Near the foyer doors, the air smelled of pine and good earth. In the weeks following Nyx’s visit, Agnes had come to stand before them, to smell the woods and listening to the howling of nature. Beckoning her.

She could not go out yet, for Rosemary was not ready.

But recently, she had begun to stand near the doors with Agnes, to stare out occasionally into that darkness. When daylight came she shied away from the stream of light at the door. At night, she ventured close, to the doorway.

Agnes came with her.

“Would you like to go out?” She would ask.

“Not yet,” Rosemary would say.

“You can come out with me.”

“Wanting it is quite different than doing it, Agnes.”

And so the days would pass.

Rosemary drank blood. She watered her garden. She tended her flowers. She let Agned bathe her and dress her each day, like a little doll. And all the while Agnes listened carefully to all she said. Whenever it happened that Rosemary slept, Agnes scribbled her findings in a notebook, in code. 

There was quite a lot now that she had discovered, and yet so much more to learn. She was not yet finished. The time had not come for Rosemary to…

Well. The time had yet to come.

Nyx came and went again with the full moon. This time, Agnes settled herself down in Rosemary’s chair and placed Rosemary in her lap. This, she reasoned, was to grow closer to the vampire. The more Rosemary trusted her, the more Agnes could learn. 

This was why she stroked her hair, and put the cup of blood to her lips, and held Rosemary’s close body to her warm one.

This is why she reminded her: “we may leave together. Outside, you are welcome where I go.”

Rosemary looked at her and smiled. “Tomorrow. Let us go tomorrow, and have a picnic beneath the moon!” 

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Agnes asked. Gently, she pressed her cup against the red flesh of Rosemary’s lip. 

Rosemary sipped it, her eyes half lidded. Ah, like this she seemed as delicate as starlight. Agnes wanted to feed her more.

“I think I will never be ready,” Rosemary said. “But I would like to go out with you.”

The next sunset, Agnes woke Rosemary and dressed her in a white gown. At the question of shoes, Rosemary shook her head. “I want to feel the earth.”

Agnes had nodded and, briefly regretting the choice of a white gown given there would be mud, moved to work on her clothes.

While Rosemary waited at the door, Agnes gathered a bottle of blood from Aster (a good vintage, she had been assured), and a few slices of bread, cured meat, and soft cheese. This she placed in a basket and covered with the only cloth she could find on short notice: one of Rosemary’s lacy dayveils. 

“Rosemary,” Agnes said, walking into the foyer, “are you ready?”

Rosemary looked at her and there was fear in her eyes. Agnes held out a hand, her palm open. 

“Come, mistress. We do not need to go far on the first day.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Rosemary said. “What if Nyx’s… curse… is too strong?”

“Then I will force her to tell you that you can go.”

Rosemary laughed. “However will you do that? Nyx is an ancient creature, and you are a maid?”

“I’m certain I could figure it out,” said Agnes.

“I’m not so sure,” Rosemary said. Her smile was gentle, but something about it irked Agnes the way only Ariadne, her sister, had once done. “Nyx is more powerful than me, and it is not as though you could defeat me.”

“Oh, of course not, my Lady.”

Rosemary frowned. “I’m sorry. Please don't call me that, Agnes.”

“Fine. I will not, Rosemary.”

They stared again out at the woods. Rosemary pressed her toe into the doorway. Brows furrowed, she stepped into that liminal space, and stared out into the night. “Perhaps we should turn back.”

Agnes strode out the door, swiveled around, and dragged Rosemary out by the arm. “No. We are having your damn picnic, Rosemary, whether Nyx likes it or not.”

“Oh,” Rosemary gasped, grasping at Agnes’s sleeve. Her red eyes were blown wide, her legs trembling beneath her skirt. Her hair seemed to be falling from its ribbons, disheveled in an instant.

Agnes reached over, meaning to pull her further along. Instead, she brushed a strand of hair behind Rosemary’s ear. “Come. Just a little further. Just to the tree line, so that our picnic is not in the driveway.”

They walked to the edge of the woods. Rosemary’s gaze strained upward, first toward the crescent moon in the sky, then the vast, upturned bowl of night itself. Her lips parted, her eyes glistening with water. Agnes tore her gaze away from the soft line of Rosemary’s vulnerable throat. 

Keep yourself in check, good hunter.

They settled directly into the grass, just beneath an ancient pine tree. Time had bent its trunk sideways, and its needles cast a veil over the two women, obscuring the stars only a little.

Rosemary uncorked the bottle, and took a sip. Blood dripped down her chin and her neck and splattered all over her white dress, as though a wound had opened over her heart. 

Agnes took a slice of bread, topping it with one slice of cheese and three of meat. She bit, and a salty, savory tang exploded on her tongue.

She perhaps made an appreciative noise, because Rosemary glanced over, her cheeks dusted with a soft pink.

“I may go outside again, but there is something I can never have anymore.”

“What?” Agnes asked.

“Food,” Rosemary sighed. “You know, my mother would make me porridge when I was young. The earth here was hard and unforgiving, and barley was all that could grow. I… will never eat that porridge again.”

“Because you’re a vampire?”

“My stomach has changed, now. I tried everything; I tried mixing blood into food, or taking it before I ate, but everything made me ill.”

Agnes blinked. “Could you taste the food?”

Rosemary nodded. “Yes, but what is the point of eating if you must spit it all back out? It isn’t pleasurable. It’s nothing but misery.”

“I cannot drink blood,” Agnes supplied. “I’m sure it’s… very tasty.”

“It’s bland,” Rosemary moaned. “Some have deeper flavors, but the blood I drink in bottles is nothing compared to what I used to have. You are missing nothing.”

Agnes, feeling suddenly quite guilty, took a bite of her sandwich. Chewing, she thought for a moment. Surely there was some solution here. If the vampires of Cordis could eat normal food once more, perhaps they would refrain from attacking mortals.

Then, Agnes frowned. The vampires of Cordis were all monsters. She must remain cognizant of her goal.

Something in Rosemary’s face urged Agnes to speak. 

“I’m sorry you cannot eat food anymore, Rosemary, but look!” She pointed out. “When was the last time you saw the castle from this angle? When was the last time you sat beneath this tree? It isn’t perfect, but it’s better than before.”

Rosemary looked at her, an unreadable expression on her face. After a moment, she smiled. “Yes, I suppose it is.”