Page 21 of This Vicious Hunger
As I stumble down the stairs and out into the cool balm of the night, I can’t help but think of Leonardo’s warnings about the garden. I haven’t had time to give it much thought, between classes and another tutorial with Dr. Petaccia—the mystery eyeball plant still locked away in its own private room—and reading and more classes. I sleep with Latin plant names swirling in my brain, their given names heavy on my tongue. Until this exact second I’d managed to convince myself that Leonardo truly was concerned only for my safety—but a feeling unfurls in my belly as I hurry towards my goal. I’ve been stupid to assume it’s that simple.
After all, if Leonardo knew about the garden, how likely is it that hedidn’tknow about the girl? I’ve been here only a couple of months and I’ve seen her twice now. Neither time was I particularly looking for her—though obviously it’s not as if Idon’tlook either. Part of me wants to think that she is all mine, she appears here, and only I see her—both times have been in the middle of the night with only the moon to witness. But the other part of me thinks of the way Leo looked when I mentioned the garden, that flash of his eyes that reminded me of Aurelio, and a seed of doubt starts to grow.
I push onwards, ignoring the thoughts, distracted now by the fresh rush of blood as my limbs pump. What if she’s gone before I get there? I’m practically running, feet pounding the scrubby path with zero dignity, dressed only in my thinnest evening dress and satin slippers, when I skid to a halt outside the gate.
From here I can see even less than I could from my rooms. I’ve lost my bird’s-eye advantage, the joy of gazing down unseen. I peer through, heart still pounding, into the darkness. The garden is cast in silver shadows. There’s no sign of the girl or her basket of flowers, but the walls are high.
I curse myself inwardly. I was too slow. I allowed myself to get flustered and missed my chance. What if she doesn’t come into the garden again? I might never learn any more about its contents and why it remains locked while she is allowed inside.
Maybe she heard me leave my rooms and decided to flee; it’s not far from here to my window, close enough that the scatter of my pencils or the slam of a notebook closed too hard might alert her if she was close to the wall.
No, I tell myself firmly.Don’t be foolish. She’s not on your schedule. And what’s so important about her anyway? It doesn’t matter if she’s here or not if all you want is the chance to get a closer look at those flowers. Admit it, it’s not just about the garden, is it?
But that’s a thought I refuse to acknowledge and I bury it immediately. My father would be ashamed. Ishouldbe ashamed.
“Hello?” I call. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I saw you and wanted to ask about the garden. I’d come back another time, during the day of course, but I’ve never seen you here then, so I had to grab the chance…”
Nothing.
“Hello? Please, I’m not trying to be a nuisance. I’m a scholar. I study botany—and I’d love to talk to you about some of the specimens you have. Apparently you’re not affiliated with the institution, and I understand that perhaps I’m being very rude, but I’d really love to talk.”
Still nothing. It’s useless. When I left my rooms the girl was close to the wall, her basket in hand and her attention turned towards the tower. From here I can hardly evenseethe tower, only the edge of the sloping mound where it sits. There’s no sign of her, or her pale dress, or her bundle of flowers. I don’t know how far the walls even stretch, only that at some point they diverge from the campus. This gate probably isn’t even used.
I begin to turn away, but a rustling stops me in my tracks. My heart stumbles. And then, near enough to make me jump but just out of sight, comes a husky voice.
“You shouldn’t stand so close.”
“Excuse me?” Despite the warning I step closer, my hands going to the rusted gate. The cold metal sends a zinging sensation right up my arms, and it’s… delicious. I tighten my grip.
“I said you shouldn’t stand so close to the wall. Some of these plants are dangerous. That’s why there’s a gate.”
“Where are you?” I ask. Then: “I’ve studied plants for half my life. Maybe I don’t recognise some of them, but surely they’re mildly toxic at best. This one closest to my feet looks a little like some kind of mistletoe—is that right? I’m not going to get contact burns from anything I can reach.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
At that the girl steps into the light, her high cheekbones and full lips limned with silver. Up close I am even less sure of her age; her skin is dewy and perfectly smooth, her eyebrows thick anddark over full-lashed eyes that are darker still. Like liquid pools staring back. My throat thickens at the curve of her plump lips.
“I… Well. Isn’t that a safety issue, then?” I demand, bristling. “Anybody could walk by and touch them. You can’t just assume some rusty old gate is going to keep people out. There are hundreds of scholars here and any one of them could walk by and get hurt. It’s a hazard.”
The girl laughs and it’s a throaty sound that ripples through me. She is empty-handed now and raises her arms in a kind of surrender. “Relax,” she says. “You’re right about the ones closest to the gate at least. They won’t hurt you much.”
“So why the warning? That’s hardly a polite way to talk to somebody you don’t know. Another scholar might report you for incitation—”
“A polite way to talk…” The girl barks another laugh and my heart responds by hammering a staccato beat. “From the person who’s just interrupted me going about my private business by screeching through a locked gate like a drowning cat?”
I start to bristle again, but the girl is smirking and the expression on her face is so…sodamn captivating that I can’t help but back down. She’s right, after all. I’m the rude one in this situation. For all Aurelio’s family tried to make a society woman of me, I suppose they could never truly eradicate the effects of an isolated childhood. My affiliation with Leo has shown me that.
“You’re right,” I say. “I didn’t mean to shout. I just… I saw you from my window and I wanted to talk to you—about your garden. It is yours, isn’t it?”
“Oh, that was you,” she says, ignoring my question. The way her eyes shine makes my knees weak. She licks her lips before continuing. “I’ve seen the light and I did wonder. They so rarely usethose rooms any more. It’s why—since you ask—I never have to worry about the scholars touching my plants. They don’t bother me here.”
“I’m the only one living in the building.” I shrug, trying to hide the tremor in my hands. She’s haughty and beautiful and—I stop myself. “As far as I know they’ve stopped using these rooms entirely. I’d have to walk all the way back to campus for a cup of tea if I hadn’t stolen leaves from the dining hall.”
“What did you do to deserve that?” The girl’s smirk doesn’t change, but her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to solve a complex puzzle. Her chest rises and falls with surprising rapidity, reminding me of a small bird, fragile and hollow boned.
The question is so absurd, and the answer so big, that all I can manage is a laugh of my own.
“I didn’t do anything.”
