Page 65 of The Cannibal

I stared back to the glow of the spiral stairs.

Silas made his reappearance moments later. The way he held himself was lighter, from his gait to his shoulders. The tension unwound but not in any lewd way. It was like he was brought back, fixed up, and sent back on his way. Whatever their conversation had been, it worked. He sat back at his seat, even regarded his wife and sister with a more agreeable tone.

But the night went on, the conversations were lighter, and I was already rehearsing how to explain what happened in his absence.

20

THE SOCIALITE

Today, at least, I could empathize with my dear friend.

For the first time, a gathering made me physically ill.

The beginning of the previous evening set the tone. Tense, interrogative. Yet in the end, I received two telegrams, one from each respective Nest. Both agreed to support us in our Appraisal.

Typically, this wouldn’t mean much. They were not part of the international collective; just puny feeding joints compared to the courts of Nests who have existed for hundreds, sometimes thousands of years. But here, on new land, it was everything. We could not afford enemies, albeit small. It would be death by a million fleas.

It took longer to get uptown and the sluggishness from being on my fourth day without sleep was getting to me. Even when we are built to be sleepless for days, four is entirely too much given the recent emotional exertion.

The bell rang as it slapped against the door of the restaurant.

“Reservation for Astor?” I told the host, but they didn’t need to check the ledger to know.

They brought me to an upper floor, a bit more private without preventing us from watching the leisurely.

My father sat by the front windows, staring down as he people watched. He wore a tan suit today, leaning back with one leg over the other and his hands neatly on his lap. From this angle, he looked almost exactly like Silas.

He turned his head. If you looked closely, you could see the beast before he put up his mask. Then his face softened, his smile upturning his thin-styled mustache. It was incredible how he could look the same age as me, yet hold such years and experience in the way he held himself.

“Hello, Father.” I kissed both of his cheeks before sitting across from him at the table. “Did you have time to look at the menu?”

“Ah yes, just coffee for me today.” He reached across the table to pat my hands. “How’s my little girl?”

The waitstaff brought over some tea. It seemed he ordered again. It was the pale, light-colored stuff that I did not prefer. He knew it, he must at this point from the times I’ve mentioned my preferences. I suppose him gifting me more of it would be a hostile gesture if that was true.

“Fine,” I lied.

“You look terrible,” he said with a smile. “Maybe you should have stayed home.”

“I-I didn’t want to miss⁠—”

“You’ll remember it for our next outing, I trust.” He dismissed the waiter delivering a wide cup of black coffee, which he accepted with such politeness and grace. “How is your little friend? I’m sure you’re excited about your little mentorship role.”

“Mentoring isn’t proving to be as much fun as I expected.” I watched the people pass back and forth on the street. It was too narrow for many carriages, but a single person on horseback did take advantage of the passageway between the buildings.

“It isn’t difficult.” He took a long sip from his cup. “Unless she’s uncooperative. You know what we do with those.”

“No,” I said quickly, his eyes already acutely narrowed on me, “she’s cooperative.”

His stone expression lightened. “That’s wonderful to hear, my dear girl! So it can’t be so difficult.”

I didn’t want to reply, but I didn’t put up an agreeable enough facade I suppose.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Something’s troubling you.” He set his cup down, now leaning forward. “You know, you need not even say a word if you need my help.”