What the cat dragged in

[Lalitha Vero]

He sounded surprisingly bothered, which Litha found curious and absolutely something she wanted to prise loose to see what lay underneath. Not from cruelty, just from curiosity. The carnival was protective of its own, but Sámiel always seemed apart somehow: one of them, but also not. If anything she’d thought he’d be pleased for them. “It’s hardly a surprise, though. Renáta was never going to accept them,” she said, half in surprise. She didn’t smother the bitterness when she spoke the name.

But she didn’t have the chance to pry more. Still warm from the booze, and searching for secrets in the lines of Sámiel’s expression, Lalitha didn’t notice any intrusion until the quiet timbre of a new voice broke her thoughts. She shifted to sit cross-legged as Sámiel stood for the family summons, noticing the cold for the first time as he vacated the spot beside her. If she made anything of his quiet look before he left it did not permeate deeply, though she’d met it for every second.

“It’s love, Sámi. Let them enjoy it,” she called out after him. While it lasts, she might have added, but it felt mean. The thought dropped a little like a stone, exactly the sort of weight she had been seeking to escape at the bottom of a bottle. It was mostly empty now, though, and her mood for it evaporated.

It took for Marek to speak again for her to realise he was still there. She blinked at that. Not unkindly, just in surprise. She often caught the edges of his eyes glancing away, but he rarely ever spoke to her, nor spent any time in her company. Or anyone’s really. She’d assumed he’d follow on his brother’s heels the moment the message was delivered. Instead she watched as he pulled something from his coat.

“For me?” she repeated. She sounded both confused and curious. Whatever he held in his palm was hard to see clearly in the dark – she caught the glint of silver chainlink, a pendant wrapped in a spiral of wire, which didn’t immediately translate to anything meaningful. It looked like bone. Her eyes glanced up to Marek’s, but he wasn’t looking at her exactly, like the moment was something he must arrange carefully not to spoil it. He knelt, and tentatively unspooled more words than she knew he was capable of. Litha’s inquisitiveness warmed quickly to the unexpected more than she questioned the oddness.

“You saw that, huh.” She smiled easily, a little rueful, but not remotely embarrassed. The rest she listened to with actual interest, and a glittering wide-eyed attentiveness. It wasn’t the kind of beautiful and vivid explanation his brother would have woven, yet Litha was not hard to capture. Superstition prickled her skin in a pleasant way when he spoke of spirits, and admittedly she liked the story more than the pendant itself, which seemed crude and a little ugly. But he was wrong to think that didn’t make it valuable.

“Can I see?” She held out her palm, looking at his face rather than the offering clutched back in his hand. The moment felt strangely surreal, like maybe Marek was one of the ghosts summoned from the shadows.