Page 27 of The Deer and the Dragon
Silas wiped a bluish stain from the child-like monster from his sword before re-sheathing it. It was with tired patronization that he said, “You let yourself into parasite-infested basements and give out your name. It explains why you allowed a sigil to be painted above your door without even realizing it was there.”
“I—” I choked on my indignation. My defense fell to the ground. I only understood half of his insults. “I knowyourname!”
He dusted off his hands on his pants, cleaning his palmsfrom any specks of bluish goo. He didn’t bother to look at me as he said, “No, you don’t. You know what I’m called as of late. You may also use the name Silas, though I’d prefer that you not call me anything at all. Spare us both the headache and pretend you didn’t—”
“Wait.” I lunged for him, digging my nails into the exposed flesh of his bicep.
He looked at my hands as if the fangs of a venomous snake had punctured his skin. The bright, striking smell of spices intensified as his eyes burned with surprise that I had touched him. His gaze shot from my fingers to my face as he demanded, “What the hell are you?”
I didn’t release my hands. I searched his face for help, for sympathy, forsomething.
“You can’t let me die,” I said on a hurried exhale.
He breathed in slowly, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time. His appraising scan of my face, my eyes, my body was enough for me to loosen my grip, if only slightly. He plucked my hand from his arm with a powerful motion and dropped it to my side. I took a step back, feeling utterly self-conscious. I didn’t know what he was looking for, but after what the cat-child had craved, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
Finally, I said, “I came looking for Caliban. Or for you, to be honest. For something. Foranything.”
He made a face as he looked to the blue pulp on the ground, saying, “Well, you found something. Good for you.”
“Silas,please,” I begged. “Caliban hasn’t visited me in months. Summer is almost over and I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything. I don’t even know where to start. I’ve read everything. I’ve talked with countless witches—”
He scoffed at the word.
I knew men. I knew how they worked, how to assuage them, how to get what I wanted. But as I studied the beautiful face before me, I found no familiar purchase. His reactions weren’t clicking. It was like grappling against an oily surface,desperate for a point of contact. Struggling to reason with him, I plowed forward with honesty.
“I came looking for a way to find him. I had no leads, except that Caliban said he’d marked Richard…the man you killed in my apartment. This is his house,” I clarified at his quizzical expression. “You said Richard was marked. Is that why you’re here for this…child? Some mark?”
Silas’s face gathered in disapproval. “The parasite had nothing to do while people stopped coming to the basement. When I killed the host, it released the…wait. It’s so easy to forget you shouldn’t be talking to me. It’s your fault the parasite showed up. Anyway, use your cell phone, human—”
“Marlow.”
He tilted his head back as if to laugh. He bit his lip, forcing the sound back into his belly before he relaxed. He looked at me and said, “You will be dead within a month if you keep throwing that around. Good luck with your life.”
“I don’t have reception!” I lurched toward him again, gripping at the broad stretch of muscle once more.
Silas wrapped a thumb and forefinger around my wrists and removed my fingers from his arm once more, plucking me from him as if dislodging a leech. “Clearly you can see through the veil…sometimes. Maybe it’s because of—what did you call him? Caliban?—the sigil he had over your home.”
My nod was too eager considering I couldn’t entirely confirm what he was saying.
Silas went on. “The parasite’s markings are an extension of his host’s. You shouldn’t be able to…I don’t have time to figure out why you can see us, let alone touch us. Maybe this host and his attachment had sigils up as well. But when it comes tohim…” He grimaced ruefully at the memory of the one who’d spent more than two decades by my side before his face softened. “Actually…he—Caliban—already owes me one. Marlow, you said?”
I nodded.
Silas made a contemplative sound as he relaxed into hisshrugging posture. He scanned me once. “Next time he visits, ask him to lift your veil.”
My mouth dropped open. I decided against explaining to this stranger that I’d been abandoned. I’d sent Caliban away, and he’d obeyed. Finally, I asked, “Can you do it?”
“Of course I can.”
My face lit. “Will you?”
A dark chuckle. “Absolutely not.”
Maybe it was his displeasure, or maybe it was my own fear seeping back into my bones, but the spiced scent of anointing oil fought for my attention against the sickly-sweet odor of festering wounds that still dripped on the floor. The basement shrank, closing in on me as it became entirely too small. The bald rods of fluorescent lights were too bright. It was as if I heard the sirens in the distance telling me the tornado would approach once more.
I couldn’t let him leave me.
“Please!” I calmed my voice before repeating, “Please, Silas. Do this for me. I really, really need it.”
