Page 68 of Florescentia

“Why would you say that?” My head snapped up at him.

The reaction made his face settle in an amused, cocky expression. “That certainly got your attention.”

“You don’t scare me, not even with that last stunt you pulled.”

“What scares you, then? I thought for sure that last incident would swear you off from it. What happens when you inevitably get stuck again like a mouse with its tail in a trap? The only reason you haven’t been swallowed whole yet is because of me.”

“That’s all right, you’re going to help me, since I’ve been so kind to you. I’ll be ready to explore the unknown in no time, with a professional like yourself at my side.”

“Maybe if you proved to be trainable, or in any way intellectually pliant.”

There was no use entertaining him with any more retorts; he would just continue to poke and prod until I had some sort of public meltdown. He thought he was clever, but he wasn’t much greater than any other annoyance right now.

The sounds of my boots scuffing along the path were my focal point.

One boot after the other, don’t step on your skirt, ignore the dust on your petticoat, pay no mind to the itch on your burnt scalp and cheeks, finish the day.

The path wound around the expansive lot. Miles of headstones as plentiful as wildflowers, the phantom cityscape of Aisl Park just past the smog overlooking the rolling hills of stone. Occasionally a collection of tombs, possibly a sparse creaking tree keeping watch. It felt like lately I only came to Alton Heights for the cemetery, not that there was anything else to see. It was one of those places I’d never had the desire to explore. Now, I was forced to become familiar for these visits.

At some points you could be passing a grave as old as the city itself and, next to it, someone put in the ground yesterday. They were running out of room, maybe only another generation of lots to be filled, but soon no new graves would be made. I supposed undertakers would market communal graves, rebranding the mass burial pits that made up the foundation of the surrounding islands of the peninsula, soon covered by prisons or isolated hospitals. Even then, they’d be understaffed, underfunded.

Some graves still had their rusted safety bells dangling on their crosses. Many graves were equipped with cages to prevent graverobbing, knowing that no other living soul would be there to stop it.

I turned off the beaten path and headed between a collection of columbaria to escape the blistering sun. A thin patch of shade presented itself against the wall, which I took to like a creature allergic to light.

“Are you almost done looking at rocks?”

“They’re not rocks, they’re people.”

“No, these are rocks.” He knocked against a niche.

“Within them are people.”

“Were people.”

“Why are you so hung up on semantics?”

“I’m just practicing your world’s terminology, that is all.” There was a crooked smile, barely contained. Then he approached.

I pressed my back to the crypts, but he just got closer.

His body was blocking my way, my eyes level with his clavicle.

His hand rose and picked up the fabric of the veil, but he did not lift it from my face. Through the lace, I watched him roll it between his fingers, the tiny glass beads shimmering in the direct light. His skin even seemed to shimmer, like shattered glass.

“I don’t wish to be your enemy.” His voice was smooth, almost alluring. Like he wanted to ease something out of me. “I think it is time you started trusting me, especially after that last misstep of yours.”

“I don’t trust your appetites.” At this point, my back was flat against the surface. Its alignment couldn’t have been straighter in my attempt to mold to the wall. “I was perfectly fine.”

“If by perfectly fine you mean a crying, sobbing mess trying not to come . . .” He leaned down at my ear. “Well, I suppose a correction is in order if you do prefer your body to be knotted and seeded like that every day, until you turn to dust.”

“You are an evil, malevolent abomination,” I said slowly, “but you know that, don’t you?”

“I am neither good nor evil. There is no such thing outside your limited minds.” He poked his finger directly into my forehead, the back of my head smacking against the stone behind me.

I glared up at him, trapped between the dead and the beast. He truly mustn’t have tried to blend in. His resemblance to Dorian was suspect. I understood why he thought it would be appealing to me. But he wasn’t him.

Altair was more lax in composure: the curls of black hair dangling in front of his face, the less formal attire. Then there were the eyes. They were a mesmerizing iridescence, like he was trying to show off. To be different. To appear human, but making sure anyone who looked at him felt inferior.