Page 73 of Adam, Mine

“Alain Cloutier,” Ayan said suddenly. “Ist whise, fore ahl hees a richt khunt.”

Elias just looked up at him. The Scottish alchemist blazed red by the light of the hearth. He pointed to Elias’s chest, then gestured between him and his wife. Elias didn’t understand. He shook his head.

Ayan rolled his eyes, clearly giving up on communication. Moira tried instead. She pressed a hand against Elias’s chest, then pointed to herself. “Victor Frankenstein.” She placed her other hand over her heart.

Elias flushed. He shook his head.

“Nein. Nein.” He did not know exactly what they were implying, but whatever it was gave way too much weight to the relationship he had with that madman. Current or otherwise.

Moira shrugged. “Kommunikation. Unterstanding.”

Elias frowned and looked away.

“Victor Frankenstein ist ein Monster,” he whispered.

Ayan snorted. He poured the pine needles from his bowl into Elias’s jar and pushed it across the table.

“Ye rik off blut,” he replied with a wary glare.

That Elias understood, but he had bathed so many times between the last time he was covered in blood and now. He wasn’t even wearing the same clothes, besides his harness. He couldn’t understand how these people were so attuned to it.

Ayan went and picked up Elias’s things. He held out Elias’s harness until Elias put his arms inside and shrugged it back onto his shoulders. Then he handed him his jacket.

“You khant stayheer, vith Isla,” Ayan said gently. “Danke yew fore de warning.”

Elias nodded. He bowed to Moira and to Ayan. He looked longingly at his book, which was still on the table.

Ayan sighed and picked it up and handed it back. Before Elias’s fingers could make contact with the cover Ayan shook it at him.

“Dangerous,” he said sternly, then pushed it into Elias’s arms.

Elias nodded and turned to go, then he remembered something.

“Brogan?” he asked.

Ayan brightened. “Brogan!” he said cheerily, then smirked. “Kilmeaden.” Then he shrugged. “Spakes German. Shoodt be yessier.”

Kilmeaden. “Kilmeaden,” Elias said again.

“Kill-MEE-dehn,” Ayan clarified. Elias repeated it until he got the accent right.

Ayan opened the door for him and to Elias’s surprise followed him out into the night, closing the door softly behind them. Elias looked up at Ayan, fear beginning to well in his heart, but the Scottish alchemist just humphed low in his throat and reached out to Elias’s face.

Elias’s tears had long since dried in the heat of the fire, but Ayan’s stout grubby finger traced their paths anyway.

“Aye’ll venge ye,” he said, soft and stern.

Then he chucked a kind fist against the edge of Elias’s jaw, as if to make even with his own tenderness, and disappeared back into his home.

Elias stood there by himself, in the cold, and closed his eyes.

Storm

Elias could have headed back to the heart of town to go to a tavern. Could have warmed himself by another fire and nestled into clean sheets.

Instead, he walked away from Ayan’s house and into the dark. Until he couldn’t see any light made by man and his eyes adjusted to the moon and stars. He crouched down in the middle of a field and turned his face up to the sky.

Elias’s breath was steam and his cheeks were numb with cold. He brushed his fingers against where the Italian girl had kissed him.