Page 57 of Devour the Dark

“How far now?” Winnie asks.

I glance out the window to get my bearings. A three-story neoclassical comes into view. The front facade is constructed ofwhite limestone, the columns ornate, the windows rounded with decorative white stone hoods. If I remember correctly, it belongs to a textile merchant known as the Silk Baron.

“We’re close,” Asha answers before I can.

“You know Darkland well.”

“I do.”

“How long did you live here?”

“Many years.”

“For someone known for their precision, that’s an awfully un-precise answer.”

She just stares at me.

In her dress, hair pinned back, she could be any noblewoman. Clothing elegant and fashionable, but eyes a little vacant, either out of boredom or disinterest. How quickly she can disappear into a role. How dangerous she must be.

“What’s your favorite part of Darkland?” Winnie asks.

She’s always been hungry for crumbs of my life before Neverland. As if knowing my past will peel back the layers of who I am in the present.

If only she knew how much of myself I abandoned in order to have my revenge and survivor it. If only she knew how much Peter Pan changed me.

Asha considers the question carefully. “The Night Gardens.”

“The name alone,” Winnie says.

“Yep.” Asha watches a man walk past on the sidewalk as we wait for another break in traffic. “All of the foliage is either black or white. And under a full moon, the white flowers almost glow. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

Winnie glances at me. “Do you know it?”

“Of course.”

“Can we go to it?”

“If we have time in between murder and blackmail, sure.”

Asha laughs. “I know that was a joke, but I can tell murder and blackmail are also not out of the ordinary for you.”

I wish that wasn’t the case.

I wish a great many things.

The carriage finally breaks through the traffic and we cross the next intersection and there, at the end of the street, the large, wrought iron gate proceeding the long, winding drive to Maddred Manor on the rise of a gently sloping hillside.

Maddred, much like its name and the family origin, is constructed in bright, blood-red stone. Its main structure in the center of the manor is three stories, with a balcony on the second and third floors. It’s bounded on both sides by east and west wings with only two stories. Unlike the neoclassical brownstones outside the Merchant Quarter, the manor’s architectural style is hard to label here in the Seven Isles because its style did not originate here.

The size of it may be grand, but the style is minimalistic, almost military-like in its sharpness and its unadornment. My father wanted it that way. My mother wanted the soft, country style of the northern coast houses. It was her money, but it was our father who always got the last word.

The horses come to a stop as the carriage driver announces our name. The gate quickly swings inward, permitting our entrance.

I didn’t think coming here would affect me. But I’m suddenly feeling affected.

The shadow surges to me, its energy flooding my veins with a calming antidote.

My hand still in hers, Winnie hooks her other arm around my elbow, pulling me even closer.

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