Page 132 of Nightshade

A thought that had always troubled Lustina: if angels existed, why did they fail to intervene?

The older woman’s smile turned sympathetic. “Some fates cannot be changed, child. But yours can. You do not have to bear the burden that has been placed on your shoulders. Walk away from him. Urge him to sacrifice his love.”

Frowning in confusion, Lustina shook her head. “Who?” Before Camael could answer, what sounded like thunder rumbled outside the cottage, and on looking out the window, Lustina could see the sky had darkened. Storms had always terrified her. “I do not mean to sound hasty, but I must be getting back before Reverend Mother sends for me.”

Scanning over the ceiling, as if something lurked there, Camael set her cigar down by the fire’s embers and turned toward the girl. “Lustina,” she whispered. “You are here for a reason. The darkness lures you, but he is selfish. He puts you in grave danger.”

“What are you saying?” Lustina chuckled with her sudden discomfort. “I am the sacrifice this dark-winged creature is destined to seek out?”

“He has already sought you out.”

“Who is he?”

At another crack of thunder outside, Camael flinched, her gaze casted toward the ceiling again, as if something would come crashing through. She nabbed a tin cup and poured some of the broth from her cauldron into it, before passing it off to Lustina. “Something to keep you warm in the storm.”

The spicy scent drifted upward, and although Lustina hesitated to drink, the urge pulled at her tongue for one taste. She sipped the fluids, which instantly transported her back to the nights when she was ill and her mother would care for her, feeding her the spicy broth. It was warmth. Comfort. Home. Before she could stop herself, she swallowed every drop of it, savoring the flavor in her mouth and the heat in her belly.

The room widened and darkened until a blackness settled over her.

In that void, she felt as light as clouds, and she heard a the voice of her mother, calling to her. “Lustina, my love. Wake up.”

She opened her eyes to the darkness of the surrounding forest at dusk. Treetops peered down on her, like ancient men standing over her, and in their gaps, black ravens circled overhead. She turned her head to find the basket of berries lying on the ground beside her, the fruit scattered over the forest bed, and she sat up, desperate to recall how she had gotten there to begin.

The cottage.

Camael.

She pushed to her feet and ran through the woods, toward the clearing where she’d seen the small dwelling.

Only the waning beams of sunset shone down on an empty stretch of open grass.

Lustina stepped out of the woods and into the clearing, standing in the beam of the sun’s dying light.

There was no warmth there, though.

Only the cold promise of impending darkness.

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 doppelgänger 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.”