Chapter 21

21

Farryn

Sounds reached the dark void, and I opened my eyes to a room lit only by the moon’s glow pouring in through the sheer curtains. An ache throbbed in my head, and I flinched, rubbing the painful spot. After glutting on bread and a delicious stew I didn’t recognize, I’d poured a glass of the wine that came with my meal, in hopes the alcohol might help settle my nerves. Instead, I’d passed out.

Momentarily disoriented, I looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings, the black, crushed velvet bedding, the chaise, the armoire from where I’d borrowed a nightgown that was longer and fancier than any I’d ever slept in. Anya had taken my clothes to wash and dry after they’d gotten soaked in the rain.?So, it looked like I’d be stuck in this thing until she returned to my room.

A glance at the unusual, gilt-metal, mantel clock on the nightstand beside me showed it was half-past midnight. Odd, little gargoyles perched at either side of the clock face and had creeped me out most of the night.

More strange sounds filtered through the door.

Cautious, I climbed out of bed and padded quietly across the room, coming to a stop in front of the door. An angry, masculine voice. The creak of old wood. A hard thunk. Opening the door just a crack showed an enormous, shadowy figure that I couldn’t make out. An intimidating silhouette of a man, for sure. He strode closer, toward my room, and once he stood in the dim light of the lantern in the hallway, where the two corridors intersected, I could see him more clearly.

A well-built physique that gave youth to the maturity in his face, which put him around late thirties. Jet black hair, attractively mussed in front, with a slight half curl that stuck out from the back of his neck. Over his right eye, he wore a black patch, whose strings crossed his forehead and cheek, and I could see the faint lines of scars sticking out from above it and below. The other eye appeared to be a striking blue that reminded me of winter ice, beneath a brow wrinkled with aggravation. Ethereally handsome, he carried an imposing and dominant presence, with an irascible undertone that reminded me of an angry badger having been drawn out of his burrow.

I was certain, based on what I’d been told about the man, that it was Van Croix. Seemingly contemplative, he lurched toward the other corridor, as if torn over whether to return from where he’d come, but instead, he set forth in my direction, fists balled.

Tall with broad shoulders, he walked with a smooth, regal grace, wearing silk black pants and a matching black robe that flowed behind him like a cape. An exposed abdomen showed perfectly etched muscles that glistened as though damp with sweat. The deep groove between his chest also glistened, like the guy had run a mile in his bedroom.?A glint drew my eyes to the silvery swirls of tattoos, like tribal art, but more intricate, on his chest and stomach. Strange.

I’d never seen silver tattoos before.

Something about him struck me as vaguely familiar. I’d seen the man before, though I couldn’t quite place from where. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu left me staring for far longer than I should have.

He rubbed his brow, and as he neared my bedroom, I flattened myself on the other side of the door. The sound of his approaching footfalls stopped for a moment.?Heart pounding in my chest, I scarcely drew in a breath, my senses telling me he was just on the other side of the door. Seconds ticked by. A dark and eerie tension rose inside of me, raising the hair on my skin. Though I knew there were others about, it suddenly felt as if I was completely alone with him in the cathedral.

I waited for him to step inside the room and find me hiding there. I had to remind myself I’d been invited to stay. No, not by him, but it wasn’t as if I’d broken into his home. Still, for whatever reason, I felt like a criminal.

More seconds ticked off.

“Master Van Croix, what luck to find you awake!” The familiar voice of Anya broke the silence, and I stole the moment to exhale a held breath.?I’d been right about his identity. “I have good news.”

“What is it?” A string of irritation clung to his tone, and still, something about his voice struck a familiar chord. Intrigued me.

“I found a caretaker for the dogs earlier this evening. Seems he’s adjusting well to his new sleeping quarters, according to Garic.”

“Great. Any idea why this bedroom door is open?”

Mouth pinned together, I screwed my eyes shut.

“I’m not sure, Master. Perhaps one of the ladies left it open while cleaning this afternoon.”

“It was closed when I came home.”

I couldn’t see his face, but his tone carried the harsh snip of an impatient man.

“I can’t say, Master. I’m sorry.”?A short hush followed, then I heard Anya ask, “Are you all right, Sir? You seem out of sorts.”

“There is an odd scent on the air. Almost … sickening.”

In a subtle movement, so as not to arouse any attention to myself, I lifted my arm to sniff, not noticing anything but the faint remnants of deodorant I’d put on that morning.

“I don’t notice anything unusual. Might be one of the girls’ perfumes?”

In the next breath, the surface behind me disappeared as the door slammed shut, and my feet tumbled out from under me. I crashed against the panel with a thud at the same time it clicked shut, and I slapped both hands to my mouth, willing my muscles to hold perfectly still.

“I’ll see to it this door remains closed at all times.” Even muffled behind the wooden door, Anya’s voice was rife with annoyance.

After a long pause on the other side of the door, the footsteps resumed. Sucking in another deep breath, I closed my eyes, resting the crown of my head against the door.

That was intense.

* * *

The dull, gray light of an overcast sky filtered through the curtains, as I roused from sleep. The embers of a fading dream lingered on the distant fringes as awareness slowly filtered in, pervading the endless void of restless sleep. Every sound and creak had kept me on a razor’s edge most of the night, and when I did eventually slip into dreams, I found them to be frantic and consuming, clawing at me like arms reaching up from a bottomless descent.

In morning’s light, however dreary and forlorn, I was greeted by the scent of aging wood and the deep penetrating cleanliness of fabric that’d been handwashed and hung on a line to dry. It reminded me of Aunt Nelle, whose old, outdated kitchen had always smelled like lemons because she’d insisted they worked brilliantly on water-stained sink basins.

