Page 164 of The Cannibal

His breathing was deep to make up for the lack of mobility in all parts of his body. He didn’t seem very hurt. But that was because I saved the best for last.

“My name is now tied to all your accounts. The money you tried to throw at me became my way in. Now all your money, across all the offending Nests, will be redistributed.”

His eyes widened.

“My advances will go to the Hosts. Your names? Wiped from the ledger. Your homes? Used freely by the public or however the Hosts see fit. The rest? The hoard? Donated freely to the public—and not one thing will be in your name.”

I thought his eyes would pop from his head. The anger was strong enough to make him squirm.

“You will forever be walked upon, the literal pavement under our shoes, for as long as you are still conscious under there,” I whispered. “Your legacy will die with you.”

Silas placed his hand over mine, taking a grip on one side of the chair.

“Anything to say?” I looked at him.

Silas took the cigarette from his mouth, placing it in his father’s before slapping his cheek. “Lift on three?”

With two pulses and a lift, the chair tipped over the edge and the body fell. A dull thud as the grave absorbed the impact.

Levi didn’t stop his stare. The bodies were arranged around him neatly. They stripped them of their clothes, their shoes, their finery—forcing such unnatural things to return to the ground in the most man-made way we could.

Mary staked him right there, one extra in the chest for good measure.

The last we saw of him was as the concrete poured, caressing the bodies until engulfing the face. One last view of a piercing blue eye, then nothing but gray as it went from luster to dull in the coming hours.

47

THE POISONER

Two Months Later.

Manhattan, New York City.

The walls were closing in.

I thought this would be easier, but I fear it may be the scariest thing I’ve ever done.

I leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths.

“I don’t do well with criers,” the thick accent came from beside me.

Luka wore nice tailoring rather than his typical style. He bothered to shave and trim those curls, now that they nearly touched his shoulders. A white bloom of wolfsbane was pinned to his lapel.

“You are terrible at this.” I stared up at the ceiling before glaring at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Every time I’ve come to check on you today, you’re crying.”

“Could you just offer your congratulations and go join the rest?”

“I came to offer condolences,” he said sarcastically, “but I wanted to wish you luck and say goodbye.”

“You’re leaving?”

“For a time.” He shrugged. “A recruitment trip, is all.”

“But you will return?”

“Careful, you sound hopeful.”