The Creature was nowhere to be found, but oddly enough there was no impression that I was not welcome. With the calmness of the scene came a small, pinching feeling of dread deep in the pit of my stomach. Fighting or fleeing was not something the body could turn off, and I was painfully aware that the plan wasfoolish, ill-fitted at best. But unique problems required modern solutions.
My fingers dragged over the spines of the books one by one. At least twenty layers of shelves must have climbed up to the high ceilings. It seemed unlikely that the top shelves were ever touched based on the thin layer of dust on the books at eye level.
Poetry filled the easiest-to-reach shelves. Some history, philosophy, and law texts were poised a little higher. Many appeared to be first editions, which made me want to cease touching them for fear of agitating the delicate bindings.
“If you don’t make an attempt on my life tonight, maybe I will let you borrow one.”
I glanced at Silas over my shoulder and gave him an unamused glare.
He leaned against the entryway, supposedly having been there for several minutes. His attire seemed relaxed, a few buttons undone on his shirt as well as his sleeves rolled up his forearms. Pushing off the wall, he approached the other end of the bookshelf, trailing a finger over a couple spines before plucking one book from its place. He began to walk toward me, examining the first few pages to make sure it was the book he was thinking of, then held it out to me. “I think you’d enjoy this one.”
I threw him a suspicious stare before I took the book from his hand.
“Fear and Trembling,” I read the title. “Is this a joke?”
“It is philosophy, so sometimes.” He smirked. “You seem like an existentialist to me.”
I peeled the book open, the pages fluttering as I flicked through. If this was some sort of cruel humor, I would not know. I snapped it shut and clocked the new decor on the floor before his desk.
“New rug?” I raised a brow.
“Yes.” He grimaced, moving past me to his decanter. “I would offer you a drink, but I haven’t finished your homemade concoction yet.”
“Why didn’t you dispose of it?”
He lifted a shoulder and poured himself a glass. “It has a nice tang to it. Bites back a little.” He took a sip as he moved to his desk, sitting on the front of it as if to wait for what I really came for. Though his expression held some reservation. “You wore red,” he commented.
He was right. A red pomegranate salve painted my lips. I had to keep myself from biting my lip. “Not for you.”
“Then who?” There was a slight smugness to his tone.
“Myself,” I said.
“If that is what you think, so be it.” He shrugged. “Now, I am more interested in a certain proposal you mentioned earlier.”
“Don’t worry, it’s a modest one.” I reluctantly peeled myself away from the bookshelf and toward the middle of the room.
“I think I would need to hear it before agreeing to such a statement.” He sipped the poison from his cup, those striking pale eyes stalking me over the rim of the glass.
I pressed my thumb into my other palm, fidgeting. Why was it so embarrassing to ask?
“You said you ‘can’t do this,’” I started. “In the cemetery.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, it was the last thing you said to me that night.”
“If you say so.” He stared. “What of it?”
“You were going to eat me.”
“I never said that.”
“By the sight of your teeth twitching, I beg to differ.” I stepped closer. “I’m not angry with you, not entirely. I assumed that it was something you couldn’t help.”
“Are you calling me an animal, Miss Lis?”
“I have worse names for you—but nevertheless,” I continued, stopping in front of him, our eyes level with one another. “I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”
