Page 32 of The Cannibal

I ducked my head into the parlor room, which was cleaned and dusted, the flowers replaced with fresh buds, and completely empty. Back into the hallway, looking both ways to not one sign of a soul. I supposed the thing to do would be to follow the smell.

It got stronger with every step down to the first floor.

To my relief, people were present.

I stood about a third of the way down the stairs so I could skim over them. Even with a careful study of the crowd, no pink. No Phoebe. I didn’t see John or Rebecca either. But plenty of familiar faces from around the Nest. Being surrounded by so many Vipera and Hosts was making adjusting a bit easier, especially the smell of fresh blood.

While I was in my nightwear, a red silk for the robe making it look slightly less informal, the rest of the crowd seemed to be in nicer day dresses and suits than normal. The men were waiting with their jackets on and their starched clothing neat.

Then, the doors opened.

The merry conversations erupted like a reunion.

As I moved from the stairs down to the floor, I found myself looking between people as they clashed together in such joyous greetings. Couples kissing each other’s cheeks, men slapping each other’s backs, and the giggles of women spectating the men who weren’t paired. Staff moved trunks up the stairs as everyone gathered.

The new guests were in a uniform of sorts, not quite issued but there was a similar style code they dressed to. Smart tailoring, all black with gloves to match. As one passed, I noted a repeating symbol. Some had it on their handkerchiefs, sometimes on their cuff links. The clearest one was on a card tucked into a flat cap—a lion with the second head of a goat and the tail of a snake. A chimera.

The crowd moved toward the door like an evening tide.

The voices grew louder, the energy of the room heightened like heated molecules.

It was like many had returned from some long journey. While the reunions were heartwarming, it left much to be desired. For myself, at least.

I moved past one couple, then another, until I approached the front.

As bodies parted and I reached the thick of the crowd, one arrival stood out in particular.

A tall, dark form, a crown of golden hair, and smoke blowing from his nose like a dragon atop a hoard. I didn’t just smell the thick leather of his gloves, I also smelled the blood soaked into the hide mixing with his cologne.

His hand brushed through his hair, the flash of ghostly blue eyes as someone talked at him—that Sidney fella.

Silas’s shoulders lifted with his next inhale of a cigarette, then settled after a very long breath. His eyes were dark, much darker than I’d ever seen. The type that were tired, the look of a man who may snap at any moment. It was no secret my Creature had poor impulse control, yet he seemed to be holding it together. Whatever happened these last few months must have beat some self-restraint into him.

I wasn’t familiar with such expressions from him. Is this what he was like when I wasn’t looking? Is this how everyone else perceived him? Or was I possibly just missing him?

I stepped forward, about to break through the last line of the crowd. Only a dozen bodies separated us. His scent was all the more present the more I let it burrow into my mind. I could almost hear his voice again through the others. I could almost feel his hands, taste his lips⁠—

A sharp tug around my waist and my face was snuffed by another pair of leather gloves. I tried to thrash but the hand gripping my face just dug in harder. My heels scraped against the floor as I was dragged away, even the scent of him growing less and less.

My fangs sprang forward, attempting to sink into the hand in vain, the leather too thick to pierce. It elicited a growl from the man before he hooked his fingers behind a fang, hyperextending it like a pressure point, leading me like a bit in a horse’s mouth.

Suddenly yanked somewhere else, the slam of a door. My back hit a wall.

Then there was only darkness.

I swallowed as there was rummaging. The air was hot and stuffy. I assumed we were behind one of the hidden service doors. Though I could smell the hint of figs, cedarwood, metallic breath.

There was a squeak.

The gas lamp bloomed at the hand of my captor spinning the dial.

The light reflected off scarred skin and a dull eye.

“You fucking sable.” I hit him, then again, and couldn’t stop.

Luka raised his arms as I hit him before pressing his forearm against my neck, pinning me to the wall. “Quiet.” The word was drawn out and harsh.

The sounds of people passing us, muttering and talking in between their steps. We could see a faint shadow of shoes under the door.