Page 131 of A Sin So Pure

The handles are tarnished at either end and shiny in the middle, betraying the castle’s old age. As my fingers brush the metal, the hair on my neck rises, a chill running down my spine.

I spin, unsheathing my gun from its rib holster and pointing it at the presence behind me—all to stare into an empty stairwell.

Walking down a flight to the seventh landing, I keep my gun poised and ready to strike if needed, all the while still feeling eyes on my back.

Minutes pass as I check each hall and the stairwell all the way down to the fifth floor. With not even a mouse to be seen, I re-holster my gun—though I can’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Maybe it is the ancient magic running between the veins of marble setting me on edge.

Either way, the warm-and-fuzzies escape me as I continue my sweep of the castle. It is even larger on the inside than I could have gauged from our view walking on the bridge. I meander through the halls and peer into every sitting room. Each is decorated with an obscene amount of gold—curtains, couches, and fixtures all adorned and shining with the metal.

The castle is eerily quiet, as if the walls themselves have gone to sleep.

On the lower level of the castle, past the garden we entered from, is the last hall I’ve yet to map. But as I step towards it, a buzzing swoops past my ear.

I rip my gun from its holster for the second time tonight. Following the loud buzzing, I train my gun at the gray blur that circles me. It stops, and I find myself staring down the barrel at a bulbous little creature.

It’s a beady little thing, about the size of my hand, with a large, round head that holds saucer-like eyes the color of the darkest shadow. The creature blinks at me, scratching its cheek with a taloned finger. Charcoal in color, with leathery skin thatleads to the wings sprouting from its back, the creature cocks its head at me. It squeaks at me, clearly annoyed, and I can’t help that my lips twitch upwards in laughter—which only spurs the creature on.

This must be one of the illusive sprites Silas mentioned. And the reason for why I’ve sensed eyes on me since I stepped off the seventh-floor landing.

I pull my finger off the trigger and tuck my gun away.

“Sorry, little one. You gave me a scare,” I say.

Leaning forward with my hands on my knees, I get a closer look at the creature. It has worked itself into a fury, squawking at me. It surges forward, one taloned finger pointing at me, then the door at the end of the hall behind me, forcing me to take a few steps back.

I raise my hands by my shoulders, hoping to appease the creature.

“Alright, alright,” I chuff. “What did I do to piss you off?”

I’m saved by a second buzzing—another sprite zooming by me. It moves so quick that it has my hair whipping around my face before stopping short before us.

This one is green and blue, iridescent like a dragonfly, with wings that move as fast as the insect—so it’s as if they aren’t moving at all. It assesses me, twitching up and down in the air. Then it turns around and squeaks in a higher pitch than the first sprite, berating its colleague.

It’s all an incoherent language to me.

They fight in their little sprite language, forgetting that I’m even there. I silently inch my way down the hall until my hand grips the large doorknob at my back. I twist it, the internal lock disengaging and the door creaking open a sliver; the sprites freeze in their argument, two sets of beady eyes flicking to me.

I don’t wait for them to berate me, slipping behind the door and quickly shutting it on them.

There’s a stark difference between this part of the castle and the rest.

The air is thinner here, but no less thrumming with magic. I lean back against the door, my heart beating quickly as it works to pump oxygen to my brain. It takes a second for the room to register, for me to really take in all the detail, but it’s just a sparsely decorated ballroom.

Across the room is a set of matching doors to the ones at my back. To the right is a large fireplace—surprisingly full of flames—and framed by another two sets of doors. Floor to ceiling windows line the left side of the room, draped with gold and silver curtains; moonlight now pours between the windowpanes, planting squares of cool-toned light on the tiled floor.

“Lost, little fae?” a voice calls.

I pan the room, searching for its owner.

The person must be sitting in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace, hidden by the tall chair back, because the distinct crinkle of leather fills the room. Not more than a second later does a mop of brown locks peek around the side of the chair.

While his face is half shrouded in shadow, I can make out a strong nose and jaw.

Seelie, my body screams, instinct causing the hair on my arms to stand on end. My magic perks, swirling in my belly, a keen predator searching for its next meal.

I step forward, my boot clacks reverberating through the room.

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