Page 19 of Just for a Taste

“O uch!”

My shears hit the ground, and crimson bloomed from my fingertip, forming a fat droplet that threatened to run along my palm and onto the floor. The lava-stone flooring here had a way of soaking up pigmentation as readily as the carpet in my childhood home soaked up wine.

A rag in one pocket, mottled with dirt and oil, wouldn’t be appropriate to mop up the blood. The folded pair of gloves in my pocket were even worse. In desperation, I stuck my finger in my mouth and grimaced at the taste, salty and sour.

“You should be more careful. You’ll get an infection one of these days.” Noor approached, already prepared with a bandage and generous globule of antibiotic.

“I know. I was spoiled by thornless roses growing up.” I held out my wounded hand to her, cupping the other underneath just in case. This was, of course, unnecessary, considering the speed at which she worked. “What are you doing here?” I asked, returning the shears to the drawer. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

“I stop by now and then,” she replied with a smile, “to see how things are growing.”

It was early afternoon, and the air in the greenhouse was hot and thick. I ran my sleeve across my forehead to intercept sweat from a well-used path along my brow, then joined Noor’s side to see the gardens from her perspective. Various cultivars were growing at different rates, noisettes wrapping themselves around the trellises and bourbons reaching proudly toward the stained-glass roof. As indicated by the trimmings that littered the ground, all of them were uncontrollably thriving. Virgin buds interspersed the greenery, ready to burst at any moment, and there were even a few young flowers.

Signora Carbone scolded me regularly when cleaning the dirt out from beneath my nails, but I knew even she could admire how well the cuttings were growing. I discovered she and Signore Urbino shared the duties of tending to the gardens outside, and she would often offer me snippets of advice. On one occasion, Signore Urbino attempted to do the same, but he was quickly dismissed by the sharpest glare I had seen from Duca de’ Medici. I hadn’t spoken of either of those tense conversations with Signora Carbone or Noor since that night, and they passed from our collective consciousness. The decision to continue working here had been little more than a nod and a signature at the end of the quarter.

“There are still a few spots I need to plant in, mostly in that far corner there,” I said, pointing toward it. “I haven’t figured out what type of roses I want yet. Maybe tea roses?”

Noor put one hand on her hip, tilted her head to the side, and pursed her lips, like she always did when she was thinking. “There is a plant nursery in Partanna. I’ve heard it has some rare seeds.”

“I see.” Roses rarely grew from seeds. It would most likely be a futile effort.

Noor frowned. “I see that look, but the cultivar is old, and you could use a challenge. Regardless, you could stand to leave the abbey for once.”

Now it was my turn to frown. How long had I been here? Time blurred in this place. I counted the number of blood donations on bandaged fingers. Four total months in the abbey. Four months since I was connected to any sort of cellular network, since I’d messaged my thesis adviser. I’ll respond to her next month, I told myself, once I’ve examined this current lead.

Noor was staring at me, clearly expecting a response, so I stammered, “W-would you be willing to get some for me next time you go to Partanna?”

Noor glared. “You won’t be getting those seeds unless you go to Partanna yourself. I don’t want you to get too anxious here. Stress will compromise your health.”

“Okay.” I’ll just have Lucia or Signore Urbino grab them for me.

Per usual, Noor was quick to read my deception. “And don’t try to get away with asking any of the maids or butlers to purchase them. I’ll know.”

I sighed, put my hand on the back of my neck, and forced a smile. “Fine. I’ll go at some point.”

Noor sighed, shook her head, and left, muttering, “Oh, Cora . . .”

If only disappointment wasn’t contagious. The bench screeched in protest as I dragged it toward the center of the room. I sat, drew up my legs, and hugged them to my chest.

“It isn’t really that bad, is it?” I asked the roses. I finished the rest of the sentence in my head: I mean, I’ve been working on this thesis for eighteen months, so what’s another one?

The flowers were bright, immune to the contagion of disappointment. How enviable. The sun was at my favorite point in the sky, where it hit the stained glass just right and cast an array of color across the greenhouse, rendering it dreamlike. That meant afternoon teatime was soon.

“I think today is supposed to be hibiscus tea. I know Noor doesn’t really like it very much, but I think it’s delicious. Maybe I can talk to her about—”

“So, you really do talk to your flowers,” a voice boomed behind me. “How cute.”

I leaped to my feet, turning as red as the roses themselves. Duca de’ Medici was leaning in the doorway at such an angle that he was just out of the sun.

“W-what are you doing here?” I bristled.

“Just passing by.” His smile was audible in his voice. “I’ll see you in a bit. I was wondering—”

The sharp click of Noor’s high-heeled footsteps was barely audible through the wall behind me. A quick glance at my watch revealed she was on time, of course.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. “I haven’t even changed!”

“Ah.” Duca de’ Medici’s voice softened with poorly veiled disappointment. “You’d best be off, then.”

I hesitated. “But wait, what were you going to ask? I interrupted you.”

