Verum (The Nocte Trilogy, #2)(18)

“Maybe,’ he muses. “But that doesn’t take away the fact that Dare was on our mountain that night, Calla.”

“The night you died,” I nod. He looks away and I know he doesn’t like being dead.

“Was he there?” Finn asks, and I can tell from his tone, that he knows. “Or are you confused?”

I sigh, long and loud, because I’m so tired of being the only one hidden from the truth.

“Just tell me,” I demand.

“I can’t.” His answer is simple.

“But you want to.”

“Yes.”

He gets up and paces the room, a slender lion in a cage. “Think, Calla. You know this one.”

I do.

I do know it.

It’s on the tip of my mind, dying to find its way in.

I close my eyes.

I spoke to Dare that night. I can hear his words.

Anxious, afraid.

Concentrating, I see the cliffs, the funeral home, the moon.

I see my brother,

And he’s alive,

Then he’s not.

My mother,

My father,

The flashing lights.

The beach.

And then…

There’s something.

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.

What do I know about her?

Why is she significant in my memory?

Did Dare have her eyes, or her hair? Was she the only spot of brightness in his world? Does he miss her more than life itself?

I don’t know.

All I know is her name was in my head yesterday…before I found this place.

It’s my first hard clue.

Trailing my fingers along the wall, I circle the room, eyeing my ancestors, marveling at the silence here.

It’s so loud that my ears ring with it.

The open door creates a sliver of light on the dark floor, and it’s while I’m focusing on the brightness that I first hear the whisper.

Calla.

I whip my head around, only to find nothing behind me.

Chills run down my spine, and goose-bumps form on my arms as I eye the empty room. The only people here are dead.

But… the whisper was crystal clear in the silence.

I’m hearing voices.

That fact terrifies me, but not as much as the familiarity in that whisper.

It can’t be my brother.

It can’t. He’s dead and I know it. I might’ve imagined him the other night, but even I know he wasn’t real.

“Hello?” I call out, desperate for someone to be here, for someone real to have spoken. But no one answers.