Chapter 38

38

Farryn

Somehow, a week had passed, and every day, I worried. Surely, I should have begun to forget the details of my life. That was what I’d been told about Nightshade. Don’t forget who you are. Yet, I could easily recall Camael, Aunt Nelle in great detail–right down to the patch of freckles on Aunt Nelle’s nose, and the loud, coral paisley blouse my neighbor lady wore the day I’d dropped off Camael.

Why hadn’t I forgotten them yet? Did it take so long for memories to fade in this place? What torture to hold onto them for so long.

I stood at the precipice of the cliff, daring myself to edge closer and peer down. Without a guardrail, it’d only take one misstep to send me tumbling over that treacherous edge. Wind gusted my hair, taunting my balance as I slid my toe closer. Closer.

In one brief peek, my eyes swallowed up the horrific height of the cliff, where black rocks glistened along the outer shoreline of an unfathomable, dark sea. In order to miss those rocks, I’d have to get a running start, or make one hell of a leap.

Panic spiraled up my spine, and I drew in a sharp breath, screwing my eyes shut.

Jesus. Soon, I’d have to make that jump, no matter what, unless I wanted to remain in Nightshade. I couldn’t imagine it, though. Couldn’t picture myself stepping one foot off that cliff. The thought of it had my palms sweating, stomach twisted up in impossible knots. It was a stress that plagued me every day for a week, every time I looked out at the cliff and tried to imagine myself willingly diving off.

My routine had become a monotonous stretch of feedings, walks, playtime, and sleep. I’d explored the grounds and observed the village off in the distance, whose rooftops could be seen from the west yard of the cathedral. Aurelia kept me engaged in benign conversations at dinnertime, regaling me with stories of her day.

But it wasn’t enough.

I’d gleaned little more about my father than when I’d first arrived, except when I collected the pocket watch I’d given to him and learned that he did, in fact, show up in Nightshade at some point--and at Blackwater, specifically. The days were spinning along, and soon, I’d run out of time. I needed to leave the cathedral. To venture into town and look around. To ask about him.

“Enjoying the view?” At the sound of the voice from behind, I let out a squeal, spinning around too fast. My stomach caught in my throat as I flailed my arms, teetering backward.

A strong grip held me steady, and I looked up to find Mister Van Croix reaching out for me. Once balanced, I straightened my dress and cleared my throat. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t frolic around the cliff. It’s dangerous.”

“I guess I’m lucky you happened to be passing by.”

“Briefly.” He stepped in the direction of the stable, and I lurched after him.

“Oh, where are you going?” The question shot out of me too eagerly and far too fast for me to stop myself.

The look he shot me when he came to a halt, a very none-of-your-business glare, had me stepping back. “To the bookshop,” he answered, to my surprise.

Why my heart fluttered right then, I couldn’t say. “Bookshop? In town?”

The scowl on his face softened only a little, and his gaze unfocused, seemingly lost in a thought.

“Is everything okay?” I was just waiting for him to tell me to buzz off at that point.

Instead, he frowned, still studying me. He tipped his head and reached out a hand, as if to cup my face, the sight of which locked up my lungs. Before his fingers made contact, he quickly recoiled and glanced away.

“My apologies. What did you ask?” If the man were capable of looking flustered, I was staring at it.

“I wanted to know if I could accompany you to the bookstore? I promise I won’t talk your ear off, or drive you nuts.”

“Sure.”

“No problem. I’ll just—wait. Did you say sure?”

Eyes wary, his lip twitched. “Yes.”

Excitement exploded inside of me, and I let out an embarrassing squeal and a hop. “Really?”

The confused look on his face told me he wasn’t certain he wanted me to go, but I ignored it for the opportunity to not only venture into town and ask about my father, but to visit a bookstore, of all places.

A sound that was part groan and part sigh slipped past his lips, as he turned away from me toward the stables. I stood for a moment, wondering if he’d suddenly changed his mind.

When he stopped midstride and swung around, jerking his head, I smiled and scurried after him.

* * *

Inside the carriage, I sat across from Van Croix, while Garic served as the coachman. Knee bouncing with excitement, I stared out the window beside me, watching the landscape pass. Every so often, I turned to catch Van Croix staring that unreadable and unnerving stare of his.

“Is your leg incapable of holding still?”

Hiding my smile, I shifted on the seat, forcing it steady. “Just excited, is all.”

“What makes you so enthusiastic about books?”

