Page 31 of The Cannibal

John’s face grimaced; even in the dark I could see the pity.

“Do you know?” I squeezed his hand. “Does everyone know?”

“Everyone has a bad catch at least once.” He tried to appeal to my panicked state. “The police don’t know, if that’s any consolation.”

“Not yet.”

“Just . . . try to stay indoors until we get you better,” he insisted. “No one is angry with you. There’s always going to be unsteady footing when you reach new land⁠—”

“I ate someone, John,” I could feel my voice hurting as the words left my tongue. “Well, I didn’t even get to feed on him. It was a complete and shameful waste.”

He shushed me as he removed the wet cloth from my head.

“I am no longer a person, I am an ugly, godless beast.”

“I don’t think so, Crow.”

“How can you be so accepting of this? Any other person you may have called a monster.” I slapped his hand away from my forehead.

“Except you are no other person. I know you, and you are no beast,” he said firmly, but not overly insistent. “A beast wouldn’t think twice of the sheep and the hens it’s eaten. A beast does not know distress for the things it eats.”

“A killing is a killing, no matter if I cry after or not. Someone is needlessly dead. Someone who was unlucky enough to cross me, to help me, of all things!” I cried. I couldn’t catch my breath or think. My head was pounding, my body ached.

“Calm yourself⁠—”

“No!” I wailed, my fangs jittering forward. It was like the reflexes were weak and tired, unable to muster the energy to fully engage if it wasn’t for food. Like I was running on limited resources. They hurt so terribly, like a scorched mouth.

A bit of saliva from my mouth dropped from my lips. The black blood stained the bleached linens.

John brought the cold wet cloth to my mouth to clean it, the entire rag staining.

I tipped back, leaning my head against the pillow. There was nothing I or anyone could do to console myself.

“Rest, and it will help your impulses,” John promised. “Just let old Johnny boy fix you up before you go scouring again. Deal?”

I pushed a stubborn breath through my nose, but I let him wipe my face and neck with the cloth.

Most days I believed I didn’t deserve the care that I got. I was both grateful for my friends, my family, but at the same time paranoid that it could all be gone in an instant. I spent so much time trying to protect the ones I loved that I never was able to let anyone help me. Maybe it was time I learned, but for now, not resisting was a start.

He was right, anyway. I needed to rest. I wanted to rest.

I suppose they had the right idea when they locked me in the room before. Luckily they didn’t need to this time, for once.

Soon I would be better. This wouldn’t last forever. And I could resume living without torturing myself.

12

THE POISONER

Iwoke slower this morning, but easier. The room was already hot from the open window, the sunlight on the neighboring buildings told me it could be past noon. Had I really slept that long? Concussed sleep wasn’t very safe, but I suppose it works differently when you’re already dead.

It was quieter than I’d expect for the time of day, perhaps everyone went out.

I threw on a billowy robe and left the room.

As soon as the door opened, the wafting of something savory hit my nose. The staff kitchen was brewing, yet no one was around. Is there some sort of event I’m missing? Not that I minded missing out, but I couldn’t help being a little hurt there was no invitation.

Each of my footsteps echoed through the halls, even without shoes. My bare feet tapped against the polished marble, my ghostly reflection following me rather than a shadow.