by Ainsley Shay
He stepped out of the car. “Hi, do you need help?”
“No.” My answer came out harsher than I intended. “Um... no, thank you.”
“Are you having car trouble?” His voice was full of concern.
Snow must have heard or seen him, she bolted from the car. “Oh. My God! Mr. Pene, thank God, it’s you. You should have seen it! It came out of nowhere!”
“What came out of nowhere, Morgan?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but it looked like Bigfoot. I felt like I was in a Godzilla movie,” she said with flailing arms.
Her embellished description of the “attack” was not quite how I saw it happen. I rolled my eyes. She went from Bigfoot to a fantastical dinosaur in a nano-second. Can she be any more dramatic?
“Wow. Morgan, it sounds like you were very lucky to have escaped,” he said suppressing a smile.
“We were, and we are so thankful you came to our rescue.”
Okay, enough. It was time for me to step in. “We’re fine. Thank you for pulling over.”
“You’re welcome...” He paused as if waiting for something, and I stared at him expectantly.
Snow cut in, “Mr. Pene, this is Iris Thorn. Iris, Mr. Pene.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Iris.” The way he said my name made me feel as if ice water was being pumped into my veins. He held out his hand, but I didn’t take it. “Do you want me to follow you home?” I watched Snow as she practically melted onto the pavement.
“No thanks, we’ll be fine.” I kept telling myself that my uneasiness was only my imagination.
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Thanks, again,” I said, and started toward the driver’s side, wishing above all else that Snow would follow. I glanced back over my shoulder.
“Miss Thorn.” He nodded, tilting the brim of his hat.
My breath hitched. His gestures mimicked the guy at my dad’s funeral. Panicked, I fumbled to get the car door open. “Snow, let’s go.”
He looked away from me to Snow. “See you in class, Morgan.” Now, she was even more useless now than she was after we hit the guardrail. I was almost embarrassed for her.
I saw in the rear view mirror that she was finally coming. I let out a slow breath of relief. When she finally got into the car, she slammed the door and then punched my leg.
“Owww! What was that for?”
“No thanks, we’ll be fine,” she mocked. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m still on the verge of freaking out.” But, I think I was more shaken from the encounter with Mr. Pene than from the deer or hitting the rail.
“Whatever. I hope you have a bruise.”
“I’m sure I will,” I said and rubbed my leg. For the second time tonight, I’m to blame for her unhappiness. Well, I’d rather have her unhappy than Mr. Pene following us home. Besides, she’ll get over it. “I think you missed your calling.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Could you have been any more dramatic? You compared a deer to Godzilla. I mean, come on.”
“What? My life was in danger.” We both burst out laughing. “It was pretty good though, right?”
“You’re a natural.”
We drove the rest of the way to her house with the radio cranked up and singing at the top of our lungs. At least for a little while, my thoughts were pulled away from the earlier events in the day and the freakiness of tonight.
We pulled up to her house. “I’m sorry I can’t stay with you tonight, but I have to be at work wicked early to do inventory.”
“No problem.” She leaned over the console and hugged me. After I had dropped Snow off, I headed to the apartment. It only took a few seconds and a couple of blocks to notice the familiar headlights in my rearview mirror—ones that looked a lot like Mr. Pene’s. The eerie feeling came back, and I sped up a little. As I paralleled park in front of the apartment, the car passed, and I let out the breath I was holding. “You’re so stupid!” I told myself. You’re never supposed to go home if you think you’re being followed; you go to the police station or somewhere where there were people.
The morphed scent of sage and lavender wafted by me as I opened the door to the apartment. I was too spooked to relax. I tossed my bag on the couch and took off my jacket. I rolled my neck and tried to force relaxation into my muscles. When I changed into a tank top and shorts I started to feel the exhaustion from the day take over. I welcomed it. I wanted to drown in it. As I passed by the closet, I thought of what was in there and cringed. Murdered. I didn’t have the energy to contemplate it all. Promising myself that I would tomorrow, I crawled into bed. Desperately, I tried to erase Mr. Pene and his creepiness out of my head. I also tried to replace Chandler and his cryptic words with fantasies of Blacwin.
