Page 118 of The Cannibal

Even when I knew of his family dynamic, it still took me by surprise to see it in the flesh. I knew he had sisters other than Phoebe, but seeing them made me think there was more to learn about him. One door opened, three more appeared, and you never knew what would be behind them unless you picked the lock and forced it open yourself.

I didn’t blame him; we didn’t have much time to discuss things such as family trees or childhood melancholia. As a naturally curious person, a sneaking itch of jealousy bloomed knowing that there was more to discover about him. That there were people who have known him for far longer than I have been alive. But that instinct in me only drove me to excitement, knowing I had, quite literally, all the time in the world to piece him together.

The smells of florals and cooked meat were making me equally hungry and nauseous. The guests gathered within the rooms to lounge before the dinner service began. With a week’s worth of preparation, I was anticipating quite a meal to remember.

Staff fluttered around with trays of small bites. At the bar, they had bloodwine and an absinthe fountain, preparing the French way, Phoebe claimed. They refused to turn on any gas lamps, candlelight only. It was my preference, but it was also to appeal to the older Vipera who shared my taste.

Across the room I spotted Luka. I lifted a champagne flute at him before he was distracted by some movement of the guests. Sidney stood beside him, a couple words exchanged before they both laughed.

Silas was doing better than I expected. Much like when I’d observed him secretly in the past, he was entirely different than he was with me. He was sharp, direct, and rather cordial. I suppose he saved some of his worst behavior only for me. Or it is because he was a degenerate with me that he is able to be socially tameable otherwise.

“Such a lonely girl,” Mr. Astor’s voice pestered my ear. “No one to keep you company tonight?”

“I suppose I have esteemed guests such as yourself to encroach upon my moment of silence.” My smile was entirely too tense, it ached in my cheeks.

“A short interruption, I promise.” He dug through his inner jacket pocket.

Mr. Astor produced a small box, an old velvet that was worn on the sides. He placed it in my hand, closing my fingers over it with his other. “It would be rude of me not to offer an engagement gift.”

“You’re too generous,” I said, straight-faced. “We don’t expect such a gesture.”

“I insist.” He smiled, a flash of gold from the tip of his fang. “It’s the least I can do, even when we find ourselves in such tense situations. Family is still family.”

“Of course.” I stared at his hand, still clasping mine. “I will offer my thanks from the both of us.”

“I’m so glad to hear.” He patted the back of my hand to make sure it was well in my grasp, then retreated without another word.

The way he stopped talking was the first cause for suspicion.

The metallic sound of the dinner gong formally announced the meal. It resonated through the bottom floor, pulling everyone’s ear to the dining room.

Yet I couldn’t pull myself from the small box in my hand.

“There you are.” Silas turned the corner, his hand resting on my back. “What is that?”

“A gift, I believe.” I ran my fingers along the scuffed edges. Most of the felt had been rubbed off, revealing the original wood.

I pulled it open, the hinges a bit too tight and worn.

A ring.

It was a gold band, no gemstones, but there were intricate knotted patterns carved into the outer band.

Silas was still, his eyes entirely locked onto the piece of jewelry.

The guests filed past us, their cheery chatter and hungry excitement did little to distract from the thing in my hand.

“What is this?” I pulled it out of its cushion.

As I did so, I realized the patina on it was not from age.

The black crust turned to powder as my finger dragged across.

It was old blood.

Silas’s breathing was now audible, the blood in the whites of his eyes filling fast. He turned quick, but not before I caught his arm.

His face whipped in my direction, his posture towering as the light from the parlor rooms cast his silhouette over me. “Let go.”