Page 29 of Vervain

ONTOLOGY

Saya Claymore

I’m dreaming. I must be, because I’m home—well, the only home I had before the feeding ground.

Standing at the entrance, vervain lines the border between village and forest. Moonlight shines through the branches, casting cool shards of light through the darkness, illuminating the village just enough for me to take it all in.

Musky tones from shrubs and the powdery scent of vervain and lavender bleed chalky purple across the blooms. Wooden wind chimes clank above the tower-lined, gated entrance, colliding in a battle against the wind.

The solid double gates are closed. Most of the time, they are closed to keep out the wolves—as the stories went—but I’d never seen one. Never even heard a howl in the middle of the night.

Pressing my palms to the gates, the wood bites into my flesh as I push. They don’t budge. There’s a tremor, and the wind chimes reverberate sharply, but there is nothing to indicate I can enter.

I huff out a breath, feeling more like the damn wolf in those stories my mum would tell Cole, and I shake off the feeling tingling across my shoulders. There has to be another way in.

I turn away, but a gust of wind has me stumbling back towards the gates as they are blown open with the force of it. Thick smoke leaks out of the village, heat singeing my brows and scorching my cheeks. The screams hollow out my bones, and shadows weave through the haze.

Vervain petals melt from their stems, burning, and as the smoke rises, I sink into darkness.

Since biting Serun, I’ve had strange dreams and memories.

Fire, vervain and screams? I don’t remember there being a fire in Cherry Bloom. We had a few in summer, when the heat dried out the grass, but I don’t think it ever reached the village?

Was I floating through Serun’s memories?

An irritated sigh escapes me, and I clutch my hands together, needing the sensation. Another minute goes by, and I drag myself from bed and over to the claw-foot tub. Serun is escorting me to the Undercity today, which is filled with nightwalkers. I’d rather not give them any encouragement to bite me if I have any lingering bloodstains.

I settle into the hot, soapy water, letting the sting of the burn soften my skin. I lean back and look up at the ceiling, resting my arms along the sides of the tub. I’ll miss this place, as strange as it is to think. At least the only other nightwalker here besides Serun is Lucifer, and I’d rather have his hate than the thousands in the Undercity.

I’m not all dead, not all alive. Between two worlds and not really belonging in either. Why would anyone there accept me?

“And who cares?” I murmur to myself, hoping my voice is louder than my worry.

A knock comes after I leave the tub, my skin now a rosy red, cutting through my usual icy blue tone.

I button up a blouse and tuck the fabric into a skirt. After I’m dressed, and my hair spins in long, wet strands down my back, I open the door, only for my heart to sink. I have half a mind to close the door on the menacing glare Lucifer is giving me.

His revulsion at the mere sight of me is enough that I very much doubt the nightwalkers of the Undercity will accept me.

“Evening,” I say as I step out and gradually close the door behind me. Glancing down the corridor, I turn to face him. “Where’s Serun?”

Lucifer stares without blinking. Unsettling eyes watch, and an icy chill runs up my spine, telling me not to trust him. He’s like a statue. Not a blond hair out of place, or a wrinkle in his black and white glittering silk suit.

Every part of him is composed.

Lifeless.

“Care to join me for a walk?” he says.

“No,” I respond in an even flatter tone.

I’ve shown weakness to Serun. A vulnerability I don’t really regret, but I will not let my hard-won steel doors falter in the presence of someone who has made it apparent they dislike me.

A purplish-red vein thickens on the side of his neck when his jaw tightens. Raw, red eyes dilate, and a slip of warning tickles the already standing-on-edge hairs across my skin. I hold my breath and concentrate on his polished black and white leather shoes.

“Heh,” he snorts. “Don’t fret, dove. My brother would have my head if I were to harm you. Besides, even if I could, I care too little for you to want to kill you.”

Am I supposed to feel offended or comforted? I can’t tell with him.