Page 92 of Adam, Mine

He could feel the health beginning to drift from him again. Not as fast as it had when he first joined souls with Elias or after Willem, but enough for him to notice.

Brogan had brought him back to where he’d been when he’d first landed in France. Victor now felt the way he did when he’d walked out of Bradley King’s home.

By his estimation, he should be right back where he started or worse by the time he managed to get to Russia. Which was all the better, as that was the last place he could go.

Even if he’d made it that far in full health, there wouldn’t be anything but death left for him after that.

At the very least, he was mildly sure Elias wouldn’t beat him to death like that other guy had. It was important to be able to sort through things with him in person, even if the thought of seeing his face again still filled Victor with fear.

Every time he thought about his family, his anger spiked at Elias. But that rage immediately faded into guilt. Whenever he imagined his mother’s face or his little brother laughing, he was forced to also think about Magda whispering, “He’ll share his cake with you, if you want,” about her shy elder brother. Hear the echoes of Elias and his family enjoying their dinner together. See the warmth of the light from their home on the frosted ground.

It made Victor want to bash his head against the train window until his brains slopped everywhere. But instead, he just sat very still and continued to try to avoid eye contact with the unaccompanied young woman sharing his cabin.

Prayer

There were many connections on the Intercontinental train line. Victor wished he had the time to truly enjoy them. He rushed from platform to platform, scuttling into a cabin as far in the back he could manage. Trying to get a room to himself with limited success.

Every day it got warmer as he left the winter of the north. He wished for cool dry air as his breath became short and his muscles weak. He drank water like a man consumed as he sweated precious salts from his pallid skin.

He used the rotating crowd to provide translation when necessary. Victor hadn’t studied Italian, just Latin. He knew enough about roughly where Cupido would be, but in a country full of strangers and roads named similarly, he needed to know exactly.

If Cupido couldn’t give him what he needed, he would head straight to Russia afterward. Victor was already behind and fading fast.

He had lost his taste for travel. If he survived this, he would pick a place and stay as long as he could. Not his home: that was too full of ghosts.

Italy

The sun here burned his skin. He wasn’t meant for this type of weather. Victor wondered if Elias had felt the same.

He thought about Elias all the time now. Took the talisman in and out of his mouth throughout the day, just curious what he was feeling.

Sometimes Elias cut him off; other times Elias just left their line open. He didn’t push things at him much anymore. It was as though they had finally had a conversation that meant something to him, and Elias had decided to stop torturing Victor with his agonies.

It was different, a steady torrent. Victor used it to entertain himself on the long carriage ride to Cupido. Something had pleased Elias a lot in the morning, then he settled into boredom for the afternoon, spiking again to pleasure midday, and then settling sharply afterward into disappointment. He wished he could ask Elias what had happened.

He smiled at a random thrill of humor Elias had, but laughing at things he couldn’t see felt a bit too intimate. He popped the talisman back in his mouth to cease his spying on the other man.

Victor couldn’t tell if Elias noticed when Victor was using Bradley’s charm. He wondered, also, what Elias was doing to cut him off on the rare times he did it.

The carriage stopped at a large white house. Victor looked up at it with dismay. Hopefully Cupido wasn’t another Bradley King. He didn’t have the energy to handle that kind of man today.

Victor stepped out of the carriage and paid his driver. Then climbed Cupido’s steps.

The door cracked open when Victor knocked on it.

“Scusi? Cupido Colombo?” Victor called, knocking again.

A little girl opened the door wider, looking up at him curiously.

Victor smiled at her. “Cupido, per favore?” he asked.

“Uno momento.”

A very nicely dressed man, hair slicked with pomade, strode quickly to the door, and scooped the girl up. He disappeared deep into the house then returned.

“Ah, il verme,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Siete venuti qui per chiedere l’elemosina?”

Victor shook his head. “Tedesco? Francese? Inglese?”