Page 21 of A Shadow in the Reaping
The room is more feminine than anything I've seen in the house so far. There are pink and gold curtains framing a tall window and a matching bedspread neatly laid across the bed. Gauzy white curtains drape between the posts of the bed frame, swaying in the humid breeze from the open window. There's a collection of flowers on the sill, a crucifix orchid with bright orange flowers, a wind orchid with blooms like white stars. I walk to a small vanity and notice a thin film of dust across the wood frame of the mirror. The bedding still has creases from where it was folded in its packaging. It's brand new.
I look to the Reaper who waits at the threshold of the door. He sweeps his eyes across the room and gives a curt nod. When they find mine again, the flame within them gives light to the room. "There's nowhere on Earth that I can't find you, vampire," he says, and turns toward the unlit hall as he keeps hold of my gaze over his shoulder. "Just in case you're thinking of running too far."
I want to write something snappy, likefuck you too, dickhead, but for some reason I can't. I just watch him break his gaze away and shut the door behind him with a quiet click.
I stay in my room only long enough to get changed, then I head out the way we came in. I don't see Ashen. I can smell his scent. It's unlit cigars and brandy. It's silk and ink. It leads down the hall, down the stairs, and into a dark corridor on the other side of the living room. There's a light on there. I stop at the mouth of the corridor for just a moment. Part of me has an urge to see if Ashen is there and what he's doing. I imagine myself stopping at the doorway, our gazes meeting with no words spoken. I imagine his eyes simmering with something other than fury. My heart ratchets with the temptation of it, but my bones are fused to the floor. I don't go down the corridor.
I pass through the living room, but instead of going down the hallway to the front door, I detour through an unlit dining room and into the kitchen. It's all granite countertops and dark green cupboards and stainless-steel appliances. Expensive. Tasteful. There's an antique crystal chandelier that drips from the ceiling like a waterfall. There's a window the height of the room with an arch at the top. For some reason, I feel like this house is always dark, despite the tall windows and the grandiose lights.
I see the fridge and smile.
My canines elongate in anticipation as I open the fridge door and the cool air presses its kiss across my skin. It's not the blood I'm here for, though I'll take one of those for the road.
It's the butter.
I take the package out and carefully unwrap the edge of the foil, then I sink my fangs into the salty, creamy slab to leave an unmistakable vampire calling card.
That's for touching my underwear, motherfucker. I fold up the foil and place it back in the butter compartment.
I sip a bag of blood on my walk into town. I know the movies will tell you otherwise, but controlling your thirst is not the hardest part of being a vampire. Sure, that takes practice, but after a few decades you get the hang of that... most of the time, anyway. Even the emotional turmoil of eating people isn't that bad. You get over that surprisingly fast too. And you can make sustainable choices, like I do. My diet is exclusively douchebags like Jessie Bates. I'm doing the planet a favour. I'm playing my part in manifesting a better world.
It doesn't take me long to find a candidate.
You know those dudes that drive Honda civics and install a huge muffler on them so they sound like some kind of fucked-up race car but with the engine of a hairdryer and the body of a beater? Like a Frankencar? Yeah. I pick one of those guys. I'm doing us all a solid here, so you're welcome.
It's nearly three thirty in the morning when I finally make it back to the Reaper's country estate. I slip in the front door and glide down the hall, silent and lethal. I glance back at the corridor as I start up the stairs but it's dark. As I slide down the hallway like a shadow, I notice a door ajar across from mine. The lights are off. I have another wild thought, that I could push it open, that I could see what's on the other side. I could see if the Reaper is there in the dark. But I don't. I close my door and change into clothes absent of the scent of blood, and I lie down next to mykatana. As I close my eyes, I hear the click of the door closing across the hall.
In the morning, the first thing I sense isn't the light or the chill from the cool air flowing through the open window.
It's the smell of coffee.
I get changed and clean myself up. I even put on a little bit of makeup. Just a little bit. Like... maybe a full face butnatural. I know what you're thinking but I'm not catfishing so fuck off. Ifyouwere going to the Shadow Realm you'd probably do the same. Besides, I don't know who's there. I need to be presentable, and I'm sure the Reaper will be immaculate, as always, so I'm just trying to even the playing field.
When I arrive downstairs, Ashen is in the kitchen, pushing down the plunger of a coffee press. His back is to me but I know he heard me enter. I climb up onto a stool and sit at the island to watch.
It's a dark blue shirt today, the shade of midnight in the far North when the summer sun skirts the horizon but doesn't go down. When he turns his head, I see the edge of the tattoo skirting up from beneath his collar, the wing of a bird that disappears below his shirt.
"Good hunting?" he asks, and glances over his shoulder enough to see me nod. I smell something cooking and I can barely contain my smile.
Toast.
"It's not the same as your... blofee... but hopefully this will do," Ashen says as he turns and sets a steaming mug before me next to a small pitcher of cream and one of blood. I smile in reply. He looks at me like he doesn't recognize who I am. There's an element of confusion on his face. I wonder if I've drawn a wonky eyebrow. Then I have the idea that I should draw slightly messed up makeup every day and see how long it takes for him to say something. A wonky brow here, a little asymmetrical contouring there... I'd probably end up with a full clown face before he utters a single word about it.
The Reaper seems wary of the delight this idea has sparked in my eyes and turns away as though I'm plotting his demise. Which maybe I am.
And suddenly I think up a new game. TheAttraction and Annihilationgame. I will subdue him with my feminine charms and then I will destroy him. Maybe I'll destroy them all. It's a plan that has the element of impossibility that I enjoy.
As I'm mulling over this idea, the toast pops.
I can barely contain myself as he turns away to retrieve the butter from the fridge. I busy my hands with making my coffee, watching as he brings the plate of toast and the package of butter to the island and sits across from me.
"We will go to the Shadow Realm first and try to gather any additional information we can find. From there, we can take a corridor to Cairo," Ashen says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. I nod, tapping my pen on my notebook.
Ashen takes the butter and starts unravelling the foil. I'm already writing a note, but I keep my eyes on him. As he peels the foil away from the fang marks, his gaze collides with mine in a dead-eyed glare. "Seriously?"
I spin my note to face him and push it across the polished marble.The question is, Reaper... did I lick it?
He stares at me, unblinking. I think I might have broken him. My smile blooms. The Reaper picks up his butter knife and flips it across his knuckles, and for a moment I think he might fire it at my chest. He looks at me the way he did the other day, like a puzzle, but this time he's understood something fundamental that he didn't see before. That it's not a puzzle after all, but a maze. And unless he keeps his head, he'll never find his way out.
