Chapter 40

40

Farryn

Still unable to sleep, despite the branch having been cut down, as Van Croix had promised, I opted for yet another trip to the library, which had become something of a second bedroom for me.

I passed the enormous organ, daring myself to press one of the keys, and kept on, up the stone stairwell that opened up to the vast room full of books. At the table, I plopped into a chair whose hard surface was sure to have my butt going numb at some point.

Despite its apparent age, given the worn state of the leather, the spine of the book I’d been given remained crisp and cracked when I opened it. The text looked as if it’d been inked by hand with an ancient quill, and it started off with Once upon a time … just like a fairytale.

A few pages in, I came across a portrait of what looked very similar to the cathedral, with a group of men standing before it. Some wore armor that reminded me of medieval garb, others wore what appeared to be leather brigandine vests with bracers at the arms, while a few dressed in long black hooded cassocks. Most likely priests, given the crucifix dangling from the white cincture tied at their waists. Nuns in habits also stood amongst them.

A young girl, perhaps fifteen, or sixteen, though the age of the artwork made it hard to discern, stood in the very front in a long white dress. Though her face was somewhat blurred, she appeared so innocent and angelic, a stark contrast to the dark figures surrounding her. Leaning in, I examined their faces, and frowned on seeing one of the vest-clad boys who shared an uncanny likeness to Van Croix. Perhaps an ancestor, considering the painting had a soft baroque nature, like something out of an ancient era. Precisely what Jericho would look like without the patch covering his eyes.

The beginning of the story spoke of a young girl, named Lustina, whose mother had been burned on the suspicion of witchcraft.

She was taken in by the church and raised with a stern hand by the pentashes there, ones who were often called on by the noblemen, and she would accompany them as a servant, assisting the bishop in whatever capacity he deemed fit.

The book held no glossary, but based on what I’d read already, I gleaned pentash to be something of a nun and pentrosh to be a priest.?The book was set in a village called Praecepsia, and upon reading that, I paused.

Praecepsia. Where had I heard that before?

A ghostly white figure came to mind. A statue. Felix of Praecepsia. My nightmare, the one with the nuns who’d been hanged. The ancient city Xhiphias had told me about. Weird that I’d heard it again. In what I deemed to be a romance book, no less.

It was at the magnificent estate of the Lord Praecepsia that she met a belligerent, young baron. Spoiled and cruel, he made her clergy visits unbearable, always taunting and teasing. The boy was older than her years, and she felt helpless to his ruthlessness. Until one day, when she wandered down by the river’s edge while the bishop met with his father. There, she found a bird lying on a rock, desperately clinging to life. The girl tucked the bird into the skirts of her dress when the prince found her, and he asked to see what she had hidden. When she showed him, he insisted that she hand it over to him, a demand she refused to obey. Enraged by her insolence, the prince pushed her to the ground and a scuffle ensued, and the poor bird was lost in the tangle. It was while the prince loomed over her, with her arms pinned to the ground, that he finally stared into her stubborn and unyielding eyes, and something inside of him shifted. As if everything in the universe had stopped in time. He became mesmerized by those eyes, which spoke of distant places and magic, and entranced, he released her. A strange feeling had claimed him with the encounter, one he had never before felt. The girl, Lustina, had undoubtedly bewitched him, but he cared not. He knew in that moment that she would belong to him and no one else.

Pausing, I flipped back to the portrait in the beginning and studied the young girl, whose face was blurred by what looked like an errant brush stroke, then to the man behind her. The one I swore could’ve been a distant relative of Van Croix. So handsome and … familiar.

A warm sensation moved through me on a shiver of nostalgia. I ran my fingertip over his face, riveted by the striking features of his eyes, his jaw and mouth. How inescapably captivating he looked in all that leather.

“Reading at this hour?”

At the sound of the deep, penetrating voice, I snapped the book shut with a gasp and straightened in my chair.

Leaning against the bannister, Jericho watched me from across the room. The intensity of his dark, mercurial gaze stirred a fluttering in my stomach, like a dozen satin-winged butterflies exploding inside of me.

