Page 10 of Just for a Taste

E ven if I didn’t feel sick with regret, my stomach was so full of chocolate, I couldn’t eat a bite of dinner. And, of all days, my favorite dishes were being served: a delicate, fragrant risotto alongside eggplant parmesan and butter chicken.

“Stupid Medici,” I grumbled to no one in particular. Complaining to the air felt better than scolding myself internally for the umpteenth time.

I tried to force myself to eat, but it soon became apparent that doing so would be a graver sin than having my meal cold. By the time I finished rolling around bites, the sun had set entirely. With an unfortunate amount of food remaining on my plate, I left the dining hall.

The second the door behind me shut, fear kicked in. Because of the shift in seasons, walking through the abbey at night now felt as if I had been transported to another world entirely. Moonlight reflected coolly against the statues in the courtyard, and the darkness surrounding me made it seem like I was trespassing. A weak breeze whistled through the air, stirring piles of dried leaves and making strange scratching noises that reminded me of mice scurrying. I had to look past plumes of my breath to see the stars. A sudden, powerful gust felt like it was eating through my clothes and burrowing into my bones. Since when did Sicily get so cold?

I relied on memory alone to navigate through the gardens and jog into the main building. It took only a slight push for the main door to rush open, inviting the chill of the night inside with me. The air got no warmer even after I made it to the end of the hall. As I took turn after turn down the halls, I rubbed my hands against my forearms in a futile attempt to warm myself.

In the distance, I heard a chorus of chirps, as jangling and melodically irregular as wind chimes. It sounded like there was a flock of songbirds just outside the building. I looked for the nearest window, then remembered this hallway was in the middle of the abbey, that there was no passage to the outside for several minutes.

And yet the birds continued singing as if separated from me only by a single wall.

Or as if they were flitting around in the recesses of my mind. My stomach turned at the thought. How many novels had I read about widows or governesses or whatever I was going crazy in these types of places? This wasn’t just a few avian stowaways hiding out in a nest in the rafters; I could pick out at least a dozen chirps and multiple different species. I had to find the source.

For all the curiosity burning within me, an ounce of hesitation still lingered. Some part of me felt like I would step onto forbidden ground if I went any further. Like anything living and jovial inside this dead abbey was too good to be true.

But I had to know. I jogged toward the song but was quickly cut short.

“ Birdie .”

The word echoed through the hall and snaked down my spine. Goose bumps pricked my arms and the back of my neck.

I searched the darkness for signs of life. There was nothing, nobody. By all indications I was completely alone in this hallway, but I knew I wasn’t.

“Birdie,” the voice whispered again, sounding further and closer at the same time. It was soft and sad as it echoed around me, and it was— Opaline .

“Peachy?” I called out, taking a step forward.

I could’ve sworn the air around me was growing colder by the second. My hands shook. Silence engulfed me. Even the birds had hushed.

I stood still for a beat. Then another. Out of nowhere, a gust of wind rushed in from the end of the hall. Rows of sconces shut off in a wave toward me.

“Birdie!”

My mother’s voice.

I spun on my heels and ran, but before I made it to the end of the hall, I crashed into someone.

For a moment, everything was dark. Dark and warm. Then Duca de’ Medici grasped me by the arms and separated me roughly from his chest.

A slew of curses rang through my mind. Of all the people to find me like this, it had to be him.

He regarded me momentarily with a sharp, exasperated gaze, but when he searched my face, it softened. “Signorina Bowling? Are you okay?”

No, was my immediate thought. I’m not okay .

I wanted to explain everything that had happened, but now there was nothing to explain. Behind me, the lights were shining like usual, and the air was still.

“I-I’m fine. I just thought I heard something.”

The vampire’s expression darkened. He looked past me. “A voice?”

The sincere concern in his tone elicited me to answer, somewhat truthfully, “I don’t know. Or birds, maybe.”

Duca de’ Medici met my gaze again, eyes swimming with unease. “Would you like me to investigate?”

Before I could reply, he gently placed me away from him and turned to walk off in the direction I had run from.

I grabbed his sleeve, stopping him. “No, please. I-I just want to go to bed.”

With a solemn nod, he returned to my side and moved my hand to his forearm. I leaned against his arm. I hadn’t realized I was wavering so much.

“Of course. You live in the abbess’s suite, correct?”

“Y-yes.”

Wordlessly, he led me through several doors, tossing his head behind his shoulder every now and again as if to confirm I hadn’t spirited away. I was grateful for this. I didn’t think I’d be able to utter a word.

After several turns, we stopped at my door. Even with the security of a familiar setting, I hadn’t let go of his arm. He waited and didn’t move until I finally unglued myself. He held my door open for me but stood decidedly on the outer side of its transparent threshold. Duca de’ Medici remained for a moment, clearly on the verge of saying something, then nodded.

But before he could leave, my arms sprung out in front of me, and I grasped his sleeve again. At the thought of being alone again, the air felt heavier. Darkness encircled my sight. No, not now. A familiar sense of dread filled my chest. No, no, no .

It had been months since my last panic attack. I had mastered this. One hundred milligrams of sertraline per day was bitter on my tongue every night, no matter how quickly I chased it down with water. I had done everything right, had gotten therapy. The refills for the bottle of lorazepam above my sink had long expired, so long ago that I hadn’t even bothered to mention them to Doctor Ntumba.

You’re fine, I told myself. You’re safe.

You’re going to die, was the response. Your heart is going to explode.

My body grew hot, my breath shallow. A sharp ringing filled my ears. Everything was rushing away. I stumbled back and groped behind me for stability, but even the vanity I found wasn’t enough to keep me steady. Its knobs ran painfully along my spine as I slid down, rolling sharply across each vertebrae. Something slipped past my fingers and hit the ground. A bookmark.

A bookmark with beads, just out of reach.

“Please,” I croaked, staggering to my bed. “The bookmark. And the pills in the bathroom.”

I faded in and out. In an instant, the bookmark was at my side, along with Duca de’ Medici and the lorazepam.

“How many?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

I knew the bottle wanted me to take only one, but logic was elusive when faced with the end of the world. “T-two!

He popped open the cap and dumped a pair into my hands. I popped both of them under my tongue. They dissolved quickly, leaving behind only a faint vanilla taste and the anticipation of relief.

Some of the swimming in my ears abated. I faintly heard Duca de’ Medici’s voice saying, “You’re safe here. It’s going to be okay.”

The words from my unlikely savior helped, and I felt another step closer to avoiding death. Finally, I grasped the beaded portion of the bookmark between my fingers and counted as I breathed. One, two, three, four I inhaled. One, two, three, four , I exhaled. One, two, three, four . I held my breath and slid one bead between my fingers. I repeated this and by the time I reached the base of the bookmark, the world had grown softer, cooler, closer.

But warmth still lingered on one half of me. Duca de’ Medici was holding me against him, his grip on my shoulder and hand sturdy yet gentle.

As it became clear my breath was stabilizing, he put space between us. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you need Noor?”

As he rambled on with questions, his words faded. I had taken too much medication. Even though its effects might have weakened after expiring, one dose of lorazepam—a potent benzodiazepine and sedative—would have been enough to blunt the fear. Two wasn’t dangerous, but it was clearly an anesthetic, and even without medication, I always crashed after getting through a panic attack.

“No. It’s fine,” I murmured, forcing my eyes to stay open until he left. “You can go now.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded so Duca de’ Medici wouldn’t have to hear my slurring speech. After a moment of hesitation, he rose to his feet. The last thing I heard was the door shutting softly behind him, and when he flicked the light off, the darkness engulfed everything.