her friends, the itch of newly sewn garments, the brush of wind on our sunburnt faces. But Miah? She was three when we came here. Now five, she’d spent nearly half her life in this place. This was what she knew, this was her home. No doubt she’d be as fond of the fields and the sun as she would a stake through her heart. She thought it a game when I drew sap from her baby teeth, a romp like the ones she enjoyed with the other kids. She didn’t know any different: she’d snap at my cheeks, then wait for my reaction, just as she would when seeking her classmates’ approval. None of the children looked more than a week or two older than when we first arrived, while I continued to grow up as well as out. Beth and Miah laughed at the changes in my height and figure—and when they did, I’d pluck at their fangs until my fingers were thick with scratches. Always, I came away from these meetings coughing up dust.
I didn’t realize I could give something back, return parts of their memories, until I miscarried the second time. Arianne had sniffed the truth of my loss before I was aware of it myself—her knowing laugh was triumphant and bitter. Her teeth were so sharp; her hunger was sharper. The scent of my baby’s death beguiled her. She followed me so close, waiting for the blood to flow, that Mister Pérouse sequestered me in his rooms three days early.
The pain of expelling the fetus kept me bedridden that whole time.
My master’s old mattress had long ago conformed to my shape. I aligned my back with the contour earlier versions of me had made, and tried to ignore the sound of his jaw cracking as he devoured the remnants of our failure. I imagined it was all the same to him; he benefitted whether the child stayed in my belly or was digested in his. I convinced myself he wouldn’t be angry for something beyond my control. And for a moment, I almost believed it.
Sucking the blood off his fingers, Mister Pérouse’s face was pure joy, almost handsome. He actually smiled as he leaned back. I didn’t know how to react. Then he exhaled, and disappeared.
Disappeared.
Two years ago, I’d have leapt from the bed right then. Tried my hand at the door, tried anything to get free. Now I was smarter—I knew this wasn’t the right time. He’d never done this before, never just dropped out of sight, but he wouldn’t have left me this way. I froze while my gaze darted like a frightened goldfish. That’s it.
Body tense, I sat up, suddenly gasping. He’s not gone.
I can still hear him breathing.
I felt his weight on the mattress before I saw his shadow reappear, growing from pale gray to charcoal across the floor, his youthful features brightening back into view.
“Merveilleux,” he whispered, actually grinning. “See what we can do, Adelaide? The two of us together?”
I tried to smile, I honestly did. But if devouring the hint of a child meant he could vanish at will, what would happen when I carried one to term…
My master’s expression darkened at my silence. He fingered the puckered wounds his teeth had left; two deep blots of red, oozing far below my navel. In that instant, he looked so much like Arianne I gasped.
“Stay away from those children,” he said, remnants of my milkings rancid on his breath.
“I wi—” He crushed the lie from my mouth, his kiss a punishment not a reward. Out of habit, I ran my tongue up and down sharp fangs, sucked. He gouged at the insides of my lip, pierced the soft palate, scraped until blood from my shredded gums mingled with that from my womb. Blended with the potent serum stretching like cobwebs from the tips of his teeth.
Oh, what a feast of visions.
In his mouth I tasted incoherent feathers of our unborn baby’s thoughts. I sampled my agony, distilled in his venom. But there was more, much more: Miah’s giggles as Ma tickled her feet; Beth’s disappointment when the birthday cake she’d baked for me sank in the middle, a cool draught from the chimney flue ruining her hard work; and Harley, confident as only ten-year-old boys can be, leaping from high rocks into the black waters of a quarry on the edge of our property. Their joy, their recollections, trapped in Mister Pérouse’s bloodstream.
He’s bitten them, I thought, and in the