Page 38 of Hupotasso
Continuing my search, the pantry turns up a tray of some kind of fruit slice which hasn’t yet been cut up into pieces. I assume the cooks set the tray aside to cool and decided to leave it overnight.
‘You’ll do.’
Picking up the tray I walk to the nearest bench and stare up at the rows of knives hanging against a huge magnetic board fixed to the wall alongside cleavers and other sharp food preparation implements.
Taking down a large knife I consider my reflection in the blade and begin to cry anew. I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked — swollen lips, hair mussed. But the look is spoiled by swollen eyes, red cheeks and tear tracks.
‘But I’m still royally fucked, either way you look at it. He wants to marry someone else. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this.Sooner or later he’s going to knock me up, then it’s All Over Red Rover. How easy would it be though… it would be so easy. So easy to just cut my wrists now, get all this pain over and done with.’
Pressing the blade against my wrist I gasp as a red line appears almost instantly — the blade is so sharp it cut without me even trying.
“Ouch.”
Dropping the knife I bring my wrist to my mouth and lick the line of blood. The sting makes me acknowledge that I wouldn’t actually intentionally hurt myself — I’m too much of a coward.
“Planning on becoming a vampire?” A dry voice says from somewhere on the other side of the room.
Gasping, I look up as a woman saunters to where I stand. She looks vaguely familiar, but I know we’ve never met.
“Or were you planning on killing yourself? I’d go with the smaller pear knife if I were you. Super sharp and quick to draw up a wrist — less time to change your mind.”
I take my wrist from my mouth, wipe away the last few tears, and shake my head.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
I turn my head to the side and take her in. She’s not dressed in the usual black and white uniform the rest of the staff wear. She’s wearing black leather pants and a tight, dark-green, long-sleeved shirt that clings to her perfect figure. She’s tall and dark-haired, and her blood-red lipstick gives her a Cruella de Villekind of vibe. It’s pretty easy to see she’s somethingother,even though most people might not pick up on it at first.
I know why I recognise her.
“You’re one of Falcon’s sisters.”
She smiles a broad, malicious grin.
“And you’re not as stupid as you look — but don’t ever call me that again.”
“OK. And thanks,” I mutter, picking up the knife and pushing it into the slice. “I really need a bit more abuse tonight. Full marks for sensitivity.”
“This castle is no place for the sensitive.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
She laughs.
“So, what brings you down to my level?”
“Your level?” I can’t help but think there’s a double meaning to her words, but I let it slide.
“The kitchens. Where I work.”
“Ah. I was in desperate need of ice cream and chocolate, actually.”
“And I’m assuming this desperation for sweetness is a result of the tender ministrations of the lord of this castle?”
“Yes.” I flick her a quick look. “But it seems that much like a vampire’s heart, their kitchens are stark, cold and empty.”
She laughs again, but it’s a cold, humourless bark.
