Verum (The Nocte Trilogy 2)

I leave Sabine behind, but I feel her watching me as I go.

Chapter 20

Once I’m in the house, morning light floods the dining room, and through the window, I watch Sabine walk through the gardens, her gait hunched and slow.

She examines something growing, something viridem, green, before she hunches over to look at it. Tearing a leaf off, she chews it thoughtfully¸ before turning her gaze to mine.

Her eyes meet mine through the glass, and then she walks away.

She knows I’m going to hunt, I realize. And she’s not stopping me for a reason.

Maybe she wants me to know.

I find myself wandering through the hallways, ignoring the silence. The maids pretend they don’t see me, and I steer far clear of the wing with Eleanor’s office. I go down the East wing, a hall I haven’t explored yet.

Immediately upon setting foot down the corridor, I feel a stillness, an unexplained quiet. I instantly feel like I’m in another place, somewhere remote, somewhere where there is no life. I don’t even see any servants as I move over the polished marble floors.

I hesitate to even breathe loudly here, and I don’t really know why.

I pause at a large carved double-door, and before I can think the better of it, I push it open.

It’s someone’s living quarters. I’m standing in a parlor area, in the middle of creams and beiges and blues. It’s like someone threw up neutral colors and I spin in a circle, taking it in.

I’ve almost decided that it’s a guest room, that’s it’s not worth exploring, when I see the edge of a picture in the next room. A portrait in a thick, gilded frame.

I cross the threshold and gaze up at the family in front of me.

Dare, his mother, and my uncle stare back down at me.

Dare is younger, of course. Much younger.

He looks to be only ten or so, thin and young, but those same dark eyes yawn from the photo, haunting and hurt. It’s evident to anyone who looks at him that he’s not happy. He shirks as far as he can from my uncle, although he allows his mother to wrap her arm around his shoulders. Her expression is soft, her eyes kind. I find myself wondering what in the world she’s doing with Richard?

Because my uncle’s eyes are hard as steel. He’s got Eleanor’s eyes and her rigid posture, too. He’s imposing, he’s stern. And I can tell he wasn’t a nice person.

I find myself taking a step back, actually, which is silly.

And when I turn to look around the rest of the room, I still feel like he’s watching me, which is silly too.

It’s as quiet as the crypts in here, and part of it might be that I know that two of the three occupants of this suite are now dead. I saw their alcoves in the mausoleum, I traced their names beneath my fingers.

It’s also apparent that Dare no longer occupies this room. He must’ve moved when his parents died, intent on avoiding memories.

I can’t say that I blame him.

I can taste the memories in here in the air, and they aren’t good.

Energy doesn’t disappear.

There’s a bad feeling in this room, although there’s no tangible reason why.

There aren’t any other photos. The dressers are all devoid of personal things, the walls filled only with ornamental décor. I glance into the closet and find it still full of clothing. Rows of suits, dresses and shoes. All exactly the way they’d been left. It has an eerie feel, as though it is frozen in time, and I turn to leave.

But I’m stopped by one thing.

A brown belt hangs on a hook just inside the door.

Normally, a belt wouldn’t grab my attention, but this belt is old and battered, and covered in brown splotches.