Page 24 of Anathema

“Yes, of course.”

As he strode toward the door, the spindling boy appeared there, his miniscule form hardly blocking his path. “Godspit,” Zevander muttered and shoved his hand into his pocket for more coin that he tossed to Ze’Kyra. “Give the boy shelter.”

“I swear on all of the unholy, if you don’t let me go, Brother, I will bite your damn ear off!”

As Rykaia wriggled and squirmed, he tightened his grip, ignoring her.

“I am not some charitable poorhouse.” Ze’kyra argued, casually leaning against the wall. “This is a brothel, Zevander. No place for a boy.”

It wasn’t. But most didn’t visit Madame Lazarine’s Brothel for young spindlings, they came for the busty women with wet tongues and silky hands, who sweet talked them out of coin. “Better than what he’ll be subjected to out on those streets.”

“Come, boy.” Rykaia reached toward the spindling in the doorway. “Come here. I’ll give you all the coin I have to come kick this beast as hard as you can in the groin.”

The spindling glanced up at Zevander, whose expression must’ve been grave enough to have him frantically shaking his head in response.

“You are positively demonic! May the gods rain down–”

“Quiet, Rykaia!” Zevander barked, his patience wearing thin.

“I will not quiet!” She kicked his flank. “You are.” She kicked him again. “Not my father!” At her third attempt, Zevander shifted her in his arms, hoisting her over his shoulder. With the tonics and liquor she’d consumed, the pressure in her sinuses would keep her from screaming, at least. “Release me. Please. I’m begging, Brother. I’m begging.”

Again, he ignored her pleas. “That’s enough coin to rent a room for the month.”

Ze’Kyra glanced down at it again, as if only just realizing that. “And what am I to do with a spindling child running around?”

“I’m sure you can dream up some tasks for him.”

“I’ll let him stay no more than a week. No more.”

“Good enough.”

“Come, darling. Help me with my tea.” Shoulders back, she reached a hand out toward the spindling. “What is your name?”

The boy looked to Zevander, as if unsure, but at the Letalisz’s nod, he followed after the woman. “Gavroche,” he answered, taking her hand.

With that, Zevander dragged his kicking and screaming sister out of the brothel and into the cold.

CHAPTER TEN

MAEVYTH

Cold. So cold.

Every muscle in my body trembled. I lifted the covers higher, up to my nose and buried my head in the thick quilt. The heat of my breath deflected back to my face, an infernal warmth, but not enough. My chest expanded with a hollow cold that stirred a nauseous twisting in my gut. I wanted to call out to Aleysia, but I didn’t dare.

Instead, I breathed into the blanket, beads of sweat trailing down my temple and neck. My heartbeat throbbed in my arm, pulsing in agonizing pain. Lifting it proved difficult, like trying to lift a heavy log, my muscles useless. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it, for fear of what festered beneath the wet bandages.

Would I die? Could I die from such a thing?

The question followed me into darkness.

“Is it a bite?” The sound of Agatha’s voice roused me from oblivion.

“It doesn’t appear to be,” a man answered. Uncle Felix, I guessed, though it was difficult to discern over the pounding of blood in my ears. “It seems she might’ve scratched it, somehow.”

“It’s a scratch. She told me so,” Aleysia answered, and I wanted so badly to tell her to be quiet. Not to say a word to either of them, but my eyes refused to open, and my voice remained trapped in my throat.

“Hush, girl,” Agatha snapped. “She cannot lose the arm. She’ll be worthless.”

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