Page 25 of A Vow of Shadows

Several rooms branched off from the hallway on either side of the portrait. Gathering the shadows again, I passed into several chambers before discovering the one that had been Miss Fil’Owen’s. A heavy black shroud had been pulled over each of the windows in her room, not unlike my own dark cowl. A customary tribute to the dead, it signified the absence of light after loss.

I didn’t know how Miss Fil’Owen had left things with her parents. Perhaps she had run away without explanation, leaving her parents to assume the worst. Or maybe she had told them of her intentions and they still believed Death took her. Either way, it was clear they mourned the loss of their daughter, even clearer still by the sleeping form of her mother on the bed. Unlike the portrait, silver threaded through her chestnut hair and fine lines creased the corners of her eyes and mouth. Upon closer inspection, twin trails of salt blanched her cheeks, stemming from swollen eyes that remained pinched as if pain. She held a small doll clutched tighter to her chest.

Grief was one of the worst parts of my role as a ferrier. Oftentimes, I could fetch a soul and escape without coming into contact with the survivors, but on days like this, the grief seemed inescapable. The sheer magnitude of it rendered me immobile.

To love was to hurt. I knew that as well as any.

I gathered what I’d come for and left the lady to her anguish, melting into the shadows the same way I’d arrived.

Chapter 20

Katrin

Ispent the day in a daze, wandering the corridors and exploring whatever doors would open for me. My encounter with the Ferrier had left me hollow. I didn’t know what I’d expected to find beneath his hood. A skeleton? A demonic beast? Whatever I’d thought, it hadn’t beenthat.

Now, I was sharing a house with a man who appeared deceptively young for how long he’d walked the worlds. Not only that, but he was an—arguably—attractive man, who happened to be saving my life all while claiming not to be a savior.

It would have been better if I’d never seen him without the reaper uniform.

I’d watched him leave and had promptly lit as many candles as I could find. The manor blazed to life, and I carried a candelabra with me to light more as I went.

I’d been wandering the floor beneath my bedroom and found more bed chambers like my own. Those on this floor were much grander in both size and elegance. I had half a mind to move all my things down a level.

After so many similar rooms, I had low expectations for the second to last door at the end of the hall. In my mind, I’d formed arguments for why I needed to move to one of these larger rooms. There was no reason for me to traipse up three flights of stairs in a near empty house, especially one this size.

I’d fully convinced myself of the practicality of my choice when my fingers grasped the doorknob and stilled.

The knob wouldn’t turn.

It was locked.

That could mean only one thing—this washisroom.

Instinct told me to run. I yanked back my hand like I’d been scalded, stumbling away from the door until I collided with something solid. My hands splayed on the wood at my back, seeking the reassurance of something sturdy to ground me. I darted glances at the nearby shadows, expecting them to sound the alarm at my near intrusion.

My lungs heaved. I took a deep breath in through my nose and exhaled through my mouth. The Ferrier was not here. There was nothing to fear from a locked door. I repeated the breathing exercise until my heart rate returned to normal. My shoulders gradually retreated from my ears as the tension in my body melted away. I leaned back and before I knew it, I was falling. It happened so quickly, I was only able to brace for impact before I landed unceremoniously on my backside.

I glared up at the offending door, my expression quickly shifting to one of shock as I took in the rest of the room.

Unlike the others I’d entered, the windows here were bare. No curtains or other dressings kept out the light, and though there was only filtered moonlight coming in through the window, the whole room glowed with ethereal radiance.

Rolling to my side with a groan, I quickly made my way to standing. Every other chamber I’d encountered had been furnished, but sparse, with nothing to set it apart from thebedroom beside or across from it. This space looked as though someone still lived in it. From the vast array of personal effects, I could surmise it was not the Ferrier. Dainty embroidered pillows lined a bed complete with a lace canopy. A goldenrod yellow dress lay draped over the mattress, waiting to be donned. The door to the wardrobe was slightly ajar, revealing more finery hanging inside.

For a moment, I feared the occupant would walk in on me exploring their private chamber. A closer inspection revealed a fine layer of dust coating every piece.

On the wall hung a portrait of a handsome couple. Unlike most oil paintings I’d seen where the couple faced toward the artist in stiff poses, this portrait showed the pair in profile, gazing into each other’s eyes. The woman, a fair-haired beauty with rosy cheeks and a pouty mouth, looked adoringly up at the broad expanse of a man with long dark hair and a square jaw.

Their love radiated from the canvas, warming the room without the need of the fireplace.

Had this been their home? Had the Reaper ferried their souls only to return and claim this magnificent dwelling for his own?

I imagined the manor bursting with life. Children squealing as they ran down the halls, narrowly avoiding servants and guests alike. Sunlight streaming through the windows while fires roared in every hearth.

It was a tableau I dreamed for myself many times, but maybe it was better this way. At least now I didn’t have to hide in my own home, shrinking into the shadows as I slowly turned into one.

This room was a happy memory for someone, but it only reminded me of the life I hadn’t yet lived.

I spared the painted couple one last glance and turned to leave, extinguishing all the candles I’d lit along the way. The Ferrier could keep his darkness.