“Yes, I … couldn’t sleep.”

He rolled a coin across his knuckles in one fluid motion, providing only a momentary distraction from his soul-piercing stare. “And what is it that stirs you out of slumber this time?” The way he spoke carried a dangerously seductive quality about it, like a saccharin-dipped blade.

“I have nightmares.”

Something behind him shifted across the wall, as if his shadow moved while he remained still. Blinking sent the umbral twin back to its place at his back, and I frowned, wondering if I’d actually seen that, or if my brain had played some twisted trick on me.

He stepped toward me, his shadow following after. “What are these nightmares?”

Still fixed on the strangeness, I shook the distraction from my head and set my focus on Van Croix. “They’re quite graphic, actually.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, some are of war. Battles and blood. Others are flames and the stench of burning bodies. And I am always the observer.”

“Perhaps you suffer internal conflict?”

The oddly uncharacteristic question brought a smile to my face. “You interpret dreams as well, Mister Van Croix?”

“It seemed a fairly obvious analysis.”

“I suppose we all suffer internal conflict. Mine has always been purpose. I often question why I’m here. What I was put in the world to accomplish.” Resting my chin on my palm, I sighed, and when I glanced up, I met his focused gaze. “Do you suffer strange dreams?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Mine are less … violent.”

“What do you dream of?”

At the flash of his subtle smile, my interest piqued. He turned back toward the window, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “A woman. An impossibly beautiful woman, but I can’t see her face. It’s distorted in my dreams.” In the window’s reflection, I could see the longing in his expression, made bright by the flickering lantern I’d brought. “Her eyes, though. I see her eyes. And her long, raven black hair. And I feel things I’ve not felt in a very long time.”

“Love?”

Another glance over his shoulder, and he shrugged. “It’s hard to say.”

“Do you dream of her frequently?”

“I did, yes.” The reflection showed his gaze on mine, the intensity of it sending warmth through me, and I shifted in my seat. “The dreams stopped when you arrived.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It sounds like you very much enjoyed them.”

The way he watched me sent a chill down my spine, until he finally turned around. “I did. It seems I’ve found a new distraction. The grimoire.”

“Of course. And how is your reading coming along? Have you learned anything more?”

“From what I’ve gathered, it seems to be an ancient infection you can summon to the blade. A concoction used to paint sigils across the steel. Once dried, the blade becomes cursed.”

“An ancient infection?”

“Yes, it was called the Scourge back in the Middle Ages. It wiped out a number of the Fallen.” Hands still tucked in his pockets, he strolled to the opposite side of the room, where a painting hung on the wall--one I hadn’t noticed before, of a sliced apple with its insides rotted down to the core. “The holy ones say it is the divine weapon.”

“How is it holy? If it doesn’t kill them, but turns them into beasts?”

“Those beasts can be set to do the bidding of whoever curses them. They will even kill their own kind. In the book, they’re referred to as the Alatum. Essentially wingless creatures.”

“Alatum? What language is that?”

“Pri’scucian. The ancient language of the angels. One that predates Enochian. Some say the only true language of the angels.”

I knew of it from my father’s journals.

When his pacing changed direction, and he casually strolled toward me, the butterflies in my stomach morphed into an exquisite thrill. The heat inside of me stirred as he neared, as if something within me sensed him closing in. I breathed in his intoxicating citrus scent, wondering if it tasted as good as it smelled.

Setting his hand down beside me, he opened the cover of the book I’d been reading. “What makes you long for worlds which don’t exist?” he asked, thumbing through a few of its pages.

“Escape. Sometimes, life can be overwhelming. How about you?”

“I read to gain knowledge, not distraction.”

“I’ve found well-placed distraction can be cathartic. It allows me to focus when I need to. The mind yearns for magic over practicality, sometimes.”

“You’re strangely fanciful, Miss Ravenshaw.”

“If by strange and fanciful, you mean not boring, then yes. I suppose I am.”

