Page 52 of Just for a Taste

“I like—” Those first few words came out soft, almost inaudible even to myself, but the rest died on my tongue.

If Zeno expected any further response, he didn’t show it. In fact, I wasn’t entirely certain he had heard me at all until I saw him mouthing the rest of the sentence to himself in my stead:You too.

Zeno’s brow furrowed once more, this time in the same way it did when he was puzzling out a measure of music. “Your research has dried up, has it not? You said my library serviced you for a long time, so I imagine it no longer does. And that’s why you came here in the first place.”

I swore I could hear the gears clicking in his mind as I retreated to the other side of the bed to make myself presentable. Without Zeno’s hand on them, my fingers felt too cold and numb to button up my shirt with any speed. I took my time to finish working my way up to the collar, savoring the brief pause from impassible seas before I had to address the torrent of emotions that had washed into the room.

“Yes,” I finally answered. “I’ve gone through all the Medici documents here several times over.”

It was Zeno’s turn to pause, to force me to wait for a response.How cruel, I thought. I tried to predict his next sentence but failed horrifically.

“I’ve been a pathetic excuse of a vampire,” Zeno said, rising to his feet. “You’ve been mybeniaminafor nearly six months now. It’s time for yourritus sanguinous.”

I froze at the last few words.Ritus sanguinous—rite of blood. For mostbeniaminiand their vampires, who were typically paired at the cusp of adulthood, this was a rite of passage. The ceremony with the first public feeding was the point of the practice, but what was arguably more important was the burgeoning network that could emerge from such a gathering.

My hands fell to my side, and I stared at Zeno, slack-jawed. “What? Isn’t that the epitome of everything you hate?”

“Gaudy, expensive, ornate—what's worth hating there? Not to mention the hors d’oeuvres. Why, I could hire a private chef!”

I narrowed my eyes into slits and folded my arms. “Loud, busy,socializing. I’m pretty sure your skin would turn inside out.”

Zeno shrugged and leaned against the frame of my door, body as loose as his words. “Pah. We’ll have to see.”

“Butwhy?”

“I cannot give you more documents, Cora, but I know several people who can. This is the only chance we have to gather them in one space.”

I frowned and shook my head. “That’s not what I asked. Why? Noor told me that having abeniaminawas enough to satiate your father. Why would you go so far out of your way for me? What could your reason be?”

To my shock, my question was returned with a laugh.

“Why do I need a reason to go out of my way for a beautiful girl, one who turns every line of a book into its own poem when she reads it? For a girl who brought a garden full of life into the dead room of an abbey, who charmed a dove who trusts no one, and who managed to lure a wretched bastard out from his hiding place?”

My heart rate doubled, maybe even tripled. Perhaps the fluttering in my chest was caused by the beating wings of the butterflies that had started up in my stomach.

“I—uh—” I stammered, not even certain what words I was trying to get out.

Even if I had managed, Zeno was already starting to leave.

“Why would I bother, hmm?” he chuckled to himself just before shutting my door. “What a preposterous question.”

Chapter 25: Cabaletta

Signora Rafia took full advantage of our generous timeline to drive at an ambling pace. Flickering streetlights interspersed the path sparsely, so we were cast into complete darkness for a full second before entering the glow of the next. However, the darkness around these parts felt welcoming rather than ominous.

Zeno had begun planning theritus sanguinouson his own, much to my combined relief and disappointment, as it meant I saw him less and less in the final month before the ceremony. This would be the last time we saw one another until the ceremony in a week, I knew.

“It’s surprising you were able to find a museum that has such late admission time,” I said after a bit. “After dark is odd for a place to be open, isn’t it?”

“That was only per my request. The gallery is famous for its glass walls. I wanted us to be able to see them in the moonlight, at least.” He paused, chuckling. “If only someone had told the sky that it shouldn’t be so cloudy tonight.”

The lights outside were growing closer and closer together, the roads more manicured. We were approaching a small city. Signora Rafia turned into a small, overgrown alleyway I hadn’t even seen through the tint of the windows. As we approached the wrought-iron gate, an attendant of some sort took a cursory glance at us, not even bothering to check the plate upon seeing Zeno’s face, and unlocked the fence. It squealed open with a bit of force from the attendant. Our car wheeled toward the back of the building.

Part of me wished I could see it in the daylight. The museum had been built in neither the elegant baroque styling of the abbey nor the simplistic, homey style of the rural houses. Instead, it had been built in a delightfully over-the-top art nouveau style that had clearly been inspired by Museo Casa Lis. The entire building was made of stained Tiffany glass. The front door was already propped open for our arrival, and I couldn’t help but rush in.

“Wow!” I cried upon entering.

The interior of the building was as garishly extravagant as the exterior, with vivid furniture and countless chandeliers. I spun to Zeno, who was giving me his usual smile—one side of his lip curved up, a single fang visible.

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