Verum (The Nocte Trilogy 2)

A flicker.

I crane my neck, trying to see more.

A flash of dark hair,

And a name.

I open my eyes.

“Who’s Olivia?” I ask limply.

Finn smiles.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Chapter 10

If I stay inside too long, the walls start closing in on me.

I hate the silence, I hate the height of the ceilings, I hate that I’m alone.

I hate that I long to call Dare, to tell him to find me in this Godforsaken place, to take me away…because to be honest, I don’t really have anywhere to go.

I can’t go home.

I can’t face it without Finn.

But God knows I can’t stay in this house.

The breeze is slightly chilly as I make my way deep into the grounds. I’ve come to believe that it never truly warms up here. The rain makes the lawns lush, though. Green and full and colorful. As Finn would’ve said in his endless quest to learn Latin… it’s viridem. And green means life.

The cobbled path turns to pebbles as I get further away from the house, and after a minute, I come to a literal fork in the road. The path splits into two. One leads towards a wooded area, and the other leads to a beautiful stone building on the edge of the horizon, shrouded in mist and weeping trees.

It’s small and mysterious, beautiful and ancient. And of course I have to get a closer look. Without a second thought, I head down that path.

The closer I get, the more my curiosity grows.

I can smell the moss as I approach, that musty, dank smell that comes with a closed room or a wet space. And with that dark scent comes a very oppressive feeling. I feel it weighing on my shoulders as I open the heavy door, as I stare at the word SAVAGE inscribed in the wood, as I take my first tentative step into a room that hasn’t seen human life in what looks like years.

But it has seen death.

I’m standing in a mausoleum.

Growing up in a funeral home, I’m well versed in death. I know what it looks like, what it smells like, even what it tastes like in the air.

I’m surrounded by it here.

The floor is stone, but since it is deprived of light, soft green moss grows in places, and is soft under my feet. The walls are thick blocks of stone, and have various alcoves, filled with the remains of Savage family members. They go back for generations, and it makes me wonder how long the Savages have lived at Whitley.

Nearest me, are Richard Savage I, my grandfather, and Richard Savage II, my uncle. And next to him is Olivia.

Olivia.

The name from my memory.

Dare’s mother.

I run my fingers along her name, tracing the letters cut in the stone, absorbing the coolness, the hardness.