“Same difference.”
22
THE POISONER
Iwas not keen on the idea of meeting strangers while they wore masks.
The gathering was supposed to be a masquerade. The girls had crafted their own masks. Rebecca whittled hers from wood that she would hold up with a stick. Adeline made some out of fabric that tied in the back with a ribbon, though it would only cover their eyes. My mask was not as creative. It was a simple strip of lace across my eyes paired with a mourning veil over the top. The tulle covered my entire head, the excess wrapping over my shoulder.
We often received invites to new Nests, and the first visit was for negotiations.
My evening gown was sleeveless and hung nearly off my shoulder, the neckline meeting at a wide V shape at the top of my corset. The dress clung strictly to the shape of the corset before it passed my hips, at which point it turned to fine ruffles until it hit the floor. It was a deep green color with black lace details, including silk gloves. I wore a choker around my neck with an ovular stone resting at the front. I had my hair done in a half-twist, with some falling over my shoulders beneath the veil.
The inside of the home was covered in dark wood paneling and intricately carved archways around the doors. A vibrantly pigmented Persian rug led us through the hallway and into a sitting room. The ceilings were tall, grand enough to facilitate an overly ornate chandelier and a fireplace mantel decorated with a fresh wreath. The smell of pine, dried citrus, and apple created a welcoming ambiance that could wrap me up and lull me to sleep faster than mulled cider.
The girls wore their finest tonight, though I was too nervous to inspect everyone’s attire. Adeline and Mary had dressed everyone, and I trusted their judgment. Appearances were important, especially when entering new territory. On top of that, the frivolously dressed were remembered. When it came to murdering members of a Nest, no one usually suspected the dolls wrapped in silk.
On each of our fingers was a memento mori ring. Typically, these bands would hold chords of braided hair from the dearly departed, opening to reveal the contents. For us, we had a more unorthodox use.
Inside the chamber of the rings was homemade Vipera poison, fashioned with a cat-claw-like piece of brass that stuck out once you flicked open the chamber. It was a prototype in every sense of the word, my first mechanical invention, thanks to John, as we had never had cause to use it in practice. Hopefully, we never would.
The guests fit the scene, like they were specifically cast to play their parts. Caricatures of what wealth should look like. The lineations held some of the rarest fabric colors I had seen in some time, some never at all in person. Shades of purple, magenta, green, and yellow. Each lady had a signature perfume, strong notes of florals and oud, but it did little to mask the metallic scent of blood on their breath.
Everyone had a part to play on visits like these. Rebecca and Adeline paired up as the pleasant social duo, Edith watched myback, and I handled negotiations. The girls fluttered around like birds, showing their colors, begging for a bite. Male Vipera couldn’t control themselves, so most were quick with their wallets. Though this Nest was owned by a Sire and Dam, it seemed the wife was the one in charge of anything of great importance. I could respect and sympathize.
Unlike the Guilds, it was not located in town, and it did not pretend to be a club. They took a traditional approach, that of an estate where Vipera and Hosts could meet. Though no matter how traditional they modeled it after, no Host would agree to being exclusive to a Nest when they could get paid to attend many. It seemed they had finally decided to accept that the Hosts would not be staying on the property.
The Dam had her arm looped in mine, immediately striking a familiar and friendly conversation upon arrival as she took me hostage on her tour and introductions. Her husband eyed us sourly from the corner, surrounded by his wolfish acquaintances and cigar smoke.
“Come, sit with me.” The mistress of the house guided me to a lounging chaise scattered in a corner of furniture.
Even the fabric itself was rich and noticeably old. It was delicate, inspiring fear that sitting on the chaise would somehow rub away the small threads of gold and deep purple dye from many centuries ago. The entire room could be stored in a museum, though I suppose it wouldn’t be farfetched to think wealthy Vipera didn’t own those private collections too.
“Your home is very... warm,” I said. It was not my intention to hesitate; I was having trouble with the distractions surrounding me. I had nearly stumbled on two dogs perched beside the furniture. They were long and regal, windhounds of sorts, or another ancient breed. I nearly thought they were statues at first with how still they were. Even when quiet, I preferred the seat furthest from them.
“Do you not like them?” She smiled as she petted one of their thin heads, playful in her question.
“I don’t prefer them.” I managed the most polite answer I could muster.
“Is that so?”
“I tire of attending to wolfish things nowadays.”
“I assume you’ve had your fill ofothertypes of dogs?”
I nodded, laughing off the attempt at a cozy jest.
“I have been looking forward to your attendance.” She smiled, but it was pulled too tight. Forced. The polite facade would only last as long as her temper or her hunger; Vipera were all the same.
“I assume you are familiar with our terms from the others, Mrs.—”
“Georgiana,” she corrected, “and of course. We would love to have you and your girls here regularly.”
“Fifty per feeding,” I said, “and if anyone within your Nest breaks the code of conduct or if you skip payment, a Host will never step foot in your Nest again.”
“Straight to business, I see.” Her smile fell, turning to something dispassionate, though I suspect it had been like that the whole time behind that sickly sweet facade. I was afraid that it was going to rot my teeth if she kept it up any longer.
“I wouldn’t insult you or your establishment by wasting your time.”
