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A shiver courses down my spine. My body trembles. I can’t tell if it’s from residual fear or because it freezing down here since, well, it is. My sweatshirt isn’t doing enough for me in the sewer.
The black blanket looks thin, but it kept me warm. I want to wrap myself up in it. Tugging on the hem twisted between my fingers, I pull the blanket toward me.
Something moves with it.
What the—
I yank the blanket roughly, watching it slither across the stone floor, almost folding in on itself as I reveal more and more of the pock-marked stones and cobbled path. The tail dips into the oily puddle inches away from my bare feet, leaving a trail until it’s close enough that I just toss it to the side.
The orange glow lights up something small, round, and a sort of pale-ish color. It’s a little bigger than a golf ball, smooth all the way around, with a darker, rosy patch on the side closest to me.
Well, that explains the fuzzy. It wasn’t a mutant spider after all that I brushed against when I rolled over. It was a peach that had been nestled by my hand, hidden beneath the blanket.
Okay, then.
So… is it a gift from Nine? Like the shadow blanket, I’m thinking the piece of fruit might be an offering from the Dark Fae. Who else would’ve known my weakness for a perfectly ripe peach? When I was little, I went through a phase where the only thing I would eat was sliced peaches swimming in the sugary syrup of a fruit cup. Even now, as an adult, peaches are my favorite.
It’s sitting on the dirty ground. When I pulled on the blanket, the peach moved so that I can’t even pretend that the thin fabric is protecting it from the grimy stone floor. Know what? I don’t care. I really don’t give a shit.
I’m starving.
Rys put me to sleep hours ago. The beef stew I ate last seems like a lifetime ago. Depending on how I look at it, it’s either been more than a day or a whole week since my last meal. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. Just the sight of the peach, sitting between two cobbled together pieces of stone, has me salivating.
Before I think better of what I’m about to do, I squat down and scoop it up. Maybe I shouldn’t eat this gifted peach. After rubbing the rosy side on the least filthy patch of my hoodie, I decide that I just don’t care what I should do.
I take a bite. It’s simply sumptuous. Sticky juice trickles down my chin; I wipe it away with the back of my glove. The peach is so tender, so flavorful, that it nearly melts in my mouth.
And then I swallow.
I know right away that something is wrong. As soon as the peach is down, my mouth fills with the most rancid, sour taste. Once, when the Everetts went out for the evening, me and Madelaine snuck into their liquor cabinet and shared an entire bottle of peach-flavored vodka. We got so sick off of it that we spent the entire night throwing up in our shared bathroom.
That’s what my mouth tastes like now. The acid backwash of artificial peach vomit. It’s freaking nasty.
What’s worse? I immediately sink my teeth back into the peach.
The same thing happens.
Over and over again—I can’t help myself. No matter how bad I know it’s gonna be when I swallow, I can’t stop myself from taking another bite.
Another.
And another.
I only stop when my teeth clamp down on something hard. I lift it up to my face, squinting in the harsh glow of Rys’s lantern. I’ve already eaten down to the pit. There’s about half the peach left on the other side, but before I rotate it, I see something wiggle.
What the—
It’s green and small and it’s… it’s wriggling. I’m immediately reminded of an inchworm. You know. Those tiny creepy crawlies that have a reputation for popping out of apples.
Only this is a peach and, holy crap, I almost ate it.
I shriek, then toss the peach across the sewer. It lands in a puddle with a soft splash, spraying the nasty muck outward. One drop manages to get inside the lantern. It hits the flame with a sizzle.
My stomach rebels. Just the idea that I was seconds away from swallowing that little squirmy, wormy-thing has me gagging. The sour taste in my mouth doesn’t help. I kind of think that has more to do with my sudden nausea than seeing the worm inching its way across the peach’s pit. I swallow roughly, breathing shallowly through my nose, trying to control it.
I heave. Gritting my teeth together doesn’t do a damn thing. I wrap my arm around my belly, chanting don’t puke, don’t puke over and over again as if that’s going to help.
Spoiler alert. It doesn’t.
