Page 48 of The Cannibal

Silas stood, his back to me, and a steadily rising trail of smoke hovered above him. Like a red-hot bull, he pushed the smoke through his nose as he discarded the cigarette beside the body, putting it out with his shoe.

There was no sense of urgency despite the tense air. It was so thick you would think it was morning smog from the harbor.

He stretched his arms out, flexing his shoulders before they dropped to his side, and his head tilted up toward the grand ceiling. Even his silhouette relaxed, posture softening as if a burden had been lifted.

He tipped his head over his shoulder, a flash from the black of his pupils when they locked on me. The corner of his lip switched, then fully crawled into a smirk.

“Look, Phoebe.” He then turned to his sister. Her eyes were wide, face paler as her jaw locked tightly shut. “A miracle. Imagine that.”

“Rebecca,” Phoebe hissed in disbelief.

“You can’t ask us to be tortured for this,” Rebecca spat back. “This is your fight, not ours. Your little family games will get us all killed.”

Silas snapped his fingers in Rebecca’s direction. “We have a smart one here,” he said pointedly, then looked around. “Someone make sure she has double allowance this month.” He turned back to her, his hands pressed together in prayer. “Thank you for your loyal service, Rebecca.”

He circled the body on the floor. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the figure until now.

Then I realized who was on the floor.

“All it took was a little pressure. I wondered if you’d let me start picking off more volunteers.” Silas crouched next to the heap on the floor. “I think you’re getting soft, Luka.”

Silas paused, some sort of wheels turning in that twisted head of his. Then he finally looked at me again. Something in his eyes was different. They were as cold and dead as I remembered, but there was a fire now, a dangerous flare that I either hadn’t recognized, or it had developed beyond recognition. Something sparked from pain that he didn’t bother to hide.

He straightened his posture, vertebrae by vertebrae.

There it was, the Creature.

He began his approach, and much like the first time we’d ever laid eyes on each other, I froze.

My gaze fell immediately to the floor, like a lead sinker on a fishing line.

The steps closed in, closer and closer, until I had a perfect view of my reflection in the polish of his shoes.

When I turned my head to look anywhere but forward, he corrected it with a hand gripping my jaw.

It startled me enough to catch my breath right from my lungs. Even after such a rough handling, he let go, as if he expected a bite. It only made him smile wider, the long fangs flashing when our eyes met.

There was a sense of relief, yes, I would hope that was his first reaction. But there was something else. The look he had was no longer hungry, not for blood. He was starved for something else.

Without a word, he stepped to the side, inspecting me from all angles. He disappeared from my peripheral, and I could only follow him with my eyes, not daring to turn my head. The heel of his fine shoes tapped against the floor behind me.

I looked out to the gathering around us. Everyone just as afraid to move. If I were to be slain right here, no one would intervene, that was clear.

This was a public dissection.

A demonstration.

The smallest touch on my waist made my entire body quake, breath control was no match. His hands firm on me from behind.

Silas pressed his face beside my ear, the faintest strain as he said, “Welcome home, my venomous wife.”

With lungs of sterling, I held my breath.

He walked away, whistling, the beast satiated with his redoubtable display of power, of control.

16

THE FIXER