44
THE POISONER
For the first time, things were falling together.
I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Instead of dreadful sleeplessness, I was blessed with a rather delightful mania.
There was so much energy pent up in my body from lack of action that I might have been able to scale the bricks of the exterior. Instead of a sweltering heat tonight, it was rather cool, a damp smell to the air, a tempestuous premonition.
A card slipped under my door with a light sweep across the floor.
The little white piece came like some mystical invitation. The shadow of someone behind the door disappeared quickly.
I tiptoed quickly as I pulled on my robe, fastening it before picking up the card.
As I crouched, the right uppermost corner of the calling card folded, indicating a personal delivery.
Luka Novikov
Specialist
On the other side was a handwritten message:
3:00 AM—front entrance. New evidence
If the clock beside my bed was correct, that was three minutes from now.
I shoved my feet into some house shoes, but there wasn’t much time to change. With the card tucked into the pocket of my robe, I used the ribbon that had been tied on my arm to secure the plait of my hair.
Sidney stood outside as usual, nodding as I passed. Much of the security had been localized to the stairwell entrance during my wandering hours.
Tonight, there was only one, and he was asleep against the wall.
You would think a lot more care would go into keeping a criminal confined, but I suppose whether or not I was considered one was subjective depending on who you asked. It was my home, after all. And so far I was as cooperative as I could be.
The home was undisturbed in the early hours of the morning. Everyone was enjoying the new apartments next door during their stay and the main household on curfew. I could hear the soft steps of my house shoes as I swiftly crossed the grand foyer.
The rig was set outside waiting for me, my beautiful draft tacked up and ready. Mary sat in the driver’s seat dressed in men’s clothing, complete with hair tucked into a hat.
“What is the news?” I whispered, climbing into the seat beside her. “Where’s Luka?”
“We can’t talk here.” She held her finger to her lip, urging the horse to walk the minute I stepped up.
The Nest towered over us, not a single light coming from within as we turned the corner, disappearing as it was replaced with the view of other homes facing the green space.
Once you frequent the city, especially on foot, you start to remember your way around.
A map burns into your brain for when you, eventually, misplace yourself.
Being this was my third time visiting the North Star Guild, I suspected it had been our destination the minute we cut through the scenic path of the park.
Mary’s breathing was shallow, a wet smell to her as her little heart pounded. She hurried me, pointing to the door as she tethered the horse.
There wasn’t much activity when I stepped inside. As I approached the stairs to the guild, I turned back.
“Are others meeting us?” I whispered, the lights dim in the empty entrance. Mary wasn’t far behind, checking the outside before securing the lock.
I stepped up the short flight of stairs to the upper floor. Shadows cast over the taxidermy trophies, their eyes a small glitch as they looked down upon us. It was much more ominous without company.
But even with only the light from the street, the specimens of the room were still marvelous.
Without so many people crowded in, you could see the worn dips in the well-loved seats.
The cleaned fireplace awaiting the season’s end, but for now, a dark cave in the wall.
The windows stretched tall, not as ornate, but just as efficient so that the electric chandelier need not be used until well into the night if guests were present.
No lights today, I was either unexpected or they didn’t want it to be known they had a visitor.
I looked down at the street. Small drops of rain patterned the glass, soon obscuring the image of my horse, the street, and even the streetlamps that turned to glittering starbursts.
My fingers ran along the pelt of the polar bear poised in the corner. The marble of the mantel beside it was so weathered it became a statement of its own. Antiquity embraced.
A pair of footsteps padded on the carpet behind me.
“Mary?” I turned.
A bitter pinch in my side.
Then a blossoming sear of pain.
“Rebecca.” The name was sibilated as I said it, my lungs struggling to keep a blemishless voice.
Her eyes were as resilient as basalt. The deep amber that cured and hardened with experience, holding on to whatever let itself fall into her. Those things became a part of her and without mistake, in her mind, I was to blame.
Even so, I smiled at her.
My hands cupped her face, her cheeks wet with rage and all that it made of her. Even with such a forgiving touch, she did not let herself fall into it.
She twisted the knife in my side, grating against the rib.
I nearly didn’t notice we had company.
Another blow, in the back between shoulder blades.
