by Mac Flynn
Vincent moved to stand beside her and tilted his head back to study the creature. He tilted his head to one side and furrowed his brow. "I suppose. . ."
"What about the eyes? Do they not attract your attention?" she inquired.
He squinted his eyes. After a moment he straightened and shrugged. "I guess."
Glenna's face fell. Her lips puckered in a pout and she turned her face away from him. "Nothing at all?" she muttered.
Vincent blinked at her. "Pardon?"
She shook her head. "It's nothing."
I raised an eyebrow, but thought it best to ignore her eccentricity. "You said something about food?"
Glenna nodded. "Oh yes. Food will be ready in a few minutes."
CHAPTER 3
Glenna snatched a few herbs from her basket and shuffled over to the hearth. A stack of dry firewood stood against the left side of the chimney. In a dash she had a crackling fire, and the contents of the pot boiled. The fire was stirred by a thick, sturdy stick. One of its ends was blackened by the flames.
"Fetch some bowls from the kitchen, will you, my dear?" she asked me.
I looked around. The only thing that resembled a kitchen was a long, short table on the left-hand wall. I moved over to the table and found an assortment of filthy dishes on the top. Bits of food sat on the bottom of the bowls and spoons lay unwashed in a giant pan. I leaned back and cringed.
Vincent came up to me and smiled. "It's not so bad once we get them cleaned." He glanced over his shoulder at Glenna. "Is there any hot water?"
She shook her head. "None but is in this soup."
Vincent winced, and when he returned his attention to me his smile was a little strained. "Perhaps if we cleaned them out with a clean cloth."
"Ain't got that, either," Glenna called from the fire.
"Well, we'll make do," he insisted.
"Then we're using my cloth," I commented. I took off my jacket and tried to tear my last sleeve off. The stitch held. I glanced at Vincent and held out my arm. "A little help here."
He grasped the sleeve and gave a light tug. The stitch tore and my sleeve slid down my arm to my elbow.
"Quite a strong young servant you have there," Glenna spoke up.
I slipped my sleeve off me and started to clean the bowls. "He's not my servant," I reminded her.
"Then your lover?"
I nearly dropped the bowl I held. Vincent blushed. His eyes flickered to me before they returned to the bowl he grasped.
"H-he is not!" I stuttered.
The old woman chuckled. "But I sense you wish it was otherwise."
I spun around to face her and clutched the bowl tightly in my hand. "We're not together because I want to be!" Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Vincent flinched. My shoulders sagged and I pursed my lips.
Glenna raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you together?"
I pursed my lips. "We're just traveling together, that's all."
"Leila. . ." Vincent whispered.
Glenna chuckled and turned back to the pot. She stirred the contents and closed her eyes. "I see. Are the bowls ready?"
"Almost," I replied.
Vincent and I cleaned the dishes and went to the fire. Glenna ladled a healthy dose of the soup into each bowl. The contents of the soup were questionable. Unidentifiable brown chunks floated in the tan-colored broth. A strong, bitter odor filled my nose. Vincent sneezed. Glenna paused mid-pouring and studied him.
"Are you allergic to any herbs?" she wondered.
Vincent shook his head. "I don't know."
Glenna raised an eyebrow. "You don't know? Why not?"
Vincent's eyes flickered away from her. "It's a long story."
"Well, we've got a long while before dawn," she commented as she finished the ladling.
"If you don't mind, I think we'll get some sleep soon," I spoke up. We've had a long journey, and we'll have to leave early today."
Glenna set the ladle in the pot and cradled her bowl in both wizened hands. "Of course, and you're welcome to stay until the rain stops."
Vincent smiled and bowed his head. "That's very kind of you."
She waved off his compliment. "Let us eat before the soup grows cold."
There was nowhere to sit, so we each took a spot near the open hearth. Our little triangle of acquaintances was quiet as Vincent and I tested the contents of our bowls. The smell reflected the flavor. The first spoonful was terrible, and the second was worse. The chunks were meat of some sort, but I couldn't place the flavor. Perhaps I didn't want to know.
