Chapter 49

The next day, morning rose in a fiery blaze through the window. Lilitha stared at Clara’s hair as it glistened in the light. Her friend yawned, stretched, and opened her eyes.

Clara leaned on her elbow. “Do you feel better? You ~look~ better.”

“Much,” she paused. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

“Of course. What am I going to do, let you starve to death?”

Lilitha stared up at the ceiling, not sure how to answer that.

They expanded their search out into the city’s outskirts—and this time they got lucky, both finding work as stable hands. It was a tedious, grueling job: mucking out stalls, hauling sacks of straw and feed, carrying pails to and from the well located several blocks away, all in the heat.

But it paid.

They could survive.

“I don’t think I could do this forever,” Clara groaned as she lay down upon the bed when they got back late that night. Her nails were chipped and black. Sweat had left streaks on her dirty face. She’d tied her hair into a messy knot.

“We’ll get stronger,” Lilitha said, wincing at the ache in her lower back. “It’s just getting used to using different parts of the body, I think.”

“But does there have to be so ~many~ parts?” Clara closed her eyes.

Lilitha closed her eyes too, lulled to sleep by the sound of Clara’s breathing.

They got up early the next morning to do the same all over again. Beginning in the early hours and finishing late at night. At least they were provided water to drink and a barrel to wash themselves in. But there were blisters all over Lilitha’s hands and her heels were rubbed so raw that on her journey home she hobbled along like an old woman.

It was after their third shift that Lilitha started to feel particularly bad.

On their journey back, Clara watched with concern as Lilitha paused to brace her forehead against the cool stone wall of a nearby building, gripping at her stomach.

Clara grabbed her shoulder. “Come on. We must get moving. It’s too dangerous to be out here.” She looked nervously around the darkened street.

Lilitha followed her back to the inn. Clara opened the front door but paused when Lilitha didn’t enter. “Are you coming?”

Lilitha looked over her shoulder. “I have to…I have to…”

“It’s too dangerous, Lilitha. We should do it in the day when it’s safe.”

“In the day? When? We’re at work all day! No. It has to be now.”

Clara pulled shut the door. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“No. You’ve done enough for me. I’m still strong enough to do it on my own.”

“I’m coming.”

“No!” Lilitha snapped. She clapped a hand to her mouth, her voice echoing down the street in a way it shouldn’t.

Clara stepped back with a start.

“Sorry.” Lilitha wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll be back.”

Clara called after her as Lilitha hurried down the street.

Though it was a warm night, she was shivering, cold sweat beading around the back of her neck. Pulling her hood low, she drew her cloak tightly around her. Feeling woozy, she staggered, tripped over a gutter but managed to pull herself upright before she fell.

There was no way Clara could come. She had to go alone. She couldn’t let her see what she was about to do. What she ~hoped~ to do. A cat wasn’t going to cut it, not if she wanted to get through the long days at the stable. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Their lives depended on both their incomes.

And she wouldn’t let Clara suffer.

That was what she told herself anyway. It wasn’t the need. It wasn’t the cravings. It wasn’t for her own life. Everything was for Clara. It was a good thing. It was a ~good~ thing.

Lilitha smelled her destination before she saw it. She’d never been here before but every town had one, no matter how big or small. The slums were filled with the destitute, the weak, the hungry, many of whom had no friends or family and no one who cared about them. Nobody would miss them. There was trash everywhere. Waste on the pavement. A man was lying spread-eagled out on the road. Lilitha paused for a moment, watching. But he rolled over and pushed himself to his feet.

Weakening at every step, Lilitha peered down the alleyways, into makeshift shelters, in the gutters. She passed by a small group of orphans without a second look, their bright, frightened eyes following her down the street. A group of men stood around a small fire in the middle of the road roasting something on a stick. They were tired and weak but there were four of them. A woman stood against a wall, breasts on show. She was small but looked at Lilitha with eyes filled with hate.

By the time Lilitha had found her victim, it must have been close to midnight.

“Who are you?” he said.

He was sprawled on the pavement clutching a barrel to his side, a filthy mug in his hand. He was close to death, his breaths coming out in pants, fingers blue, skin yellow and covered in sores. Lilitha swept a look around the alleyway. They were at the far end, deep in the shadows, a tall wall at the old man’s back. Nobody could see them.

