Page 113 of The Cannibal

He stopped in front of Silas. From the side, they looked nearly the same. Levi’s cheeks were hollowed more, the smile lines more prominent with age. The facial hair was the defining difference, along with the white and tan suit.

He placed his hand on Silas’s shoulder, a proud smile on his face as he squeezed. The many rings on his fingers glistened, a collection bought from blood.

“It’s good to see you, my boy.” He leaned in. “It’s been overdue.”

Silas’s jaw was so tight I could see the muscles twist. He patted his old man on the shoulder and moved his own away from his grip. “You’re early.”

“Phoebe invited me.” Mr. Astor pointed directly to the pink sprite so nobody could make any misinterpretation.

“I did not—” she said quickly, but not before Silas’s eyes darkened.

Mr. Astor turned to Luka, a toothy grin showing off gold caps on his fangs. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’m honored to see you grow into the man you are,” he said cheerily, but Luka’s mind had since left the building. A small bit of blood trickled from his injured eye.

“Oh! Clean yourself up.” Mr. Astor tossed him his handkerchief before fully making it through the archway for the food. He clasped his hands together in such delight. “Look at you all,” he sighed, then spoke over his shoulder to Silas, “You really have something so quaint here.”

Levi moved along before he spotted me.

I looked to Silas; he shook his head ever so slightly at me.

Levi scooped up my hand. If I wasn’t wearing gloves, the kiss on my knuckle would have made me physically recoil.

“My dear, you look even better than the last time I saw you,” he said, loud enough for all to hear. I could only hope Silas assumed he was referring to long ago, when my father was still alive. But I knew he meant upon waking.

“I appreciate the compliment.” I watched him tensely. Every movement from him felt like waiting for a strike. No matter the genial appearance, there was always something lurking. The fact he hadn’t attempted to kill any of us was suspect, but the way he seemed all too happy to be here was making my ears ring.

“Don’t let my interruption disrupt anything!” he said, speaking even louder. “You’ve built such a beautiful home.”

Some seemed to continue their conversations tentatively before the initial tenseness melted into the night.

“I’m excited to get to know you all this next week. How do you feel?” He spoke only to me, the candlelight reflecting off the back of his eyes. His pupils were wide, a mania behind the jovial disposition.

“I am well,” I said slowly, clearing my throat before reluctantly practicing my manners. “And yourself?”

“Oh, it’s all the same. Seasick on the way over,” he sighed, looking up at the room. “I’m glad he put my money to good use.”

“The architecture is quite beautiful.”

“Are you comfortable here?”

“I would say so.” I looked where he did. He was eyeing a painting, a blond woman holding a child, an odd composition. There was a bit of space behind the female figure. Then my stomach dropped. It was supposed to be a family portrait. Traditionally, the paternal figure was in the empty space.

Without moving my head, I eyed him.

The smiling facade nearly cracked, his eyes a bit intense. I believed he forgot where he was steering the conversation.

“We are going to have much fun together, little Alya.” His eyes slowly turned to me, then his head followed.

The sound of such a childish diminutive was squeezing my chest. It was like he wanted to pervert what was once my father’s warmest words. There were very few moments between my father and I that weren’t cold. Every interaction was either trying to prepare me for a man’s world, yet they still failed the task. The only thing I had was the way he said my name.

“More than you know,” I smiled politely, but I did not shy away from letting the polite semblance disappear before his eyes. There was no point in pretending. He knew it, I knew it. “Drink carefully in this house.” I finished the absinthe and placed the empty glass in his hand.

My heart was racing, ready to claw its way up my throat and onto the floor if it could not escape the positions I put myself in.

And the night continued without further interruption, a room’s length kept between myself and our guest.

31

THE FIXER