Chapter 29

29

Farryn

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound reached my ears through the void, and I opened my eyes to the dark bedroom. The tree outside frantically shivered, its spindly branches like fingers tracing over the glass. Wind had kicked up, wheezing at the pane like night’s dying breath.

Groaning with exhaustion, I turned away from it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, tap.

Folding the pillow around my head, I squeezed my eyes shut in search of the sleep I’d surely need by following morning.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound had wormed its way into my head, and even if it remained muted through the pillow, I could still hear it in my thoughts.

Throwing the pillow off, I sat up in bed, staring across the room at the bothersome little branch that I wanted so badly to break.

Instead, I reached for my robe from the foot of the bed, where I’d discarded it earlier, and tiptoed toward the door. En route, I grabbed the lantern still burning on the mantel and tuned it up just a notch, which brightened the room.

The outside hallway stood empty, and I paid particular attention to the intersection at the end of it, where I’d first caught sight of Van Croix. All was quiet on that front, and at no sign of movement, I slipped out of my room, down the long corridor to the staircase, where I followed the connecting passages to the west wing of the cathedral, on my way to the library.

As a child, when I’d felt frightened, or restless, at night, either my aunt would offer the humorous little chant she’d made up to scare the monsters away, or I’d pull out a book and distract myself in another world. It’d always worked. I’d end up tiring myself out and waking up the next morning with a book lying across my face. Fairytales had always been my favorite, of course, but I wasn’t picky. As long as it distracted me from the shadows in the room, I’d have read anything.

A sound echoed down the corridor and brought me to a halt. A powerful melody that swallowed the air. I followed its forlorn timbre on my path toward the organ room. and there, before the instrument that took up the entire wall, sat Van Croix.

The black silk of his robe hung over the bench, and his body moved with each transcendent chord. The haunting sound carried an air of melancholy and doom. So intricate was each note, I wondered how a single man could command so many at once.

My feet drew me closer, but to keep from being seen, I hid behind one of the pillars and lowered the lantern to the floor. Watching him.

The way his hands moved over the keys.

His face concentrated and undisturbed.

It reminded me of something out of an old Dracula movie, the song so dreary.

Something warm and familiar clawed at the back of my neck. A strange sensation I couldn’t put my finger on. Like déjà vu, but more fleeting. I stared off, desperate to cling to whatever strange distraction in my head had yet to make itself known, and curled my fingers around the thick, wooden pillar.

The music settled to quiet, and the room became eerily still.

“Do you intend to spy at every opportunity, Miss Ravenshaw?” Though laced with an air of boredom, his voice held a deep, resonating richness.

A tickle coiled down my spine with the nervous energy that pulsed through me. Lifting the lantern at my feet, I stepped out from the pillar. “My apologies. I didn’t want to disturb you. It was beautiful, the music you played just now.”

“It’s amateur, at best.”

“What is the name of the piece?”

“Prophetiae.” He spoke in an accent, as if well acquainted with the language.

“Prophesies?”

“You speak Latin?”

“Very little to get by. Is it yours?”

“No. The man who wrote it has long since passed.”

“It’s beautiful.”

From somewhere beside him, he lifted a glass with a green-tinted drink and took a sip. “May I ask why you’re wandering so late at night?”

“There’s a tree branch outside my window. Its tapping is both incessant and maddening.”

“I’ll have it removed tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure it’ll make much difference to my sleep. I’ve always been a bit of a night owl.” With a smile, I stared down at myself and the white nightgown, which failed to properly shield the silhouette of my body beneath. I drew my robe closed, cinching my waist with its belt. When I glanced up again, I caught him staring out of the corner of his unpatched eye. “Do you have trouble sleeping, too, Mister Van Croix?”

He didn’t seem to hide the lascivious expression on his face, going so far as to shamelessly lick his lips, which sent a flutter to my stomach. “At times.”

“The sign of a thirsty mind,” I said on a nervous breath. As much as I’d wanted the attention from him, had hoped I could weasel my way into his awareness, the man made me nervous.