“My name’s Lilitha,” she told him.

His eyes crinkled, his grin hidden behind a gray beard wet with tears, snot and drink. He held out a gnarled hand, and she took it, limp and trembling in hers.

“I’m Jeremo.” His eyes glittered. “Now we’re friends.”

Lilitha swallowed.

“Are you going to stay with me?”

“I-I—” She looked at him, thought better of it, and turned to leave.

“No! Stay,” the man said. “Please.”

He patted the ground, and she knelt beside him. How was she going to do this? How ~could~ she do this? ~Don’t look into his eyes. Don’t look into his eyes.~ Jeremo. Why did he have to tell her his name?

He suddenly wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. Slumping against her, he pressed his face into her shoulder, so weak he could hardly hold himself up. Warm drool clung to her tunic and stuck against her skin. He stank pretty bad, and his breath reeked. Lilitha patted his back.

“God forgive me,” she whispered.

“What did you say?” he murmured groggily.

“Shhhh…” Lilitha gently pushed his face harder into her shoulder. Then harder and harder still. He was like a child; he hardly put up a fight. It was as if he wanted it—that’s what she told herself.

His hands pushed uselessly against her, his left hand still clutching his mug. He kicked out his legs spasmodically. He started to choke. Then he shuddered and sagged in her arms.

Lilitha rocked him, then let him go. He slid to the ground, his mug rolling away. She took a shuddering breath. She was adept at breaking animals’ necks, but the thought of doing it to a man made her heart beat wildly. She wanted to take her time. She wanted to think. But he would wake up shortly, and things would only be worse.

So much worse.

Hands trembling, sweat trickling down her back, Lilitha took his head and cradled it between her elbows, her forearms crossed over. Closing her eyes, feeling her way, she pulled his neck straight, tried to find a comfortable position, and shifted several times before doing so.

She gripped him tightly and twisted hard, but there was no satisfying click, and the man groaned. She tried again and again and again, until the man woke with a cry and clutched weakly at her arms. Sobbing, she bore down on him and twisted with all her strength.

A loud crick, and he slid out of her arms. Lilitha slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, cold sweat dripping down the insides of her arms. Pulling her knees into her chest, she rocked back and forth until she could breathe without choking.

She had seen Mateus do it countless times but didn’t have his teeth nor his cold detachment. Trying not to think, she did what her instinct told her and went straight for his thigh. Her teeth sank in easier than she’d thought they would.

With a hard whip of her head, she tore off a strip of flesh and lapped it into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she chewed and swallowed, pausing a moment before diving in again.

She spun around at the sound of a loud crash. Something heavy rolled away with a sharp clamor, splitting the quiet of the night. She held her breath, frozen on her knees, but there was nothing. Probably just a cat.

She turned back, blood dripping from her chin onto her cloak. She wiped her mouth, pulled off her cloak and her tunic, tossing them aside.

Bare-breasted, she bit down again, gorging herself, eating as much as she could handle, hoping to satisfy her hunger for as long as possible. She had never eaten so much all in one go. Three times she almost vomited.

It was only once she reached her absolute limit did she slump against the wall, so full she could barely move. She belched, brought up a bite of flesh, and swallowed it back down.

Lilitha stared at the body. There was so much of him left. She’d only gotten through his leg and one of his flanks. Even as skinny as he was, he was too much. It was such a waste. Such a terrible, disgusting, dreadful waste.

Closing her eyes, Lilitha took a breath. She felt good, though. So damn good.

With a groan, she heaved herself to her feet. The blood now dry on her face and hands and breasts, she pulled her clothes back on. Hunching over, she grabbed at her stomach and spat.

Grimacing, she pulled herself straight, taking long, deep breaths. She would have to work through her stomach pains. Things were urgent. Lilitha seized his feet, and with a groan, dragged him into a pile of trash tucked into the corner. With any luck, the stray dogs would find him—and take the blame.

She was careful to keep to the shadows on the way back, making sure to conceal the blood on her face, on her hands, down her arms. Steering away from the inn, she headed toward one of the town’s wells.

Using the pulley, she reeled up a bucket of water and scrubbed hard at her face and arms, glancing around frequently as she did. A couple of people passed her by but took no interest. When she was done, she let the bucket drop into the water and hurried back home.