Page 55 of The Cannibal

“She knows it was your venom that turned her,” I said.

He froze, staring off at the wall. The only indication he was responsive being the bob of his throat as he swallowed his words.

“We will meet you at North Star in the evening. She’s yet to eat, but it could just be a slow transition. Making her feel supported is all we can do as of right now,” I said, but couldn’t be sure if Silas was listening.

“Silas.”

His eyes turned to me. Clearly he was upset, but it was a good sign he seemed to be taking my words to heart. He looked a bit sick, pale.

“I am giving her the key to her room.” I sustained eye contact as I said it. “Whether or not her door is open to you is up to her. Understood?”

He nodded reluctantly.

“Good.” I smiled. “We will see you tonight then.”

He simply nodded again, standing and fastening his jacket.

I didn’t enjoy making him feel the way he did, but it was the only way I could assure he had a full picture of what she might be feeling. Feeding stress aside, there is more to her adjustment than just physical. She is now one of us, accidentally against her wishes. Whether it was an accident or not, it was his venom and her life. It was crucial that he understood that.

Both of them needed time to calm themselves before doing anything they’ll both regret.

We could not afford to be impulsive.

None of us.

18

THE POISONER

The weather was as mild as the sheep grazing peacefully throughout the meadow. Phoebe and I found a homey tree to cover us in addition to our parasols.

Phoebe picked a cream dress for me with small red raspberries embroidered into the fabric pattern. The cotton was lightweight and of a quality that had never touched my skin until now.

She chose a similar dress for herself, except it was a purer white with light pink strawberries.

Getting used to finery was hard, but I thought maybe I’d outgrown the guilt of indulgence. A wicker bonnet hugged my head, a red ribbon tied below my neck and the tails extending down to my knee, blowing gently in the light breeze. There wasn’t even a haze over the city today, the perfect amount of clouds wandering around the sky, their shadows crawling over the park hills and surrounding building facades.

I suddenly understood that the art of leisure was half curation, and half immersion in any single such moment.

“Try this.” Phoebe pinched a little red piece between her nails.

A gelatin candy, squishy with form and coated in grains of sugar. I looked at her, not knowing if this was another exercise to adjust my taste buds.

“Trust me.” She was giddy, holding it up to my lips.

It was sour, the metallic sweetness on a more subtle note, then possibly a hint of clover. But it was far from the sweetness I was expecting.

“John and I have been experimenting with recipes.” She tucked her hands in her lap, staring expectantly. “So? How is it?”

“Tart,” I answered, but kept the tone light. It was a good taste. I was just surprised at how much flavor there was. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything with much of a whisper of flavor since waking. Not anything I could stomach, at least.

“Blood candy,” she said with such assertion, I would have thought she’d discovered a new land. “The outer parts are citric acid concentrate, infused with sugar for structure. Then the insides are blood and gelatin.”

She wasn’t speaking a foreign language, but I never thought I’d hear her talk about anything close. Baking was mostly chemistry, but it was also an art. Phoebe may not be technical, but she had always been creative.

“These are delicious,” I told her sincerely. “I think this is the most of something I’ve eaten without becoming sick.”

She let out an excited squeak and handed me a jar. The candies varied in color and shape, but nonetheless, a successful prototype in flavor.