Come to Me (18 page)

"I don't know why all the little black marks are there, but yes, I get the sense that there's a story or an explanation hidden in these pages."

"What little black marks?" he asked, leaning toward her to look more closely at the pages.

"There are dozens of them! Can't you see them?"

He shook his head.

"Maybe only a former demon can see them," Samira speculated, and she tried to imagine what the page would look like to Nicolae. "Do you see nothing right here?" she asked, waving her hand over the center of the page.

"Just writing."

Her hand stopped mid-wave. "Oh?"

"It appears to say that the herb fennel is useful for chasing ill humors from the lungs," he said, his fingertip moving under the black marks.

"But what does it say over here?" Samira asked, pointing to the pictures.

He looked at her strangely. "What does it say? It doesn't say anything. Those are just decorations."

"But…"

"You can't read, can you?" he said in disgust. "All this talk of helping me with my studies and I assumed that meant that demons could read. But you can't."

She pointed again to the pictures. "Isn't this reading? It says, 'Bird, bird, squirrel climbing vine, man in field…'"

He made a noise of disgust and pushed away from her, getting up from the table and crossing his arms again as he glared down at her. "That is not reading. The 'black marks' are where the reading is done."

She squinted at the marks. "Oh." Her eyes traveled back to the drawings. "I still think the pictures are trying to say something, though."

"Stare at them to your heart's content, then. You'll find nothing, but at least it will keep you out of my way."

"That's not a very nice thing to say, after all I went through to come help you."

"You should have asked me first whether I wanted this type of help. It would have saved you and me both a great deal of inconvenience."

Samira ducked her head down, feeling again that tingling in the tip of her nose, and a stinging in her eyes. Being human was turning out to be no fun at all. She wished she could slip off into the Night World and leave Nicolae to his nightmares and loneliness. It was no wonder he was living in such a crumbling pile of stone, with only a few dirty soldiers—who else would want his company?

She sniffed back some moisture in her nose and turned the page of the book she was pretending to look at. Not read, apparently. Another humiliation. Although part of her doubted that he was telling the truth about the black marks. The next page of the book had a woman and then some strange, monstrous creatures. It really did look like there was a purpose to the drawings, beyond decoration. Maybe Nicolae was wrong.

The thought of proving him so served to cheer her slightly. His Arrogant Highness would have to grovel out apologies if she did find something useful in those pretty pictures.

She pulled her legs up until she could wrap her arms around her shins, then rested her chin on her knees, purposefully ignored Nicolae, and lost herself in contemplation of the pictures.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she became disturbed by a noise in her midriff, and an accompanying ache. She put her feet back on the floor and sat straight, her palm over her belly. There was a twisting feel inside, and then a quiet yowling.

"Nicolae!" she screeched.

He looked up from the book he was perusing at the other end of the table. "What?"

"There's something wrong with me."

"Yes?" He sounded unconcerned.

"I think there's an animal in my belly, chewing on my insides!"

His eyes widened, a look of alarm lighting in them. "It's not going to chew its way all the way out, is it?" He drew his dagger from the belt at his waist.

"I don't know! Shh, listen, you can hear it."

He held still for several moments, and then into the silence came the long, desperate yowl from just beneath her ribs. It ended with a gurgle of frustration.

"You heard it?" she asked. "You heard it, didn't you?"

The corners of his mouth, as if against his will, began to curl up. "Oh, I heard it all right. It sounds like a fearsome beast, indeed."

She held her hand over her belly. "I can feel it moving. It's twisting around. Oh! It's chewing on me! Nicolae, help me! Kill it! Kill it!" She pulled at the sash, untying it more by chance than design, and parted her caftan, exposing her torso beneath the breasts. "It's right here! Kill it!"

"How?"

"With your dagger! Stick it right here and you can kill it!" She pointed to the spot just beneath her breastbone.

"I'd kill you at the same time."

"But I think it's just under my skin. You could stab it!" Again the noise came from her midriff, this time a keening moan, and then a sound as if her organs were being swallowed whole. "Nicolae!" she pleaded.