“Pardon?”

“Something my aunt used to say, when I’d wander about the house late at night. She said my mind was in search of … quenching. Like a child who wakes for a glass of water, or milk.” I caught a glimpse of his drink propped on the organ beside him. “Or liquor, I suppose.”

On a sigh, he turned back to the organ and reached for his glass again. “What is it you thirst for?”

Something about the way he framed the question had my mouth watering for a taste of his drink. “Understanding. Reason. I was on my way to the library to do a bit of reading. What about you?”

“Diversion.” With that, he snorted a small laugh and stole another sip of his drink.

“I suppose music is good for that.”

“I prefer the more carnal amusements, but yes, I suppose it is.” He swayed a bit where he sat, and it was then I realized he was slightly intoxicated. “Consider yourself fortunate. If not for your condition, I might’ve taken an interest in you.”

“My condition?”

“Innocence and naivete. You stink of it.” His jaw clenched, as if the word left a bitter taste on his tongue.

At that, I frowned, and made a subtle effort to sniff myself, in case he actually meant stink. “I’m not as innocent as you seem to think.”

“No, of course not.” Swirling the drink around, he stared down at it, seemingly mesmerized by the act. “You did seek me out, after all, didn’t you? Some ill begotten fantasy that woke you from dreams. And here you are.” Glass raised as if in toast, he swayed again. “Another chance encounter.”

The meaning of his words came together, painting a picture that had me scowling back at him. Yes, I’d intended to charm the man, but I hadn’t sought him out. “Are you suggesting that I came to you for … well, for …”

“You do know the word, at the very least, don’t you? Three letters. Fairly simple pronunciation.” The thick sarcasm in his voice had my hands tingling, wishing I could slap him.

“I’m quite familiar with the word, thanks.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Nor do I care to make it so.”

What a piece of work, the guy. All the arrogance crammed inside his skull must’ve made for one hell of a headache. “While I enjoyed your music, I can assure you, I did not seek you out.”

“It would not have been your own inclination.” The tone of his voice held nothing more than the dull apathy of indifference. “Do you not feel it? The urge?”

“Urge for what?” The only urge I felt was trying to keep my hand from cracking across his perfectly chiseled cheek.

Drink raised midway to his lips, he paused and stared back at me. “Interesting.” He seemed to study me for a moment, with that one good eye, before he tipped the glass back for a sip. “Run along now, little fledgling. Go read your books.”

I suspected fledgling might’ve been in reference to my night owl comment. Or another crack at my innocence, as he’d called it.

“Are you always so pleasant, or is this a special occasion?”

He groaned, not bothering to look at me. “Are you always so full of endless conversation?”

“No, actually. It must be your scintillating personality that brings it out of me.”

“Why are you here?”

“At the cathedral? I told you.”

“Do you honestly think I believe that you happened upon Anya? You came here for a reason. One you’ve yet to confess.”

“You don’t believe that fate could’ve led me here?”

“I believe in fate as much as I believe your intentions to be innocent.”

Who could blame him, really, when I didn’t know myself what had compelled me to seek out this strange place?

A warning from my father, of course. And the possibility that Papa might still be alive. But what if he’d been here too long? What if he didn’t recognize me? Or worse, didn’t want to be found.

There’d been something else, too. Something inexplicable that’d driven me to seek out Xhiphias. I remembered the feeling I’d had, standing at the mouth of that foggy alley. As if turning away wasn’t an option. Yet, I couldn’t explain what had compelled me. Some invisible pull that just wouldn’t relent its grip.

“I don’t honestly know why I’m here. I long to find out.”

“And while venturing along this path to self-discovery, might I impart some advice. If you place any value on your soul, Miss Ravenshaw, I suggest you keep your distance from me.”

“Noted.” With a nod, I kept on toward the stairwell, and when I passed the organ, with his back to me, he kicked his head to the side.

“I’m guessing this won’t be my last midnight encounter with you.”

“Not unless you’d prefer I stay in my room.”

“I have no preference.” With that, he turned back to the organ and the music once again filled the room.