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Instead, I walked out into the humid night and found a bar on King Street. It was dark and loud and full of strangers. I ordered a whiskey, neat, and drank it faster than I should have, hoping to calm my nerves. I ordered another, as I told myself I was planning my next move, and even tried to convince myself I was being sensible.

"You're a long way from home."

I looked up at the woman standing beside me, smiling. Her light brown skin glowed as her straightened hair flowed over her bare shoulders. She was stunning in a dress that cost money and showed it. She was conventionally beautiful, with a non-threatening energy.

"London," I said, my voice sounding rough.

"I could tell by the accent." She winked as she sat close enough that her thigh brushed mine and her perfume permeated my nose—sweet with floral notes, but most of all—human. "Tasha. I teach Art History at the College.”

"Malik, Ethnobotanist.”

We talked, or rather she talked, and I listened. I was grateful for the normalcy and the reminder that there was a world outside the marsh. She was smart with a sense of humor. I admired the balance and her forwardness. She made her intentions and interest known in the way she touched my arm when she laughed. She leaned in close when she spoke, making what she wanted very clear.

God help me, I was tempted to fulfill every need she had. Tasha was safe, and I didn’t have to worry about her shifting into a firefly to spy on my dreams. Tasha wouldn't ask for my blood or my eternal soul. With Tasha, I could have a normal life, a normal relationship, and a normal death. Even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself. I'd never been normal, and I’ve never been satisfied by normal. I'd always been hungry for something that would consume me whole.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Her hand was on my thigh. "My place is around the corner."

I should have said no. I knew it the way you know you're about to step wrong on a stair.

"Yes," I said.

CHAPTER NINE

FUELED BY JEALOUSY

Tasha's apartment was on the third floor of a converted single house on Wentworth Street. It was small but neat, full of books, framed prints, and the detritus of a human life lived carefully. She poured wine I didn't taste. She put on music I didn't hear. She stood close and tilted her face up and kissed me, her mouth soft and warm. Her tongue was tentative, asking permission, and waiting for me to lead.

I tried to give her what she’d been asking of me without words. I closed my eyes and put my hands on her waist and tried to want her, tried to lose myself in the normalcy of it, the safety. As I held her, I realized how narrow her waist was in my hands. Her weight against me was too slight. Her mouth tasted of pinot noir instead of palm wine and blood. All I could see behind my eyelids was the gold mask that covered half her face, and all I could smell was the marsh.

"Malik?" Tasha pulled back. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry." I stepped away. "I can't. I shouldn't have⁠—"

The door opened, though I knew it was locked. I'd watched Tasha turn the deadbolt and slide the chain. It opened soundlessly as the air in the room changed. It was now heavy, and I found it hard to breathe. The charged frigidity of the room stung my skin. It reminded me of the way the air changes before a storm breaks.

Addie stood in the doorway.

She was naked except for a wrap of gold cloth knotted at one hip, doing nothing to hide the voluptuousness of her—the heavy breasts with their dark areolas, the soft swell of her belly, her thighs thick and solid like a champion race stallion. Her eyes were burning pure gold now and her pupils thin black slits. Her skin glowed faintly with its own light. Behind her, filling the hallway, the air shimmered with fireflies—hundreds of them. They moved in slow, deliberate spirals, humming at a frequency that made the wineglasses on the counter sing.

"Malik." My name in her mouth was a command filled with possession and a verdict of disobedience. "You didn't come to me."

"I was going to." The lie fell out of me and died on the floor. "I was just⁠—"

"You were just trying to forget me." She stepped into the room, causing Tasha to back against the wall with a small animal sound. Her eyes were huge, filled with shock and fear. Her hand pressed over her mouth to keep from screaming. "You were just trying to replace me with something safe. Something that wouldn't ask for everything."

Addie turned her gaze on Tasha, and it was an assessing, almost curious gaze. It was the look of a cat regarding something that wasn't quite worth the effort.

"She's pretty," she said. "Soft and safe. She wouldn't ask for your blood. She'd let you keep your walls, your secrets, and your loneliness after a night of passion.”

She came closer to me, and her heat engulfed me. The weight of her presence filled the room until Tasha was but a mere shadow, a photograph fading from my memory. "But she couldn't consume you. She can't weave you into her spirit. She won’t love you until you forget what loneliness feels like."

She touched my face. Her fingers were cool, with perfectly sharp nails.

"Do you want her, Malik? This soft, safe, human thing?" Her thumb traced my lower lip. "Or do you want me?"

I looked at Tasha, trembling against the wall. I looked at Addie, burning in front of me. There had never been a choice. Not since the dock, the dreams, since my grandmother's whispered stories, had there been anyone or anything but her.

"You," I said. "Only you. Always you.”