After a few minutes Glenna set her empty bowl on the floor in front of her. Vincent and my bowls were still half full.
"Now what news do you have for me of the outside world?" she asked us.
Vincent swallowed a spoonful of his soup and tried not to shudder. "Well, we just came from-"
"There's not really that much to tell," I interrupted.
Glenna pursed her lips and sniffed the air with her long nose. "Then nothing has changed. Man seeks crime and to wreak pain on man."
"Something like that," I agreed.
Vincent lowered his bowl and looked from one of us to the other. "Hey, wait a minute. Not all humans are like that."
Glenna scoffed. "There are only two relationships in this world, boy. The meeting of casual acquaintances as we are, and that of the master and servant."
"What about friendship? Or love?" he suggested.
"Friendship is as false as the summer solstice is long. It's a lie we tell ourselves to survive the long, lonely years. As for love-" her lips curled back in a sneer. "Love is the greatest lie of them all."
"I don't believe that at all," Vincent argued.
Glenna sighed and shrugged. "Then perhaps you are not experienced in the world."
Vincent didn't flinch. "Even if I did have my-"
"I think we need to go to bed," I spoke up. I set my bowl on the floor and looked around. There was only the bed. "Where can we sleep?"
"My old bones need the bed, so you'll sleep on the floor," Glenna told us. She climbed to her feet and winced as her back popped like a dozen pistols. "I'll get you some blankets, though, and you can sleep close to the fire."
"Is there a bathroom around here?" I wondered.
She waved her hand at the right-hand wall. "The outhouse is out back."
I stood. "Then Vincent and I will go out there and be back in a few minutes."
Vincent frowned. "But I don't-" I grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.
"Come on. I don't want to have to hold your hand later," I insisted.
I forced him to the door and out into the rain. The sheets of water were thinner, but no less damp. The small outbuilding I noticed earlier proved to be the outhouse. A wooden box took up the back half of the interior and covered the deep hole. A round hole in the middle of the box was the only access to the cavern beneath the building.
I squeezed us both inside its small, square confines and shut the door. The small room stank and the roof leaked, but we were out of the rain. The cramped quarters and my unwillingness to stand atop the box meant Vincent and I were forced to press our bodies against each other. I pressed my palm on one of the walls to keep myself steady.
"What are we doing out here exactly?" he asked me.
I glared at him. "Trying to get you to stop talking to her. She's finding out more about us than we're finding out about here."
He blinked at me. "But why is that bad?"
"Because there's something not quite right with her," I told him.
"Like what?" he persisted.
"I think she's as terrible a liar as she is a cook," I commented.
"But what could she be lying about? She's just an old woman," he pointed out.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I can't put my finger on it just yet, but I know you need to stop telling her your life story, or what little you know." I studied his face. He blushed under my scrutiny. "Have you remembered anything yet? Any sights or smells?"
&n
bsp; He shook his head. "No. Nothing's familiar."
I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Typical."
"How long do we have to stay in here, anyway?" he wondered.
He shifted his feet and his side bumped into me. My hand slipped off the wall and I fell back. Vincent looped his arm around my waist and caught me. He inadvertently pressed me against his chest. I lay my hands on the front of his coat and looked up into his face. His shining emerald eyes smiled down at me, and there was a crooked grin on his face.
"For a woman who's always packing you're very clumsy," he teased.
I frowned. "For a guy who has doubts that he's a werewolf you have very fast reflexes."
"You doubt it, too," he returned.
"I-that is-" I paused and shook my head. "I don't know what to believe." My eyes fell on the necklace. I nodded at the trinket. "Werewolves aren't supposed to be able to touch silver. Red got his hand burned when he tore that off your neck during your first fight."
Vincent grasped the chain with his free hand and pulled out the four silver beads. "Where did you find it?"
"It was my mom's, but I never really liked it," I told him.
He looked past the necklace and at me. "Why?"
