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“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m not quite understanding what you’re saying. There’s no one here by the name of Catriona.
“What makes you think this has anything to do with protecting you?” “Then, why else would you care if I go, or get propositioned by other men?”
“You are a mystifying enigma, Mister Van Croix.” His gaze swung back to me, devouring me in one sweep. “And you are a frustrating distraction, Miss Ravenshaw.”
“But … does the Pentacrux answer to the Pope?” “They do not, but the bishop respects power. Do not worry. All will be well. Whatever horrific acts of suffering have occurred here, they will not be permitted to continue.” Even at the risk of getting
Praecepsia. Where had I heard that before? A ghostly white figure came to mind. A statue. Felix of Praecepsia. My nightmare, the one with the nuns who’d been hanged. The ancient city Xhiphias had told me about. Weird that I’d heard it again.
with her arms pinned to the ground, that he finally stared into her stubborn and unyielding eyes, and something inside of him shifted. As if everything in the universe had stopped in time. He became mesmerized by those eyes, which spoke of distant places and magic, and entranced, he released her.
The girl, Lustina, had undoubtedly bewitched him, but he cared not. He knew in that moment that she would belong to him and no one else.
“What do you dream of?” At the flash of his subtle smile, my interest piqued. He turned back toward the window, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “A woman. An impossibly beautiful woman, but I can’t see her face. It’s distorted in my dreams.”
“Her eyes, though. I see her eyes. And her long, raven black hair. And I feel things I’ve not felt in a very long time.” “Love?” Another glance over his shoulder, and he shrugged. “It’s hard to say.” “Do you dream of her frequently?”
“The dreams stopped when you arrived.”
“You are unforgettable, Miss Ravenshaw.”
“Is anyone in this house a member of the Pentacrux?” “Not that I know. What does it matter?” “Where would you have encountered them?” I asked, wondering if maybe there were members of Pentacrux here in Nightshade. “The monastery.”
“I think you were murdered. And you’re stuck in a place called Nightshade. It’s … like a separate plane that runs parallel to the world we know
A force slammed into me, and the weightlessness of before crashed heavy in my gut, tickling as it climbed into my chest. I opened my eyes to black wings. Beautiful, raven black with hints of blue and purple. Warm skin against my cheek. The magnificent profile of a face and patched eye. A fuzzy haze crawled over him, the fringes of my view closing in on all sides. Narrower. Narrower. Until only a pinprick of light flashed before my eyes and everything turned black.
“Miss Ravenshaw, you’ve supped alone since the first night you arrived. One of the kitchen staff mentioned that you called her Aurelia that first night, but I simply chalked it up to the bump on your head and the fact you weren’t well-acquainted with anyone quite yet. There is no one here who goes by Aurelia, and I surely wouldn’t have had you keep company with someone I’d never met.”
I never rambled, but damn it, Aurelia wasn’t just some figment of my imagination. Backing myself onto the bed once more, I felt a tickle of panic in my stomach, which reminded me of falling the night before, the absolute terror I’d felt in that moment.
“Listen to me, I didn’t want to frighten you, but it’s best you know. This cathedral is riddled with spirits, past and present.” “You’re telling me it’s haunted?” “Very much.”
“The times you sat eating alone, I’d often catch you talking to yourself,” Anya added, not helping my state of mind, whatsoever. “Figured it might’ve just been thinking aloud, or something.”
The girl in the picture was me. Worse still, a young woman standing beside me, fully garbed in a nun’s robe, was Aurelia.
“My apologies, young miss. I did not mean …. I only wanted to help.” “You should have left your cursed hands to yourself! What mockery will come of this, when those in the village find out! No one will dare to come near me now because of you.
“It is not you who knows me, child, but I who knows you. I was a friend of your mother.”
“My name is Camael. I am what is known as a Sybil.” “A seer?” “Seer. Prophet. It is all the same.”
“You do not believe in the heavens of the Pentacrux.” “With due respect, how can I believe in a heaven which burns those not baptized in their beliefs? It seems cruel and unjust.”
“No matter where it’s told, or how, every version ends in sacrifice. The one I know tells of a dark-winged creature who demanded a young virgin on the eve of the blood moon. So, the ancient people offered up their most beloved, in hopes he would spare them from suffering his wrath. The problem is, the Dark-Winged One fell in love with the girl and her kind, giving heart. And he was so smitten with her that he could not take her soul. So, he called on Death himself, and ordered the angel to grant her immortality. Well, not even Death had the power, so instead, he cursed her to be reborn. And on
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“Time is meaningless in my world.” “What world?” “Noc’tu umbraj. The shadowed one.”
“How did you arrive here, if you are from there?” “I have a gift that is of great value to some.”