“Symbology seems a rather practical pursuit.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Though, in retrospect, I was probably just looking for a connection between me and my father. I thought, maybe if I was good at it, he might be proud … wherever he was. In my world, or another.”

“There is a part of you that always believed you’d find him, then.”

The humor from before shifted to a somber gloom. “Believed is a strong word.” Smiling, I lowered my gaze and mindlessly touched the locket at my chest. “I always hoped, but … I guess I never pictured myself wrapping my arms around him and telling him how much I missed him.” The image painted inside my mind brought tears to my eyes, perhaps my emotions getting the best of me. “I’ve thought about finding him in this place, but … I don’t know what I’d do if he’d completely forgotten who I was.”

A fingertip lifted my chin, and I stared up at Jericho. “You are unforgettable, Miss Ravenshaw.” His thumb brushed over my cheek, wiping away the tear there. With his other hand still propped on the tabletop, he leaned down over me, as if to kiss me.

My heart hammered inside my chest, pounding like a wild stampede. Only a whisper of his lips across mine before he stopped himself, and brows knitted in what looked to be frustration, he pulled away.

“I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

Hands curled at his sides, he strode off, back toward the staircase, and I exhaled a held breath.

Utterly disappointed.

* * *

Not wanting to fall asleep in the library again, I brought the book back to my room. Lying in bed with it propped on my bent knees, I read by the light of the lantern, running my fingers over my lips where Jericho’s had barely touched. Much as the near kiss was a distraction, I’d become all the more engrossed in the budding friendship between the young baron and the adopted daughter of the church. The book went on to describe how he’d confided in her all the many abuses he’d suffered at the hands of his father and the bishop, and how his mother was quite ill, progressing in her sickness every day.

It was clear in the writing that Lustina had become essential to him, to the point that he’d become so smitten with the girl that he shunned every other young maiden who pined for his attention.

He wanted, dreamed only of Lustina, the girl with the stardust eyes.

At that, I paused.

The book didn’t describe them in any particular way that left me to think they were similar to my own. It was only the celestial reference that’d caught me off guard. Reminding me of my father.

A soft knock at my door had me scrambling to tuck the book away beneath the pillow beside me. Not really sure why, except that I had become so invested in the story and characters.

Aurelia slipped through the door, closing it behind her, and padded swiftly toward my bed. “I have to tell you something,” she whispered.

The urgency in her voice set my teeth on edge.

Taking a seat on the mattress beside me, she stole another glance toward the door and back. “I think … I think we are in danger here.”

“How so?”

With her hands fidgeting in her lap and the incessant bouncing of her knee, she reminded me of an addict going through withdrawals. “I heard whispers. About that room in the undercroft. And they plan to lure you to the woods and drown you there.”

Lure me to the woods and drown me?

“Room in the undercroft? You’re not making any sense, Aurelia. Who is planning to lure me?”

“The Pentacrux.”

A cold sensation brushed across the back of my neck. “Wait … Pentacrux? What do you know about them?” It was possible that she’d overheard me talking to Van Croix about it at some point. I hadn’t been all that careful about making sure no one was near. Which then made me wonder if she was using that to get me to help her escape.

“I know they are quite dangerous.”

“Is Mister Van Croix associated with them?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. He despises them.” Pupils too dilated, eyes rimmed in red, something wasn’t right about her. “Perhaps even more than we do.”

“Is anyone in this house a member of the Pentacrux?”

“Not that I know. What does it matter?”

“Where would you have encountered them?” I asked, wondering if maybe there were members of Pentacrux here in Nightshade.

“The monastery.”

“Where you once said you lived?”

“Yes.”

“Here in Stygian Falls?”

“No, no, silly. Praecepsia.”

Praecepsia? The place in the book I’d begun reading. Perhaps she’d gotten her hands on it at some point, though I didn’t know when she would have. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Of course. I feel perfectly fine! Why would you think otherwise?”

“You’re talking about things that make no sense.”

“Look, please just trust me.” Her cold hand clutched mine in a bruising grip. “We have to leave. I didn’t stand a chance before with those dogs, but you could sneak us past them. They listen to you. We can find your father and get out of here.”

