Page 18 of The Cannibal

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. I caught a small glimpse of his fangs. “He is a dog. He was supposed to only watch.” He sighed. “I should have suspected you and the poisoner were one and the same. It only makes sense. It was clear you weren’t doing it on purpose. I simply couldn’t get to London in time to call off the chase.”

I pulled my hand from his grasp.

A small sneer at the movement, his hands frozen as if I didn’t move my hand at all. His eyes lifted to mine. “I think you learned your lesson about playing with poisons, didn’t you?”

My mind was frozen, my anger rising. But that’s just what he wants, isn’t it?

“Luka told you,” I stated.

“I’m the one who kept it out of the records,” he said firmly, straightening his shoulders, as if talking down to a daughter. “Do you think yourself smarter than the coroners? I’m sure you had your suspicions when gumshoes didn’t come knocking on your door after your father passed? I’m sure that’s why you were guilty enough to correct his time of death⁠—”

“Enough.” I moved from the open window. I placed the bowl down by the bed, catching him moving in the reflection of the tall mirror.

“I did not come here to antagonize you.” He sounded defeated. “I just wanted you to know that I don’t always hire degenerates. I treat my kin with respect. It was simply the wrong place and the wrong time.”

“I don’t think anything could excuse my captivity.”

“Which is fair,” he conceded, “but I opened my home to you because I felt it was my duty to keep an eye on you. You know how it is, protecting your own . . .” He trailed off. “Protecting those in your Nest from outside harm.”

I glanced at him through the mirror, not dignifying the conversation by facing him. His eyes reflected, the light hit just right. Reminding me this was no man.

“You’re like a daughter to me.” He approached, then went for my hand again.

I turned swiftly, slapping his hand away. My back hit the mirror as he caught my wrist.

A tense smile as he produced the ring Silas gave me from his pocket, placing it steadily on my finger. He looked at it, studying how it fit on my hand. “Now, I suppose, you are a literal daughter to me.” A coy joke.

The minute he let go of my hand, I tucked it by my side, wiping it on my skirt.

“I suppose we will be seeing each other more often.” He stepped away, but just before turning to the door he chimed, “I am looking forward to our time together, little Alya.”

He left, but his words didn’t.

Just like that, I could be reduced to quiet tears with the ghost of my father’s voice, using the name he so fondly used to call me by. A weapon of affection. Of memories.

7

THE POISONER

Not even the scalding water could warm my bones.

The private bathroom was outfitted with a new tub, deep enough to fully submerge if I wanted.

The bathroom was bright enough to burn my eyes, even after several minutes of attempting to adjust. It was a corner room, the tub displayed before large windows overlooking the park. The steam clouded the panes faster than I could open the window.

“I’m freezing,” I said aloud, without looking from the view.

Phoebe’s blurry reflection moved in the glass, her arm extending over the water. “If the steam were any thicker, you may be able to form it like clay in your hand.” Her clever way of telling me I’m being unreasonable.

Little pitters on the water.

I looked up to Phoebe’s hand dropping petals over my head. One stuck to my face before I blew it off in a stubborn puff.

“Can you at least be happy to be alive?”

“I’m not quite sure I’m happy about it yet.”

“Come now, don’t be that way.” She pouted, slipping her princess-pink robe from her shoulders and allowing it to collect on the floor.