Page 107 of The Cannibal

My first task was training my body to adjust to keep down anything of substance, even if it was nutritionally deficient. Amelia had made czernina with plain human blood to begin expanding my stomach. Because of the cooked nature, I could keep it down, which is all I could ask for. I didn’t dare drink bloodwine, even if I was mostly positive that I was well enough to earn some inebriation.

With my soup in a coffee cup, I could take small sips as I worked. Lab rules were broken today, but that was fine so long as I didn’t have any instruments out.

The warm broth gave me some comfort. The fatigue was an ongoing battle that simply couldn’t be fought without proper food.

On the positive side, with the added hydration, I could extract more venom from myself. Eventually I made it to six flasks, which may become two or three after reduction.

The distillation apparatus dripped like a metronome to keep my journaling pace. The noontime sun coming from the skylight shone on me as if I were on a stage. The clear venom became slightly clouded as the excess water was removed from the solution.

One observation was that there was no smell. I could name almost every chemical scent in the lab now, but not venom. Blood, sweat, and other secretions were easy to pin . . . but not venom.

Venom was always a slow collection process. So was the process of concentrating it. But in order to be able to test with it, I’d need a lot more.

A gentle rasp at the entrance pulled me from my thoughts.

Sidney opened the door. His body language was loose, his shirt open and his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a small tail.

“Your presence is requested.” Even Sidney couldn’t help but be distracted by the laboratory.

“Immediately?”

“At your leisure.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Even when dressed so informally, somehow he looked quite fashionable. Not nearly enough to wear it outside, but I suppose when you were covered up to your neck in sailor tattoos, there was no point in impressing society.

“How do you get them to stay?” I tipped my pen at his torso.

He looked down, pulling the shirt open a little to stare at the imagery. “Had them before.” He shrugged. The open shirt revealed more.

Overpowered by curiosity, I stood, staring at his chest like a man at a brothel. Just under the pectoral muscle was a jagged scar, but it could almost be missed. Only a slight difference in color and without much texture due to phenomenal healing. There were two, one on each side of the chest.

“Those too?” I hovered my finger above them, but pulled back.

He tipped his head, granting permission to touch.

I ran my fingertip over the scar. “Is this why mine stayed?” I gestured to my abdomen.

“Some even keep the bite mark that turned them,” he said. “Depends on the condition of your body before turning.”

His tattoos were still fairly vibrant, a red chrysanthemum covered the front of his neck and the side, then patchwork filling in all around the chest, arms, and fingers. I had no reason to doubt he had them all over.

“Look at this one,” he said, shimmying his shirt down his shoulders and turning around. A large bunch of roses covered the back, full of bright red thorns. The sharp stems braided into the lower back and disappeared past his beltline.

“Quite the display.” I traced over the shoulders. “How long did it take?”

“For all of them? A collection of years. One in every place I visited.” He shrugged the shirt back on.

He was quite tall, only a little bit more than I, and lean with a tapered torso. Unlike some others, Sidney wasn’t too muscled, but enough to know he was probably quick and agile.

“What did you do before?” I watched him button the shirt halfway. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sailor.” He grinned. “I had a record, so the docks were the only place I could find fair pay.”

“And you’re from⁠—”

“Éire.” It sounded so nice with his brogue. “Or I-re-land as you lot call it.” His overenunciated queen’s English of the name at least made me smile.

“I wanted to say thank you,” I said, clasping my hands behind my back, “for the other day.”

He waved his hand dismissively and tipped his head toward the door. “Happy to see you look much stronger today.” He held the door for me as we began our walk.