Page 92 of Florescentia

“No!” His head shot upright to look at me, such panic in his eyes. “Unless you are also regretting—”

“Don’t be soft,” I laughed, leaning in. “Don’t ever make me wonder again, though.” I poked my finger into his cheek. “And don’t ever lie to me. Especially about your intentions.”

“How bossy,” he said with another sigh.

“There’s the rude critter I know,” I continued to tease, but genuinely I hadn’t felt so light in a while.

A boyish grin appeared on his face. Even with the reminder from just hours ago, he was the least monstrous thing in my mind. All this time, I’d assumed he was some nefarious creature. I feared this spoke more to my pessimism. I had reason to remember he wasn’t beholden to human nature, for he was no human at all. Perhaps that was why I liked him.

His eyes were so sharp, clear like moonstone. The light didn’t reflect quite right, but nothing about him was quite right.

My body was moving before I could think. I leaned in before I could rationalize it. But he didn’t argue.

He met the distance, his lips brushing against mine.

Could a thing like him feel the way I did? Would his faux-human heart be beating as fast as a snare? Did he notice the weight of my mouth pressing on his, or the taste of desperation when our lips met?

All I knew for sure was his lips were on mine, and my touch-starved body was held by warm arms that night. Everything else was an afterthought.

I could only hope I was at the forefront of his mind.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Eclipse

The more time I spent in my human skin, the more human I became. Every step, every interaction became easier as I practiced. Emotions were overwhelming, but manageable. Organ and muscle functions were smooth, like a well-oiled machine.

Eventually, if I was consistent in being present in this world, as the rest of these people appeared to be, then I might soon forget what it was to know more than the ground I walked on. I would forget my nature altogether, and I would be able to be rewarded with a natural death.

To become human.

To be mortal.

But not until my . . . rather irked companion had fulfilled her purpose.

By now, I knew the environment around her home. Aisl Park was the busiest it got, most of the population crowding into the tall buildings, like anthills.

The clamoring and wobbling of wheels and hooves against cobblestone, rather than just plain dirt. The trees planted meticulously along the sidewalk pristinely trimmed to prevent the fruits from staining the walkway. These things did everything walking. They talked side by side, ate food packed in waxed paper, planned their days out loud or in writing, greeted each other in passing, read books, whistled for carriages. This wasn’t just one time a day, but all times of the day.

The cemetery in Alton Heights wasn’t nearly as busy at all hours. People came to and from like a tide determined by labor schedules. I would imagine the other boroughs further removed from the center of the city couldn’t be nearly as busy, even if she hadn’t shown me Castor or Dieton yet.

A loud shriek stung in my ears.

Lucia had two fingers in her mouth, her whistle summoning a horse carriage to pull over hastily where we stood outside her home.

She’d planned an excursion, even though simply walking around was enough for me to get my bearings on the world. You didn’t need tourism to learn culture—in fact, all you needed was a busy place to observe and careful attention to food.

Of all the newly gained senses, taste was my favorite. Not because it fed me—it didn’t. But the pleasure of physical flavor (rather than emotional) and texture made dining more of an experience than a hunt for sustenance. I supposed eating people food was an adventure, if I thought about it that way.

She stepped into the cab, not even looking back to see if I would follow. At times I felt like one of her little pets, following her to and fro, here and there, at her beck and whim. No one in my lifetime had commanded me in such a way, yet I found I couldn’t resist her.

“Where to?” the driver called over his shoulder.

“Astraea Zoological Society, the aquarium,” she said before opening her father’s journal, the marking she’d made still prominent on the cover.

“What is that?”

Her eyes flicked up from her reading, her body turned to face me more, as if the journal were her own personal diary. Her bright eyes returned to the journal before she answered, “It is a place where you can pay to see creatures from the sea.”