Page 86 of As Many Souls as Stars
He gesticulated wildly. Rosamund laughed more.
Twitching with jealousy, Miriam called to the shadows.
They slipped across the rug, between table legs and gilt chairs, until they reached the Jennings’ table. Then they crawled—slowly, to avoid detection—towards Walter’s plate, sinking into his beefsteak.
Walter went to cut another bite. As soon as his knife met flesh, a great spurt of blood fountained upwards, as if from a cut artery; it spattered across the front of his suit and along the table. Rosamund wasn’t spared, blood misting her face and collarbones. Walter swore, crying out, stumbling out of his chair. Rosamund remained where she was, the only hint of shock a slight flinch and a grimace.
The blood began to pool on the plate, the pristine white tablecloth, the cream-coloured carpets. There was a general groan of horror across the first-class restaurant. Some servers, uncertain how to help, fluttered closer and then veered back again as the blood spread towards them.
‘What in God’s name—’ Walter snarled, turning to an unsuspecting waiter. ‘What the hell kind of steak is this?’
Rosamund sighed and stood up. She used the heel of her hand to swipe blood off her jaw, then said, ‘Excuse me.’ She turned to look directly at Miriam—that made Miriam smile; of course she’d known she was there—and then she left the restaurant. Her husband was too busy arguing with the staff to notice or care.
Miriam followed Rosamund out into the corridor, still shrouded in shadows. Rosamund must have known she was behind her, but shedidn’t react. She just kept walking, blood running in rivulets down her shoulder and into the plunging back of her dress. They walked through numerous empty corridors, down a set of stairs. All that time, Rosamund said nothing at all.
Eventually, Miriam tired of the game. Materialising, she said, ‘Where are we going?’
Rosamund stopped. They were in a narrow corridor full of cabins. Above them, a crystal chandelier swayed gently with the movement of the ship. There was still blood beaded on her collarbone. Miriam considered pressing her against the wall and licking it away, but she didn’t want to distract Rosamund from her anger. The fury in her expression was too exquisite, too wonderfully familiar, to be obscured.There she is, Miriam thought.Just as I remembered her.
‘Leave him alone,’ Rosamund said.
‘Who?’ Miriam asked, in faux innocence, allowing a glimmer of a smile to pass over her lips.
‘Walter. He hasn’t got anything to do with this—withus.’
‘I rather think he does, darling,’ Miriam purred. ‘I am a jealous god. I don’t like to share.’
Behind Rosamund, the shadows pushed her forward; she stumbled slightly, then looked over her shoulder as if betrayed. ‘You’re notsharinganything,’ she said, a note of resignation in her tone.
‘Oh?’
‘He’s just a friend. The only friend I’ve ever had, in fact.’ Rosamund straightened her back, lifted her chin. ‘If you do anything to him, I’ll never forgive you. I’ll hide myself away again until the deal is done.’
Miriam stepped forward, placing herself in the middle of the corridor, forcing Rosamund to take a step back toward the wall. ‘You used to be so much fun,’ Miriam said, sighing. ‘Remember us, that night in London, when you let me in through the window? When you begged me for it, when you wept with pleasure? Where has that girl gone?’
Rosamund scowled. ‘You slit her throat.’
‘Oh, yes—so I did. In my defence, she would’ve killed herself if I hadn’t.’
‘You couldn’t even allow me that,’ she said bitterly. ‘You had everything that mattered—my life, my heart, my soul. Of course you needed my death, too.’
‘Don’t act as if I never gave you anything, darling.’ Miriam took another step forward, forcing Rosamund to press her back against the wall. She reached out, trailed a finger down that lovely throat, catching the final scarlet beads and streaking them across her skin.Blood on snow.
Rosamund shivered. Her pupils were wide and dark, her lips half parted. Already, Miriam could see her anger beginning to fade. Rosamund was so weak to her touch; she always had been—without that, without lust, Miriam wondered if she’d ever have signed the deal at all.
‘You want me to spare Walter Jennings,’ Miriam said.
Mute, Rosamund nodded.
Miriam leaned in and whispered into her ear, ‘Then beg me for it.’
Rosamund’s breath stuttered; it seemed she still remembered that night in London, after all—the last time Miriam said that to her—despite the century that had passed.
‘I…’
‘Go on,’ Miriam murmured. She skimmed her mouth across her neck, darting out her tongue to taste her skin. Rosamund squirmed. Miriam’s lips twitched in triumph. Finally, it felt as it always had: that glorious push and pull, digging in her nails and peeling away Harding’s stubbornness, leaving her exposed and raw—
‘Go fuck yourself,’ Rosamund said, and she disappeared.
