Two hours into the night, and I begin to fear that my decision has already been made for me. One by one, the artisanal cafés begin to dim, sleeping, as all mortal things are wont to do, for the night. I guess we could go to chain locations, but patrons rarely linger there, and soon they’ll be filled with drunken partygoers and the like. ‘Maybe we should switch to hospitals,’ I say after I come back from another unsuccessful attempt. I take a tiny sip of water and swish it around my mouth before swallowing. Water isn’t the best for us, but the prospect of sweating out this tiny amount over the course of the next quarter hour is better than the prospect of continuing to bear this metallic taste in my mouth. Objectively, I know that it shouldn’t feel so bad; there’s no nauseous, bitter tint that most humans have, nor the oily smoothness of a lot of immortals. Like almost all the blood I’ve tasted over the past three years, it’s salty and sharp with rust. And before last night, I would
Canus pulls back into the traffic before he starts, voice barely above a whisper. ‘Your mother was half Welsh, and she never told you who your father was. She had you when she was relatively young, so you grew up with your grandparents until they passed away.’ As an afterthought, he adds, ‘I think it was old age, but I can’t be sure.‘You had a very good relationship with your mother, though you always claimed that your irresponsible streak came from her. I don’t think you were particularly irresponsible, myself, but what do I know?’ He forces a chuckle and glances at me. The car swerves slightly when his pale eyes meet mine.I smile in encouragement, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. The gentleness that I crave is in his every word, and though it’s directed at me, I keep feeling like I’m an impostor in my own body.‘Sometimes it seemed like you had your entire life planned out down to Saturday brunch. You always knew exactly what you wanted and how to get it. You were so intent on going
All thoughts of sustenance escape me. I stand, frozen, watching the bright glint of luminescence that is my mark slip further and further down the corridor before turning in the direction of the tearoom. The bleached white walls and linoleum flooring are dark without her presence, but I don’t even care. I’m remembering back to a conversation I had with Chryseus. It doesn’t count, I said, laughing. Your progeny are all older than me. Then I’ll ask Father for another progeny, Chryseus replied, a glint in his eyes. It’s been decades since my last. He’ll accept. It won’t be the same, I insisted. You wouldn’t get to see them as a child. We can adopt a mortal baby, then. If we ask Father for special permission, I’m sure he’ll agree, especially if we raise it as a witch. If the baby is raised as non-human, then the secrecy laws won’t apply. Okay, I said, heart in my throat. Alright. I once considered it to be the moment I fell in love with him. ‘Favilla?’ Canus asks. I blink. There’s
With my new revelation, tracking down three more victims and feeding Canus in between hunting is relatively trivial. It puts a new spin on the act, however. The pain that I derive from Canus’s feeding is no less than before, but now it comes with a sense of vindication. Now, every time he pulls away and licks my blood from his lips, I see the hidden emotions dwelling in their depths—guilt and desire. Suddenly, I feel bad for him. I even feel the barest twinge of sympathy for Chryseus. The two of them have been hit the worst by the bloodline curse, enough so that they’ve been forced to feed on their progeny. What’s more, I suddenly understand that they must hate it, that they must hate seeing the source of their guilt every day, to feed from us time and time again. ‘It’s always like this, isn’t it?’ I ask after I come back from my last victim, healed and more fully sated than I’ve ever been. ‘The guilt?’ Very carefully, Chryseus nods. ‘That’s the real curse, I think. My Father likes
Not much has changed since I last visited less than two months ago. The scent of my human self is worked into every corner, overlaid by a strange sense of corruption. I briefly seat myself on the back of the settee, looking around the cramped space. As Canus mentioned, the kitchen table is missing from its place. Otherwise, the cabinets are all shut, and all the flat surfaces are empty safe for the thinnest layer of dust—no humans, no dead skin cells, no new dust being generated.I grimace and stand up. Walking into the bedroom, I see empty air where previously were the scattered personal effects that Canus had originally deemed too sensitive for me to see. They, of course, are hidden away in my study back at the estate, and, as loath as I am to agree with Canus, I still have yet to page through them properly.‘A bit of a let-down,’ I comment. ‘I thought you said I’d remember something.’Canus says, practically into my ear, ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know where I need you to go.’I jump
‘It was grandad’s, you know. An antique, though I suppose not quite so antique as you.’ It had a smooth handle worn down by three generations of use, and it kept its edge remarkably well considering it went about a dozen years without anyone bothering to check on it.‘I did keep it, yes,’ Canus confesses.‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ I remember how its silver blade flashed in the dim and flickering candlelight. Looking back, I recognise how silly it was to put a tealight in the sink to see by. My thought process had been that, even if some strange happenstance knocked it over, I’d at least be certain that it wouldn’t catch the entire block on fire. I could have used proper lights, I suppose, but I was loath to waste electricity if it was going to be ages before anyone found me. If I were to die, I could at least help spare the planet from a similar fate.At first there was nothing, and then it hurt so much that I could barely slash my other wrist as well. Shortly thereafter, the cold came
‘I love you, too, Favilla. Always have, always will,’ he says. It’s as gentle as I’ve come to expect of him, as steadfast and sincere as I could ever wish for. We stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then, as one, we say, ‘I’m sorry.’ We both pause, then open our mouths, then close them upon seeing our actions mirrored in one another. ‘You first,’ I say when I open my mouth again. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ he says. ‘I do,’ I insist. ‘I’m sorry I did that to you. I didn’t mean to. You were never supposed to be the one to find me. I was—’ I pause, realising that it might not necessarily be the best path to follow. I start again: ‘I mean, I know I’m not Aura any longer, that she was the one who made the decision, that she was probably very ill and in a very bad place mentally, but I still feel responsible, somehow, for putting you through that. Please, let me apologise for that, at least.’ He seems to consider it for a moment, but then he nods, mind made up. ‘
The car swerves—that’s how startled Canus is by my question. When he regains control of it again, his fingers are tight around the leather of his steering wheel.‘Come again?’ he says. ‘I could have sworn that you said—’‘That Annia is convinced that I’m to be the Starlight Queen? Yes, I did. She saw me eavesdropping on Chryseus and didn’t report it to him, as far as I can tell. Lady Chalcea seems to trust her, too.’It’s not until the last sentence that Canus seems to relax a little. I grin to myself. For all that he calls her a spoiled brat, Canus still trusts his sister’s judgement.‘She was the one who took me to the shrine and told me who the Starlight Queen was supposed to be,’ I continue. ‘That is, after I accidentally lost my temper at her.’It feels so easy to tell Canus the truth, like some great burden is being lifted from my shoulders. I once imagined myself to be a practised hand at secrecy, but that was when I still had Scintilla or Chryseus in which to confide. I hadn’t