Page 93 of The Cannibal

“Is it really that enticing of an offer?” I joked, but her face was anything but amused.

“They’re persuasive. They have money. There isn’t much more to it.” She shrugged. “Most Appraisals have ended in acquisition. Only a couple strays—I believe Australia and Greenland—were the only ones who remained independent.”

“Right. No agreements.” I gestured to my lips in a locking motion.

“Verbal agreements are legally binding, especially with plenty of witnesses at all times during the trials. But this goes for unofficial gatherings too. They’ll trap you with it.”

“I don’t know how you all do it,” I sighed, “too much to remember.”

“Remain silent, and you don’t have to remember a thing,” she teased. “And stay away from the wine.”

“Why? Are you afraid of tampering?”

“No, I’m afraid of loose lips.” She glared at me.

I nodded slowly, staring off down the hallway as she began working back through her list. I believe she started talking again, but I had already tuned out the chatter between everything else going on.

The energy was high. The people, the movement, the air—all shifting and vibrating at such a frequency I swore it rang against my eardrum.

Something was going to happen. We’d expected this moment for a while, but this was the beginning. The quiet that hushed across a grassy plain when the black clouds rose in the distance.

It was important that I was in Phoebe’s good favor, because I knew she sensed it too. We all did.

We would brave the storm together, no matter what.

As the sun settled behind the skyline, so did the household.

The lighting became warm and intimate, the staff had since gone home, and permanent members of the Chimera household each found their own corners to curl up in. It was well past dinner, the only thing served now were coffee and small bites.

Even if I was confident in my actions yesterday, the way my acquaintances avoided me was making me think twice. The emergency scared people, I understood that much. Blaming them for not noticing John’s state of distress was possibly reactionary and out of line. But the feeling that they were upset with me for something more weighed on me. Between the rocky departure from Buffalo and nothing going right whenever I show up, it was more difficult by the day not to feel burdensome.

The only thing on my mind was the only person I knew wouldn’t turn me away.

Since the furniture was blocking my old room, I wandered wearily to the top floor. Carriage lanterns in the street made shadow puppets on the wall through the steep windows. The quiet was just as haunting as any whispers from beyond. The paintings shifted as the shadows and light danced over the textures.

The dark, towering doors awaited me at the end of the hall.

Silas’s room.

The same thing that kept me from socializing tonight was also making me hesitate outside the door. My confidence was permanently scarred from my inability to know myself. I was the same, but I had to relearn the very basics of survival. Remaking myself from scratch: physically, mentally, and socially. What’s to say that I wouldn’t have to learn how to seek reassurance or intimacy?

I pressed my palm to the wood. There was no light from any keyhole or from under the door.

The room was cold when I entered. Clean, no lights on, and most importantly, no Silas in sight. My guard dropped, but there was some relief that came from the lonely room. I locked myself in, my only company the empty chairs and portraits on the walls.

Everything was pristine. I was never sure if it was the maids or Silas himself. He was peculiar about his things, so I imagined his housekeeping habits were the same.

I began unbuttoning my skirt as I approached the tightly tidied bed.

Placed upon the sheets was a large white lily, freshly bloomed and trimmed. With it, a note.

It is my deepest regret that I will not be home tonight. Please allow me to make it right tomorrow. Be outside and ready at your leisure in the morning. Wear something nice, comfortable, and don’t bother with a purse.

—Silas

I touched the petals as I lay back into the pillows. The gesture was small, but nostalgic. I used to despise surprises. Presents and all, it only made me anxious. His contributions traumatized me to the idea of gifts, but they were growing on me.

I checked the back of the card, but there was nothing else. It was oddly sweet of him. I suppose all his surprises weren’t awful. The last ones were pleasant and thoughtful. Perhaps tomorrow’s outing would be too.