“That’s always why you call, isn’t it?“ A static chuckle rises from the phone. “I called your girlfriend to learn where you work. Maybe I’ll come by.”
“She’s not my girlfriend! And don’t come by!” I flip my head between the telephone and the wall, working myself up into being angry enough to shut the call.
I mean, I’m still going home. I want my stuff.
But I’m going to be really unhappy with her when I do.
I check to make sure my makeup’s still presentable, pull out some bank notes to buy a bag and afford the streetcar—I’ll need to exchange some copper crescents for that—and leave my room.
The strangest thing is happening on the first floor. Mistress Vincenzasulkingon the desk. She immediately wipes her face and straightens up, but I still saw it.
“Catarina. Are you leaving for food?” Her breath is hasty,emotional.
“I’m picking up the rest of my belongings from h—my parent’s home.”
Her gaze isn’t praising. It isn’t judgemental. It’s like there’s a mirror between us, and she’s only staring at herself. “Do you need a ride?”
“I’m going to take a streetcar.”
“As my apprentice, your well-being is reasonably in my purview. Can you truthfully carry all you wish to retrieve?”
“I guess not.” I turn my head to stare at something else. “Does this mean you’re offering to take me?”
“I am.” She looks relieved as she makes for the door. “It will take half an hour to warm up; you’re watching me start it.”
I follow behind. “Are you going to teach me to… drive it?”
“Youwillbe inheriting it.“ Her face twitches, and she looks like she made a mistake. “It’s possible that you will.”
Is all of this…? I guess it makes sense. I’m here to learn her skills and reach her own aptitude—who else to replace her? Ignoring that a good necromancer should be immortal.
She parks from across the apartment complex. “Take your time inside.”
“I don’t really want to bother—“ I forgot that I asked for dinner. I haven’t eaten, and I kind of want it. “Uh, you sure you don’t want to sit out in the lobby? It’s mostly nice.”
“You are too quick to offer suggestions like I’m not your mistress,” she hisses.
I put my hand on the door. “Wouldn’t it be customary for you to share a dinner with my family?”
Regret. Immediately.
In no way do I want her to associate me with my family.
“It would, wouldn’t it? She breathes, “fine.”
Fuck me. Absolutely. In every hole. And maybe some new ones for effect.
Against every possible better judgement, and in line with my avoidance towards confrontation, we walk together through the apartment lobby. She looks so far down on every hint of trash and every underdressed person.
The creek of the cigarette-smelling elevator sets her off the most. “This is where you live?”
“Yes, Mistress—formerly.”
She tightens into the corner. “...Why were you near the parlour? It was late.”
“I was meeting a friend in Curetta. The streetcar route ended just outside Avenale, and I decided to walk.”
“Curetta’s a university town. Were they a student?”
