Page 92 of Nightshade

“At the cathedral? I told you.”

“Do you honestly think I believe that you happened upon Anya? You came here for a reason. One you’ve yet to confess.”

“You don’t believe that fate could’ve led me here?”

“I believe in fate as much as I believe your intentions to be innocent.”

Who could blame him, really, when I didn’t know myself what had compelled me to seek out this strange place?

A warning from my father, of course. And the possibility that Papa might still be alive. But what if he’d been here too long? What if he didn’t recognize me? Or worse, didn’t want to be found.

There’d been something else, too. Something inexplicable that’d driven me to seek out Xhiphias. I remembered the feeling I’d had, standing at the mouth of that foggy alley. As if turning away wasn’t an option. Yet, I couldn’t explain what had compelled me. Some invisible pull that just wouldn’t relent its grip.

“I don’t honestly know why I’m here. I long to find out.”

“And while venturing along this path to self-discovery, might I impart some advice. If you place any value on your soul, Miss Ravenshaw, I suggest you keep your distance from me.”

“Noted.” With a nod, I kept on toward the stairwell, and when I passed the organ, with his back to me, he kicked his head to the side.

“I’m guessing this won’t be my last midnight encounter with you.”

“Not unless you’d prefer I stay in my room.”

“I have no preference.” With that, he turned back to the organ and the music once again filled the room.

30

Farryn

Warmth hit my face, and I squinted against a bright beam of light. My cheek slid across something hard, cold and wet, and I opened my eyes to a stack of books.

Huh?

Lifting my head from the table separated my cheek from the pool of drool beneath it, and I looked around to find I’d fallen asleep in the library.

The lantern had long flickered out, and a sharpness in my jaw had me massaging away a painful stiffness there. I wiped the drool from my face onto the sleeve of my robe and pushed to my feet. The gray, dishwater sky outside the window portended another gloomy day, and the chill already clinging to my skin told me it’d be a cold one, too.

I hurried back to my room, leaving the books on the table and hustled to get into some work clothes. Opening the armoire showed three new dresses hung there.

More dresses.

“This really is hell. It has to be,” I muttered, tearing one of them from its hanger.

The only time I’d ever made a point to wear dresses growing up was for funerals and Aunt Nelle’s poker parties, when she insisted on it, because all the ladies who attended wore them, like some secret, poker prude cult. Groaning at the length of the thing, which reached well past my calves, and the uncomfortable leather boots that didn’t match, at all, I raced out of the bedroom, skipping breakfast, and ran to the stable.

Garic stood in my place, chopping meat with a frown, and I began to wonder whether, or not, it was an actual frown, or a permanent feature of his face. “You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll take over.”

He handed me the cleaver, which I took with some reluctance. Dear God, what breed of dogs ate half a deer carcass every day?

“It’ll happen again. Because your generation don’t care about nothin’ but themselves. You’re selfish. All of you.”

“Is this how it’s going to be every day with you, Garic? I’m just curious.”

Mumbling in a growly voice, he limped away.

All three mongrels stood to attention, tongues lobbed in a weird smile, while I hacked at the flesh that didn’t exactly cut like butter. By the time breakfast was over, I felt dizzy from the toil. Hunger, I guessed, though my desire to eat after all that chopping had fizzled. After disposing of the bones, and what I deemed were inedible parts of the animal, I discarded it into the pit.