June 20th, 1947
After the incident with a cursed talisman, things calmed down considerably. I returned to decorating the house and Cyrus began blossoming into a domestic desert rose. Not a day has gone by that he has not been in the kitchen singing and dancing before the stove. I am truly enjoying this apartment and all it has had to offer, thus far.
Today was the first time we had any real excitement other than painting or arranging furniture in almost a week. A woman came to the door and asked for the healer. I was surprised that she spoke some English. We could communicate on a basic level. Her English was not the best, but nor is mine. It was enough, however, to get across that her daughter is ill and confined to her bed.
I left Cyrus in our kitchen staring at potatoes and tomatoes in an attempt to ascertain how he might dress them for dinner later. I kissed his cheek, told him I loved him and I would be back later after a house call. He mumbled that he loved me in return, while scowling at unpeeled potatoes and a particularly ripe looking tomato. It was rather endearing, I must say.
I followed the woman through city streets, back alleys and into a bit of an ‘unsavory’ part of our neighborhood. I hesitate to call it a ‘red light district,’ but from what I have observed, I believe it to be a close equivalent. The deeper we walked into the shadier space, the more an uneasy knot began to grow in my gut.
I had the feeling I was walking into a situation that I would rather not be walking into. However, I am a doctor and it matters not to me a person’s station. I give aid where it is needed. I just would rather not be giving it where I figured I would giving it.
I was right, of course. The woman turned a corner and entered a building with no discernible markings. However, the scent of perfume, cigars and alcohol made the knot in my stomach churn. I kept my eyes upon the woman in front of me, but in my peripheral view, I could see some men sitting at a table playing cards. I tried not to look elsewhere.
We went up a flight of stairs and down a hallway before entering a small bed chamber. There upon a bed, lay a small girl child having a fit of coughs. I knelt at her side and began examining her. From what I could tell, the child had a bad case of influenza, but with some medicine, rest and liquids, would recover.
I gave the woman some liquid cough medicine I had stowed in my bag and some directions on how often to give it. I expressed how it was important to keep the child in bed for a few days, lots of cool water and soup never hurt. There were tears in the woman’s eyes, and for the first time I got a good look at her. She was young, but there were lines of stress under her eyes and her shoulders held weight. It was not just because her daughter was ill, either.
I offered a bow and turned to leave, but she caught my arm, stating what I knew was coming next. She had no money and wanted to give me payment. Bile rose in the back of my throat and my blood ran cold. She had already removed a covering from her head and a scrambled for some kind of response to stop her before anymore clothing came tumbling from her small body.
Drawing in a quick breath I turned and placed my hands upon her shoulders. I shook my head and smiled. As gently as I could, explained that it was not necessary. Glancing about the room I looked for anything that could give me leave of this miniature nightmare. That’s when I spied a feather upon her nightstand. I do not know what possessed me to do it, but I rushed over and plucked it from where it sat and waggled it back and forth.
I believe at first she took the wrong idea, looking slightly startled. I know I must have blushed, but at any rate, I shook my head, opened my medical bag and stuffed the feather into it. That was all the payment I needed, I told her, before practically running from her room.
Making my way out of that place with my head up took all of my composure. I retracted our steps carefully through town and just before I emerged on more well-lit streets I heard a familiar voice. It was my Cyrus. He was leaning against a building with the brim of a hat pulled down over his eyes. The smirk on his face made me feel uncomfortable, but I could not help but smile in return.
We walked back to the apartment together, and I discussed what had transpired. I thought he would laugh, but he was supportive, offering encouraging words and telling me it was good that I took something. He also said that he would return to see the woman, and explain that she was not rejected. I was startled, and even a little scared. He insisted that it would be fine. I had saved her daughter, and he would explain that I am an honorable man that would never take advantage of a woman with what I do, it was simply not who I am.
Cyrus’ words warmed me inside and out. It was true. Even if she had been a beautiful male youth, I could not bring myself to take such a ‘payment.’ That is ghastly.
When we finally entered the apartment it smelled of baked potatoes and roasted meats. While I was gone, Cyrus had rushed out to the markets and purchased a bit of lamb. He then stuffed two tomatoes, baked two potatoes, and cooked two lamb chops. It was utterly mouth-watering just to breath in the possibility of dinner.
We dined by candlelight and toasted with red wine. We smiled across the table to one another and spoke about finishing touches to our domicile. It was truly a lovely evening.
As our plates emptied, Cyrus gave me an impish look from across the table. I was uncertain as to what the look implied, until I saw his broken fang in the dim candlelight. He was a flash of color from his chair to my side. The feeling of fangs against flesh is indescribable. I really should not detail what happened next. It is lewd beyond measure.
I shall be sore for a few days, but I do not regret one second of that coupling.
Until next time, Journal.