"I have a better idea. Here." He used his dagger to cut a hunk of cheese off the wedge that sat in a wooden bowl, along with a heel of bread and a few small apples. He handed her the cheese. "Eat this."

"Will that kill it?" She took the cheese and looked at it doubtfully.

"After you swallow it, the beast will go after the cheese instead of your insides."

"You're sure?"

He shrugged. "You're welcome to look for a better answer in the books. But that creature sounds ferocious to me. I'd act now."

She'd seen people eat. She understood the basics of how it was done. Being faced with the reality of it was strangely revolting, though. She stared at the cheese in her hand.

The cheese sweated.

She lifted it to her nose and sniffed. The odor was mildly unpleasant, but the air she sniffed must have gone down to the beast, because if suddenly made a loud growling noise, as if impatient to have it.

Her mouth began to fill with water and, as if guided by an outside force, she found herself shoving a big bite of the cheese into her mouth. Her teeth went to work, grinding and chewing and turning the soft cheese into a tangy, warm paste. She knew she should be disgusted by it, but her mouth said otherwise, and she made little moaning sounds of pleasure. Nicolae cut off another piece of cheese and she snatched it out of his hand, shoving it quickly into her mouth. "Mmrrrrmm, so good…" she said through her food.

He was looking at her as if she were a goat that had suddenly donned a skirt and started dancing: amusing, but not something he was certain he wanted to be a part of.

She didn't care. She eyed the heel of bread, flashed a look at him, then lunged across the table and swiped it, cramming half of it into her mouth before the surprise had had time to fully register on his face.

He hooked the edge of the wooden bowl with his fingertip and dragged it slowly across the tabletop, leaving it in front of her. She gave a little grunt of happiness and went to work on one of the tart little apples, barely looking up at him.

Food. Who knew that eating was such a pleasure? No wonder humans spent so much time thinking about it.

A goblet of wine appeared in the corner of her vision and she pulled it to her, sniffing at the dark red contents. Her mouth was feeling both dry and gummed up, so she put the rim of the goblet to her lips and drank, gulping down great mouthfuls before she even sensed how it tasted.

It was delicious. "More?" she asked Nicolae, pushing the goblet back toward him.

"How's the creature? Has it quieted down?"

She'd forgotten all about it. She put her hand over her middle and felt no movement. "You were right! It must be eating the cheese!"

An idea suddenly struck her, and she looked around the room until she spotted some of Nicolae's murky potions. She took a swig of the refilled goblet, then swung her legs over the bench and went and picked up a glass flagon of blue liquid. She sniffed it—sniffing things was, she was finding, surprisingly entertaining. She never knew what she was going to get. The blue potion had a sharp smell that almost burned her nose.

"What are you doing?"

"What is this for?" Samira asked, swirling the potion in the flagon.

"It's a poison I was working on that was supposed to be tasteless."

She took a sniff and wrinkled her nose. "It smells terrible."

"I know. Which means it's useless, since any victim would know better than to drink it."

"But does it kill things?"

"Probably. I never tested it."

"I'll test it on the beast in my body." She put the flask to her lips.

"Samira!
No
!" Nicolae shouted and lunged for her. He knocked it from her hand, and the flask shattered on the floor.

"I want to kill the creature!" Samira complained.

Nicolae took several deep breaths. "It would have killed you. Anything you put in your mouth will affect you. Not the 'creature.' I shouldn't have—"

"Ugh," Samira said, putting her hand over her middle. "Ooo. I don't feel very good."

A loud gurgling came from low down in her gut. Nicolae's eyes widened.

"What is it?" she asked, and then winced, bending double. "What's happening?"

"I think you ate too much, too fast, on a too empty stomach. You're going to want the latrine." He grabbed her elbow and led her to the window. "Over there, that small shed outside the crumbled part of the wall."

"I'm supposed to go in there and then I'll feel better?"

"Er, yes."

