I’d started menstruating on my twelfth birthday. I remember because the cramping in my thighs and stomach was so excruciating, I’d literally begged God not to let me die. I didn’t know any other way to deal with it—topics of a sexual nature, as a cultural rule, weren’t discussed outside the home without drawing shame, and so there was no woman in town I could go to for help. All I could do was wait for Jember to get home, foolishly sticking a glass bottle neck inside myself to catch the blood so I wouldn’t ruin every piece of fabric in the cellar.
Jember never batted an eye at creepy Manifestations, but when he saw me cowering in the corner, he turned grey. He made me remove the bottle, grabbing my chin too tightly, the rare touch of his gloved hand catching me off guard. “Nothing goes up there,” he said. “Do you understand? Nothing and no one.”
He gave me one of his pills for the pain, the drugs knocking me out until morning.
No one, he’d said. I had no idea what that meant back then. Jember was the least sexual human I’d ever met. He couldn’t make skin-on-skin contact but didn’t seem to want to touch anyone over clothing either. He never commented on appearance, never looked at women any sort of way, never talked about romance or desire. And because he was the only example I had to follow, I never pursued romantic feelings either, even if I felt them a little. Eventually they didn’t matter to me. Eventually I was so involved in God’s work, I never gave the idea of a relationship a second thought.
Until tonight, that is. When I watched Magnus and Kelela cuddle on the couch and felt a twinge of something I’d been missing.
Not jealousy—that created an entryway for the Evil Eye. But something deeper and worse, because I’d been denying the emotion for so long.
A longing to be loved.
I didn’t have to ask who it was when I heard a knock at the door, since the tinny jingle of bells came with it. I hugged my comforter around my shoulders to cover the simple nightgown Saba had given me. When I shoved the chair I was using as a barricade out of the way and opened it, Magnus was there in a soft, fluffy robe and slippers, holding what looked like an ornate jewelry box.
“You left early tonight,” he accused.
“I was tired,” I said, hugging my cape close.
“I expect you to be with me every evening after dinner. Especially if there are guests.”
“Right, that is one of your rules.”
He grinned slightly. “You’re a surprisingly slow learner, Andromeda.”
“Quick learner,” I said, my mind too tired to keep an annoyed bite from peeking through. “Slow follower.”
We were quiet for a moment.
Without a word, he held the box out to me.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning away.
“A peace offering.”
I had to remind myself I was in a grand house, not on a street corner. Rich people didn’t just hand you stolen things in order to keep the authorities off their scent … did they?
I took the box and opened the lid, and what was inside was better than jewelry. Chocolates. The expensive, gourmet kind, handmade with care. Two rows of four sat neatly in their designated grooves, their shiny gold wrappers resting on the red velvet lining of the box.
You could only find these in big cities, made by people who were trained in bigger cities.
“For me?” I held them tighter. It felt like a sin, holding them, but dropping them would be even worse. “I can’t take these from you.”
“When I turn twenty-one, I’ll own the largest chocolate company in the world,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve been crying chocolate tears since birth.”
I closed the decorative box gently. My face felt warm. I couldn’t have been … blushing? Over eight pieces of chocolate? Get it together, Andi.
“I didn’t know your father was a chocolate maker. That must’ve been fun, growing up.”
“Yes, well, he left when I was five, so…” Magnus cleared his throat. “After you left my room this afternoon, I had Esjay pick these up from my private supplier. I didn’t tell him they were for you. I…” He tugged on the belt of his robe with both hands, twisting it. “I didn’t want him to think I’d almost chased off yet another debtera.”
“You don’t have to worry about chasing me off.”
“Yes, of course, the patronage.”
“That. And I’ve dealt with people more difficult than you my entire life.”
He laughed a little—an awkward, jolting sound—and then sank back into his concerned grimace, like he hadn’t had much practice at happiness. “I doubt that very much.”
We were quiet.
“Thank you for the chocolates si—um, Magnus,” I said, tracing the raised embellishments on the box with my finger.
“Thank you,” he repeated, as if he’d never heard the words. Then finally, for the first time since I opened the door, he ventured to look up at me. His gaze was shy, but hopeful. “You’re welcome, Andromeda.”
He rocked on his feet, and for a second I thought he was going to leave, but he just looked me in the eye for a little longer before dropping his gaze again.
“Good night,” he said, and left the doorway abruptly.
“Good night,” I said, my jaw so slack he’d closed his door by the time the words had left my mouth.