Chapter 43

43

Farryn

Turning the page brought me to the end of the chapter I’d just read, and I sat staring off, attempting to process why in the hell my cat’s name would show up in a book that I had gathered to be centuries old? A name I’d thought to be fairly unique and uncommon. A name so rare, I had to read it a good dozen times because it made no sense that I would stumble upon it twice in my life.

No. There were too many coincidences. Too many flags flying at once.

Between that and the truly disturbing similarity in the picture at the beginning of the book, where my doppelg?nger stood beside Aurelia, a creeping distress settled over me. I’d flipped back to the beginning a number of times just to look at it over and over again.

“What the hell,” I muttered, flipping back to it again. I wanted to deny that the girl beside Aurelia looked like me. That it was some stupid figment of my imagination, but the details I could make out, in what must’ve been a picture taken of an old painting, showed too many odd similarities reminiscent of a photo taken of me back in Catholic school.

At a knock on the door, I startled and tucked the book away. Probably one of the women from the kitchen bringing up some food. Even though I hadn’t eaten anything, I didn’t feel hunger, only nauseating confusion and disbelief. “Just leave it at the door! Thank you!”

Another knock.

Frustrated, I strode across the room and swung the door open to find Van Croix standing in the hallway. It didn’t matter that the man had dressed casually in slacks and a simple white button-down, he always carried a regal grace about him. Like a king in commoner’s clothes. “Oh. I didn’t …. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“May I come in?” Something about his question took me back to vampire movies and the unwitting girl inadvertently inviting one into the home.

“Sure.”

Running a hand through my hair, I took a few steps back to allow him entry, and he shut the door behind him.

“Anya said you weren’t feeling well.”

Arms crossed, I tipped my head and studied him, noting that he didn’t take his one good eye off me, which resulted in the most uncomfortable stare down of my life, until I finally broke and looked away.

“What is different about your eyes that seem brighter today?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Death, maybe.”

Frowning, he linked his hands behind him and crossed the room to the window. “You seem to think you attempted a cliff dive yesterday.”

“You’re going to tell me I didn’t?” I asked, making my way back toward the bed, where I plopped down onto the mattress. “That you were somewhere else when I dove headfirst, plunging toward the rocks?”

“I was working. But I’m glad to see you in one piece.”

“I should thank you for that. You’re the one who saved my life.”

He smirked over his shoulder and resumed his staring out the window. “I’m not in the business of saving lives, remember?”

“Yes. You transition them.? Whatever the hell that actually means. I want to know what you are. You said you’re not fallen. Not angel. Then, what? Because I know damn well you’re not human.”

“Do you actually know what all of this means, Miss Ravenshaw? The purpose of Nightshade?”

“Purgatory?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “The place the Christians of your world believe souls go to be cleansed so they can be accepted into Heaven? No. This is far from Purgatory.”

“Then, enlighten me.”

“Nightshade is where you go when you don’t believe in anything. The poor souls who end up here are so easily plucked like flowers.” He held up one of the nightshade flowers that I distinctly remembered picking before I dove off the cliff. “They are eternally trapped. Encapsulated in their own denial.”

“You’re saying there really is a soul trapped in those flowers?”

“You once asked me where the other innocent ones go. They remain unclaimed, under my care.”

“Oh, God. I drank the tea.” And I almost ate one.

“Yes. And if you attempt to return, you’ll return to nothing. Unfortunately, those of you who traverse willingly don’t even have the ability to return to a corpse.”

With a wary side-eye, I shook my head. “Only if I died in the other realm. All I did was drink the tea.”

“What exactly do you think Nightshade is, Miss Ravenshaw?”

Thoughts too muddled in confusion, I didn’t bother to answer him.

“It’s a gateway to the shadowed world. A one-way ticket.”

“No. My father drank the tea.”

“And I suspect he is dead.”

A cold and hollow pressure expanded inside my chest, squeezing my lungs. I shook my head in disbelief. “No. There’s no way. The man who gave me the tea--”

“Swindled your soul.”

“Not true. I had to coax him. He didn’t want to give me the tea at first. He sent me away.”

“To gain your trust, no doubt. Brilliant, really. What better way to convince you than to deny you?”

