Page 7 of Nightshade

Always watching.

I’d pointed him out sometimes, but those I asked always swore there was nothing there, which quickly earned me the reputation of being crazy. It wasn’t until I went to live with Aunt Nelle that the visions of him finally disappeared, and an inexplicable sadness, coupled with having been moved from my home, had left me in a state of depression. I was alone. Abandoned by both my father and my imaginary friend.

At least, I’d always told myself he was imaginary, but as I stared down at the sketched image, I wondered if my father had seen him the whole time, after all.

Aside from the hasty scribbles, detailing magnificent black wings that protruded from his back and spanned the width of the page, he appeared to be the exact same figure that’d essentially stalked me as a child.

An absolutely stunning creature with the most scintillating blue eyes I’d ever seen.

Was he the angel my father had always claimed to be watching over me?

Dismissing the thought, I kept on, immersing myself in more of his writing, searching for the bits on Nightshade. The more I read, the more I had to read. A nagging curiosity gripped me, pulling me deeper into the wonder of this strange world he theorized. A place which called to me for reasons I couldn’t understand.

In my reading, I’d gleaned one thing about my father: however deranged and single-mindedly obsessed he’d come to be, he’d loved my mother with fierce passion. So much so, he couldn’t bear the thought that she’d ever left him for good. In some ways, I was a bit like him myself. Ceaselessly chasing truth.

4

Lustina

Past

Lustina’s skin burned where the older woman had scrubbed her roughly. The cleansing process had taken two days in the infirmary, requiring constant bathing in water heated in a large cauldron, sometimes too hot. The scouring brushes had torn at her skin, the fabric of her new dress rubbing over the wounds with every movement. She’d only been allowed broth and water during that time, as a means of flushing her system of any evil potions her mother may have given her.

The length of her hair, which had once reached past her bottom, had been cut to look like that of a boy’s, shorn nearly to her skull. The clothes her mother had sewn for her were burned and replaced with a simple, white shift made of coarse fabric that scratched at her skin and an equally uncomfortable metal belt at her waist.

Across the monastery’s vibrant, green courtyard, she followed after the woman, who seemed to be head of the female clergy at the monastery, known as the pentash. Her name, Pentash Mother, put her at a higher ranking than the few other pentashes Lustina had met, who went by their first names. The male clergy of the monastery, referred to as the pentrosh, answered to Pentrosh Father and slept in entirely separate quarters.

All answered to Bishop Venable.

Lustina looked up at the magnificent height of the bell tower, whose tolling she’d often heard from her cabin, deep in the woods. Recalling the rumors of bellringers who’d been struck by lightning sent a chill spiraling down her spine. “Pentash Mother, has anyone died in the bell tower during a lightning storm?”

The old woman didn’t bother to look at her when she answered, “Yes.”

Lustina swallowed back a gulp, and when she glanced up at the bell tower a second time, suddenly it didn’t seem so magnificent.

Once inside, they ascended the stone stairs to a door, which Pentash Mother opened into a small room with a window that overlooked the woods. The bed in there consisted of a simple frame, with a straw mattress and wool ticking. A blanket had been folded at the foot of it, and the only other piece of furniture in the room was a chair in the corner. In spite of the chill in the air, the solitary space offered more welcome than the thin blanket that had served as a poor bed on the infirmary’s stone floor, where she’d slept when she’d first arrived.

“You will neither dine, nor sleep, with the others,” Pentash Mother said in a voice brimming with sharp scorn. “You will rise at the tolling of the bell to recite The Lord’s Holy Prayer. Then you will eat, before beginning your chores until the afternoon toll, at which time, you will recite your prayers again. You will eat again and return to your chores until the final tolling of the bell, when you will recite the evening prayer, have your supper, and retire to bed.”

Back home, her mother had assigned her chores, as well, so she’d never been a stranger to manual work. However, Lustina had grown accustomed to having the freedom to wander about the woods once she’d finished. “I understand, Pentash Mother. Should I finish my chores early, would I be permitted to explore the forest?”

The woman’s brows pulled to a tight frown. “Should you finish early, you will be provided with more chores. You will never enter the woods without a proper escort. A young girl like yourself is ill-equipped for the dangers there.”

Lustina’s heart sank. She’d spent countless hours roaming through trees and rivers, collecting flowers and unusual stones. The forest had never seemed threatening to her. “Yes, Pentash Mother,” she answered.

Two other pentashes appeared in the doorway, wearing slightly less formal robes than Pentash Mother. One had fiery red hair that peeked from beneath the wimple covering her head, and she smiled at Lustina--the first smile she’d seen since arriving.

“Pentash Maria and Aurelia will show you to your chores,” the older woman said, stepping past Lustina. “You are not permitted anywhere near the sleeping quarters for the pentrosh, nor the cathedral’s undercroft. Failure to comply will result in severe punishment. Do I make myself clear?”

Lustina offered a sharp nod. “Yes, Pentash Mother.”

Without another word, the woman pushed past Maria and Aurelia, and once she was gone from sight, the red-headed pentash stepped forward.

“I’m Aurelia. It’s nice to meet you.”

The other pentash also stepped forward, though more reluctantly. “Is it true? Are you the spawn of a witch?”

Lustina’s smile faded for the ache that stabbed her heart on thinking of her mother.