Once again, I found myself wanting to disappear inside her head so I could see what was making her look at me like that. Such softness and endearment, I didn’t understand. How come she can look at me like this, like she had before in my garden, then flee from me?
“Rest; I will return with something to eat.” I collected her in my arms so I could position her comfortably in the bed. The wool blankets wrapped around her as she lulled off.
It physically pained me to separate from her. There was a screaming in the back of my head, an undeniable need to protect her and shield her. To curl around her until she safely woke.
Sometimes I feared that would never be a reality with me by her side.
50
THE FIXER
The gathering area on the ground floor was fluttering with bodies. There was an odd protective urge now that I was tasked with watching Alina’s Nest. The gas lamps were turned on and flickered dimly tonight. Vipera and Hosts paired for the evening for feeding, and I was left alone in my chair, a simple voyeur today.
There was an old feeling clawing inside me, like an instinct long forgotten. These girls were, unfortunately, no longer bodies in my mind, as much as I tried to keep them that way, unattached and unfamiliar.
I knew their names now, their hobbies; I counted heads out of curiosity, and now out of concern. One or two were missing moments ago; it sent a shock through my organs in the most terrible of ways before I remembered one retired to her room from an ill stomach, and the other went to check that the other fireplaces were clear.
I leaned over, dragging my nails over my scalp. I didn’t enjoy being a keeper, but I worried I was the only one keeping track. If, God forbid, anything happened to any of them, no one would fightit if Alina deemed me responsible. I couldn’t afford any liability, for my sake and theirs.
I was allegedly allowed to feed, but I didn’t trust that Alina wouldn’t detach my head from my torso, regardless. My stomach pinched as I watched the others taking their fill. I had to admit, the environment was calmer than the Dens I used to know. I imagine it was the absence of men that made it this way.
The weather was predicted to be bad the next few days, and snow was already starting to come down consistently outside.
Despite the formidable weather, the heart of the congregation remained cheerful. The building still needed a bit of work, and the decor was quite eclectic, but it was admittedly growing on me.
I sipped my coffee, hoping it would take the edge off the faint hunger that grew, just until I could go out to find a meal tomorrow. Rebecca and Mary were with a group of girls who played cards. Some women scattered in quieter corners to read. Phoebe was standing against the wall and watching the game of cards, more reserved than usual.
The cheerful chatter dampened when a loud thud sounded at the front door.
The parlor settled down to murmurs, all eyes on the door.
A scritching, skittering teemed against the wood, dragging across the door before it settled into a quieter scratch.
A burst of bangs, like a drunkard locked out of the bar. The wood door heaved, a splintering sound that made even my own heart leap. Then nothing.
We were truly lucky that the corrupted were almost entirely brain-damaged, or it would have realized it had nearly gotten in. A couple more heaves and the door may have failed. The strength of a feral beast also comes with the attention span of one.
I shot a glance across the room at Phoebe, but her eyes were already on me.
We waited. Not a noise was made. I doubt anyone knew what we were waiting for, but the girls sat still and quiet. This seemed like a familiar occurrence.
I glanced over at Rebecca; her eyes were frozen in a wide position, her lip trembling as she held herself together by threads. Mary was whispering something to her, an attempt at avoiding a breakdown.
Then, a horrific screech echoed from outside, mixing with the whistles of the bitter wind.
“Rooms,” Phoebe demanded quietly, and they scattered like mice, quietly gathering their things and all moving to the second story.
I approached the door before noticing Phoebe doing the same.
“No,” I said plainly.
“I’m going.”
“You’re not. You’re going to stay here. I’ll deal with it before it comes back.”
“I won’t let you push me?—”
“Phoebe,” my voice was stern, but pleading, “please don’t make me have to explain to Alina what will happen next.”