Running a hand through my hair, I thought back to the moments before I drank the tea. Perhaps a brief flash of a smile on Xhiphias’s face, but no sense of urgency. In fact, I was convinced he’d have preferred to save the tea for someone more interesting.

“I’ll admit there is one puzzling piece in all of this. The scent you carry is one associated with a living soul, which is quite unusual here. It begs the question—how? How would your soul remain perfectly intact?”

“I’m not dead. I can prove it. Let me return.”

Van Croix studied me in silence for a moment. Always studying me, it seemed. As if trying to read my thoughts, or something. “And if you’re wrong? Do you have any idea what it would feel like to remain suspended in nothing? No way back. No way to communicate with anyone?”

“I saw a man jump from the rooftop, and there was no body left behind. No. Body. He disappeared. Xhiphias told me my body goes with me, and returns with me.”

“Your physical body would never survive the traversing of planes. Humans are not designed to do so. Your flesh is as fragile as paper in a flame, and therefore would disintegrate the moment you crossed over.”

The fog. It was thick in the alley each time I visited Xhiphias. And the cats? What the hell was up with the cats?

Hand lodged in my hair, I shook my head again, still not believing a word. “So, if there is no body, because it disintegrates …”

“You return to nothing, as I said. A horrible void. Which is actually worse than returning to a corpse, I would imagine. It is a fate we refer to as Ex Nihilo.” Hands still linked at his back, he paced at the end of the bed. “Pretend there is a miniscule chance that your theory is right. At what odds are you willing to risk it?”

“I have to go back. You don’t understand. I have a life. School. My cat and ferns.”

“All of which were so very important to you when you sought out this world. Are you telling me there wasn’t the slightest thought that you might not return?”

I’d be a fool if I admitted that. “So, no one returns? Ever?”

“I didn’t say that.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks and shrugged. “There are those capable of traversing both planes and smuggling souls back to the earthly realm.” When he pulled one hand from his pocket, a silver coin sat tucked between his fingers. Just as in the library, he rolled it over his knuckles as fluidly as a wave. “But like your swindling friend, they only do so for their own gain.”

“How does that work? If my body disintegrates, won’t I be going back to a corpse, as you said? Or nothing?”

“Some immortals, like the Fallen, are capable of time reversal. It is not that you would return to the body of today, but the moments before you jumped off that roof.”

“So … would I have an awareness to walk away?”

“Perhaps. Or you might be drawn back.”

While the possibility that I’d been swindled was there, I was still hellbent to figure out a way to return. And I would. “You did catch me from falling off that cliff last night. I know it was you. I could sense it.”

Like a seasoned gambler, he remained expressionless, unreadable.

“Aurelia was real, too.”

“Yes. She was at one point. She was Anya’s daughter. Why you saw visions of her is puzzling, I’ll admit.”

“What?” A beat of shock hit me like a baseball bat, and I sat dumbfounded, puzzling what he’d just said. “But Anya acted as if she …”

“Has forgotten her own daughter? Yes. That is a side effect of staying in Nightshade for too long. Tell me, what is it that has kept you at this cathedral so long, Miss Ravenshaw? I’d have expected you to go tearing through those gates a long time ago.”

“I need answers. Every time I resign myself to going home, some other small bit of information pops up. It’s maddening.”

“And what is your latest conquest?”

Eyes locked on his, I backed myself to the bed, reached beneath the pillow, and pulled out the book, turning it to the portrait on the first page. “Why is high-school-aged me in a book that looks like it’s centuries old?”

Cocking a brow, he peered down at the image. “Strange likeness.”

“Very strange. And this particular individual in the back?” I pointed to one of the men wearing the vest, standing behind her. “Looks an awful lot like you.”

Again, he looked down at the image, studying it for a moment. “Yes, I suppose he does.”

“And? You don’t find that odd? Coincidental that both of us happen to look like two people in what seems to be a very old book?”

“What is your point?”

“This is the kind of crap that keeps me tangled in this creepy little web of a place. Unlike you, who seems perfectly content to accept such coincidences, I need answers. Like, why the freaking Sybil in this book is named Camael. The name of my cat. This is the kind of thing that is driving me to madness!”