I shrugged. "Ugly, I guess. It always left a bad feeling in my mouth when I looked at him." I noticed his eyes were captivated by the four round beads. My eyes flickered between Vincent and the objects. "Is it familiar?"
He shook himself and blinked. "No. At least, I don't think so."
I sighed. "Well, we should get going back to the cabin or that strange woman will come out here and-" The door to the outhouse swung open.
Vincent tumbled backwards and took me with him. He landed in the mud and I on his chest. Rain splattered us with its cold bodies. I looked up into the grinning face of Glenna. In one hand was a candle-lit lantern.
"Perhaps I should add a room to the cabin?" she teased.
"That won't be necessary," I replied as I climbed off Vincent's chest.
He stood and brushed as much mud as he could off himself. The rain helped him. Glenna turned towards the home.
"Well, let's get you two lovers out of the rain before your lust turns to illness," she commented.
"We're not lovers," I argued.
She shrugged, and the grin didn't fade. "Suit yourself. Now come along."
CHAPTER 4
Glenna led us back to the cabin. Two beds of furs and blankets were spread close to the fire. She turned to us with her back to the hearth and swept her arm over the beds.
"I hope you'll find them comfortable," she mused.
I returned her smile with one of my own. "Very. We really appreciate the help you're giving us. I don't know how we can return it."
"A little company opens the eyes," Glenna replied. Her eyes swept over us. "And perhaps you'd like to take off those clothes before you flood my nice home."
I looked down at Vincent and my feet. Water dripped from our clothing and left puddles on the dusty floor.
Glenna nodded at a few hooks on either side of the fire. "You can put your clothes there to dry."
"We don't really have a change of clothes," Vincent admitted.
"Then put on a fur. The animal doesn't need it anymore." She tilted back her head and let out a high-pitched cackle. Vincent and I glanced at each other. The old woman gathered her control and rubbed her finger across her nostrils. "You can hang them or not, but don't expect me to roll out the red carpet when you're sick with fever." She shuffled over to the box bed and slipped beneath the pile of furs. "Whatever you do don't make so much noise that you wake an old woman. It's not long before dawn and I need my beauty sleep."
There was no argument from Vincent and me over that last point. Glenna rolled over so her back faced us, and in a few moments the furs moved up and down in an even motion.
"Maybe we should take them off," Vincent suggested.
I pursed my lips, but didn't argue. The damp cold of my clothes chilled me to the bone.
"Fine, but don't let me catch you looking at me," I warned him.
A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. "S-sure thing."
My eyes narrowed. I marched up to him and stuck my face in his. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He stumbled back and raised his palms in front of him. "N-nothing. I mean, I won't do anything, I promise."
I half-turned away from him, but kept my eyes focused on his nervous face. "All right. You take the left side of the fire and I'll take the right. Got it?"
He nodded. I turned my back and he did the same. My soaked clothes peeled off my skin and hung limp in my hands. The firelight glistened off my wet skin. Movement out of the corner of my eyes caught my attention. I peeked over my shoulder.
Vincent stood with his back to me. His coat hung from one of the hooks and he was halfway through removing his pants. The fire revealed his pale back. My eyes widened. His flesh was scarred by violence. Thick, jagged scars covered his back and were interrupted only by small, round holes like those made by bullets.
Vincent paused. I looked away just as he glanced over his shoulder.
"You'd better not be looking," I growled.
He spun around so he faced away from me. "Right. Doing it." There was a silent pause behind me. My curiosity clawed at me to glance over my shoulder. "How did you know I was looking?"
I winced. "Because girls have eyes in the back of their heads."
"I thought only moms had that," he argued.
I rolled my eyes. "Well, you're wrong. Now finish up and get some sleep."
I slipped out of my clothes except for my underwear and bra. One of the blankets replaced the articles and I wrapped it closely around myself. We each took one of the beds and settled ourselves beneath the furs. The animal skins stank, but they were warm against the damp chill of the cold early morning.