I pushed up from the plush mattress that left me feeling as if I’d slept on clouds. If not for the unsettling noises throughout the night, I’d have probably slept as sound as a baby. Unfortunately, I felt about as rested as a sleep-deprived mother, which didn’t bode well in a place where I would need to keep my wits about me.

Yawning and stretching, I let my mind rewind to the night before and Van Croix. Everything about the man intrigued me, drawing a number of questions in my mind, from his shady reputation, down to the patch at his eye. The fact that I’d found the cathedral and Van Croix so quickly still struck me as odd, but I’d chalked it up to Xhiphias having had something to do with that. I just knew I needed to know more about the man I’d seen outside my room the night before. How my father might’ve known him and why he’d sought him out. Perhaps he could help me find my father, assuming Papa had ended up in Nightshade after his death. Given what I’d learned about the way humans were preyed upon here, though, my hopes didn’t remain high.

Still, I was determined, nonetheless.

A quiet knock at the door interrupted my thoughts, and steeling my muscles, I scrambled for the sheets to cover myself, just as the door clicked open.

Anya walked in, carrying a tray with a silver teapot. “Good morning.” She spoke low and, after setting the tray down on a nearby table, hurried to close the door again. “Thought you might be hungry again.” Tray in hand once more, she crossed the room and placed it on the expansive stretch of bed beside me, and when she took a seat there, I inched backward in discomfort.

Smiling and wordless, she poured what I guessed to be tea into the two cups that were set beside toast with jam. The grace and care with which she handled the cups almost felt cartoonish and overexaggerated.

“About last night, Anya. I didn’t mean to--”

“Nonsense. How could you possibly sleep with all that racket going on?”

“Racket?”

“Oh, yes. The pipes in this place can sometimes make such a clamor! Also, do not be alarmed if the candles flicker on occasion. It can be so drafty. The chill just sticks to your bones.” Clutching her arms, she pretended to shiver.

The pipes.?It definitely wasn’t the pipes that’d woken me.

“I’ll let you get dressed, and we’ll take you wherever it is you’d like to be dropped off.”

I knew nothing of this place, and had never anticipated the vastness of it. Finding my father, if he were here, at all, would likely be impossible. My questions regarding Van Croix, coupled to the fact that I may have stumbled upon the flowers necessary for returning to my world, left me hesitant to leave. I wasn’t ready to go back to my old life of little answers and bigger curiosities that grew every day. What I needed to know lay buried in this strange place.?In Van Croix, himself.

“Anya … I don’t want to impose, but ... do you think it’d be possible for me to stay a few days more? Not long, I promise.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The master is very particular about guests.”

“Yes, you’ve said that. But what if I helped with something? I can clean, or help cook?” I wasn’t the best cook, but the couple of meals I’d been served hadn’t been the fanciest. I could at least handle toast and tea.

“We’re pretty contented, staffing-wise.”

“There must be something I can do. Help in the stables? Laundry? Dishes?”

Staring thoughtfully for a moment, she tapped a long-nailed finger against the edge of the tray still on the bed between us. “How are you with flowers?”

“Flowers?”

“The gardens could use some help. Everything in this place has withered to death. I fear the oncoming winter will only ensure nothing grows next spring. Perhaps a few bulbs might spruce things up.”

“I can help. I’m happy to help.” Every day, I would have to recite memories from my home. Distinct memories of Camael, Aunt Nelle, and my father. Ones that would test whether, or not, my memories had begun to fade, and the moment I could no longer recall one of them in practice, I would leave. Abandon my search and escape while I had the wits to do so.

“I’ll need to run it by Master Van Croix.”

“You mentioned there might be a possibility of a meeting with him?”

Pressing a finger to her lips, she stared off for a moment. “I did, didn’t I? I don’t know, miss. Master Van Croix is quite busy and rarely takes meetings.”

“I wouldn’t take up much of his time. I only need to ask a few questions. About my father.”

“Yes, I remember you mentioned. You see, if he knows you’re already here, he’ll be angry. The man is exceptionally demanding of his privacy. I’ll need to grease the skids, so to speak.”

“Sure. I’ll wait here, then?”

“Yes. Wait here,” she said over her shoulder, as she made her way toward an armoire against the opposite wall. “If he finds you first, things will not work in your favor. And if you do speak with him, I’ll advise you not make much eye contact. He finds that rather threatening. Best to keep your head down. Particularly if he’s upset.” She pulled a dress from inside and handed it off to me. Thick, white fur lined the hood and cuffs of the gray dress, which I estimated reached to about mid-calf. The same uniform I’d seen the others wear. The heavy fabric promised warmth, even in the unforgiving cold of this place, but I never wore dresses. Especially those with laces at the bodice. Ever.

“Is it possible to have my clothing returned to me?”

“I’m sorry, dear. No. This is the uniform all those who work at the estate are issued.”

Huffing, I held it up higher. “It’s just that … I never wear dresses.”

“You wear trousers?” She spat the word as if it were something sour.

“I just prefer the clothes I arrived in.”

Brows quirked, she shrugged. “Well, too late. I’ve discarded them. Whatever fabric used to make them will be useless against this cold. You’d be better off wearing absolutely nothing, for as warm as your beloved, old clothes would be.”

“You discarded my clothes?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

Sealing my lips, I shook my head. “Not at all. Looks like I’ll be wearing a dress.”

“Splendid.”