Page 90 of Nightshade

Groaning with exhaustion, I turned away from it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Tap, tap, tap.

Folding the pillow around my head, I squeezed my eyes shut in search of the sleep I’d surely need by following morning.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound had wormed its way into my head, and even if it remained muted through the pillow, I could still hear it in my thoughts.

Throwing the pillow off, I sat up in bed, staring across the room at the bothersome little branch that I wanted so badly to break.

Instead, I reached for my robe from the foot of the bed, where I’d discarded it earlier, and tiptoed toward the door. En route, I grabbed the lantern still burning on the mantel and tuned it up just a notch, which brightened the room.

The outside hallway stood empty, and I paid particular attention to the intersection at the end of it, where I’d first caught sight of Van Croix. All was quiet on that front, and at no sign of movement, I slipped out of my room, down the long corridor to the staircase, where I followed the connecting passages to the west wing of the cathedral, on my way to the library.

As a child, when I’d felt frightened, or restless, at night, either my aunt would offer the humorous little chant she’d made up to scare the monsters away, or I’d pull out a book and distract myself in another world. It’d always worked. I’d end up tiring myself out and waking up the next morning with a book lying across my face. Fairytales had always been my favorite, of course, but I wasn’t picky. As long as it distracted me from the shadows in the room, I’d have read anything.

A sound echoed down the corridor and brought me to a halt. A powerful melody that swallowed the air. I followed its forlorn timbre on my path toward the organ room. and there, before the instrument that took up the entire wall, sat Van Croix.

The black silk of his robe hung over the bench, and his body moved with each transcendent chord. The haunting sound carried an air of melancholy and doom. So intricate was each note, I wondered how a single man could command so many at once.

My feet drew me closer, but to keep from being seen, I hid behind one of the pillars and lowered the lantern to the floor. Watching him.

The way his hands moved over the keys.

His face concentrated and undisturbed.

It reminded me of something out of an old Dracula movie, the song so dreary.

Something warm and familiar clawed at the back of my neck. A strange sensation I couldn’t put my finger on. Like déjà vu, but more fleeting. I stared off, desperate to cling to whatever strange distraction in my head had yet to make itself known, and curled my fingers around the thick, wooden pillar.

The music settled to quiet, and the room became eerily still.

“Do you intend to spy at every opportunity, Miss Ravenshaw?” Though laced with an air of boredom, his voice held a deep, resonating richness.

A tickle coiled down my spine with the nervous energy that pulsed through me. Lifting the lantern at my feet, I stepped out from the pillar. “My apologies. I didn’t want to disturb you. It was beautiful, the music you played just now.”

“It’s amateur, at best.”

“What is the name of the piece?”

“Prophetiae.” He spoke in an accent, as if well acquainted with the language.

“Prophesies?”

“You speak Latin?”

“Very little to get by. Is it yours?”

“No. The man who wrote it has long since passed.”

“It’s beautiful.”

From somewhere beside him, he lifted a glass with a green-tinted drink and took a sip. “May I ask why you’re wandering so late at night?”

“There’s a tree branch outside my window. Its tapping is both incessant and maddening.”