"What will happen in there?"

He grimaced. "You'll figure it out. Go!"

Her belly full of painful bubblings and her mind full of confusion, she headed for the stairs.

Nicolae stared at the text in front of him but found it impossible to concentrate. How long had she been gone? It felt like a long time. Too long? Was she getting into trouble?

Or maybe she'd run into Andrei. Andrei wouldn't be above bedding a demon. The man had a strange love-hate view of women; he adored every inch of their flesh but loathed any woman who would let him have his way with her. They never knew it, though, and all across Moldavia were buxom young women who thought that a dashing knight would be returning to them someday.

Nicolae got up and went to the window. There was no sign of her by the latrine. He went to another window, and then another, trying to spot her down below.

Grigore and Constantin were practicing with their swords; Stephan was carefully mending a shirt. Two middle-aged women from the village were scrubbing and chopping turnips in a corner of the courtyard near the kitchens. There was no sign of Samira.

Or of Andrei.

He didn't know if it was Andrei he wanted to protect from Samira, or Samira from Andrei. Both people were his responsibilities, though, so he had better be sure there was nothing of concern going on.

He headed for the stairs, his anxiety growing with each step. Did Andrei have her stretched out on his cot, smiling up at him, her knees falling open? She wouldn't know any better. She knew everything about sex but nothing about how to be a respectable woman.

He shouldn't care. What did it matter? She wasn't innocent, not at all.

And yet, in a way, she was. She was like Eve in the garden, not knowing she was naked, not knowing what it was to feel shame.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and went through what was left of the painted interior of the church, its fresco-covered walls blackened by soot, the doorway and portico long since fallen to rubble.

"Have you seen Samira?" he asked his men, as they stopped what they were doing to stare at him. They weren't used to seeing him out of his tower at such an early hour. Most days, he went to bed at sunrise and arose at noon.

"She went that way," Stephan said, pointing toward the opening in the wall that led to the latrine.

He nodded a curt thanks and limped off in that direction, despite knowing already that she was not there. He didn't want them to guess that he had so quickly lost track of her, and that she might at this very moment be planning demonic mischief.

He went through the opening in the wall, feeling in his leg the strain of so much movement. Studying was a sedentary activity, and he wondered now if he had lost more strength than he'd realized.

Damn. Maybe he should start training again with his men.

But what was the point? He would never again be strong enough to fight, not if he hoped to live through it.

He shoved the defeating thought away. He might not fight, but he could at least gain the strength to keep from being winded by a climb of the stairs or a hurried trip to the latrine. His pride demanded more of him.

He checked the latrine first. The smell was as foul as usual, but there was no sign of Samira.

If his men hadn't seen her come back, then she must have gone down the shore of the small island, or into the old orchard. He took a deep breath of exasperation, standing with his hands on his hips. Having Samira in the fortress was going to be like keeping an eye on a small child.

He set off to find her, the sound of clashing practice swords fading, to be replaced by the song of birds and the sussuration of the breeze in the rushes that grew thick along the shore. The sky was a soft blue, the sun pleasantly warm on his skin. The air smelled of earth and water and a faint perfume of blossoms. A feeling of contentment stole over him, erasing his irritation. He had forgotten that such a morning as this could exist.

His sense of unexpected peace was shattered a few steps later: he found her.

She was hunched in the tall grass at the base of an apple tree, her caftan missing, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her arms wrapped tight around them. She was rocking herself and keening, her red hair wild and fiery about her head and body.

He approached her slowly, wary of whatever madness had possessed her. "Samira?" he asked carefully.

She stopped her wailing and rocking and looked up at him. "Nicolae?"

"Er… are you all right?"

"No! Something terrible happened. That creature inside—I think it died and rotted. And then… and then…" She took a sobbing, shaking breath. "And then it came out."

He chewed on the edge of his lip, trying to figure out what she was talking about. "Came out of where?"

She shook her head. "This is what you humans do every day, isn't it? That shed you sent me to was full of dead creatures. I could smell them."