Page 79 of Adam, Mine

He screamed and screamed until fists pounded the door of his lodgings. He saw feet around him, hands shaking him. The paper lifting from the ground and being read, then set down on the windowsill. Heard whispered words, felt a palm on his back, and heard the door close. Still, he screamed until his voice gave out.

Bright

Neither of them had families, then.

Victor lay on his back staring at the ceiling. His fingertips smarted, still caked in blood from him clawing the floor two days ago.

He’d missed his train from England heading toward Italy. He knew he was wasting time, but he still couldn’t move.

His thoughts still ran in dark circles around him, and though he had the strength to rise, he couldn’t use it. He sipped the whiskey the innkeeper had brought him, until he dreamed, until the bottle was empty. He didn’t ask for more.

Victor’s lips were dry and parched, tongue sticky as he reached into his mouth and removed the talisman.

Victor turned onto his side and curled his arms around himself and for once—for once—his emotions were stronger than Elias’s. Instead of getting overwhelmed with whatever Elias was feeling, Victor bled his ache.

He sent wave after wave of it to Elias, until the core of him had been stroked to overstimulation. Sent Elias the rightness of it, his understanding, the wild pain of discovery, and the crashing pressure of recognition. He wrapped Elias in his yearning for Elizabeth and the hope lost at her demise. His childlike grief at his mother’s passing and his worry for his father’s lost impact on their community.

He could feel Elias warring back with the feeling of resignation, the pounding hammer of justice, the pleasure of retribution. Victor drowned him back in his woe of personal responsibility.

The knives may as well have been Victor’s at their throats, and he wanted Elias to understand that he understood. This would not have happened without him, could not have happened without his greed and childishness and his first act of violence. Elias’s hand may have held the blade, but it was Victor’s hand that brought him there. Elias was never meant to leave his village; he was not made for this until Victor carved such a thing into him.

It had taken miles, but Victor understood.

Elias’s feelings retreated.

In the momentary ceasefire, Victor sent him the sharp pain of appreciation. Bitter gratefulness about how he had laid Victor’s family to rest. Locked the doors to protect their belongings.

Roaring back came a sensation not unlike the agony of starvation. Victor didn’t have words for this emotion.

He sat up, out of pure shock, and put his hands on his knees while he puzzled it out. It burned the flesh closest to the skin on his chest and made the back of his teeth ache. His gut felt concave with yearning.

It also came with the burn of familiar anger, like a shout of desperation. But still Victor didn’t understand it.

After a while, it faded to something not unlike tenderness. A gentle emotion that almost felt shy, before Elias cut him off from feeling once again. Like he had when Victor was lying in Brogan’s house.

The confusion of that was enough to make Victor rise from his bed. He crossed the room to pick up the paperwork and reread it with clearer eyes.

He had inherited his family’s full estate, the house, grounds, and his father’s patient list. His insurer and family banker’s details were included in this paperwork as well as an additional sum that his father had set aside for him from before his landlady had arrived. It was enough to get him the rest of the way to the last alchemist and more.

Victor closed his eyes and let his sorrow wash through him once more before he called for a bath.

He still had work to do.

Ash

The wind was warm and the soil smelled fresh and green. Winter had not yet touched these lands so deeply. Elias bought a red horse, young and sprightly, for his ride to Kilmeaden.

Like in Scotland, speakers of German were few and far between, but they were a sight more patient with him here and more than happy to take his gold.

Elias had seen some eyes on his back, watching his purse, but when he turned—as always—his hard-lined face frightened opportunists. There was something about this place. A draw, unlike any other, pulled him.

It felt like someone was calling him to a home he’d never visited, too exciting to feel comfortable. It got stronger as he followed the path to Kilmeaden, not faltering unless he stepped from the road to rest. It was very curious.

By the time he reached Brogan’s house the feeling was so strong that he understood that it was some kind of magic. It was like the ground was lit from within but cast no shadow, ending like a beacon on a set of rounded hills. The sun was low in the sky, and Brogan’s windows were yellow with candlelight against the ground.

Elias got down from his horse many feet from the house and looped the reins around the branch of a tree. He nuzzled the face of his horse and gave her the apple he had saved for her as a treat for the end of this journey. He poured his canteen into her greedy mouth until every last drop was hers and spread the blanket he’d purchased over her shoulders. The night was cooler than the day, and he did not know how long she would be waiting for him.

Elias approached Brogan’s house, and each step put him more on edge. He paused before the gate, and something in him told him it would be wise to say a quick prayer.