Page 6 of The Cannibal

I turned to her. Phoebe’s eyes were wide and she pulled a bonnet over my head, tipping it down to obscure my forward view, like a carriage horse.

“Alina, calm down, they’ll see your eyes,” Phoebe whispered, but I was just staring down at her bodice. Her hand gripped my arm tighter.

Then, the thrumming. Easily mistaken for my own blood in my ear. No.

The artery on Phoebe’s neck pulsed in tandem with the pitter-patter. I saw it, that wasn’t abnormal. But I could also hear it. My mouth ached, teeth pulsing. Fantasizing about just one languid swallow.

“I want to go home,” I whispered, my mouth filling with saliva, almost unable to swallow fast enough before it might escape. I grabbed her, weakly holding her at arm’s length. Even under my hands, I felt like I could confuse my pulse for hers. My body was not listening, my last desperate plea. “Please, Phoebe. Take me home.”

3

THE POISONER

While my mind was still orienting itself, a few things kept my attitude on the lighter side.

The first was Phoebe. If I hadn’t seen her when I first awoke, I may have been driven mad trying to find her. The instinct to seek her out was deep-rooted with a strong hold in my soul’s soil.

Knowing she was safe was half the anxiety. What followed would be the matters of my girls, my things, then my Creature.

Consuming information in bites had always been difficult for me, but I had no energy to pick up my pace. Whether or not I trusted the information would find its way to me was a question for later.

When we returned to the building from before, and as the fog cleared, the facade became familiar. It was on the corner, right along Fifth Avenue, a striking view of the park. The same one from the small photograph in Silas’s papers.

This was his Nest.

While Silas was absent for now, at least I knew he wouldn’t be far, not for long at the very least.

The first floor was interesting in design, like every room was a parlor. People came to and from the dining room, the chiming of cutlery against plates as they scattered about to eat their breakfast in leisure. There was the normal expected staff of a home this large. A housekeeper with chatelaine chiming along, lean men in fine tailoring; there was even a secretary. The home seemed a cross between a household and a hotel. Though in all fairness, I was the only new arrival.

The second floor was brief in passing, it seemed to be mostly guest suites and possibly a bathroom. The maids were using the breakfast distraction downstairs to make any messes disappear.

So far, everything seemed so normal. The stress may be leftover, but it was hard to remember that even if this was enemy territory, I was no longer prey. I was no longer a Host, my blood was no good to them.

“Where are my girls?” I pestered Phoebe.

She waved her hand at me, dismissing my query as we passed another floor, the doors closed to wanderers, then up to the roof.

The door swung open, and it was blinding for a moment. A bright, harsh light and the sweep of wind threatening to snatch my hair right out of its pinnings.

Then, like songbirds, laughter.

The scene flowered as my eyes adjusted. The rooftop was lined with planters, roses creeping along lattice. Potted trees littered throughout the parlor furniture. In the middle, a glass solarium. The doors were open on all four sides, a small crowd within.

A dark-haired woman with a tawny-beige complexion. Rebecca.

Surrounding her, some girls I recognized from Buffalo, some I didn’t know at all.

When we were within earshot, Phoebe received some cordial glances from the bunch, but the eyes landed on me. One by one, smiles fell and postures straightened.

Suddenly, I was swarmed. Chatter erupting around us, Phoebe stepping out of the way. Rebecca was first, her hand grabbed my wrist, as if to make sure I was of flesh and not a projection.

While the chatter around me was exciting and joyous, our eyes met. No matter the environment, she looked grief-stricken, like I had torn open a wound. It made my stomach curl; I knew that look.

“How are you?” Her brow furrowed, her deep brown eyes surveying.

“Alive.” It was half a joke.

There was a small, conflicted smile before she herded me under the solarium.