Grateful to break the long stretch of uncomfortable silence between us, I abandoned my window watching to turn my attention to him. “My father. He always had a book in his hand. Nonfiction texts mostly, but he read endlessly. May I ask what it is you’re looking for?”

“A grimoire.”

“Grimoire? As in … spells and such?”

“I’m hoping to learn why those creatures appear the way they do. It is the result of having their wings cut, but that is not a typical outcome for most Fallen.”

“Fallen? You’re saying the creature in the maze was a fallen angel?”

His brows pinched together, as if troubled by the question. “Yes.”

“What is typical when their wings are cut?”

“Illness. Infection. Many die, as they become susceptible to human diseases. But they do not turn into monsters.”

“You think someone cursed the creature.”

“It’s just a theory.”

“The one in the woods that day. You found it, didn’t you?”

Huffing through his nose, he nodded.

“You knew him.”

“I did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve a feeling he was prowling the property after you.” In spite of their casual tone, his words sent an icy chill across the back of my neck.

“After me?”

“I suspect so. The feather you described belonged to him.”

“How do you know?”

“It bore his sigil. The one you drew from memory.”

Thoughts rewound to the night I’d heard something in my room, when Camael sat at the end of my bed hissing and clearly occupied by something. “That … creature was in my room?”

“No. I believe he was captured by something soon after. My thought is that he may have been trying to help you.”

“I …. Why? What would prompt him to help me?”

“I suppose I’ll never be privy to that information now. I’d at least like to be able to track down whatever turned him into that.”

“Do you suppose it was a member of the Pentacrux? Perhaps a new order of followers?”

With a sigh, he turned his attention toward the window. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve not been to the mortal realm in quite some time.”

“How long?”

“Too long. I was banished many years ago. Eternally imprisoned.”

“What for?”

Lips pressed to a hard line, he turned his attention back to me. “Another day, perhaps.”

“Of course. Forgive my prying. I wonder if this all has something to do with my father. It’s possible the paper he published on the matter--”

“What paper?”

“He conducted research on the Pentacrux for a number of years. Half my childhood, in fact. I’m so intimately aware of their symbol because it decorated our house growing up. He was a bit obsessed.”

“What was his obsession about?”

The marking on my arm suddenly itched at the question, and I scratched at my sleeve where it lay hidden beneath. “Another day, perhaps. Anyway, I just wonder if maybe he captured someone’s attention. Someone who didn’t appreciate it.”

He shrugged, his gaze, as always, thoughtful and mysterious. “The motivations of humankind are a mystery to me. Like you, for example. What compels a woman to leave everything she knows in search of the impossible?”

The question, so simple in nature, felt like a complex equation inside my head. One for which I still hadn’t worked out an answer. “I don’t honestly know. I just felt a strange pulling. Like, if I walked away, everything would be lost and I’d never get the opportunity again.”

“I don’t suppose alcohol played a role?”

Chuckling, I shook my head. “No. It was pure curiosity and an overwhelming sense of longing, I guess.”

“What is it that you long for?”

“Contentment.”

Again, his eye flickered as if the word struck his thoughts, and he stared somewhat unfocused. “Surely not, a woman like you. Contentment would be boring.”

With a smile, I quietly absorbed his comment, noticing the landscape had changed from dense forest, to small houses and cobblestone roads that announced we were approaching a town. “You’re probably right. I do require a certain baseline of excitement, or I’ll lose interest.”

“I imagine so. What is it that filled your exciting days?”

“I was a student. Lectured on occasion.”

“Your field of study?”

“Symbolism. Iconology.”

Through his parted lips, I watched his tongue slide over his teeth. “So, this whole expedition must be very enlightening for you.”

“I’m actually more confused than before, if that’s possible. Can I ask something?”

“Asking permission to ask a question is sure to mean it’s something I’ll be inclined not to answer.”

“What is it Van Croix & Associates does? And is that why they call you Death?”

His jaw shifted, eyes studying me, as if contemplating whether, or not, to answer. “Most aren’t privy to my business. Those who are don’t endeavor to call me that name. I’m a broker of souls.”

“Like … broker as in buying and selling?”

“Yes.”

“Trafficking?”

“No. I merely assist in the transition from one stage to the next.”

I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the way Nightshade worked, or how non-humans functioned so seamlessly with humans. “So, you’re more of a funeral director for the afterlife?”

“I suppose in its most rudimentary form.”

“And these souls … you sell them to ...”

“The highest bidder. Unfortunately, the heavens tend to be a bit more frugal when it comes to those in Nightshade.”

“Do you … kill anyone?”