Still standing at the foot of my bed, he quirked a brow. “I see that.”

“No.” I shook my head, letting out a humorless laugh. “You’re not going to try to turn me into a mental case, like Anya did. I am not losing my mind. There is a reason. A puzzle. And every puzzle has an answer.”

“Does it? Perhaps there are puzzles with no solution, Miss Ravenshaw. A never-ending quest for something that can never be resolved.”

I refused to believe that. There was a much bigger picture where all the small coincidences fit perfectly into place. I was only seeing a small fraction of it.

“You’re here because of your father, correct?” he asked.

“In part, yes.”

“And what is the other part?”

“To know if he was crazy for what he believed in.”

“And are you any wiser for being here?”

I pondered the question for a moment. Had I learned anything new about my father?

Could I admit that this was anything more than me clinging to stubborn will?

“This individual you saw on the so-called flyer … the one you claim will be in attendance at the ball, what is so significant about her?”

“I need to find out if she remembers anything.”

Leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms. “What for? If you’re unable to return, what does it matter?”

“It matters. And I will return. Mark my words.”

Smiling, he shook his head. “You are a stubborn one, aren’t you?”

“You are, in fact, going to the Harvest Ball, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said in a bored tone. “But as we already discussed, you’re not.”

“Right. You probably already have a companion.”

“It so happens I don’t. And I don’t intend to bring one.”

“The flyer, though … it stated that a companion is required.”

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Again with this silly flyer. Yes. A companion is required. However, you needn’t trouble yourself. I’m still not taking one.”

“How will you get in without one, if it’s required?”

“I’ll get in.”

“She’ll be there.”

Sighing, he strode toward the door, where he came to a stop. “This is all futile, Miss Ravenshaw. The likelihood of this woman remembering anything about her old life is slim. And what do you intend to do with the information? It’s essentially useless.”

“I remember everything. I haven’t forgotten a single detail of my life. So perhaps you’re wrong.”

“It is unusual that you still remember, but trust me when I say, everyone inevitably forgets in time.”

“Let’s just pretend, in another universe, that I believe your little disintegration theory and I really can’t go back. At the very least, someone here remembers her. Isn’t that what so many in Nightshade grapple with? The fear of forgetting? Of never having actually existed?” At the unyielding look in his eye, I inwardly groaned. “Pretty please?”

“Adding pretty to please doesn’t make the idea any more attractive.”

“It’s a more dignified way of begging.”

“My attendance there is business. Not pleasure.”

“Even better. No expectations, or awkward pressure to share a dance.”

His lip curled as if the thought of dancing repulsed him. “My answer hasn’t changed.”

When he turned to leave, I lurched forward. “What if I offer something in return?” The question flew past my lips before I could stop myself.

Halfway to the door, he halted and turned around. “And what do you deem so valuable in exchange?”

Damn my heart for pounding against my chest like it wanted to escape this humiliation. “Myself.”

Brow raised, he tipped his head. “Did you just proposition me, Miss Ravenshaw?”

“Unless … well, I mean … yeah. Yes. I guess I did.” Every breath seemed to flutter out of me, shaky and unsteady, ruining what little confidence I had left. “Last night in the library, you almost kissed me. What made you stop?”

“Change of heart.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, suddenly wishing I could rewind back thirty seconds. Too late, though. I’d cracked open a bottle of humiliation, and I had no choice but to guzzle it down. “Am I not your type?” With a held breath, I waited for him to answer. To get the rejection over with so I could breathe again.

His lips curved to the slightest smile, and hands behind his back, he casually strolled back toward me. “Unfortunately for you, you are precisely my type.”

“Why is that unfortunate?”

“Because I will fuck you in all the worst ways.”

“I’m a big girl, Mister Van Croix. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve learned how to survive you aloof Byronic types.”

“I don’t doubt that, Miss Ravenshaw.”

“Then, what do you doubt?”

He did that damn studying thing again, his jaw shifting, chewing on whatever thoughts churned inside his head. “That I would survive you.”

Something strange stirred inside my chest, as I watched him make his way back to the door. A foreign ache that I didn’t recognize until he exited my room and closed the door behind him.

I was attracted to the man.

Painfully so.

