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The baron could not answer that himself, but he did not want the boy to view him in the same light as the shadow which had attacked him. “They change when I am scared.”
“I would not make them privy to such a thing. It might prove to be an amusement for them. I am Willem, by the way.”
“And I am Jericho.”
“The young Lord Van Croix. You are quite different from your father.”
The sound of that relieved him. “Forgive me for saying so, but I believed the rumors that you were mute. You speak rather eloquently.”
“I engage in conversation when necessary. Otherwise, I find silence to be the most effective means to avoid others.”
“What is the noise in here!”
The harsh voice of the pentrosh startled the boy, whose eyes went wide with fear.
Jericho turned to where the pentrosh had stepped inside the room and shielded his eyes against the intrusive light from his lantern. “I heard sounds of pain. I was just checking on my cellmate.”
“Get away from him. The two of you are to remain separate in this cell, per order of the good bishop.”
“If we are to remain separate, why place us in the same cell?”
“I have neither time, nor inclination, to answer your questions. Now, move back to your corner.”
Biting back the stubborn urge to disobey, the baron did as ordered and slid himself back to the other corner of the room.
“Know that if it is trickery, or black magic up your sleeve, young lord, the name and title you bear will be meaningless.”
“And when you find there is no black magic, or trickery, I’ll expect an apology.”
“Bite your tongue. Evil always reveals itself.” The pentrosh left the room, closing the door behind him and shutting out the light.
On a sigh, the baron leaned back against the bricks, careful not to scrape his wounds on the rough surface. At first, he stared into the darkness of the room, wondering what had lived inside those shadows. Or not, as the case might’ve been. He pondered the crackling sounds and the chipped bricks, which had returned to their unbroken state. What was the strange aura that had crept over the cell? Why had some of those who suffered afflictions been kept in the infirmary, while others were imprisoned in cells? Had Willem been tortured, as well?
So many thoughts and questions ran through his mind, agitated and swirling, like a boiling cauldron of unknowns. The answers to which he would not likely find there.
He closed his eyes, once again, returning to dreamless sleep.
It was not long before light trickled into the cell, and the door swung open. The bishop entered, flanked by his holy coterie of rabid dogs in robes. They seized the baron at both sides and yanked him to his feet. Spun around, he faced the barred window, with his back, still bearing the unrelenting burn of unhealed gashes, to the bishop.
Footsteps closed in on him. In the dead quiet, Bishop Venable let out an exasperated breath through his nose. He poked the end of his crosier into one of the boy’s still unhealed wounds, and the baron let out a growl of agony. “The boy heals at will. There is no other explanation. And he will be broken to learn the truth.”
A heavy weight of despair sank to the pit of the baron’s stomach.
18
FARRYN
On a small ledge that I’d taken for a bench, beside the library’s window, I stared down at where the dogs nosed around the yard, while Anya and another of the cleaning staff took laundry off the clothesline. A twinge of jealousy stabbed my heart on seeing the young maid reach out to pet Cerberus, who didn’t snarl, or bark, or bite. He’d come to trust them in my absence, and even though Jericho would’ve credited me as being the human who’d allowed others to gain that trust, it didn’t make me feel better, knowing I’d lost it somehow.
The bonding conversation I’d had with Jericho still sat heavy in my chest. I hated that everything had to be so complicated in the demon realm. It couldn’t just be that we’d bond together and that was that. They had to throw in some weird voyeur kink and judgment on top of it.
On a wistful sigh, I turned my attention back to the book in my hands–Angel Numerology.
It was no coincidence that I’d been seeing 777 repetitively in dreams, and thanks to my father’s maniacal interest in angels, as well as to my own studies, I knew there was more to it. I just didn’t know what it had to do with me, in particular.
Most of the human references described a divine symbolism–luck, success, the path toward something good. Typical of our species, always looking for a way to hit the jackpot in life.
I’d come to know better. The universe didn’t hand out freebies for nothing. Even the good required an exchange, and leave it to text written by anactualangel to clarify that point.
