Page 99 of Nightshade

Stroking the shadow of stubble on his jaw, he seemed to chew on the request for a moment. “I saw him once.” The words arrived out of nowhere, and at first, I had no idea what he was talking about, until he stuffed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a beautiful silver timepiece I recognized as a gift I’d given my father, when I was about ten years old. One he kept on him at all times.

“How did you come upon this?” I asked, as he handed it off to me.

“He gave it to me. In passing.”

A flicker of excitement jolted me forward in my seat. “Then, you did see him. He did come to you!”

“Yes. Briefly.”

“What did you mean, in passing?”

“I had my dogs chase him off. He appeared rather unstable, chattering on about signs and prophecies.”

The familiar pangs of disappointment needled me again. “Do you have any idea where he went? Did he look well, or sick? Was he with anyone?”

“No.” The tinge of annoyance in his voice told me not to pry into which question he’d answered.

“I don’t understand why he would’ve given you something so important.”

“Seems your father had some premonition that you might end up at my home.”

“I honestly don’t know what would compel him to assume such a thing. Or why, for that matter. He went missing years ago, and I only recently stumbled upon his journal that spoke of Nightshade. And you.”

As if distracted, he stared intently back at me, so deeply that I had to look away.

I’d become so oblivious to the attentions of men that I didn’t quite know how to behave in their presence, and this particular man made all others look like boys. “I’m desperate to find him.”

“Is it possible that he isn’t missing, at all? And perhaps dead?”

“No. I refuse to believe that.”

“Your refusal leaves you exceptionally vulnerable to disappointment.”

“You must be the most cynical man in existence.”

“And is it your fancy fantasies and books that instill you with so much hope? Tell me, what do you believe, Miss Ravenshaw? That love will save you? Or your father, for that matter? Is it your hope that you think keeps him alive in this place, where such things are snuffed like a broken lamp?”

“I’m perfectly capable of accepting the possibility that he’s dead. But uncertainty is more maddening than truth. I need to know … one way, or the other.”

“And I wish you luck in that endeavor. I will impart this, though. What left that feather in your room was not a member of the Pentacrux, but a fallen angel. The two are definitely not the same thing. The Pentacrux no longer exists, Miss Ravenshaw. Whatever gave you the silly notion that they were after you?”

Not willing to tell him it was the notes of my delusional father, and a symbol that’d been drawn on my bedroom window, I shook my head. “I’m not really sure.”

“You’ve been misguided. I am not the white knight your father made you believe. On the contrary, he put you in grave danger by sending you to me.”

“And I was a fool for listening to him.”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. “If there’s nothing more to discuss, I’ll return to my work.”

“Of course. I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time.” I pushed up from the chair and headed toward the door.

“Miss Ravenshaw,” he said, bringing me to a halt before my hand touched the knob. “I’ve an issue for you. I’m not providing you with housing and food so that you can play with my dogs all day. You’re tasked to feed and care for them and nothing more.”

“How can I establish a proper relationship as a caretaker, if I’m only ever barking orders, or feeding them?”

“That’s all they require.”

”Perhaps you might allow more structured play? Say, if I were to incorporate a bit of training and discipline?”