Page 28 of A Serpent in the Garden

Your looking glass is old and foggy, almost as bad as her old eyes. I felt him pressed upon his window, as if his nose were flat against the glass. I never even knew what color your eyes were. They’re silver.

They’re blue.

Silvery blue.

“So many bruises.” Her hand crept up my belly, felt along my spine where I knew patches of mottled purple would soon be flowering from my encounter with the succubus. “You’ve been living hard.” She crossed my arms, grabbed the hem of my shirt, and lifted it over my head. In the prismatic gradations of light dancing off her potions and poultices, the bloom of my breasts was on full display.

I felt a torrid rush of heat blister across my old, sunken cheeks. I averted my eyes; It moved them back. I tilted my head toward the spotted hands in my lap; he lifted my chin.

I can do this all night, he said, with a sidelong glint of mockery.

“These’ll need washing,” the hag in my skin said, seemingly to herself, fingering my dirty shirt. “We’ll get you sorted.”

What a show. Your companion, It said, shooting a glance at Serich, seems to be enjoying it.

He looks horrified. He did, as if he were watching a dreadful accident or something shameful, his eyes flickering from my body to his hands tightly snarled on his lap. I could feel the heat in his cheeks from across the table as he fidgeted in his chair.

He looks like a farmer at his first brothel, It said as the hag padded off across the room, loosening the knot at the back of my head so my hair swung loose, curtaining the jutting knots of my spine.

At least he’s not gawping.

I’m not a priest, It said, as if I could hardly expect different from him.

You were afraid out there. I said it mostly to steer It off the current subject, because I had the horrible impression the hag was about to strip off my underwear and bathe me in the middle of her kitchen. I hadn’t known you could feel such fear.

Yes, well, It said testily, as if I were accusing him of cowardice. Succubi and incubi are ancient. I’d be a fucking idiot not to fear them. I never wanted to meet one if we could have avoided it.

I’m not calling you craven. Water sloshed and trickled in the kitchen. I kept my foggy eyes on my new ancient hands, watching the firelight play across the liver spots, the acid-green protruding veins. That was bravery. Bravery is only ever born of fear; that’s what Livvy’s father always says. And when he kept his sullen silence: Thank you for buying us the time to run. For not forcing me to leave Serich.

We’re not all evil, Des, It said, after what felt like careful deliberation. Our only crime is being born on the wrong side. And then, abruptly: You’re trying to distract me from what she’s doing with you over there.

I’m trying to have a heartfelt conversation. I tried to sound lofty, beyond reproach, but he snorted like he didn’t buy it. I heaved a sigh. You give me privacy every morning. Can’t you give me some now?

That’s a big favor you’re asking.

“Is she doing what I think she’s doing?” Serich said in a strangled sort of whisper, jerking forward to meet my eye.

“I bet you’re feeling lucky she didn’t take you up on the offer for your youth,” I said, in the hag’s rough voice.

She swished back over toward us, my body resplendent in an artfully draped shawl and nothing else, snapping my fingers under Serich’s nose. He stared determinedly in the opposite direction to avoid looking at her.

“Off with them,” she said. “If you want your clothes washed, now’s your chance.”

Her name was Blathilde, and she tucked my old bones into her bed a couple hours later, pillows strategically wedged beneath my weak points, leaving she and Serich to curl up on the chair and the bench for the night.

Despite the bed and more comfort than I’d had lately, I couldn’t sleep. My joints ached; my ancient, stuttering heart beat so arrhythmically I was forced to wonder what it would mean for me if the hag’s body suddenly gave out. Every new position I’d shift into began to hurt eventually. I could not get comfortable enough to drift off. I had never paid my body much mind before, but I missed it dearly now.

You’d better hope she keeps her word, It said as I grimaced when my hip twinged. She seems to be enjoying her new toy. Might not want to give it up.

Of course she’s enjoying a bit of youth, if this is what she’s used to. I punched the pillow beneath one hip with a feeble fist to beat it into a more comfortable shape. Aching bones and thin joints and little sleep on top of all of it. I can hardly blame her, experiencing just a taste of it. She’s been kind to us when she didn’t need to be. Our clothes were clean, spread across her small table, ready to be hung to dry on the line in the morning. She’d heated a bucket of water for Serich to wash with, which he had, quickly and furtively in the kitchen. Blathilde had seemed to find his modesty both silly and slightly humorous, as if it were a waste of time. It’s just a body, boy, she’d said with exasperation in my voice when she’d offered to expedite the process by scrubbing his back.

I looked up at the cobweb-strung ceiling and sighed. Mellow shadows drifted around the cottage in the flickering light from the hearth. I was reasonably safe and secure but sleep seemed an ocean away.

I can knock you out, It offered.

Not yet. Maybe in a while. I turned on my side, the bed groaning with the shift. Serich and Blathilde didn’t stir. My body was curled like a cat in one of the chairs, and Serich looked clean and rosy beneath the hearth’s fire, his features calm as he slept. The shadow of a beard had spread across his jaw, his cheeks. I found the scruffiness oddly attractive. Wondered what it felt like. I’d never seen his face anything but smooth.

Stop, It groaned. I beg you.