“If you’ll recall, those here are already dead, Miss Ravenshaw.”

“Yes, of course. I just mean … is that the reason you hired Jesper?”

“Yes. All my staff were purchased. Except for you, of course.”

“So … when you say the heavens are frugal. Does that mean you sell them to the Fallen?”

“Yes,” he answered, face stoic and unapologetic, as I’d have expected. “After what Jesper did, do you think he deserves to ascend from this place?”

“Of course not. Then, I’m to assume all the souls you sell are violent criminals?”

“No. Some are not.” He leaned back against the lush, velvety bench and hiked an elbow onto the back of it. How the man could pull off intimidatingly relaxed was a mystery of the ages. “Why do you think I have more staff than I care to house?”

The comment brought a smile to my face. “Surely, in all the time you’ve been doing this, you haven’t only come across a mere handful of decent people.”

He didn’t respond, as the carriage slowed to a stop, and within seconds, Garic was at the door, swinging it open onto a place which reminded me of the old European cities my father would show me in books. Ones that had stood the test of time and remained untouched by the ever-evolving technology that surrounded them.

Gas lamps lined the streets, decorated in groomed vines and speckled with the few snowflakes that’d begun to fall. A stretch of small shops boasted everything from books to baked goods, an apothecary and clothing, and even a small pub on the corner.

As I followed Jericho out of the carriage, my eyes drank in the weary and wistful little town, set beneath the gloom of the incessant overcast sky. At the door, I glanced down to find Jericho’s hand reaching out for mine, and with an unsure smile, I took it, catching the slight twitch of his palm.

Once I was on the ground, he yanked the hood of his jacket up over his head. “Brace yourself. This town has no love for me. I suspect they’ll perceive you as a poor and helpless soul.”

No sooner had he said the words than a woman approached, and when her eyes seemed to latch onto Jericho, she skirted around the two of us and hustled across the street.

“They truly believe you’re Death?”

“Apparently so. Might be wise to walk a bit ahead of me.”

Instead, I slid my hand back into his, earning myself a frown as he stared down at our clasped palms. “I don’t profess to be all that wise.”

“The fact that you insist on following me around proves it so.” He gave a gentle tug on my arm, leading me down the street, where the wind seemed to channel through like in a tunnel, casting a chill over me.

A bell rang as we entered the bookshop. The scent of aged wood and books hit me like a curtain of calm, and I closed my eyes, breathing it in. How much it reminded me of my father’s office, with his leather chair and papers scattered everywhere. When I opened my eyes again, Jericho was staring back at me.

“Are you all right?”

“Quite.” I stepped ahead of him, eyes wandering over the two levels of books. Shelves upon shelves of them. Candles flickered about, giving off a delicious scent of spice and winter, their light reflecting off the gleaming, dark-wood floors. A fireplace crackled, beside which a woman, seen only by the tufts of fiery red hair sticking up over top of the book in her hands, sat in a chair, sipping on tea.

The squeeze of my hand was the only thing that could’ve distracted me from my enthrallment. When I glanced down to see his hand swallowing mine, mentally noting how natural it felt, for some reason, he promptly let go.

“I’m going to look for the book,” he advised. “Don’t go wandering far.”

“Why on earth would I wander far from here.”

Shaking his head, he strode off.

Careful, so as not to startle her, I approached the woman on the chair and untucked the locket from inside my dress. “Pardon me. Could I trouble you to look at this picture and tell me if you’ve ever seen this man before?”

Lowering her book just enough to peer over top of it, she looked quickly, green eyes sparkling in the firelight, and shook her head. “No,” she said, raising the book up again.

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

As I turned to walk away, something beside her caught my eye. A flyer whose headline announced an upcoming ball. But it was the image on the flyer which captured my attention. Pale skin. Hair, so blonde, it almost looked white. Bright eyes. The unmistakable mole above her lip.

Alicia Maxson. The prostitute whose body had been found mutilated in the motel room. The one Detective Hines had brought to my attention because of the Pentacrux symbol left there. Of course, her face in the picture appeared to be perfectly intact, exactly as I’d seen it in the before picture Hines had shown me.

According to the flyer, she’d be singing at the event. What were the odds that I’d stumble upon her in this place?

I reached past the woman whose nose was still stuck in her book and lifted the flyer from the table beside her.

Hallow Harvest Fest.

Perhaps a number of people in attendance.

And Alicia.

If she had even the slightest inkling of who, or what, had attacked her, assuming the culprit might’ve had anything to do with Pentacrux, there could very well be a link to my father.

