Page 26 of Nightshade

The fog whorled with his descent, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing my muscles for the nauseating sound of impact.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.”

I opened my eyes.

The fog sat undisturbed.

An eerie silence clung to the air. The fiery sulfuric odor invaded my nose stronger than before.

Goaded by the thrum of fear and shock pulsing through me, I stepped cautiously toward where I suspected the man’s brains lay scattered across the ground, praying that I wouldn’t discover any grisly remains. Breath held, I searched through the thickest part of the fog but found nothing.

No trace of him anywhere. Not a single fleck of bone, or drop of blood, from what I could see.

Glancing upward showed the dark-skinned man still peering over the edge, staring down at me.

Wracked by disbelief, I scanned again. Surely, I’d seen him fall. I had seen him fall. Yet, not a speck of evidence proved it.

A creeping sensation of disturbance settled over me. It hadn’t been a hallucination. I could still hear his screams echoing inside my head.

Swinging my attention back toward the roof, I searched for the man who’d pushed him and suddenly found no trace of him, either.

No, no, no.

He’d fallen.

I’d seen it.

And yet, he hadn’t left any physical body behind.

Like my father.

A heavy click echoed through the alley, and I lifted my gaze toward the wide, iron door across from me, which swung open on an obnoxious creak. The dark-skinned man with striking fiery eyes, stood in its frame, the sight of him sending a wave of terror through me.

Limbs locked, I stood paralyzed. I tightened my fingers around the small hilt of the pocketknife and tried to imagine what I’d have to stab first to incapacitate him, if he attacked. Probably those eyes. My hands trembled even harder at the thought. Did I even have the balls to do such a thing?

Dressed in dark trousers, with boots, a black waistcoat with ruffles sticking out from its sleeves, and a white cravat with a blood red tie pin, he looked like something out of the regency era. With a haughty tip of his nose, he stared down at me. “What do you want?”

The words, so simple, stirred confusion inside my head, and I stood like an idiot, quiet and motionless. Still trying to process what the hell had just happened.

After a moment, I managed, “I’m … looking for … Xhiphias? Do you … know him?”

“That would depend on who is asking.” Every word arrived perfectly articulated, spoken with an air of nobility.

I’d given my name out a number of times throughout the years, to colleagues and classmates, without a thought. Yet, I hesitated right then. Even if he did have something to do with those murders, the chances of him confessing that to me were slim to non-existent. Which left me with one of two options: trusting that my delusional father wouldn’t have involved himself with a possible serial killer.

Or booking it out of that alley. I chose stupidity. Because again, the nagging feeling inside my head told me to.

“I’m … Farryn.” I could scarcely remember my own name, with my head spinning like a top. “The man … who jumped … I saw … he … hit the ...”

“And?” The boredom in his voice prompted me to get to the point.

“What happened to him?”

“What happened to him?” Chuckling, he tugged on the ruffles of his sleeve, straightening his cuff. “Why are you here, girl?”

“I need to know if he’s still alive.”

Brows winging up, he tipped his head. “Is that why you’re standing in this alley now?”