Page 20 of Property of Necro
I’m not here with Ted.
This isn’t the same. They’re not the same.
Except I might die. There’s that.
Inching my head up, I peek inside the bowl, expecting something terrible. But it’s chili, topped with cheese and crackers, and it smells divine.
Eyeing him warily, then Necro, whose jean-clad leg is touching my side, I wait for them to snatch the food away. Mom always did.
When I don’t accept the bowl, the bald man scoots his chair back and tries again. “Sola, I made this. Everyone has eaten some.”
Pulling what I assume is a clean spoon from a pocket in his white chef’s coat, he scoops out a bite and puts it in his mouth. “See. It’s safe.” He speaks with his mouth full and offers me the bowl again.
This time, I dip my head in appreciation and accept the meal with a small smile.
Tucking it to my chest, I eat slowly, savoring the delicious flavor as it bursts over my tongue. A low moan escapes me, and my eyelids flutter closed in pleasure. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. It’s spicy, but not too spicy. Garlicky, but not too much. The beans are firm. The meatis perfect.
“I’m Mama,” the bald man says, chuckling at my noises.
I nod, accepting his name, which I think I’ve heard before. Didn’t Rot mention him? I think he did. Either way, Mama is an incredible chef.
It doesn’t take long to polish off my chili.
Mama offers me a napkin to wipe up and a bottle of water.
He might be my new favorite person.
Once I have finished everything, I offer my trash and empty bowl back to Mama, who takes them with a kind smile and unfolds from his chair with an old man groan.
“Someone likes to eat my food. Think of some meals you might wanna try, Sola, and I’ll see what I can do,” he offers as he rounds the table.
My heart warms and gets weirdly fuzzy at his thoughtfulness.
I can’t think of a time anyone has asked me what foods I might wanna try.
I eat whatever is offered, even if I don’t like it.
The closest I’ve come to having someone cook for me or care about what I like is when I’m back in the apartment with the sisters, where it feels like home. Even then, it’s not about me.
Resting my head against the table, Necro’s leg at my side, I relax with a full belly.
Today is not what I expected. It feels like it’s gone on forever.
As the sounds of men’s chatter and laughter fill the room, I allow myself to soak in a moment’s peace, even though I’m forced to sit on the floor.
When the dishes are cleared away and the noise dulls, Necro scoots his chair back. When I glance up to see what he’s doing, our eyes catch, and he jerks his masked chin at me, then nods as if it’s time to go.
Getting to my feet, I follow him from the room.
“Where are you taking her?” Rot calls to our backs as I trail Necro down a dark hallway to a creaky set of wooden stairs that descend below the church. Old sconces flicker on the stacked rock walls as the moist, chilly air greets us. Doors line the walls as the scent of mildew mixed with copper and a hint of incense fills the air—an unusual combination.
I rub my arms as goosebumps flare across every inch of my exposed flesh.
Extracting a key from his pocket, the muscles of Necro’s scarred bare back contract as he unlocks a door and flips a switch just inside.
Following him, despite the eeriness, I enter an all-black room. The concrete floors, the walls, and even the back of the door are painted black. A single sconce lights a small portion of the space. In the center of the floor stands a black casket with black handles, reminiscent of something from a vampire movie.
“What’s that?” I point to it.
