Page 72 of Souls We Rip

Seconds passed as I threaded carefully along the pattern Andrei brought to me. But silence for him was a nuisance.

“Have you talked with my master?”

My fingers stopped. “Why would I?”

“You said that you would forgive him,” he whispered, inspecting my work.

“Have you listened?”

His transparent brows hit his hairline. “A ghost can hear so much through thin walls,” he mused. He touched the warp, pouting his lips.

“We live in a cave. Its walls are very thick, as I recall.”

Andrei swallowed and took a step behind, leaving me to continue my work.

Last evening, he brought me all kinds of materials, including this loom. A gift, he said. Between the fabrics, I found an icon depicting Mother Mary. Her eyes were filled with love for all the people, her garments ragged, her hair tucked beneath in modesty.

On its back, it was written with the same handwriting that was behind the gruesome contract I signed: “Here is something for you to pray at. I do not want you to lose yourself in this world of mine, Ana.”

Even though he took a tentative step on the bridge to me, I couldn’t do it for him.

Despite all my aversions, I kept the icon under my pillow and prayed to it every night.

“Do you wish to speak to him?” Andrei repeated his question.

Sighing, I left the loom alone. “What is there to talk to him about?” My feet carried me to the terracotta stove, its warmth doing nothing for me. “He doesn’t share my beliefs. He despises everything that feels remotely alive. Goat Man only stays cooped up in his room, and if he leaves, he never speaks of what he sees out there.”

I gritted my teeth; he could get out, and I couldn’t. Only to take another soul.

“Just go, woman. You’ll see,” Andrei winked. “He took the first step for reconciliation. Why wouldn’t you follow?” He crossed his arms over his translucent chest.

“Fine, but if you hear any shouts, I am not baking you any cakes!” My forefinger jabbed the air between us.

My feet were unsure as I got out of my room and into the hallway. Turning left, my long hair touched my ankles. I stopped in front of his chamber, catching my breath. The walk to his threshold was exhausting.

I swallowed, trying to find subjects to talk about without raising any spirits between us.

“Do you dare to take a step or will you remain there as a statue?”

His voice touched my skin, railing my blood up.

“It is pointless with you,” I said, turning around.

“Well, inimă, I know you hate me, so, there’s that.”

His words made me pause. “I don’t hate you,” I whispered. My brows knitted. As much as I wanted to despise the man, I couldn’t. He was my opposite in every way. Even though he was irritating to the point of boiling blood, he also tried to make amends.

Never have I imagined that the Goat Man would send me a wooden, hand-painted icon.

Taking a deep breath, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. So, I stepped into his room, squinting my eyes at the sole candle alight in the chamber.

“Why are you in the darkness?” I asked, searching for him.

“I am not,” he answered from his Mirror. He tapped once, and images of him being baptised played on the glass.

Dozens of skulls were surrounding him, their number larger than at my procession. The Elk placed the goat skull on my mentor’s head. As soon as that happened, fur replaced the smooth skin.

“Right before this moment, the Elk asked me to be the Goat Man,” he started, crossing his arms over his chest.