An ache bloomed in my chest at the sound of her desperate plea. I couldn’t take her back with me, as much as I wanted. Doing so might possibly trap her in a decaying corpse for eternity.? Yet, I had no intentions of staying, either. I could get her so far, at least, but from what I’d heard and seen of the creatures in this place, she’d be far better off staying.

“Aurelia, I can certainly get you through the gates, if that’s what you want. But … I can’t …. I can’t take you with me.”

“Well, no, of course. I mean, once we leave the cathedral, we’ll go our separate ways. You said you’re from a land called Chicago? Perhaps I might see what it is like there. I would like to return to Praecepsia first to find my mother, however. Then she could meet her grandchild.” A smile lit up her face. “Oh, that would be so lovely!”

The talk of Praecepsia had taken a disturbing turn.

“Aurelia …” Did I tell her the truth? Lie? Not telling her might’ve perpetuated a constant danger. “I know you said you feel as if you’re in danger, but what gives you cause to think that? Have you ever been mistreated here at the cathedral?”

“Well, no. Master Van Croix has always been stern, but generous.”

“So, you’ve not been harmed by anyone in the time you’ve been here?”

“No, of course not. But what does that matter? I have a life that I need to get back to.” Confusion flickered across her face, and she glanced away. “At least … I’m certain I do.”

Biting my lip, I stole a moment while she contemplated, considered the consequences of what I’d say next. “I can’t take you with me. If I do, you’ll remain trapped in a corpse.”

“A corpse? You are talking in tongues, Farryn. Plain English, if you please.”

“It’s very possible that the man who brought you here had you killed.”

“Killed.” In spite of the frown on her face, she chuckled. “If that were so, how would I be talking to you now?”

“Listen to me, Aurelia. It’s important, for the sake of your happiness, that you understand.”

“Understand what, exactly? You are talking like you have had a bit of Poppy’s Blood.”

“I’m just trying to be cautious and choose my words carefully, is all.”

“Why? Say what you mean to say. Do not dilute it for my benefit.”

Sickness stirred in my gut, and I rubbed the back of my neck which had begun to burn with my rising discomfort. “I think you were murdered. And you’re stuck in a place called Nightshade. It’s … like a separate plane that runs parallel to the world we know.”

A long pause followed, her eyes unreadable, until she bent forward on a laugh. “You really are mad. And if I were you, I would not speak of these delusions aloud, lest you intend to be questioned. Thoroughly. We don’t have time for this. We must leave at once.”

“Would you listen to me? You have to quit trying to escape! This is your home now. This is where you’ll be, and if you die here, you remain here. At least you have a chance at redemption.”

Face twisted in a scowl, she withdrew her hand from mine. “I beg your pardon, Farryn, but if you did not want me to come along, all you had to do was say the words. Making up horrible stories is … well, it is just cruel.”

“No, it has nothing to do with that. If I could take you with me, I would. But I can’t. And if you leave this place, you’ll be putting yourself and your child at risk.”

“More risk than staying? Have I not faced the worst of it yet? Stolen from my home and brought to this strange place? What could be worse?”

Her question brought the day in the maze to mind. If not for Remy and Van Croix, I didn’t even want to think of what that thing would’ve done. “Believe me. There is worse.”

“I do not care that Master Van Croix has not yet harmed me. I want to return to my life! Do you hear me? I intend to go back to my home! To my mother, who is probably worried sick. For the sake of my child! And not you, nor anyone else, is going to stop me!” A look of pain claimed her face, and she bent forward, holding her belly. “Oh, dear God!”

“Aurelia? Are you okay?” When I reached for her, she swatted my hand away.

“Do not touch me!” She pushed up from the bed, hunched over herself, and took three steps toward the door, before she collapsed.

“Aurelia!” I shot out of bed. Skidding to the floor beside her, I performed a quick scan of her prone body and noticed blood fanning in the cotton of her dress. The pallor of her face turned a ghostly white, and she trembled in my arms. “Somebody, help me! Help me!”

