William by Claire Cray

you're afraid I’ll leave you in the dark again. But
you mustn't worry." Reaching over to take my hand again, he looked
into my eyes. "I can't stand to see you look anything less than
happy tonight. I'll do my best to satisfy every last curiosity you
can think of before dawn."
    Why did I feel that in my teeth? But I did,
so distinctly that it tingled when I smiled. "All right."
    "That's better," Merrick murmured with a
smile of his own. "Now, if you've had your fill of wine, let us
walk through the city and speak of whatever you like."

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
    I was beginning to feel rather restless,
though not unpleasantly so. It was only my zeal for the evening. As
we started off down the boulevard, I was glad to move my limbs and
ready for the next novelty. It came in the sound of my boot steps
striking the street, which sounded queer to me, for I felt as
though I weighed almost nothing, and that my movements should be as
quiet as a cat's.
    "How do I feel so light?" I asked, more to
express my wonder than in expectation of a reply. "What is the
science of this?"
    "I must warn you I don't know
everything."
    "Well, I must warn you I'm just as interested
in what you don’t know."
    Merrick laughed softly. We had headed away
from the main square, venturing down a more tranquil street lined
with fine townhouses that were two and three times larger than the
one where he had welcomed me. The traffic here was mostly confined
to the odd coach or cart, and when I felt we were quite alone, I
boldly tested his promise to speak openly with me.
    "What you said before," I started, "about
being in the company of other people. You mean to say that it is
always so easy, as long as you're not thirsty?"
    "It is not overly difficult. But that is not
to say that you should ever become too comfortable among them."
Merrick paused thoughtfully. "If you get too close, interest will
give way to thirst."
    "How close do you mean? How interested?"
    Again, Merrick took a moment to shape his
reply. "It's not easy to parse. Your thirst is bound to your own
feelings."
    "Then, say, what if one of those men at the
tavern had joined us for a drink? Do you mean that a few moments of
conversation could seal the deal? If I found him clever, for
instance."
    "It could. It might not. I'm afraid I cannot
speak for you, William."
    "For yourself, then," I ventured. "What does
it take for you?"
    "I have more restraint than most." Merrick
sounded even less satisfied with his own answers than I was—it was
charmingly clear how earnestly he was trying to satisfy me. "And
I've never been swift to connect with others."
    "Sometimes when you speak of yourself I feel
you must be describing someone else."
    "You have a distorted view of me."
    I scoffed loudly, startling myself. It seemed
harder than ever, now, not to wear all my emotions on my sleeve;
the reaction was out before I even realized I’d taken offense. For
a moment I was so taken aback by my own harrumph that I was
speechless, but I tried to recover enough to explain my objection
more politely.
     
    "I do not think my view of you is distorted,"
I said, "but if you are certain of it, I can only hope to correct
it."
    "Oh, no." Merrick stopped me with a hand on
my shoulder and turned me to face him. "That was not what I meant.
Far from it! I only meant to explain why it might sound strange to
you when I speak of myself. I’ve lived for a long time, but you
have a fresh view of me. Your view. I couldn't ask for more." He
smoothed my hair as he studied my face, his brow furrowed and his
amber eyes soft with concern. " You can't imagine what it’s meant
to me to learn who I am through your eyes."
    I could only nod, taken aback by the fervor
of his reassurances, and was doubly caught off guard by his soft
sigh of relief.
    It was always disarming when he put the full
force of his gentle charm toward soothing my worries. But it was
even more disarming to realize that Merrick, to my utter surprise
and fascination, was just as