Tasteful Darkness

Chapter 2

Peter – Four years ago

"We've discovered the cause and now know that it is incurable," the doctor says. From his tone, Peter can tell that the man couldn't be less interested in Peter's concerns.

"Will it kill me?" Peter asks, trying to hide the worry in his voice.

The doctor shakes his head. "No. You will have to live with it."

He says it like I should have accepted it by now, Peter thinks to himself.

"Don't you see what's happening to me?" He gestures to his entire face. At the markings that he has been monitoring for the past few months. At the light patches of skin that are slowly spreading across his body. "These are markings from a witch."

Not that Peter believes in magic. The doctor doesn't seem to either.

"They are not from any witch," he says slowly, as if speaking to a child. "There is no need to worry. The marks aren't spreading very quickly." He leans over and grabs a small glass bottle from a nearby counter. "This will help with any discomfort you may feel, but I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do."

Peter nearly swears, but he knows if his mother were here, she would scold him. He holds his tongue. "Fine." He swipes the bottle from the doctor's hand and flinches at the shooting pain that rips up his wrist. The doctor notices the look on Pete's face.

"Is everything all right?" he asks.

Not wanting to be there a moment longer, Peter says, "I'm fine," then walks out without another word.

The streets are damp from the cold and heavy air. Peter couldn't care less as he stalks forward. He only glances up when he passes the church and sees the crescent shaped window he's always loved.

It starts to rain. Peter only glares at the ground. Though he hates to admit it, the sound of the rain falling on the rooftops calms him. It melts away the anger in his shoulders and chases away most of his dark thoughts. He stops in the middle of the street and looks up at the gray sky.

I wish the rain could wash away these marks. He flinches at his own thoughts and keeps walking.

The rain is pouring now. Even for someone who adores rain, Peter realizes he won't be able to make it much further. He spots a single illuminated building down the street and runs for it. But the time he's inside, every inch of him is soaked and water drips off his body and on the floor.

He looks up. It takes him a moment to realize where he is. Even then, he's not entirely sure he knows what he's looking at.

Spices and other dried herbs hang from wires along the ceiling. Jars filled with assorted plants and powders—all of which labeled accordingly—fill sagging shelves along the walls. Peter approaches a table nearby and runs his fingers along the inky black cover of a book. As he bends his wrist to pick it up, it radiates with pain once again. He must have done something to it while working the previous night.

"Who are you?"

The voice is so quiet Peter thinks he imagined it. He looks up and meets the eyes of a girl. He's taken aback by the color—as green as pine, but with a halo of yellow in the center. Her copper hair is tied up in a knot on her head, held together with pieces of deep green ribbon. He would have kept admiring her if she hadn't looked down and placed the box she was holding on the table.

"Can you speak?" she asks, her voice louder now. Less delicate.

"Y-yes," Peter stutters out. "Peter."

She raises an orange brow.

He tries again. "My name is Peter."

The girl takes a long look at him. Peter wonders if she's thinking about whether or not to kick him out onto the drenched streets. To his surprise, her look softens.