Page 17 of The Cannibal

Firstly, I am not in immediate danger. Not from this Nest. She said they were preparing for some sort of stately visit with others of their kind, which she helpfully explained was the reason for the reserved answers. She didn’t know any more than the rest about the visit.

Second, this is Silas’s Nest. The one from the photograph in his paperwork back in Buffalo. A weight lifted from me, not because of safety, but mostly because he was telling the truth.

Third, no one knows where the boys are, and apparently they haven’t told anyone what they’re up to. This could mean brilliance or disaster—there was no telling with them.

Where are you creatures and what are you up to?

I have a feeling Amelia and I will be seeing each other more often if no one has the decency to keep me informed. I fear I may need to literally chew some people out.

With a bowl of fruit in hand, I wandered my way back up to my room. Lunch was served in the floors below, which made for an especially quiet promenade around the hallways. I’d never looked closely at the decor. There was a painting, a blond woman and baby boy, antique. There was no doubt it was Silas. The artist captured the same catlike grin, even when he was young. His mother eerily similar, but without all the edge that made her son sharp. Her hair was pinned back with flowers. Her outfit presented as noble, but not royal. Silas was in some sort of children’s tunic, embroidered with similar motifs as his mother.

If I were to guess, seventeenth century.

My estimation was correct, he is younger than I’d thought.

I turned the corner to my chambers, humming softly as I rediscovered the new palate of mine.

The window truly made for romantic lighting. The cream decor made the light come through all the warmer. Luckily, the weather was mild enough to vent the stuffiness out the open window. The outer noise was busier at midday, especially foot traffic. Those who spent the early hours of the morning partying would be waking by now for breakfast, possibly high tea. Things were different here, I knew it. But human patterns are all the same.

I stood in front of the window, chewing on a cranberry as I watched the people below.

Then, a flash of blond caught my eye.

My heart nearly sang. A wave of relief washed over my nerves when I turned.

It quickly dampened.

Seated in the corner chair by the door was someone else. Blond, yes. But not Silas. Though, he was the spitting image. Well, technically the reverse.

“Is this an appropriate time?” The flash of icy eyes through blond lashes, a genial smile breaking through with his words. “I apologize if I frightened you.”

“Mr. Aston— Astor⁠—?”

He held his palm up, an amused shake of the head. “Levi is perfectly fine.” He flipped a ring between his fingers like a coin, the gold flashing as the light hit it. Then stopped abruptly, lingering before he snapped it up in his palm. “How rude of me, I know there’s some explaining needed on my part.”

He stood from the chair, fastening his jacket button as he collected himself. A perfect, spotless facade. His youthful appearance couldn’t hide the gravity of his experience. The air of something very old, unknowable, dangerous. Shoulders that carry a mirage of burdens and eyes that have to put on a show to be believed.

He’s nearly identical to Silas, except for his affinity for white suits and Van Dyke–style facial hair. I suppose the only way to appear more mature to the Vipera was styling and fashion. He collected a cane that appeared to be crafted well before I was born. The more I saw him now, the deeper my guilt for not realizing sooner.

He always had that paternal warmth to him, the comfort of familiarity, except now it was tainted. A reputation of something uncanny, like a deer with its eyes faced forward. Human in gesture alone, nothing more.

“Sweet Alina,” he said with open arms.

“Stay there.”

He placed his hands over his heart. “Oh my dear, what brings such cold salutations?”

“You had me kidnapped. You’re lucky to be in this room intact.” I did not take my eyes off him. I will not let him fool me, not when I’ve had a peek under the veil.

“Yet I am here. Since you haven’t screamed, I suppose, deep down, you’re hoping there is a logical explanation,” he suggested playfully.

“Is that why you let me borrow your spare home? Did you tell Phoebe to offer it when I came back after my father’s death?”

He gave a deep sigh, daring to close the distance. He took my hand, clasping it between his own. They were warm, gentle. He leaned against the windowsill next to me. A small inkling in the back of my brain wondered if he was the type to throw me out.

“This is all a very unfortunate misunderstanding. I promise you there was no ill will, no subliminal motive,” he assured me, his brows soft, eyes drifting to the outside. “Your father was a good man. I promised I would look after you.”

“You had Luka assigned to watch me.”