Page 85 of Nightshade

He leaned in further until towering over her. “You are enough to drive me mad, you know that?”

“Oh, yes.” Smiling up at him, she rested her hand against his chest. “I endeavor to drive you mad, in fact. Madness is far more colorful than the blandness of normalcy.”

“Indeed.” Slanting his lips over hers, he attempted a kiss, but, at the caw of the bird, stopped short. The animal made a strange clicking sound, and all at once, Lustina could hear a whisper on the air.

‘Someone approaches,’ it said.

Confused, she looked around, to find the forest empty of anyone except the baron, the bird, and her, of course. “Who said that?” No sooner did she ask than the whisper came again, and she tracked its sound back to the bird. “Oh! Was it him?”

“Yes. My feathered friend knows how to ruin a moment most effectively.”

“I heard him! How strange!” Caught between astonishment and disbelief, Lustina giggled. “I want to hear it again.”

“My Lord.” A completely different voice arrived that time, and Lustina craned her neck back toward one of the Van Croix servants that she recognized. The downtrodden look on his face left her stomach churning with dread. “It is your mother …”

Jericho stepped away from her. “What is it?”

“Please.” The servant cast his gaze away. “Come immediately.”

27

Farryn

In the mirror’s reflection, I studied the long-sleeved, cross-embroidered Victorian dress with the big black bow at its collar. The most ridiculous thing I’d ever worn, but at least it overshadowed the yellowing bruises and healing cuts from my fall.

I made my way down the hall to the staircase, straightening the wrinkles of my dress. As I passed a small alcove, cool air breezed my cheek, and I paused to find the window within left open. Dark already. Strange, the way days seemed so short here, even more so than during the winters in Chicago. It seemed there were only a few hours of actual daylight from the time I’d awakened.

Something black swooped past outside. With careful steps, I approached the opened window, and found a shadowy figure sat on the roof, the white curl of cigarette smoke drifting upward into the night sky. Van Croix stared out over the vast landscape that stretched for miles, lit only by the silvery moon overhead.

Urgency pummeled through me, to steal the opportunity and ask him about my father, and why it was so important that I seek him out. But, after having already spied on him once this afternoon, I turned to leave, pausing when he spoke.

“It’s unusual, you know.”

Embarrassment skated through me on having been discovered, but I cleared my throat and turned back toward the window. “What’s that?”

“A few things. The moon. The quiet.” He stamped his cigarette out onto the gritty surface of the roof with a well-polished shoe. “The way my dogs took to you this afternoon.”

“It was strange for me, as well. Why the moon?”

“Three weeks from now marks the fifth blood moon.” The deep calm of his voice wound itself around my senses. Such an oddly pleasant sound that captivated me.

I recalled the note in my father’s journal. “Fifth blood moon? Is there such a thing?”

“It’s an incredibly rare event that happens once every couple of millennia. Some believe this year’s marks the beginning of the end.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what do you believe?”

“I believe the end doesn’t have a beginning.”

The finite nature of his words matched the melancholy in his tone. In the short time since having arrived, I’d already gotten the impression that there was more to Van Croix than his surly exterior implied. I imagined his mind never ceased, his thoughts constantly churning, even in times so benign as staring out at the moon.

Something hopped along the roof alongside him, and it was then that I noticed the raven, seemingly comfortable in his presence. Van Croix tossed something out off the roof, and the raven took flight, swooping to catch it from the air. As the bird zipped past the window, I flinched backward, nearly missing where it deposited the object on the sill in front of me.

The locket of my father.

On instinct, I touched where it should’ve lain against my chest, surprised that I hadn’t noticed its absence. With a frown, I turned back to the bird who’d taken to the skies, flying overhead. How strange to see a wild bird retrieve something that way.

“Seems you dropped it this afternoon in all that ruckus with the dogs.”