Intentionally or not, we found ourselves facing one another. We were both buried up to our necks in furs and blankets. His emerald eyes averted their gaze from me and focused on the fire.
"Not too bad, is it?" he whispered.
I shifted beneath the stank. "Speak for yourself. I feel like I'm huddled beneath a pile of shit."
"Oh. . . did you want mine?" he offered.
I shook my head. "No. They're probably all the same." I shifted and my stomach lurched. The soup had made its reappearance. I cringed and curled into a ball. "Ouch. . ."
Vincent sat up. The furs fell away to reveal his chest to just above his waist. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"
My eyes fell on his chest. There were the same long-healed scars, the same evidence of a tormented life. Vincent followed my gaze and looked down at himself. He averted his eyes from me and covered himself with a blanket.
"I'm. . .I'm sorry you had to see that," he told me.
"What the hell happened?" I asked him.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't remember."
I sighed and glanced at the fire. "What's it going to take to get your memories back?"
"I don't know. Maybe whatever's at the end of this path," he suggested.
I watched the flames flicker. Their light danced across the stones behind the pile of wood. The heat washed over me. My eyes grew heavy. I fought against it. We were in a strange place with an even stranger hostess. Still, exhaustion cared not for my troubled mine. My eyes closed and I drifted off to sleep. The last things I heard were soft words in Vincent's voice.
"Goodnight, Leila."
I didn't awake until someone poked me. My eyes fluttered open. I was met with a view of the dusty floor of the old cabin. A figure stood above me. It was Glenna, and in her hand was the fire stick. She poked me again with its blackened end.
"Come on, get up. It's hard enough to make the fire without a lazy bum in the way," she complained.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My hand froze mid-rub when I saw the place opposite me was empty. I whipped my head around. His coat, too, was gone.
"Where's Vincent?" I asked the ol
d woman.
She jerked her head towards the door. "Getting more firewood for me. He's a nice, dependable servant." She leaned down and glared at me. "Unlike some people."
I narrowed my eyes and gathered a blanket around me as covering for my nakedness. "He's not your servant, and neither am I."
A sly smile slipped onto her lips. "He's not, is he? Then you had better take better care that you don't lord over him. You might give people the idea that he is your servant."
Glenna shuffled away and knelt in front of the cold fireplace. She prepared a pile of wood for a new fire. I flung aside the heavy, rancid furs and stood.
It was at that moment that the door opened. A slight drizzle dropped rain into the entrance. Vincent stepped inside with an armload of wood. Relief washed over me. He noticed me and smiled.
"Good morning," he greeted me as he shut the door behind himself.
I caught myself and my smile dropped from my lips. "You could've gotten me up," I scolded him.
He walked over to the left side of the chimney and set the wood on top of the dwindling pile. "You looked so tired I didn't want to wake you."
"Well, next time wake me up," I insisted.
Glenna twittered and muttered a few words. "A servant has angered his mistress."
I glared at her, but said nothing. I snatched my clothes from the hooks and found they were stiff but dry. Between the two of them there was an unwelcome audience, so I marched past them to the door.
"Where are you going?" Vincent asked me.
I flung open the door and paused to glance at him over my shoulder. "To get a little time to think."
I stepped out into the mid-morning weather. The drizzle dampened my hair, but didn't soak the blanket that was wrapped around me. I trudged to the outhouse and clothed myself.
"Damn that old woman. . ." I muttered as I slipped on my shirt. "Is she trying to piss me off?"
A knock on the door startled me. "Leila? Breakfast is ready," Vincent called to me.
"Can't I get five minutes to myself?" I snapped.
"Sorry. . ."
My face fell. "I told you-"
"It's breakfast. Come and get it, or starve," he told me.
His footsteps retreated away from the outhouse. I pursed my lips. Maybe the apologetic Vincent was better than the fake assertive one.
A minute later and I was back in the cabin. Another concoction boiled over the fire. Vincent had already cleaned the bowls. I asked a silent prayer that my stomach was more powerful than a werewolf before we took our seats in front of the crackling fire.