I closed my eyes, and said a silent prayer for peaceful sleep full of colors.
8
When I woke, I was once again surrounded by the tones and variations of only light and dark. The pain in my head was almost to the point of excruciating. I stumbled the short distance to the couch and dug in my bag for the bottle of aspirin. My head ached from the confusion of the dreams and the desperation of wanting to see more colors. Was the girl in my dreams trying to communicate something? No! That thought was on the edge of madness. I had to admit, the last few days had been the hardest of my life to survive, but the dreams, even without the color, had been all sorts of shades of odd and mesmerizing. I had no idea what was going on, but I wanted more of them. I wanted to see and experience the colors and to know the girl’s story.
I retrieved the journal from under the couch and wrote the dream in as vivid detail as I could:
9 days after ~
Catherine woke under a beautiful canopy of roses floating above her. The softness of the bedding was sublime. A shimmering metallic lace was threaded through the pattern of delicate flowers. She sat up. Her head pounded. The dizziness returned, and with it, recent vivid memories. They rushed at her: a daunting castle, guards, the Seal of the Fallen, and the painting. The painting, she thought. Fallen angels filled with elation to be expelled from Heaven. Where was she? It didn’t matter. She would be gone from this place by morning.
She tried again to sit up, and the dizziness began to subside. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she looked around the room. It was beautiful. The room was colorful, unlike the rest of the castle with bleak stone walls—except for the painting. A large unlit fireplace faced the bed. A painted armoire stood in the corner next to a window—a window. She rushed to the silken drapes and pulled them aside, longing to see the countryside.
There was no countryside to see, only stone. Catherine rushed to the door and pulled the latch. Locked. She was brought here as a guest, only to be treated like a prisoner. A scream tore from her throat. She threw herself onto the bed, buried her face in soft linens, and sobbed.
Sleep took hold of her once more. A knock at the door woke her. “Yes?” she answered groggily.
“Are you ready for dinner, my Lady?” a deep-throated voice asked. It sounded different from the voice she remembered.
“No. I have just awoken.”
“Very well. My Lord has left a gown for you to wear in the armoire.”
Catherine went to the armoire and pulled open the tall doors. A gown the same angry color as the seal on the guard’s armor hung alone in the large space. She took it out and held it up. It was stunning. A low-cut, tight bodice melted into fluid-like silk that would trail behind her as she walked. She began to undress, and then a sick, twisted bark of a laugh escaped her. “He must be mad,” she said to herself. She refused to appease the one who treated her like a prisoner and threw the dress on the bed. She adjusted the dress she had arrived in and ran her hands over the front to smooth the fabric.
At the basin on the dressing table, she washed her face and neck. Her thoughts were scattered as she looked into the mirror. Half of her hair had fallen from the clip. When she reached up to p
ull it back, she noticed the dress in the mirror’s reflection lying on the bed. Reining in her initial anger, she took a deep breath, unfastened her dress, and let it slide to the floor. Appeasing him might be what frees her, she thought.
Some minutes later, without a knock, the door to her room opened. She was sitting on the bed. A different guard than the one who had escorted her earlier stood on the other side of the threshold. She stood and straightened the gown.
“My Lord will be very pleased.” His stare lingered on her longer than it should have. He abruptly turned and walked away, expecting her to follow. She did.
They walked through a hall lit with torches. There were dozens of closed doors on both sides of the corridor and a large landing at the end of the hallway. Wide staircases curved off from each side of it. She had a million questions for the guard but stayed quiet. She knew she would only be wasting her breath; all of her queries would be answered with silence.
The staircases led to the great room where the mural hovered over them, the angels of death threatened her with their descent. She tried desperately not to look at it, but she was drawn to it and found herself standing still under the haunting painting.
