Page 58 of The Cannibal

“They’re waiting upstairs.” Luka opened the door, helping us down the step.

When he held my hand, instead of letting it go, he squeezed. His face was stern, the burned skin even creased from the tension. The distress was apparent even in his clouded eye.

“I’m not asking you to put a leash on him,” he said lower, Phoebe was already at the front door, “but if you can find it in yourself to converse, it means fewer chances for him to fester under the circumstances.”

“I don’t like being solely responsible for any man’s mood.”

“You’re no stranger to diplomacy—they’re looking for reasons to further escalate. We can’t afford to have them not on our side.”

“Letting me play politics so soon?” I smirked. “I thought my demonstrations at my last few visits would have put you off to involving me at all in these things.”

“That is precisely why I’m involving you,” he said. “You’re our famous poisoner, after all.”

I raised a brow. “Do you believe there will be danger, then?”

“Always, my dear.” He forced a smile. “But don’t let that keep you from enjoying your night.”

With that, his grip on my hand lightened, but I looped my arm in his as we approached the building.

It was just as last time, except we skipped the lingering line. The guard at the door eyed us, unsure if he’d seen us before, but especially Luka.

Instead of using the stairs like last time, Luka guided me to the lift. The building truly was state of the art, even in its technologies, the entire structure built with electricity. I still believed it was too harsh of a light rather than gas or candlelight.

“I know it is fashionable to be late, but you two are slugs,” Phoebe muttered, clutching her little feathery fan.

“All good things come in time,” I teased.

The vertical railway settled on our floor, the arrow at the top sliding over to our current floor. One set of doors opened, then the other, and a liftman greeted us with a smile.

It was like a big metal cage, a turn of my stomach when it jolted, beginning its ascent to the rooftop. It was like the opposite of being deep under water, a certain flutter inside me with the quick pressure change. The sensation was short-lived, as the doors opened to the lush rooftop.

There was a short rose hedge around the perimeter, I suppose a pretty way to deter any tumbles while keeping elevated aesthetics in mind. There were many lounging areas, complete with carpets and fine cushions. A covered bar was the first thing to greet you, then in the middle of the rooftop, a long table with seats. People were scattered about, mostly in the lounge areas, taking in the view before supper was served.

The scene was set, the table ready, and it was time for our own personal performance.

A glass canopy covered the dining table.

I wondered if they had to move some of the furniture up and down the stairs to prevent mildew and other sorts of furnishing disasters during less pleasant weather. The art of luxury is not the result, but the hundreds of thoughts and hands that go into running the experience like a well-oiled machine. It may not be of interest to me, but I had immense appreciation for the labor involved.

Up on the roof, it was even easier to catch the summer breeze. I could fall asleep to the sounds of the rumbling city, content under the starless sky as long as the pedestrian music carried my mind somewhere else.

The mumblings of men began to turn to glimpses of words. All but one of the men in the corner were unrecognizable. Then through shifting seats, Silas came into view.

Luka walked us to the crowd.

The closer we got, the worse my gut felt.

The corner was furnished with a curved booth, then comfortable standing chairs around a cast-iron table, a thick slab of glass balanced atop. Their drinks scattered across the surface, some empty with discarded garnishes, some full with chittering ice.

“Gentlemen.” Luka cleared his throat.

But they didn’t need to grasp attention.

The only one who didn’t look was Silas.

“Mr. Forbes, aren’t you going to make introductions, or will your footman do it?” a brunette with young spitfire energy piped up, standing to greet us.

“This is Miss Phoebe Aston-Lis,” Luka introduced.