Page 9 of Nightshade

I recognize it immediately.

The symbol for Nightshade.

Words appear over the image, across the brick, as if something invisible is writing them, and I frown, watching the message take form.

Seek out Van Croix in Nightshade.

From the ceiling overhead, an object flutters to the ground, and I reach to pick it up. A black feather, whose tip carries the same black substance as the writing on the wall.

Clang, clang, clang!

Bricks tumble from their places in the wall, crashing to the concrete floor, and on a startled breath, I jump backward, arm shielding my face from the plumes of dust.

When I lower my hand from my face, I find two bodies tethered at the necks by rope looped through anchors on the wall. The black and white garb they wear tells me it’s two nuns. The thick crucifix tied to the hand of one of them bangs against the pipe along the wall behind her.

Clang, clang, clang!

* * *

On a sharp inhale, I opened my eyes to the dark ceiling above me in time to catch a shadow flickering across. Eyes glued there, I kicked back, spine crashing against the headboard behind me. “Ca’ligo an a tua!” The words flew out of my mouth before I realized I’d said them. The shadow slid over the wall, trailed by the lights of what must’ve been a car passing the house. Shallow and shaky breaths sawed in and out of me, while I scanned over my surroundings.

I ran a shaky hand across my brow. “Just a dream. It was just a dream.”

God, it seemed so real, though, and somehow, the rancid scent of rotted meat clung to my nose. I retched, swallowing back the acid in my throat, and leaned across to knock on the bedside lamp.

The silly phrase I’d spoken was something Aunt Nelle had always said when I’d wake from nightmares. A language she’d made up, which she’d claimed to be the cure for keeping bad spirits away. Strange that I’d have even remembered it

As I swung my feet down to the floor, a tickle across my heel had me jerking back on a scream. I peered over the bed’s edge to where something stuck half out from underneath.

Swallowing a gasp, I snatched it up and held it up to the light. Every barb of its vane held a silver metallic line that glinted under the bulb. I observed that the rachis, a hollow shaft down the center of it, carried unique and intricate swirls.

I’d only ever held a feather once before.

Cold tendrils of fear crawled down my back.

* * *

“Papa! Look what I found!” I carry the long, black feather through the mess of books scattered across my father’s office and hold it up to him. “Papa, look!”

Face buried in a microscope, he says, “One moment.”

Smiling, I hide the feather behind my back and wait patiently for him to look up. It feels like it takes forever.

He finally lifts his face from the scope and jots some notes in his book on the desk beside him. So many books. So many scribbled pictures of things he sees in that microscope. When he finally turns to me, I can hardly contain my excitement. “What is it you want to show me, my exuberant little fairy child?” He ends the question on a chuckle and twists his chair to face me. Brown eyes set beneath bushy, gray eyebrows and straggly gray hair that he always pulls back into a ponytail make him look more like my grandfather, but I don’t care. Those eyes are the warmest, most caring eyes in the world. And although Papa is always busy with his work, when he talks to me, he always turns to face me. And listens. Really listens to me.

“It’s a surprise. Are you ready to see it?”

“I’m dying from all this anticipation.” His smile stretches wide around crooked teeth that my mother used to say was his most unique trait. “What do you have to show me?”

Shoulders bunching up with excitement, I whip the feather from behind my back and hold it up to him. “Ta-da! A bird feather!”

The smile on his face fades to something serious, those gray, bushy brows coming together, as he plucks the black plume from my fingers. “Where did you get this?”

“At the church.” Through the woods stands the remains of an old church that burned down. Papa said it’s two-hundred years old! It’s where I take my dolls and play sometimes. I also talk to my mother there, even though I know she can’t hear me all the way in Heaven. But Papa says she’s here on Earth, and he swears someday he’ll take me to her.

“You must never go back to that church by yourself again. Do you understand?”

“But, Papa, it’s where I play. And talk to Mommy sometimes.”