myself, tying my apron and securing the headpiece to my hair.
When I stepped back to look in the full-length mirror, I almost recognized myself again, but I suspected it was just because of the black dress. The apron flap buttoned to my chest instead of tying behind my neck.
One last thing.
I opened the drawer and pulled out a tin. I popped open the mascara and rubbed the tiny brush in the salve. With careful, less than steady hands, I brushed it carefully over my white brow, then the matching lashes. Suddenly homogeneous with any other staff member.
When I slipped out from the bathroom, the hallway was empty. At the very end, Sidney’s back faced me as he leaned his shoulder against the window.
With soft steps I slipped into the parlor, which was immediately next to the bathroom.
The doors weren’t creaky, the hinges well oiled, but the empty hall echoed when the doors opened and closed.
I guided the door closed slowly, keeping pressure on the handle until it was fitted into place and I could gradually let go. Not even the slightest click.
I made for the servants’ entrance, pulling at the trim to reveal the hidden door and the alternate pathway behind it.
The wallpaper glue was sweating from the humidity, the steps steeper than the others.
It was a miracle no one broke their neck navigating these passages in the dark, but I suppose I wouldn’t know if they ever did before I woke from my . . . long slumber.
The farther I descended, the richer the smell coming from the kitchen, but I stopped a floor short. The clamoring voices and shuffling of stiff shoes marked my destination.
My fingers grasped the inside handle of the door, pushing it just a hair to gather the scene. Everyone was facing a catered table, some waiting with empty plates and others behind their plate-bearers. I assumed those were Vipera awaiting their Host companions.
Memories from the Nest in London flooded my mind. The stark difference between the two was enough to know this was a new place, but why did it feel like it could be the same fear with new dressings?
I closed the door and continued through the servant hall, peeking from the next door to watch. Just one single sliver of the scene.
Now all I had to do was wait.
I had wished I could attend these things as less of a player and more of an observer. Tonight my wish was granted. I was invisible, no one looked twice at me. Hidden in plain sight as long as I wasn’t in the way.
The food was fragrant, mostly cooked meat. But to my surprise, I could smell herbs and char, fermentation of brined fish and citrus zest. It felt less like I was smelling food, and more like I was smelling chemical reactions. It was brilliant.
This was a less formal evening, but still nice based on the necklines and glove choices.
Some new faces, largely the men. Rebecca was off with a group, mostly women.
The new men had those uniforms again. All black, even the shirts.
Burgundy was used sparingly, such as their ties.
All with clean haircuts and facial hair, still individual, but meticulous in their upkeep.
Phoebe’s laugh rang through the room, even among the chatter. She was in the next sitting area. The pinks stood out immediately.
Her lips moved quickly, yet still with pleasant posture and smile, all while holding the dainty stem of a tiny cordial glass.
She looked sharp, yet soft. Phoebe had always been comfortable with the masses.
Entertaining was truly her talent. She knew how to work a crowd, when to stop and go, when to push, and when to discuss business rather than pleasure.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t the most aware of social hierarchies and the miscellaneous knowledge needed to hold people’s attention.
I was too direct, too concise, no garnishes or embellishments—a requirement for socialite endeavors.
A real staff member gave me an odd look through the cracked door in passing as they carried a tray of wineglasses. The smell was strong. My ears began to ring. Could that be the bloodwine?
I moved along the wall to the other rooms. While I couldn’t say I was adjusted physically, I could at least try to study for adjusting socially.
The politics were different now. New Nest, new people, new problems. Perhaps becoming comfortable with the environment would do me some good for feeding.
It could be psychosomatic, but there’s only one way to find out.
I closed the door before venturing to the next door. There were voices from within the hidden halls, somewhere far off.
Was it so terrible that I wanted to be caught? I knew there was a chance I would see Silas, but not what could come after. What had he done while I was asleep? Did he feed from other Hosts, now that he couldn’t from me? He would have had to; it’s been half a year.
Admittedly, I was taken back to my first time home after the death of my father.
Even if I did not enjoy the activity, just the fact someone put in any effort to organize anything for me brought warmth to the deepest parts of me.
It is things like these that thaw the soul and prevent a person from becoming cold.
I cracked the last door open, fully slipping out in the dark hallway.
The connected rooms served for food, another for entertaining, and the rest for meandering. Everyone was at ease, a perfect night of comfort. No one worried about food on the table, or rent, or any other silly thing that troubles the typical person, for these were no ordinary people to begin with.
In this dark section of the home, far off from the gas lamps running in the other rooms, fewer bodies filtered in and out of the room.
Some stayed outside, gathering in small groups.
The smokiness of earth and cedarwood teased the air in between puffs of cigars, the crowd separating itself from the rest of the gathering from either arrogance or something more sinister.
I stayed against the wall, as invisible as a fly in the shadows.
The double doors were opened, a faint warmth coming from the heart of the room.
Candlelit and smelling of hickory, mixing with the undertone of toasted tobacco.
Dark wood and leather, black suits and understated fine tailoring.
I nestled myself behind the lingerers in the hallway, my view of the office slim.
A strike of gold among the neutral tones.
Silas sat on the sofa, the stillest one in the room.
His profile was striking even from so far.
Straight nose, blond lashes, and the coldest eyes known to man.
The fire brought an illusion of warmth to his face, not a single shadow to obscure his facade.
He had a cup raised almost to his lips, but he didn’t seem motivated to take even the smallest taste.
A woman from the other side of him came into view as she leaned forward.
If I wasn’t feeling disturbingly ill before—I was now.
Her red-stained lips moved, her posture craned to grab his attention. She even touched his shoulder to whisper something.
Silas finally took a sip of his drink.
My blood rushed down to the floor, my face and hands became numb. A certain chill crawled through me, section by section, limb by limb. It was like I’d left my body, only a singular fixation.
My thumb pushed my ring around my finger. I counted every time it went full circle. I couldn’t even justify the feeling gripping my throat long enough to turn me green. Vipera feed on blood. It’s not personal, it’s food.
But I’d thought I was simply a meal at one point.
She held her wrist up to his mouth as she touched his face. Her mouth was still moving, slower now, enticing him. He took her wrist, and my stomach sank.
He placed his empty cup in her hand, patting it to make sure she held it firm, and stood from his seat.
A dark figure stood in the doorway of the office, grabbing both door handles to close them. But just before he did so, two amber eyes caught mine.
Luka spared a moment, as if he didn’t recognize me. But only briefly.
He shook his head at me terribly slow, then cocked his head as if to say go on now.
When the doors finally closed, I was left in the ambient darkness, only the memory of the fire’s warmth, the glimpse of something forbidden, and the longing for the one I called Creature.
Even as it called to me, my desire, my loneliness, even my jealousy from just a single glimpse of him, I returned to my room with a peculiar flavor of satisfaction for now, and sleep came easier that evening.