Fire burned in my throat as I screamed, not wanting to leave her side.

When I turned my attention back to her, I caught sight of tears streaming down her temples. “Please,” she spoke in a shaky voice. “Do not let me have this baby here. I want my mother.”

Holding back tears myself, I cleared my throat. “Then, you just hang on, okay?” The sound of footsteps closing in had me craning my neck to find the brunette kitchen staff, the one I’d learned was named Evie, peeking through the crack in the door. “Get help! Please!”

Tipping her chin back, she gave a devious smile that told me she had no intentions of helping.

“Please! She’s bleeding everywhere!”

Instead of running off to fetch someone, she continued to stare in on us.

“Farryn?” Aurelia’s weakened voice drew my attention back to her and the blossom of blood that’d grown twice in size. “Do not let her have my baby. Please take her with you, okay? When you leave? Take Miriam with you.”

“You’re both coming with me.”

More tears slipped down her temples. “Tell her she made me happy. And that I wanted nothing more than to be a mother.” Cold fingers curled into the sleeve of my dress.

“Stop. Please, Aurelia. You’re going to be fine. Somebody, help! Help me!”

“I think … you were right. I don’t think I am meant to return to my home. But maybe … maybe my baby can. Will you take her with you?”

Tears filled my eyes. “I will try.” The lie tore at my heart, but what else could I have said right then? I suspected Aurelia had died while pregnant. Which meant her baby had died with her.

“Promise?”

Lips tight, I nodded. “I promise.”

Smiling, she took one long, deep breath. “Okay. And tell her I love her.”

“I will.”

“What is all the racket about?” Anya burst in through the door, the sight of her a small relief against the chaos that tore through me.

“She needs help!”

“I’ll phone Doctor Venable right away!”

“She needs a doctor now! Right now!” It was then I noticed the grip on my arm had lessoned, and I snapped my focus back to Aurelia. Eyes closed, she lay perfectly still, a slight smile on her lips, as if in dreams.

“Aurelia?” I gave a gentle shake of her body in an attempt to rouse her. “Wake up. Wake up, Aurelia!” Twisting around to Anya, I swallowed back the panic rising to my throat. “She’s not waking up!”

Anya gathered up her skirts and knelt down to the floor beside me. “Go fetch a warm cloth and some antiseptic from the closet.” She lay Aurelia onto her back, tipping up her chin as I’d seen paramedics do.

With a nod, I did as she instructed and ran to the closet beside the armoire to gather the necessary supplies. As I searched the cupboards for the antiseptic, a sound reached my ears. Like a foreign language with clips and clicking. I twisted around to find Anya sat hunched over Aurelia, her face close to the girl’s, as she would if she were breathing air into her body. Only instead blowing, she appeared to draw upward in a sucking motion, cheeks caved in. A white curling mist rose up past Aurelia’s blue lips and between Anya’s. For a moment, I stood dumbfounded, my mind trying to understand what exactly I was witnessing.

Dark shadows moved across the wall like spiders and climbed over Aurelia’s body. The sounds of hissing echoed in the room, and I covered my ears against the high pitch of it. The shadows morphed into gray skirts and white aprons, and a head lifted from the cluster where the brunette, Evie, stared back at me. What appeared to be blood stained her lips, which stretched into a smile.

“What are you doing?” I fixed my attention back on Anya, who pushed to her feet while staring down at the swarm of women that seemed to be devouring Aurelia. “Don’t be greedy, girls!” Anya swung her attention back to me, and it was then I caught sight of flames in her eyes. An orange glow that almost appeared to flicker. “It’s all right, dear. Don’t be afraid.” As she stepped toward me, I backed myself further away, until the hard panel of the door hit my spine.

“You’re … you’re all …”

“We’re not going to hurt you, Farryn. Come.”

Shaking my head, I turned the knob of the door behind me and gasped in horror as Anya lurched toward me. Before she could reach me, I slipped through the door and ran down the dark corridor with their laughter trailing after me, and at the sound of ticking, I turned to see shadows chasing me along the walls.

