Page 36 of The Cannibal

Everyone was dressed quite smart, quietly expensive. If I’d learned anything from Phoebe and Mary, it was how to spot a nice fabric, despite slightly less flashy designs. They were perfectly fit and draped, completely custom to each person. And very clear that no one got dressed with fewer than four hands on them.

I sat in an empty chair along the wall directly next to a window. Somehow, this was a worse choice than standing by the wall; an irritatingly awkward choice for socializing. With one leg over the other, turning to my side to make friends with the gazelle standing to my right.

I would sit here for ten minutes, then leave. I was already beginning to get hot, embarrassingly so. Luka was cruel for bringing me along, only to abandon me.

The melodic ringing pierced my ears and pulled my head in the direction of a woman. She sat by some other ladies, her posture relaxed yet still poised. Her dress was baby blue, heavy pearls hung by her ears, her neck bare of any accessories. The Scandinavian blonde brought her crystal-like eyes to life. Her smile matched the melodic laugh. The sound rang in my ear almost as sharply as the song of her blood.

Tinnitus teemed, shooting itself through my body in the form of a shiver.

The woman’s shoe poked out from under her dress, a chalk number scrawled across the sole. A price.

This should be an easy venture. Easier than being the one selling, at least.

I took a deep inhale of the fumes of my drink, now realizing it was the signature green of absinthe.

A light tap on my shoulder.

“You look a bit lonely, darlin’.” The blue-shrouded woman’s voice was sweet like butterscotch, a southern charm. She held out her manicured hand. “Name’s Lucy.”

I could only manage a dry swallow as I shook it. Her skin was so soft, even a small iridescent quality to her palm lotion.

“Is this your first time here?” She walked her fingers up my shoulder before touching my face.

“It’s a first of everything, I’m afraid.” For some reason, there was a flavor of shame to my words. It wasn’t often I was so out of place, so inexperienced. I felt much like a young woman trying to find my personality again. I was wiped of my habits, most of my vices. I wasn’t self-aware enough to know what my virtues may be aside from chemistry—which I may not be as good at as I’d thought, considering one of a few poisoning victims of mine was walking around this very Guild somewhere.

“Oh dear!” She held her laughter back behind a dainty fan. “It’s all right! You are in fantastic hands, if I do say so myself.” She perched herself on the arm of the chair.

“I think I will see myself out.”

“Don’t be silly.” She plucked the glass from me. “This is no good for a pleasant headspace, let me get you something else,” she teased with a wink, one of the staff already collecting the glass. “Gin,” she told him before turning to me, “you come off as a gin kind of girl.”

“Thank you.” I lowered my voice, but a bit more comfortable with company.

“Who are you with?” the woman asked.

“A friend brought me,” I said as I looked toward the entryway, “though I’m not sure where he went.”

“Well, now you’re here with me.” She smiled wide.

“Right.” I cleared my throat. I think conversation was harder than being hungry. “If you don’t mind me asking, do they pay well here?”

She raised a brow at the question.

“The . . . uhm. Working conditions. Are they fair?” I clarified.

“It’s something.” She shrugged. “But I work all over. I can just leave if the benefits don’t outweigh the pains.”

“Are there many opportunities in the city?”

She laughed at the question.

I suppose it was obvious now that I thought about it. Of course there are opportunities here, it’s a sea of competition. This isn’t Buffalo, it’s vast.

“I float from one Guild to the next, sometimes a guest when Nests need more Hosts for a special gathering,” she said.

“All of the Nests?” Something fluttered in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t considered it before, that she may very well have been to my new home. That there was a possibility Silas would have fed on her, on others, on anyone.

“Not all,” she corrected herself, “not Chimera.”