I fall back in line, continuing after him down the garden walkway.
We use the key and slip into Mary’s house. At first, the whole place is shrouded in darkness, then moments later it’s bathed in the soft, warm glow of an end table lamp that Eddie finds and switches on. We’re standing in the middle of a well-furnished living room, small and cozy but designed with impeccable taste. Plenty of homes out here shoot for a bohemian desert aesthetic, but it oftencomes off as a littletooclean. Whoever did this work, however, is the real deal.
There’s a coffee table atop a thick beige rug, and two large, low couches are positioned around it. A lambskin blanket is thrown over one of them, and hanging behind the other is an intricate woven tapestry. Straight ahead, the room connects to a kitchen, and to the left is a standing mirror leaning against the wall. There are two doors near the mirror, and one of them is cracked open.
Someone stirs within. “Hello?” croaks a soft voice from the darkness.
Eddie clears his throat. “Stop moving.”
The rustling halts.
“What’s your name,” he continues.
“Mary Fimi.”
“You are calm and happy,” Eddie says, casually gazing at the hooked blade in his hand. “You feel no pain, and you can thank my companion for that. She’s a bleeding heart.”
“Thank you,” Mary yells from the other room, her upbeat tone contrasting with the tense mood of this late-night home invasion.
Eddie looks like a man who’s finally come to the end of a long journey, exhausted yet satisfied. He turns to me.
“Today’s been a disaster,” he says, chuckling to himself, “but you made it pretty fun. You’re a good kid.”
I remain silent.
“Best I’ve had in … four hundred years maybe?” Eddie opines, considering this and then finally shrugging it off. “Anyway, I’ll be right back. Don’t move, Poppy.”
My blood runs cold. I gathered that our initial meeting was more planned than he’d been letting on, but knowing my name speaks to an awareness that runs much, much deeper. At the start of the night, Eddie checked my ID—myfakeID, the one that says Alice—and never mentioned it again.
Now, the truth hits me like a gut punch.
He knowsexactlywho I am.
Suddenly, all the confusion and hesitation and discomfort and fear within me coalesce into something coherent, a simple realization that’s both terrifying and powerful:nowis the moment. It might not be perfect, but I understand with visceral clarity that this is the last chance I’ll ever get to fight back.
The second Eddie turns away I lunge at him, yanking the knife from my pocket in one swift movement. I grip the handle and pull my arm back, then stab the blade downward with as much force as I can possibly muster.
There’s a hollow thud as the weapon hits its target, slipping right into the side of Eddie’s neck. I immediately tug back, struggling to saw through as much flesh as I can, but Eddie’s reaction is too forceful. He pitches forward, wrenching the handle from my hand, then abruptly stumbles to the side and crashes into the lamp.
It topples to the ground along with the distinct sound of a porcelain crack, light now shining upward and casting the scene in a dramatic glow. Eddie reaches back and finds the knife that remains stuck in his throat. He staggers and groans, his shadow moving back and forth like a werewolf transforming in silhouette.
“I can’t—I can’t,” he stammers, the words accompanied by a strange airy whistle. His breathing is loud and somehow even more ragged than before, and while I’ve never heard someone talk with a punctured larynx, I can only imagine this is exactly what it sounds like.
Eddie’s fumbling body hits the wall with a loud thump, and it’s here that he rests his weight. His head hangs low as he struggles to stay upright.
“I can’t believe …” He wheezes, his voice trailing off. Dark, congealed blood pumps from his neck, running down the wall behind him in a contrasting streak.
“Can’t believe what?” I spit, finally letting out the anger that’s been bubbling up within me. It spews from my mouth in a volcano of frustration. “That I was in control ofyou? That I know what thefuckI’m doing? ThatI’mthe fucking shark here?”
Eddie slides even lower against the wall. He whimpers something, shaking his head from side to side. Maybe his throat reallywasthe key to all this. It was the source of his words, after all, the origin point of all that supernatural influence.
“What?!” I shout. “Speak!”
Eddie gathers his focus for a moment. He repeats himself, but he’s too weak to clearly form the syllables. There’s more whistle than voice, his speech irrevocably rended by my blade.
“I said speak!” I bellow, making the demands now.
Eddie hesitates, gathering up all the energy he can before one last attempt. Finally, he settles in and slowlypushes out every word with what remaining fumes he can muster.
