Lux (The Nocte Trilogy 3)

All along one wall, they stretch from floor to ceiling. They let in the dying evening light, and I feel exposed. Getting to my feet, I pull the drapes closed.

I feel a little safer now, but not much.

My suitcases are stacked inside the door, and so I set about unpacking. I put my sweaters away, my toiletries in the fancy bathroom, and while I’m standing on the marble tiles, I envision my mother here.

She loved a good bath, and this bathtub is fit for a queen.

I imagine her soaking here, reading a good book, and my eyes well up.

She’s gone.

I know that.

I pull open the closet doors, and for a moment, a very brief moment, I swear I catch a whiff of her perfume.

She’s worn the same scent for as long as I’ve known her.

There are shelves in this walk-in closet, and on one, I see a bottle of Chanel.

Her scent.

I clutch it to me, and inhale it, and it brings a firestorm of memories down on my head. Of my mother laughing, of her baking cookies, of her grinning at me over the top of her book.

With burning eyes, I put the bottle back.

This isn’t helping anything.

I hang my shirts and my sweaters.

There’s a knock on the door, and Sabine comes in with a tray. A teapot and a cup.

“I brought you some tea,” she tells me quietly, setting it on a table. “It’ll perk you up. Traveling is hard on a person.”

Losing their entire life is hard on a person.

But of course I don’t say that.

I just smile and say thank you.

She pours me a cup and hands it to me.

“This will help you rest. It’s calming.”

I sip at it, and Sabine turns around, surveying my empty bags.

“I see you’ve already unpacked. These rooms haven’t been changed since your mother left.”

I hold my cup in my lap, warming my fingers because the chill from the English evening has left them cold.

“Why did my mother leave?” I ask, because she’s never said. She’s never said anything about her childhood home.

Sabine pauses, and when she looks at me, she’s looking into my soul again, rooting around with wrinkled fingers.

“She left because she had to,” Sabine says simply. “Whitley couldn’t hold her.”

It’s an answer that’s not an answer.

I should’ve expected no less.