Page 115 of The Cannibal

“Levi.”

“You were my best man.” A sigh of deep disappointment, like being spoken down to as a child. “Such fierce loyalty. I could have sworn on my life that you would have died rather than betray the blood that turned you.”

His pupils couldn’t even fit a pin with the way he stared at me. It was hard keeping our eyes locked for so long, not sure whether to expect a lash or a string of words that will haunt you for at least a millennia.

“Now that I think about it, you didn’t betray my blood per se. Just moved to next of kin.” He smiled. “On to younger, tighter things?”

Just the insinuation disgusted me enough into losing whatever appetite I could spare past breakfast. “I suppose that’s what you expect, since that’s what you would do.” I glanced between his eyes, expecting to feel the sting of his heavily decorated backhand against my cheek.

“Such a shame.”

“I had no choice.”

“At first, it may be,” he said with a shrug, “but you chose to stay, did you not?”

I didn’t dignify him with an answer. The best thing I could do was walk away, so I did.

32

THE POISONER

Bees bumped into each other as they swapped flowers. They built their coats and stuffed their socks with pollen. The rooftop must have been like a sweet buffet for such lovely little creatures.

Among the buzz, chiming of glasses and humble chatter filled the immediate vicinity. Listening closer, there was a bustling of hooves, wheels, and feet below.

The street wasn’t as busy, but in an hour or two, by noon, it would be full. Occasionally, a sharp chiming of hammer on stone from the construction zone, blocked by wood planks and tarps.

Carriages were able to line up in front of the apartments next door, filling the rooms with guests and their trunks.

“Now that I think about it, I’m willing to try,” Silas said beside me.

He finished the last of his champagne and swiped another as the staff walked by.

“Try?”

“Jumping,” he said, “it could be high enough.”

“Silas.”

“Count of three and we can avoid the socializing altogether?” he suggested.

“You can’t avoid your father like that.”

“Watch me.”

“I won’t.” I pinched his arm. “Get those impulsive words out before you become reactive.”

He took a deep and somber inhale, his eyes closing as he breathed in through the nose, then released tensely in the form of a whistle through his mouth.

“We will be fine as long as we are calm, poised, and level.” I even said it with a smile, so he would believe at least a little bit of it.

“You don’t know him.” He looked off stubbornly, taking down the next flute of champagne.

“I don’t need to know him personally,” I scoffed. “I’ve known men like him all my life.”

He rolled his eyes at me.

“They create wounds just to stick their fingers in and squirm them around, because it’s fun and they have nothing better to do or it makes them feel superior.” I squeezed his arm, tilting my head to force my gaze to meet his. “Don’t give him the opportunity.”