“Are you looking for a book?” the woman asked, her face still hidden.

“Um. Yes.”

“Any particular book?”

“Not really, no. I just planned to browse what you had.”

Finally lowering the book from her face, she stared up at me, eyes narrowed as if studying me. “I have just the story for you.”

“Oh, wow, just by looking at me?” At the serious expression on her face and lack of response, I cleared my throat. “Okay. I’m always open to recs.”

Confusion flickered over her face. “Come with me.”

“Do you mind if I keep the flyer?”

“Not at all. I’ve no intention of going. Lewd things happen at that ball. You’d be wise to stay away.”

“Noted.” Though, I had no intentions of staying away. Not when I had the rare opportunity to speak to a murder victim, which almost sounded like an oxymoron.

The woman led me up a spiral ladder to the second floor, then down through the aisles of books toward the back, where the wall marked the end our path. She then rested a hand against the wooden panel of the wall, and it shifted to the side, opening to a stairwell that went up one more floor.

With an uncertain glance over my shoulder, I hesitated to follow her.

“Well, are you coming, or not?” she asked, her voice tinged with impatience.

Cautious, I trailed after her up the stairwell, but when the wall slid shut behind me, the uneasy feeling bloomed into full-on anxiety. Lanterns flickered on by themselves, and the creepy stairwell opened to an even creepier room beyond, with an enormous iron vault door

“We’re still just grabbing a book, right?”

“Yes, of course.” The dial on the vault spun as she twisted it, then she yanked the heavy door open to a cold room beyond. “These are our most treasured books.”

Mouth hanging wide, I scanned over the handful of books inside. Ones whose tired and weathered spines told me they were centuries old. Perhaps even older than that. She tapped a finger along the shelf and, midway down the aisle, pulled out a book with a magnificent gold spine. Smiling to herself, she ran a hand over the cover in a reverent manner, before handing it off to me.

The Baron and Witch’s Daughter.

Marveling at the simple but gorgeous cover, I couldn’t bring myself to open it, for fear of destroying the book which had clearly been kept well-preserved.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s yours.”

“Oh, I can’t. This looks priceless, and I don’t have anything to pay for it.”

Impossibly cold hands gripped mine, sending a chill skittering beneath my skin, and she placed the book into my arms. “It’s yours.”

“That’s … very kind of you, but I couldn’t. I don’t intend to stay here--”

“Farryn, please, just take the book.”

The cold feeling from before iced over with a new rush of shock, the room suddenly too small. “Did …. I didn’t give you my name.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t.”

The uneasy feeling in my gut twisted tighter. “Who are you?”

“That’s not important. Promise me you will read the story.”

“I promise.”

She gave a slight smile and took the flyer still dangling from my fingertips. After folding it in half, she tucked it inside the book’s cover. “Go now. Your escort is waiting on you.”

“Won’t you tell me your name?”

Lips pursed, she huffed. “If you insist. My name is Catriona.”

“Catriona,” I echoed. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. Now go.”

Leaving the woman standing there, I pressed the book to my chest, curious to know the story it held, and scampered back down the stairwell. To my relief, the hidden door at the bottom slid to the side on its own, and I hustled back down the winding stairwell to the lower level, where Jericho stood looking around.

“Hey, I’m here.”

“I asked you not to wander far.”

“I didn’t. Just … grabbing a book.”

He strode up to a gray-haired woman standing behind a counter, who wore thin spectacles that she adjusted as we approached. When Jericho set his book on the counter, I caught a slight trembling in her hands as she reached for it.

“Will that be all, Mister Van Croix?”

He jerked his head toward me. “And her book.”

“Oh, um. Catriona told me it was mine to take.”

“Catriona?” The woman glanced toward Van Croix and back to me, wearing a perplexed expression.

“Yes, she’s up on the third level. Behind the wall door thingy.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m not quite understanding what you’re saying. There’s no one here by the name of Catriona. And we don’t have a third level.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you do.” On a confused laugh, I shook my head. “I just … there was a wall that moved. And creepy stairs? A bunch of really old books up there.”

“Tell you what, how about I take a look at the book and see if we have it listed in stock.”

“Sure.” I handed it off to her, watching her slide the spectacles down her nose and back. Brows knitting to a frown, she bent below the counter and lifted an enormous book, flipping it open to what looked to be a ledger of all their titles. “We’ll just search by date.” When she cracked open the spine of the book I’d held, she frowned again, flipping through its pages. “No date. No bother, we can search by title.” Running her finger down the list that ran into the next page, and the next, and the dozen or so which followed after that, she shook her head. “It doesn’t show record of this book as our inventory.”