Duca de’ Medici stepped out of the light entirely. “Never mind. It was foolish anyway. I’ll tell Noor I held you up.”

He left before I could gather my thoughts or say anything, and with little else to do, I mentally tucked away the encounter and left to change.

As I had expected, the library greeted me with the pleasant scent of hibiscus layered over the usual mustiness of old books. Shortbread cookies peeked out from underneath a neatly folded napkin.

I was surprised to see that Noor didn’t appear annoyed that I was late. On the contrary, she was sipping her tea in an unusually jovial mood. Despite the strangeness of our previous conversation about my thesis, I decided to try once more.

“I’ve found a promising lead,” I ventured, taking a bite of a cookie. “There was an exhumation of Enzo Armando’s body a few years ago to gather his genome. I’d like to see which mutations—”

Noor drank the rest of her tea in a painfully large gulp, then slammed the teacup onto its plate. When she spoke, her sharp tone was as jarring as the sound of porcelain against porcelain. “You’re dabbling in things you don’t understand the gravity of, Cora.”

I was speechless. She had rebuked me when we first talked about my thesis, but since then, I thought we’d established a mutual understanding. As long as Zeno was not involved, everything was fair game.

I took a sip of tea, but it did little to wet my dry mouth.

Noor locked onto me, brow furrowed and eyes intense. “Do your thesis, find your information, but do not involve me in anything relating to vampirism itself.”

She paused for a moment and softened just enough to jar me from my state of paralysis, then asked me a straightforward question: “How long did Enzo Armando live?”

No matter how taken aback I was, this sort of concrete information was seared into me and came forth as easily as my name. “Enzo Armando lived to the age of forty-two.”

She nodded slowly. “And what did he die of?”

“It’s widely debated. If you look at one of his portraits later in life, he has an unusual marking on his face, and some scholars assume it’s from syphilis. I think it could be melanoma, though, since he was known to spend time outside with his children in his thirties.”

“Well, then,” she said, donning her usual mask of detachment. “Connect the dots, and don’t step over any lines you’ve made. You should leave now. Zeno will be expecting you.”

∞∞∞

My arms and legs burned, my chest heaving. Although I may have needed the exercise, jogging had been futile. Duca de’ Medici hadn’t even arrived by the time I found my spot in the corner.

I gulped in the air and dropped War and Peace onto the bench. It hit the stone with a satisfying thud. At least , I thought, how sore my arms are is justified. Shoving my unusual discussion with Noor from my mind, I plopped down next to my adversary and waited for my friend. Leonore flitted over to me immediately, nesting happily in my lap. The shy little thing had finally warmed up to me and was sure to demand affection the instant I sat down. She had especially come to adore those five minutes before Duca de’ Medici arrived and she had me all to herself.

But for the first time since I’d met Duca de’ Medici, he arrived exactly on time. He entered the room, eyes to the ground, and took a seat.

He was as horrible at hiding his moods as I had become skilled at reading them. This was, I deduced, neither pouting nor anger, but mild discomfort, presented with Medici’s usual flair.

“What’s this about?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Not a fan of the latest chapter in the book?”

Duca de’ Medici glanced up at me and appeared to be on the verge of speaking, then tightened his mouth in a line. “No, actually, I’m quite fond of how the story is moving along. I’ve picked out an excellent record for today. Some Debussy, in fact.”

That’s a pretty good impression of being normal , I thought, but not good enough . Then it hit me. “What were you going to ask earlier?”

He froze so jarringly that Leonore was startled away. “I, uh—I heard your conversation.”

I rolled my eyes. “You already made fun of me for talking with flowers, remember?”

“No, before that. With Noor.”

My heart leaped to my throat. The notion he had heard about my thesis, for reasons I couldn’t fully parse, felt acutely sinful. To my combined relief and confusion, the look of Duca de’ Medici was not anger, but embarrassment. “Yes, I was reading next door, in the aviary. I was going to ask if you wanted to go get the seeds with me.”

Oh. That was the conversation he heard.

Somehow, this wasn’t any clearer.

“I mean, that would be lovely, but can you really go outside during the day? Is that . . .?”

I knew it wasn’t safe for him, but I didn’t know exactly how unsafe it could be. On top of albinism, some vampires had lupus-like photosensitivity or solar urticaria. This was bad enough, but there even existed some rarer subtypes of vampirism with anaphylactic responses to certain ultraviolet rays. While I would appreciate having a friendly face accompany me, I didn’t think Noor would appreciate me using up all her epinephrine.

Duca de’ Medici gave a dry laugh. “I’ll be fine. I’ll look foolish, certainly, but I’ll be fine.” Then, shooting me a sideways glance, he added, “So, uh, did you want to? There’s still time. The shop closes in a few hours.”

“I guess?” It came out as a question, but this didn’t seem to bother Duca de’ Medici at all. In fact, he was glowing.

“You should get ready. I’ll have Signora Carbone wash your pink dress. Lucia knows what to get for accessories.”

Without another word, he walked off toward his own room, leaving me to do as I had been told.