“Some fates cannot be changed, child. But yours can. You do not have to bear the burden that has been placed on your shoulders. Walk away from him. Urge him to sacrifice his love.”
“Lustina,” she whispered. “You are here for a reason. The darkness lures you, but he is selfish. He puts you in grave danger.” “What are you saying?” Lustina chuckled with her sudden discomfort. “I am the sacrifice this dark-winged creature is destined to seek out?” “He has already sought you out.” “Who is he?”
sat staring off, attempting to process why in the hell my cat’s name would show up in a book that I had gathered to be centuries old? A name I’d thought to be fairly unique and uncommon. A name so rare, I had to read it a good dozen times because it made no sense that I would stumble upon it twice in my life.
“That you were somewhere else when I dove headfirst, plunging toward the rocks?” “I was working. But I’m glad to see you in one piece.” “I should thank you for that. You’re the one who saved my life.”
“Yes. You transition them. Whatever the hell that actually means. I want to know what you are. You said you’re not fallen. Not angel. Then, what? Because I know damn well you’re not human.”
“Purgatory?” His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “The place the Christians of your world believe souls go to be cleansed so they can be accepted into Heaven? No. This is far from Purgatory.”
“Nightshade is where you go when you don’t believe in anything. The poor souls who end up here are so easily plucked like flowers.” He held up one of the nightshade flowers that I distinctly remembered picking before I dove off the cliff. “They are eternally trapped. Encapsulated in their own denial.”
“You once asked me where the other innocent ones go. They remain unclaimed, under my care.”
“Yes. And if you attempt to return, you’ll return to nothing. Unfortunately, those of you who traverse willingly don’t even have the ability to return to a corpse.” With a wary side-eye, I shook my head. “Only if I died in the other realm. All I did was drink the tea.”
“What exactly do you think Nightshade is, Miss Ravenshaw?” Thoughts too muddled in confusion, I didn’t bother to answer him. “It’s a gateway to the shadowed world. A one-way ticket.” “No. My father drank the tea.” “And I suspect he is dead.”
“No. There’s no way. The man who gave me the tea--” “Swindled your soul.” “Not true. I had to coax him. He didn’t want to give me the tea at first. He sent me away.” “To gain your trust, no doubt.
“I’ll admit there is one puzzling piece in all of this. The scent you carry is one associated with a living soul, which is quite unusual here. It begs the question—how? How would your soul remain perfectly intact?” “I’m not dead. I can prove it. Let me return.”
“Your physical body would never survive the traversing of planes. Humans are not designed to do so. Your flesh is as fragile as paper in a flame, and therefore would disintegrate the moment you crossed over.”
“So, if there is no body, because it disintegrates …” “You return to nothing, as I said. A horrible void. Which is actually worse than returning to a corpse, I would imagine. It is a fate we refer to as Ex Nihilo.”
“Some immortals, like the Fallen, are capable of time reversal. It is not that you would return to the body of today, but the moments before you jumped off that roof.”
“Aurelia was real, too.” “Yes. She was at one point. She was Anya’s daughter. Why you saw visions of her is puzzling, I’ll admit.” “What?” A beat of shock hit me like a baseball bat, and I sat dumbfounded, puzzling what he’d just said. “But Anya acted as if she …” “Has forgotten her own daughter? Yes. That is a side effect of staying in Nightshade for too long. Tell me, what is it that has kept you at this cathedral so long, Miss Ravenshaw? I’d have expected you to go tearing through those gates a long time ago.”
“Why is high-school-aged me in a book that looks like it’s centuries old?” Cocking a brow, he peered down at the image. “Strange likeness.” “Very strange. And this particular individual in the back?” I pointed to one of the men wearing the vest, standing behind her. “Looks an awful lot like you.”
“This is the kind of crap that keeps me tangled in this creepy little web of a place. Unlike you, who seems perfectly content to accept such coincidences, I need answers. Like, why the freaking Sybil in this book is named Camael. The name of my cat. This is the kind of thing that is driving me to madness!”
“Let’s just pretend, in another universe, that I believe your little disintegration theory and I really can’t go back. At the very least, someone here remembers her. Isn’t that what so many in Nightshade grapple with? The fear of forgetting? Of never having actually existed?”
“Unfortunately for you, you are precisely my type.”
“Because I will fuck you in all the worst ways.” “I’m a big girl, Mister Van Croix. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve learned how to survive you aloof Byronic types.” “I don’t doubt that, Miss Ravenshaw.”
“It is rude to watch a woman work without her knowledge, My Lord.” “It is equally rude to look so utterly appetizing while performing such work. I request that you pause to accompany me on a short journey to the foot of the mountain.”
As for me? I would ask you to be my wife.”
“I never wanted a title. I never asked for it. And I care more for the fleas on the back of your feral cat than what my father thinks.”
