Page 137 of Nightshade

“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.

44

Lustina

Kneeling by the river, Lustina poured wood ash into the wash basin and scrubbed at the fabric that carried the stains of dirt and squished berries. As expected, she’d been reprimanded for arriving late with the fruit, and her punishment was extra chores--including the cleaning of her dress. Her only other dress, which she’d been forced to wear, was old and threadbare and offered little protection against the brisk air, so that shivers wracked her body.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, she twisted to find the baron dressed in a leather brigandine vest with bracers at the wrist, a uniform he was made to wear when sparring with the Pentacrux soldiers, in training for the day his father would call on him to defend Praecepsia. The muscles in his arms, which seemed to have grown in recent weeks, sent a warm flush to her cheeks. Pushing a stray hair from her braid behind her ear, she smiled as she returned to her toil.