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And now, she was sobbing and screaming, pounding on the lid to his casket.
Before I could react, the stranger jumped in after her.
Hand clasped to my mouth, I watched as he pulled her up and into his lap. She sobbed into his chest, his bespoke Tom Ford suit now not only drenched, but also sullied with red mud. After her tears slowed, he whispered words that I couldn’t make out and she nodded her head.
The Expiarus reacted swiftly, the funeral directors promptly obtaining a ladder.
The stranger’s hands were firm as he pulled her to her feet, holding her tight as she ascended.
Her eyes met mine, shame making her shoulders hunch, silently mouthing, “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” I shook my head, my own tears tracking down my face, her pain and grief ripping me open. “Don’t be.” I opened my arms and she clung to me while our world fell down around us.
And still, the stranger acted as a buffer, somehow blocking off the crowd threatening to overspill, holding them off until we’d gathered ourselves.
After a long while, Callie stepped away, wiping at her cheeks, and I met the stranger’s gaze. His eyes, black and as deep as a well, were clouded with concern.
“It’s okay.” I touched his arm and his fingers found mine, squeezing them, and a honeyed warmth filled me.
Then, he ran his palm up my arm, holding me. Not saying a word. His silence was grounding, his strength bleeding into me.
It was exactly what I needed as Benson and Mr. Stokes approached the grave. Then others, tossing their flowers into the gaping hole, the greedy mouth swallowing them whole until, what seemed like hours later, the line dwindled.
We stood there nodding, accepting their condolences, the four of us: me, Callie, Benson, and a man I’d never met in my life.
His solid but protective presence gave my knees the strength I needed to hold me up, to bow my head and gracefully accept the words from strangers who knew a side of my father I’d never known.
And then, finally, the mass of people trickled down until there were only a few left, and even the Expiarus left.
A gentle pat on my hand, words spoken from Mr. Stokes that he would meet with me in a week. Benson followed after him, his limp obviously worsened by the rain. He’d leave us to our peace, he stated.
I inhaled a deep breath, turning towards the strange man to thank him, but — he was gone.
I hadn’t even seen him go, leaving as mysteriously as he’d arrived.
I bit down on my lower lip, swallowing my thanks as I met the gaze of my sister.
Wrapping an arm around her, I pulled her to me as her sobs broke free again, now having the strength to be her bedrock.
We stood there for what felt like forever; me holding her, her wet tears on my neck, hotter than the steamy afternoon heat.
And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of the burning gaze of unseen eyes, watching us from the shadows.
CHAPTER 5
Rook
“He was a good man.”
“A pillar of the community.”
“Such a blessing to have known him.”
It was an odd sight: two unfamiliar women, eulogizing the father figure who had raised me. They spoke of him with familiarity, as if they were close friends or relatives who knew all the intimate details of his life.
"And he was so generous with his contributions…” The elder woman's thin lips curled in disapproval. "It's a shame his daughters won't continue his charitable traditions. I’m sure they don't understand the importance of upholding family legacy. His good name will surely be tarnished by those girls."
“They wouldn't know how to carry on his name if it bit them in the butt,” the younger woman sniggered.