Pushing speed from my feet, I ran faster.

The brisk, sea air stole my breath, when I threw back the enormous wooden door and bolted out of the cathedral, into the night. Strides nipped by the long hem of my dress, I tore across the open yard toward the field of nightshade flowers that glowed off in the distance. My mind rewound to the scene of those women devouring Aurelia’s body, and I ran harder. As fast as I could in that damn dress.

I had to get out of there.

Pick a flower, jump off the cliff.

I’d already decided the most terrifying thing for me was standing on the cliff’s edge, staring down at the rolling, black sea below. I didn’t know how I’d manage the guts to jump, but I wasn’t thinking about that right then. My only objective was to pick one of the flowers and return to my own world. I’d come to miss it, after all, hadn’t I?

Surely, a person wouldn’t choose to stay in a dangerous place like Nightshade for very long.

Poor Aurelia. Poor, innocent Aurelia and the baby who would suffer her death.

I reached the meadow, vaguely aware of the dogs, who’d chased me to the field. Prowling back and forth, they seemed to keep watch as I reached for one of the flowers. The moment I plucked one, a terrible sound, like an agonized wail, rose above the monotonous crash of waves somewhere behind me. More wails joined the first, until they unified into a single terrifying sound of misery. Slapping my hand over my ears, which brought the flower in close proximity, I ran for the cliff whose edges I could hardly make out in the darkness.

The cold bite of air burned in my lungs, the panic and determination inside of me battling out a rush of adrenaline. Frost-covered grass numbed the soles of my feet, my toes burning and stiff. The faint line of the cliff’s threshold became clearer as I neared it, and fear tickled my chest. The dogs abandoned their chase behind me.

On a skid, I halted just before the brink and watched as a small rock tumbled over the edge. Only the vicious white caps of the sea below were visible, their roar beckoning me to jump. Anxious for a life to claim.

I stared down at the flower in my hand, whose wail had died down, the light of it dimmer than before.

Terror and grit battled for dominance inside my head, their cacophony leaving me confused and exhausted. I closed my eyes, breathing hard through my nose. Visions of my father leaping to his death slipped behind closed eyes. At the thought of him lying on the rocks below, alive, in pain, tears filled my eyes. I opened them to a murky blur of black cliffs and water.

Do it, my head urged.

I had no choice, unless I wanted to meet the same fate as Aurelia.

A sound reached my ear—the faint screeching I’d heard before. In the maze and in the woods. The creature. The one Van Croix had supposedly killed.

Twisting around showed no sign of it. Only darkness.

Yet, it screeched again. This time louder than before.

When I spun around again, the shadows shifted to its form, though the features were impossible to make out. It lurched toward me on all fours.? My heart pounded inside my chest. I stepped backward, could feel the edge give way across my heel to nothingness of a painful fall.

Do it. Jump!

The shadow moved closer. The hem of my dress caught on a jagged rock, and I yanked hard to free it. My heel slid backward.

Another screech startled my muscles.

I slipped over the edge on a sharp tearing of fabric.

Down, down, down.

A futile scream shot out of me while the wind whipped past.? A cold, numbing rush swept through my body, muscles tensing for the impact I could never imagine. With a presence of mind, I fought the force of the wind to bring the flower to my mouth--the one I’d forgotten to consume. The one essential for getting back, otherwise, I was simply plummeting to my death.

I couldn’t reach my hand to my mouth!

The flower slipped from my grasp, carried away by a harsh turbulent wind. Oh, God! I couldn’t even scream, the pressure too much.

A force slammed into me, and the weightlessness of before crashed heavy in my gut, tickling as it climbed into my chest.? I opened my eyes to black wings. Beautiful, raven black with hints of blue and purple. Warm skin against my cheek. The magnificent profile of a face and patched eye.

A fuzzy haze crawled over him, the fringes of my view closing in on all sides. Narrower. Narrower. Until only a pinprick of light flashed before my eyes and everything turned black.