Page 26 of Souls We Rip

At once, her head straightened. Her icy eyes turned harder, as though she was looking right into my eyes. Her full lips began to form words, and I had to shamefully admit that I had no idea what she was saying.

“There is no room for chanting or praying here, human,” I laughed, watching as her cheeks turned redder. “So, speak your mind and go away!”

I had no time to dwell on words meant for a god.

Mesmerised, I watched as her veins pulsed with sudden movements and listened to her whispered question.

“You are in my lair,” I replied with a flat voice, checking out the neatly arranged cloaks from the small dresser. I knew that the ghost had arranged my clothes as best as he could. I also knew that the kitchen was a mess.

That day was a good one. Therefore, I took out a crimson cloak and draped it over my shoulders. The velvet touched my naked skin, the softness bringing me comfort.

I heard the woman scoffing. “I gathered that, Goat Man! I meant, where are we on a map?”

Oh, the beauty has thorns.

A smirk pulled at my lips as I shouted. “And I said, in MY LAIR!” This was the second time I didn’t find myself disgusted by her looks.

What turned my stomach upside down was the prayer she was whispering. Our Father.

Containing myself from shaking her into sense, I rolled my eyes. “There’s no ‘Our Father’, and if I remember, yours is trying now to eat with his left hand!” I roared.

This was pointless.

As I admired the craft of the cloak, her voice got closer.

“I heard that! I am not deaf!”

She must’ve been just around the corner. Her sudden boldness intrigued me.

I had to tread carefully around her, so she wouldn’t slip away. If I gave too many details, I highly doubted she would register the information.

From what I had gathered in my previous studies of Lazarov’s family, Ana was smart and resilient, being schooled by the local teacher in private, on matters such as Literature and Mathematics.

Who knew peasants had access to education in this forgotten village at the edge of Romania?

“Why am I still alive?” she asked, her hand touching the stone next to the hole in my wall.

Despite all the physical labour she had to do in her life, she had the most delicate hands I had ever laid my eyes on.

And I have seen my share of hands. Some tried to strangle me, some tried to stab me, but nothing stood between my purpose and them.

Shaking my head, my dark hair wet from the humidity, I watched the grandfather clock from the opposite wall. Three hundred and sixty-four days to bring ten souls.

Taking a deep breath and inhaling the persistent smell of wax, I replied. “Meet me at dawn in the meadow. The boy will show you the way.”

I heard her hand grazing the wall, the sound mesmerising. Raspy whimpers came from her neck, her ears reddening.

“Oh, and peasant?” I said, watching my growing moustache in the mirror.

“Yes?” she breathed, her hair brushing the stones lightly.

“Bathe. You stink of cows, and I hate them.”

She stomped her feet, breaking the skin in the process, and went to her chamber.

I was proud of the final draft of my contract. If it was not respected, then her whole family would add up to my eternity.

That should convince her.