Lux (The Nocte Trilogy 3)

“There are scholars who believe that,” the priest nods. “They feel like they were the first example of the darkness and light capable in people.”

“Cain killed his own brother,” I manage to say. “That’s pretty dark.”

“And Finn died thinking he was saving you,” Father Thomas says. “That is light.”

I don’t ask him how he knows that. I just thank him and stand up and he blesses me.

“Come back to see me,” he instructs. “I’ve enjoyed our chat. If you’re not Catholic, I can’t hear your confession, but I am a good listener.”

He is. I have to agree.

I make my way out of the church, out of the pristine glistening silence, and when I step into the sun, I know I’m being watched.

Every hair on my head feels it, and prickles.

I turn, and a boy is standing on the edge of the yard, just outside of the fence. He’s watching me, his hands in his pockets, but I can’t see his face. His hood is pulled up yet again.

With my breath in my throat, I hurry down the sidewalk to the car, practically diving inside and slamming the door behind me.

“Has that guy been standing there long?” I ask Jones breathlessly.

“What guy, miss?” he asks in confusion, hurrying to look out the window.

I look too, only to find that he’s gone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Finn’s bedroom is still and quiet. Since Castor and Pollux are dead, not even the dogs keep me company. Yet somehow, I still feel Finn in here, as though if I spoke to him, he’d answer.

“Finn?”

I feel ridiculous, but God, I miss my brother. It’s only been a few days without him, but it feels like eternity.

There’s no answer, of course, and I press my forehead to the glass, watching the cars come and go. Finn is laid out in a room downstairs, for visitation. His funeral will be tomorrow and I can’t bear it.

I lay with my face on his pillow and I close my eyes and I rest.

“You don’t belong here, do you?”

The voice is quiet, yet cool.

Startled, I open my eyes and stare up at the boy in the hoodie. With a gasp, I sit straight up in bed, because the voice was feminine.

His head is tilted ju

st enough that I can’t see his face.

I peer toward him and his face is dark.

“Who are you?” I ask, and my words sound hollow. He cocks his head but doesn’t answer, although there’s a low growl in his throat.

“What do you want?”

He’s calm, his head is down. But his arm comes up,

And he points at me.

He wants me.