Page 108 of Nocte

“Well thank heavens for small miracles,” Altaris remarks sardonically. “I’ll try to have Ginni keep a better eye on her. The last thing we need is another incident. Those damn boneys are still breathing down my neck about the last one.”

“I know, Altaris!” Poppy chirps, once Daisy is safely beyond the narrow hall. “No more incidents! No more accidents!” She claps her hands and spins to face me. “I apologize for my lateness. Shall we get back to work?”

Radiating boundless energy, Poppy takes care of the next few customers before flitting around the storefront, sweeping up her imaginary dirt. It’s the dust in this place that could use cleaning. I find a rag and help her, wiping down the forgotten items, left abandoned on their various pedestals and shelves.

It’s only when an impatient Altaris appears and loudly clears his throat that I realize it’s nighttime and Poppy is gone.

“Poppy has requested the rest of the evening off tomorrow,” Altaris explains, “so you will tend to the store alone. We will stay open a little later than normal. Do you understand?”

I nod. I understand.

“Good. Now go.”

I return to my room and find Caspian unchanged, staring at nothing. I sit by his side and close my eyes. Open them. Carefully, I reach down to the floor and find the book Altaris gave me.

Huddled under the sole lamp in the ceiling, I open it.

Then I read to him.

The tale unfolding in these pages is a strange one. Not fiction—yet it must be. The recollections are too dryly written however, with every air of the historical texts in the archives.

Only wrong.

All, all wrong.

It tells of a time before the Citadel. Before the other realm, even.

It tells of creatures and beings born of blood that isn’t pure. That aren’t strictly fae, lunaria, or vamryre.Hybrids,the author calls them. Rare things. Powerful beings, capable of things beyond any sole race.

Creatures of power.

Creatures of dangerous, evil power.

CHAPTER41

Caspian

Her voice is a fucking melody. I hate it. Despise it.

Crave it. Like a thread or a lifeline, I can grip it tight. Drag myself along this desolate landscape and find some semblance of clarity again.

Or not.

If I resist her, I could stay here forever in the quiet, far from Cassius or any other probing mind. Here, no one can ever own me again.

No one but her.

“...inception after the vamryre were all but wiped out,” she says. “Only three of their ‘pure’ lineage remained. Cassius, Nataniel and Pol. By that time the fae had also been decimated with just twelve houses remaining…”

She speaks on and on, painting words into the air. Creating magic with that gentle voice. I could spend an eternity listening to her.

Never again would I have to go back and crawl into that ruined shell of a mind.

Never again.

“...hybrids.”

Something is wrong. Pain laces that voice, dulling the beautiful song. Some part of me prefers it—her pain. It’s so damn sweet to these evil, rotten ears.

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