Golden eyes caught mine as I whistled an exhale—Pierce Soros.
Around me, the very people who’d put me on this pedestal, made me their bargaining chip, and now, happily discarding me.
Mary was huddled in the corner, clutching an imperial period dagger. I had never seen a person shake like that. Not since my last subject.
My head sloped to the side.
Her eyes were wild and wide, I could smell the bile rising in her throat, the sweat that soaked the pits of her men’s shirt. In the breast pocket, calling cards.
Fear was more than just an expression worn on the face. It was something that takes you over entirely, disguising every one of your senses and birthing a new animal. It smelled so sickly sweet. That is all I saw, an animal, cowering from her grave mistake.
The gentle touch on Rebecca’s face turned harsh, skin collecting under my nails.
A rope wrapped around my neck, the fraying manila scratching my skin as it pulled tight.
But not tight enough.
I pulled forward, not caring that it was crushing my trachea.
Rebecca’s eyes widened, as did my parted lips. My fangs flexed forward, overextended as the gap between tooth and skin closed.
My fangs sank through her cheek, biting down enough to feel the blood on my tongue despite my inability to swallow.
She screamed against my lips even as her vocal control numbed.
Rebecca fell back with a shaking grip on her face.
I forced my fingers around the rope, shoving my hips back before throwing the man over me and into her.
Pierce stumbled over her to get away, his feet kicking at the floor before I straddled his body, turning him over. His perfectly trimmed hair now scuffed and wild, his face no longer smug, and he was powerless to what would follow.
I pulled the blade from my rib but couldn’t reach the one in my back.
My blood glistened on the ancient blade.
“Foolish man.” I caught my breath. “Simple creatures, no matter your species.” My voice crackled like a fire.
“Please,” he begged, “you would have done the same in the name of protecting what’s yours.”
“You’re right,” I breathed, “and I will take what is mine.”
I lunged, and my teeth were in his neck faster than he could spit another plea. He could have been braver. And if he had been in Rebecca’s place, he at least would have gotten the venom. He thrashed and choked as my teeth buried in the throat, crushing his larynx from the force of my jaw.
Blood flowed from my wounds, but only for a short time before the cuts closed. The one on my back was agitating me, but the pain had washed away like every natural swallow was morphine.
Rebecca pushed the blade deeper into my back, but I was already sucking on wrung-out flesh.
My body was vibrating as if powered by pure coal. I pushed back on the pressure of her hand on the blade. An angry scream is all she could manage with the paralysis in her face.
I reached back, grabbing her by the throat.
Her nails scratched and scraped against my arm as I held her away, the blood from my lips still dripping onto Pierce below me.
She couldn’t fight me.
Not now.
Her cheek was torn to her lip, the flesh open and her back teeth exposed.
“I will remember you for all you were,” I said softly, “but everyone else will only know you for this moment.”
Her breathing was so hard that the blood from her mouth sprayed in my face.
My fangs were in her neck so fast that everything else faded away.
After, I was blind to the carnage. Each tear of skin made me crave more, each swallow of blood swelled within me like new life, and the ecstasy could have healed every part of my soul.
I wouldn’t call it carnage, there was no blood left.
The only drops I did not consume had soaked into my own clothes, dying my attire as black as the day I’d embraced myself.
The day I became a poisoner was the first day I put trust in my nature; the day I became the cannibal was the last day I ever doubted it.
It was a shame. The Guild’s collection of arms and artifacts could impress even the most avid collectors. Notably, the Assyrian sickle sword displayed proudly on top of the mantel.
Carefully, I placed my fingers under the hilt and blade, lifting it from the confines of its display. So perfectly balanced and light.
I tapped it on my finger. It took my body a second to realize it had even been cut, the smallest pain didn’t register until several seconds after the blood appeared.
In the corner, a shaking ball gripping her head. I almost forgot she was there at all.
“Mary,” I spoke, my voice clear of any imperfections in the previously crushed chords.
She looked up at me and withered like a leaf.
I tilted my head toward the exit.
It took a moment for her body to recover from the shock, but she scrambled for the door. If she was wise, she would go home. If she was smart, she wouldn’t take my horse.
Pierce and Rebecca lay shoulder to shoulder for efficiency.
One whack each and the job was done.