Page 19

I clear my throat, noisily locking the door behind me to see if I can wake her. When she still doesn’t stir, I feel a flutter of panic in my chest.

I stride over to her and consider throwing the bucket of water on her like I did last time, but somehow, that feels harsh.

I set the bucket down at the base of her tail, noting how much drier it seems. The pinkish-orange color has faded away to a white gray, and each scale is raised and peeling back, drying out before my eyes.

I know I’m taking a chance getting close to her—my hand has only started to repair itself from where she bit off a chunk the other day—but I put my fingers under her chin and lift it up.

“Little fish,” I whisper to her.

Her mouth parts slightly, and she lets out a ragged gasp, her lips as dry as her tail. Black eyelashes flutter for a moment, but her eyes don’t open.

“You need some water,” I tell her, wishing the feeling of concern I have for her well-being wasn’t so prominent.

I pick up the bucket and tilt her head back again, pouring some of it into her mouth. It spills over her lips, but she manages to swallow some of it down.

“What do you need?” I ask her. “Food? Was the side of my hand not enough to sustain you?”

She doesn’t answer, not even with a pithy remark, and her head slumps against my fingers.

I let her go, trying to think. I go to my desk and grab a spare pair of white bands I wear tied under my collar during mass then bring it back to the bucket. I kneel and soak the cloth in the water before I start pressing it over the fins of her tail. The texture is strange under the cloth, smooth yet rigid, and I carefully make sure each inch is well moistened before I move on to the rest of her tail.

It’s a curious feeling, touching a creature like her with such patience and care. It’s the first time I’ve been able to really observe her from up close. Though she may be a monster, she still seems like she belongs in this world, even if it’s not her own. Her scales remind me of the trout I would catch in the mountain lakes, while her upper body…

I close my eyes for a moment, pausing with the wet cloth pressed against the side of her tail. I want her to remind me of my wife, of the woman I loved before I lost her. But time has erased so much of that life from me. I remember her, I remember my children, can recall the memories and feelings, but I can’t see them anymore. They are nebulous, blank faces. I know what it was like to caress my wife’s body, to spill my seed inside her, to lose myself to the throes of passion, but I can’t say what color her eyes or hair were or what her skin tasted like.

I don’t even remember her name.

But I do remember how she died.

“What are you doing?”

I glance up to see a pair of purple eyes shining down at me.

I clear my throat and take a step back. Why do I feel as if I’ve been caught doing something I need to feel shame for?

“I was sponging your tail,” I tell her. “I thought it might help it soak in better than just tossing a bucket of water on you.”

She nods, licking her lips. “Were you going to do the rest of my body?”

My eyes immediately go to her breasts, her nipples contracting into hard, pink pebbles. Though she’s always been topless, I go out of my way not to dwell on her nudity, lest I lose my mind.

But now, she’s making me look. She even juts out her chest a little, as if she wants my attention, wants my hands on her with my holy cloth, making her wet. For a moment, I imagine throwing out all constraints, all inhibitions, and having my way with her. I imagine leaving little bites along the full swell of her belly, along her fleshy sides, leaving just the tiniest trails of blood, which I would delicately lap up with my tongue like a feline. I would make her moan that same deep, breathless sound that she expelled when I was drinking her blood.

Then, I would search for her most intimate spot, perhaps a slit hidden along the front length of her tail, pull out my already rigid cock, and thrust inside her until I heard her screams.

“Yes,” I hear her whisper, so faint that I might have imagined it.

But it’s enough to pull me back in control.

I swallow thickly and avert my eyes from her chest. “I would say my job here is done.”

Before I can change my mind, I take the bucket and throw the rest of the water in her face. She cries out, sputtering as the water cascades over her head, and then I pour what’s left in the bucket over my own.

I need to slap some sense into myself just as much as she needs it.

“I must conduct a funeral and a sermon,” I tell her, wiping the water off my brow. “You’ll have to survive while I’m gone. I can get you something to eat if you tell me what that is.”

She glares at me, rivulets running down her face. “A human heart. Yours, preferably.”