Ilan would be yelling – well, speaking strongly – at her right now. She pushed that thought out of her head. His opinions didn’t matter.
‘How did you know?’ she asked. She tried to turn to look back up, but he had her locked to him, too close to even turn her head.
‘Hm?’ His hand had slipped to her lower back.
‘With Evie. How did you know you loved her?’ Maybe there was something she was missing.
Mihály laughed softly and ran his fingertips along her back, the light pressure enough to set her heart racing with fear that he would misunderstand.
‘Let me start at the beginning. With Anica.’ He swallowed, drawing her to the sofa. ‘My sister. We were twins, actually.’
Csilla nodded slightly, not sure what to say. Tamas had mentioned children, plural, though it hadn’t seemed right to pry. Mihály didn’t seem to need her encouragement and continued.
‘We were almost four when she died, it was just after they’d realised what I could do,’ he said. ‘I don’t have many memories of her. I remember her more by her absence if that makes any sense. My family wasn’t wealthy until I came along, and Anica and I shared everything.’ He was staring into the distance, no longer even in the room. ‘I don’t think I even knew we were separate people until she was gone.’
His fingers worried at the fabric of his trousers, nails picking at a catch in the cloth, rubbing the ripped threads until a little hole appeared. It was a good thing she already had thread.
‘What’s your first memory?’ he asked, and she blinked at the change of subject. ‘Was it when you realised you were different?’
‘I always knew that.’ It was as much her as her name, mentioned so often it was never not a part of her. She tilted her head, sorting through hazy glimpses of the tumbles and joys of childhood.
‘I was hungry.’
The smell of the pie was the clearest thing. She must have been visiting a home, toddling after the Faithful who cared for her, and there had been a pie, cool enough that baby hands had felt comfortable grabbing for it. And a woman laughed and told her she was a pretty thing and cut her a piece, a few of the cooked apples falling through to the floor. Then, luxury of luxuries, she gave her a second slice when she cried for more.
‘You’re smiling over being hungry?’ Mihály was looking at her now, brows raised.
She blushed at how he laughed at her, harder when she realised how silly it was.
‘No. Someone gave me a piece of pie. I don’t think anyone had ever given me anything like that before. I don’t remember who it was or even where I was, but it was delicious.’
Even now her mouth watered, and her heart ached. It was a lovely thing to be fully satisfied by something as simple as pie.
‘That’s sweet.’ But he sounded more disapproving than charmed, and she flinched with embarrassment again. She should have picked something more important to share.
‘Why ask?’
He gave a half-shrug.
‘It’s interesting to me. I don’t remember how much I loved Anica. My first memory is my mother screaming at me to saveher. I told you I didn’t have a terribly nice childhood, though I suppose I’m thankful now. That was the first time I realised I could touch something beyond our world. That it wasn’t just life and death and nothing, though I didn’t realise the importance until later. Not that it mattered to anyone.’ His words were quick, his eyes glassy with too much white around them, on the edge of panic.
Csilla’s breath caught. ‘You were a baby.’
Before they’d moved her to the cathedral, she’d taken care of the toddlers at the orphanage, wiping up messes and making sure they always had someone to nap on. They were blameless.
He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘When I met Evie, from the first second I saw her it was like I wasn’t alone anymore. Every day I was with her, everything was brighter.’
And losing her must have been like being ripped in half again.
‘We don’t have to wait, you know.’ Mihály’s voice was low, rolling. ‘She’s close. We can do it now.’
Csilla started, heart skipping. ‘Now? But you said you didn’t want to use your own blood again.’
He brought her hands to his lips. They were cold, not even warmed by his breath.
‘Powers we don’t understand are being unleashed. What if our killer isn’t even human at all? There might not be any blood to use, even if we do somehow find him before Ilan.’
The idea that a demon could hold its form long enough to kill was absurd; there would certainly be blood.