“I … I swear …”

Perhaps it was the thoroughly confused expression on my face that had her eyes softening and her lips stretching to a sympathetic-looking smile. “It’s all right, dear. Keep it. No charge.”

“No, but I …” I rubbed the back of my neck where that creepy, prickly sensation hit me again. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Absolutely.”

The uneasy feeling stuck with me, as we exited the bookstore. On the way back to the carriage, I made a point to approach those who passed us, inquiring about my father. No one I’d asked had seen him, which led me to believe I’d never find him in this place. While intrigued by the book that lay on my lap, after we’d climbed back into the carriage, I felt lost and exasperated, depressed by the possibility that I’d have to abandon the search for my father and return to my old life.

Which meant jumping that damn cliff.

“I’m curious to know how you managed to con her into giving you that book with no exchange of coin. She’s not known to be generous.”

For once, I appreciated the distraction of Jericho’s penetrating and ever calm voice. “Maybe she liked me.”

“What is it, anyway?”

“A romance, I think. I’ve not started it, but skimming gives me that impression.”

“Riveting, I’m sure.” The thick sarcasm in his voice had me smiling.

“You don’t believe in romance.”

“The heart is frivolous, at best.”

“Who broke yours?”

“What makes you think mine is broken?”

“How else did you become so cynical?”

“Decades upon decades of practice.” It was hard to say what it was about his bitterness toward the world that I found so … appealing? He made for the most intriguing puzzle. A tightly sealed box, whose layers I wanted to peel away just to see what lay hidden inside.

“I’d like to attend the Hallow Harvest Ball.”

The calm on his face twisted to a suspicious frown. “How did you hear about that?”

“A flyer.” I opened my book to the page where I’d stuffed it, only to find nothing there. Confused, I shook my head. I couldn’t have dropped it, with as snugly as it’d been tucked. “Well, it was … I just had it …”

“Hallow Harvest is by invitation only. There wouldn’t be a flyer.”

“I swear I saw it. How else would I know about it?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but it is not open to the public. It’s no place for you.”

Snapping the cover shut, I narrowed my eyes. “And what gives you the authority to tell me what isn’t for me? I’m the only staff you didn’t purchase, remember?”

“The fact that you enjoy a certain level of protection under my roof.”

“There might be an opportunity to learn more about my father.”

“In order to gain entry, since you’re not on the guestlist, you’d have to attend as someone’s companion. And going as someone’s companion means you’re willing to be traded around.”

His words left a sour taste in my mouth as I sat chewing them over. “Traded? As in … to men?”

“Men, women, whoever takes an interest in you.”

“I could go as your companion and figure out a way to stay under the radar.”

“My answer is no.”

Tension twisted in my stomach, and frustrated, I turned my attention toward the window to keep from sounding like a child begging a parent for permission.

“Quit pouting,” he said.

At that, I gritted my teeth together. “You know, for someone who claims he has no interest in protecting me, you’re awfully protective.”

“What makes you think this has anything to do with protecting you?”

“Then, why else would you care if I go, or get propositioned by other men?”

Instead of answering, he stared back, a muscle in his jaw ticcing, which told me I’d nailed the hot button again.

“I’m imagining it’ll be like prom. You pretend to be my date, then you can ditch me at the door for your friends.” Perhaps a little too close to home that time.

His brows pinched to a tight frown. “Someone ditched you?”

“The guy was a jerk. I knew he wasn’t interested in going with me.”

He rolled his shoulders back, and his hand curled into a fist. “Who is he?”

“It was high school. What do I care? I haven’t seen him in almost a decade now.” Tipping my head, I ran my tongue over my back teeth, holding onto a smile. “You’re being protective.”

With a sneer, he turned away from me. “As if I give a damn about some lowly human.”

“He shacked up in a motel room with another girl that night. Left me at the dance. Aunt Nelle had to come pick me up. And trust me, there was nothing more humiliating than Aunt Nelle showing up in her bathrobe, threatening to smack the bejesus out of my date.”

He scoffed at that. “I would’ve killed him.” He didn’t bother to look at me, still staring out the window.

“Killed him for ditching me?”

“No. For asking you in the first place.”

I stared back at him, the carriage suddenly too small. My dress too tight and hot for the warmth that settled over me. “You are a mystifying enigma, Mister Van Croix.”

His gaze swung back to me, devouring me in one sweep. “And you are a frustrating distraction, Miss Ravenshaw.”