* * *

Nothing left a bitter taste in the mouth quite like having to eat crow.

Fingers fidgeting, I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Anya fold a mountain of linens stacked on the table. She regarded me with a tight-lipped glance, never breaking pace with her chores.

“I … think I owe you an apology. It, um … seems I was having a nightmare.”

“No bother, dear.” Except, years of living with Aunt Nelle had taught me that when an older woman rolled her shoulders back and cleared her throat, she was definitely bothered.

“It is.” I nabbed one of the linens, grateful for the distraction of folding. Maybe it was my being an Aries, but apologizing was never my strong suit. “It just … seemed so real. I’ve always had bad nightmares, but that one was so vivid.”

“It’s the nature of this place. This cathedral. Its haunting walls wrap around you sometimes and won’t let go.”

“I … still feel …”

“What is it?”

“I do still feel like I jumped off that cliff, though. It was all very vivid, but that moment … I could feel things. Real things.”

“Well, in fairness, I wasn’t there. As far as I knew, you’d gone to the library to read and somehow ended up at your bed after. But what you’re suggesting, miss, is the impossible. Master Van Croix would’ve had to sprout wings to catch you from a fall like that.” Shaking out the linen in her hand, she chuckled.

In spite of my smile, my thoughts wound to the moment when I pressed my cheek to his skin. The warmth and safety I felt in his arms. Like nothing bad in the world could ever touch me there. “I suppose you’re right. It’s probably a silly thought. Anya, are you familiar with the Hallows Harvest Ball?”

The humor on her face faded for the crinkling of her brow. “I’m familiar with vague rumors. As I understand, it’s a very secret affair.”

“I believe someone I know will be there. Someone who might have a link to my father.”

“Ah. Shame there isn’t a way to get inside without invitation.”

“Well, it so happens Mister Van Croix has been invited.”

“And just how would you be privy to that?”

“I just … overheard him talking about it. Anyway, I was thinking maybe I could--”

“No. I’ve already gone against the master’s wishes a number of times on your behalf, Miss Ravenshaw. I’ll not be playing some pseudo-matchmaker so you can attend this ball.”

“Anya … I feel a little lost here. I came to find my father, and I’ve not stumbled upon much.” Aside from the pocket watch and Jericho’s brief interaction with him, all I’d really gleaned was that my father had crossed over at some point. “Not knowing what happened to him is driving me a bit mad.”

“And I wish I could help you, but going behind Master Van Croix’s back is not wise.”

“I know. I can’t ask you to do that again.” I slumped into the chair behind me, the sting of tears forcing me to look away. Even if I didn’t entirely believe Jericho’s theory that there was no body for me to return to my old life, it still left an unsettling feeling in my gut. “I feel like … I made a mistake coming here. And now I’m stuck, and I don’t know what to do. I’m chasing ghosts.”

“And you think this person at the ball might have some information that would help you feel unstuck.”

“I don’t know.” The likelihood of Alicia remembering the details of her murder were slim. But perhaps if there was a way to jog her memory, I could at least find out what the hell the Pentacrux had to do with it.

“What are you asking of me?”

“I need a costume.”

“A costume? That’s it?”

“Yes. I don’t want to put you in the middle with Mister Van Croix. I’ll figure out how to get in. And get there. If you could just help me find something that would help me blend in. It’s apparently a woodland creature theme.”

“It doesn’t feel right doing this, but for some reason, I have the same strange inclination to help you as I did the night I stumbled upon you on the road. You’re very hard to say no to, Miss Ravenshaw.”

With a tearful chuckle, I lowered my gaze. “I don’t deserve your help after last night. If I can repay the favor somehow, I’m willing.”

Hands crossed in front of her, she huffed. “I’ll get this costume thing worked out. You think of how you plan to get into that ball without both of us getting the boot, and I’ll consider it even.”

How, indeed. Nothing seemed to escape Van Croix. I glanced out the window, watching Garic scrubbing the wheels of the carriage. Above him sat the carriage trunk, secured by what looked to be leather straps. Shifting my eyes from Garic to the trunk and back gave some insight into its size--definitely big enough to fit someone inside of it.

“I think I might have an idea,” I said to Anya.