She lifted a dainty shoulder. “I wouldn’t imagine your reasons would put me in any danger.”
The corner of my lip flicked up at the remark, “Well, if you insist on knowing, I am celebrating... a lost lover of sorts.”
“Oh.” Her face twisted in concern. “Has she passed?”
“No,” I took a sip, “but she is surely a danger to be celebrated.”
“You say that fondly,” she pointed out.
“That is because I am fond of many vices, her included.” I reached past the bar for another glass, pouring her a drink as well.
The woman’s shoulders slumped, relaxing as I spoke. She was curious, derailed from whatever her original motive was for joining me.
“Do you do this often?”
“Do what?”
“Prowl around establishments for men.” I poured more bourbon for myself.
“Oh... well it is not often. I am not usually here—I am usually taking night shifts.” She played with her own cup nervously.
“Night shifts?”
“The hospital,” she sighed.
Amateur.
I leaned close, taking a deep breath by her neck. A strong perfume may have masked her scent—a sweet, metallic one, like brass. “Is a bar the best place to hunt for food?”
Her face paled, and her shoulders visibly tensed as the question registered “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize?—”
“You smell like blood and bleach,” I told her, a gentle clicking coming from my throat as I glanced down at her, “but do not fret, I’ll forgive you, if you tell me one thing—are you with a Nest?”
“I-I don’t exactly belong to a Nest,” she stuttered, too embarrassed to look at me.
“Tell me about it.” I twisted a piece of her hair that had fallen out of place.
“It is a female-only home; it isn’t quite a Nest. There are some in town, but I do not belong to any of them.”
“How interesting. Are you here with your housemates, then?”
“No, but they are expecting me home soon.” She glanced behind her. “I must go.”
“If you must.” I shrugged. “I would take more care in who you hunt next time.”
She nodded quickly, mumbling a form of apology paired with a wild blush on her face. She slipped away as soon as she could.
Her panicked expression was the perfect treat to end the night. I would be seeing her again, no doubt.
9
THE POISONER
The chill of the snow stung the bottoms of my feet, no matter how numb the cold made them. Each step was like walking over tiny shards, but standing wouldn’t be much better. Small crunches sounded from under my heel. My feet were pale, a bit red at the tips, a sure sign of poor circulation under the weather. Despite the pain, the snow under me and around me looked so soft. Undisturbed and peaceful.
Looking back at the farmhouse, it seemed to me like the last ember in the ash. Windows alight, soft muffled sounds of life within. It was a warm feeling, knowing that even if I wasn’t missed, I was somehow responsible for creating a place for people to belong. A labor of love.
Even so, domesticity as it was did not bring me the comfort I had hoped for; something was missing.
