Page 97 of Nocte
He is a painting with no color. No reason behind it. No artful strokes.
He just exists.
But I stay with him. For however long it will take, I will stay with him.
“Hello?” A gentle knock sounds at the door, followed by another furtive, whispered greeting.
I stand and shake. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept. I’m hungry again. Dizzy again.
I feel like I have been hit by a truck again.
“I’m coming,” I say to no one. Then I open the door and find the girl with glaring red hair. Poppy. She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot as if—unlike the quiet Altaris insists upon—she longs to run and bounce. Longs to skip and sing. Like a bird, she is quivering with life.
“Hello,” she says, eyeing me warily from beneath a fringe of bright hair. “I am to bring you downstairs and show you the ropes. Around the shop I mean. Mortal slang is so strange, but I love it. Love it!”
“Poppy,” comes a scolding tone. A reminder. “Beauty rest is important for all, please.”
She nods. Bounces and nods. Her green eyes gleam as she looks at me. Then she shoves something into my hands. “You should get dressed first. Clean up, too. Bathroom is there.” She points to a closed door down the hall and then darts away, bounding loudly down the stairs.
“Poppy,” another voice calls in a hushed tone. “Quiet, please!”
“Sorry!” Her apology is even louder, ricocheting off the walls. But she doesn’t mean to be defiant. Her rule-breaking is innocent, and here…
The others merely grumble in their rooms without punishing her transgression. They won’t hold it against her, I can tell. There is a rehearsed quality to their complaints—the ones that come from silent, closed doors.
As if every morning, Poppy runs and shouts. Every morning, they scold her. Every morning.
It is their routine.
But I am lost in this unnatural play. I don’t know what to do next. I peek into the room Poppy indicated. Then I drift back into my room. Caspian’s room. I strip my clothing, crusty and coated with dried vamryre blood, and then I fold them neatly at his feet. Why? I don’t know.
Maybe the smell will bring him back. Maybe the violence will…
It doesn’t. He sits and stares and frowns in perpetuity.
I stand there naked and unsure. I miss his hungry gaze on my skin. I miss his hungry touch. Miss the way those eyes would devour and the way his voice would deepen when he…
Did things to me that were payment. Nothing less, nothing more.
No.
When he touched me. Made love to me—the way they called it in that forbidden book. I want him back.
Need him to touch me again.
So, for now, I touch him. I stroke the white hair from his face and press my lips to his cheek. Then I slip into the clothing Poppy supplied. Not a robe in plain shades of gray. Not the thick mortal clothing. This item is a longer tunic with no counterpart. The color is bright, like the hue of a budding red rose with speckles of lighter pink all over. The skirt of it swishes around when I walk.
Any other day, it would be such a beautiful dress to wear. A beautiful dress to borrow, even for a day.
But as I stand and watch Caspian stare into nothing, I don’t know how I feel. Beautiful? No. Empty? Perhaps.
As empty as he looks.
Still, there is a debt to be repaid. To stay with him, I must work in exchange. Quietly, I enter the hall and close the door behind me. Then, I begin to navigate the wild maze of the upper floor of Altaris’ home. There are several doorways I pass on my way to the stairs. Silence seeps from behind some of them. Murmuring voices from behind others. Apart from Scythe and Poppy, the other creatures in this dwelling don’t seem eager to leave their rooms. They huddle and whisper.
But as Poppy bounds to greet me at the bottom of the stairs and shouts, “Morning! Are you ready to begin?”
A chorus ofshushesslithers from nearly every corner to stun her into silence.