“Ahem.”
Her attention snapped at the noise, breaking the spell. She looked at the guard who waited for her and then continued to follow him. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the fallen angels’ eyes and knew they burned with wicked desire. Shuddering, she hugged herself, but the silken fabric did little to take away the chill.
The dining room was bright. Fire blazed from torches and candles from the chandelier, like the one in the great room. Never had she seen so much food. The feasting table was sprawled with meats, loaves of bread, and fruits. All of this food, and only two place settings, she thought. The guard directed Catherine to one of the chairs but did not pull it out for her. Four unkempt servants stood by, awaiting commands, and another guard stood at the back of the room. He was staring at her. He tilted his head and said, “The Lord will be very pleased with your gown, but you should have left your hair down.”
She didn’t know what to say to his comment. She looked over her shoulder at the guard who brought her here, expecting some direction, but he only stood very still behind her, paying attention to the other side of the room. She followed his gaze, and at the same time heard a latch click. Audible breathes immediately expelled around the dining hall. The man at whom she now stared at was clearly the Lord of this fortress. Realization was like a wrecking ball crashing into her chest. She recognized his face; the face of the fallen angel painted on the dome. The torches glowed on the face of the Lord, bathing his skin in hues of fire. The crackling from the torches was the only sound in the room.
Like the guards, he wore the Seal of the Fallen on his chest. He exuded confidence and conviction. His dress differed from his guards’ only in the high-collared cape he wore, instead of the long leather jacket. It sailed behind him as he strode to the head of the table to take his rightful place.
One of the servants pulled the Lord’s chair away from the table for him to sit and another filled his goblet. His mouth curved into a wicked grin. “This delightful creature must be Lady Catherine Leigh.”
“Yes, my Lord,” answered the guard who stood behind her.
“That gown is absolutely stunning on you, my dear. I do have magnificent taste, if I say so myself.” Catherine shifted uncomfortably. No man had ever spoken to her that way. He lifted the goblet to her. “I am Lord Darenfys. Welcome to Skelside. I hope you’ll be happy here.” His mouth stretched wider as he brought the goblet to his lips and drank the dark liquid it contained.
Mr. Yves was at the bookshop when I arrived. He looked up from the book in his hands. I couldn’t help it, as soon as I saw the old man the tears came. He was at my side in seconds and pulling me into his arms. “Oh, sweet Iris.”
I didn’t hold back; I let the tears fall. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked. I sniffled and nodded into his shoulder. When I pulled away, he asked, “What is it?”
“Do you mind if I stay in the apartment for a while longer?” I couldn’t go back to living at my dad’s house, the home I grew up in, the house he was murdered in.
“Stay for as long as you like.” Relief flooded me, and I found myself continuing the bout of crying. As the tears fell, weighted relief ebbed off me. I kept the reason for my longer stay to myself. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell him about what I found at my dad’s house or my suspicions that the cause of his death wasn’t from a heart attack.
It dawned on me that I was keeping a lot to myself lately. It was all right for now, but I knew all of it would eventually catch up to me. Right now, I didn’t care. I needed to know who killed my father, and why.
I sent a text to my roommate, Natalie, back at school, and told her I wouldn’t be returning this semester. I asked her if she could throw my few clothes, pictures, and other miscellaneous stuff in a box and ship it to me. She said no problem and she hoped I was hanging in there.
The bell on the door jingled, and I looked up to see Blacwin. My pulse sped up and my mouth went dry. What was he doing here? He looked apologetic as he eyed Mr. Yves and me, like he had intruded.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“No worries, young man. Come in, have a seat, and enjoy a book or two. We have no espresso or fancy coffee drinks, but I could make you cup of hot tea from our private stash if you’d like.” Mr. Yves once again practiced his inevitable politeness for anyone who showed an interest in old books.
“Thank you, sir, but I’m fine. I was hoping to talk with Iris.”
