The brothers grunt their agreement, and Shay is left alone in the cottage. It is not the first time, but after meeting Khawla and being reintroduced to Shadi, alone feels so much lonelier than it did before. She wanders to the kitchen, surprised to discover the dishes cleaned, the floor swept. In fact, there is not a sock that needs mending or a button in need of fixing to be found in the entire cottage. Shay washes up and prays, and with nothing else to busy herself, she climbs upstairs and lies on her sleeping pallet.
For all her exhaustion, her eyes stay wide open, her mind stubbornly awake as the night drags on. Moonlight weeps through the thatched ceiling, suspending diamonds of dust in its cold fingers. In this deep quiet, her power slips from that mental drawer she keeps it in. Shay counts more than one hundred different species of flies, spiders, beetles, ants, and other bugs she doesn't know that currently inhabit the sinks, furniture, and walls of the cottage. Rest does not seem to be on the agenda.
Giving up, Shay stands and gravitates to the window. She peers out into a darkness so rich, it shimmers. Shay used to fear what lived in such darkness. But that was before she came to understand that a greater darkness lives in the hearts of men.
As if summoned by her thoughts, a pale face pops up in the window.
Contradicting her brave thoughts, Shay startles back from the sight of Tarik. When did he grow bold enough to approach the brothers’ dwelling? And how did he climb to the second story? Shay's muscles go rigid, like she's an animal entering a paralyzed state to fake death.
Staring Shay straight in the eyes, Tarik taps a gloved finger against the window.
“I come in peace, little dove.” He raises his voice to be heard through the glass.
“Go away.” Shay wishes she sounded stronger. It hits her how alone she is. As defenseless as a fruit dangling from a tree branch, ripe for the picking. “The brothers won't be happy when they hear you were poking around here.”
“Then I guess you don't want the gift I've brought? I do believe these are of great value to you.” Moonlight catches on the blades of his cheekbones like they're silver knives. He reaches into the inner pocket of his vest and withdraws something small and flat and made of … leather? A pair of leather gloves.
Shay's leather gloves, the ones Ghita gave her for her birthday.
Shay is half convinced they're an illusion. If the bloodsucker can transform from a bird to a man in a state of full dress, perhaps he can also make any other pair of gloves appear to be the ones the midwife gifted her. Or maybe she fell asleep after all.
Shay leans closer, her breath misting the glass between them. “How did you know they were mine?”
“Open the window, little dove.”
Even on the half chance the gloves are what they seem to be, Shay can't resist the lure. Because Tarik is right. They are of value to her. So much more so now that the midwife is gone. If she can only touch them, she's sure she'll be able to tell if they're real.
She unlatches the window and heaves it up. A cool breeze raises goosebumps on her arms as she extends her hand. “Let me see them.”
Tarik passes the gloves to Shay. He rests his arms on the windowsill, looking smug. “I thought you'd like them.”
Shay feels their concreteness in her hands, their familiar softness and stretch, their strength a tribute to the woman who gifted them. She brings them to her face and inhales deeply, as if she could glean the essence of Ghita's soul from their oaky scent and bottle it inside herself.
Tarik narrows the soulless pits of his eyes. “Aren't you going to saythank you? I went well out of my way to get them back, you know.”
Shay lowers the gloves, understanding falling over her like a shroud. The bloodsucker shares more than a neighborhood with the bone-eaters. “You didn't just taste my blood. You drank my memories. Didn't you?”
“Only some.” The bloodsucker smiles, baring his fangs. “But since that day, my craving for the taste of you is my soul's constant companion.”
“What?” Shay steps back in horror, remembering Khawla accusing Tarik of being obsessed with her.
“Never mind.” Tarik curls his lip over his fangs in a feeble attempt to conceal them. “As I said, this is a peace offering. Please, do try them on.”
Shay imagines how Ghita would deride her lack of self-preservation. But the thought only increases her longing to hear that reproving voice she never thought she'd miss so dearly, only makes his suggestion that much harder to resist. She slips her hands into the gloves, their snugness a balm she hadn't known her heart needed.
As she flexes her fingers and admires the gloves, the moon's pale glow strikes some dark substance that flecks their sleek surface. A substance that, on closer inspection, looks an awful lot like blood.Whose blood?
Shay's stomach pitches at the thought of the last person known to have had the gloves in her possession. She can't peel them off her hands fast enough. She thrusts them at Tarik, who takes hold of them if only to keep them from tumbling to the ground below. “What did you do to her?”
“The barkeep?” Tarik asks innocently. “Don't be jealous, little dove. I promise she meant nothing.”
Shay paces back and forth in front of the window, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What about the truce?”
“What do you know about the truce?” He chuckles.
She stops, facing him. “I know bloodsuckers aren't allowed to prey on humans within the medina's boundaries.”
“Take that up with the Vampiiruh Presidium,” Tarik says, his fingers constricting to a fist around the gloves. “But I would suggest ensuring you know the facts before making baseless accusations. How confident are you that this is even human blood, not that of an animal?”