Mr. Yves and all of his protectiveness looked at me. I nodded. He must have, like most of the time, known what I was thinking. I bowed my head and went into the back room. In a distant voice, I heard Mr. Yves tell Blacwin I would be out in a moment.
I washed my face trying to erase the pain that stained my cheeks. After drying my face, I still felt the heat on my cheeks, and my eyes felt like sand had been poured into them. The breath I took was to calm my nerves and to get a sense of the moment: Blacwin was waiting for me. The idea suddenly struck me as an OMG moment, and my nerves were once again instantly frayed. Not wanting to keep him waiting like a date on prom night, I walked out of the storeroom.
He was in the back corner, where we had found Adelina deBlays’ journals. He was most likely looking for more, but no more had come in since he was here the last time; and most likely, we wouldn’t get anymore. I walked up behind him, watching him, studying him. Why was I so fascinated by him? Yeah, he was the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen, but there was something else. And, that something else was what intrigued and tugged at my soul, and scared the hell out of me.
As the words left my mouth, I wanted to set fire to the air to disintegrate them, “What are you doing here?”
His face showed neither embarrassment nor shock. I watched its beautiful surface smooth and ease into a grin that spread over his lips and into his eyes. Before I could apologize, he said, “I came by for a couple of reasons. I needed to see that you haven’t left yet, and also to see if you were all right.” He rolled his eyes. “Also, on a not so worthy but more selfish reason, I wanted to know if you were able to fit me into your hyper-busy schedule for that tour.”
I wanted to run back to the storeroom and hide in the tiny closet filled with cobwebs that hadn’t been open in years. But instead, I stood frozen in my Mary Janes, staring at Blacwin. I couldn’t run away any more than I could ask him why I was so taken by him. So, I didn’t move an inch and said nothing. That void of communication brought on only an intense and curious stare from him.
Moments passed, and there seemed to be a flicker of a truth of why he had moved here. And, I wanted to know what it was. I glanced off to my left and watched Mr. Yves sort and stand books up on the shelves that they had inhabited for years, most likely more years than I was old. But in his simple movements, he brought me comfort and familiarity. The scent of books, along with Blac
win’s scent of amber sent me over the edge.
I was so taken aback, that I was rendered helpless to acknowledge what he said or answer his simple questions. In some distant realm, I heard Mr. Yves clear his throat, and the familiar noise was what brought me back to. “I... I’m fine. Uhhh...” I hated that I was stumbling through my words, but there it was; all out there for anyone with basic English to understand. I tried to continue, and I was stumped by the lack of usual excuses and B.S. that passed through my lips. “My father died eight days ago, I have no mom, and Mr. Yves,” I briefly point in his direction, “he’s... he’s all I have left in this world.” There it was; my life summed up a few words; the truth spewed out of my mouth to this stranger that had no reason to care.
“Whatever you need, I’m here,” he said.
Once the sincerity of the moment passed, I felt naked and raw with emotion. Blacwin said nothing, nor did his stare leave my—no doubt—vulnerable expression, and I was lost. Lost in the moment, lost in the silence, lost in scent of old books, lost in his expression, lost in eyes that were so familiar I wanted to scream.
9
It was only two, and the store wasn’t closing for another few hours, but I needed to get away. I wanted to run from all of the things I could never escape, not really. I was trapped in my own head. Why me, daddy? Why did someone want you dead? What does it all mean? I caught myself before I broke down, and told Mr. Yves I was going home early.
I didn’t go to the apartment. The solitude of the confined space would crush me. I drove to the lake. I pulled off the side of the road and parked next to one of the hundred-year-old oak trees. The path to the water was almost hidden from view. But, I knew exactly where it was. Overgrown bushes and huge boulders lined the thin sandy trail. I’d been here a thousand times, mostly with my dad. Want to practice your dives today, Iris? Not today, Daddy, tomorrow, I promise. I fell onto my knees, and the tsunami behind my eyes broke free.