Verum (The Nocte Trilogy, #2)(26)

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she acknowledges. “It’s true. I’m sorry if you’re scared by that.”

“I’m not scared,” I admit. “I just don’t think I subscribe to that particular belief system.”

Sabine smiles now, and the only thing that I’m scared of is her grotesque smile. It’s not pleasant.

“Surely you’ve noticed unfair things,” she points out. “Growing up the way you did. I’m sure you’ve seen deaths that weren’t fair. Stillborns, children, young mothers, young fathers… didn’t you wonder what happened to make them occur?”

I stare at her dumbfounded. “Life isn’t fair, Sabine,” I tell her firmly. “That’s all there is to it. People don’t always deserve what happens to them. Not by a long shot.”

I think about my brother, and the demons that chase him. “Not by a long shot.”

Sabine is unfazed. “There are times we pay for sins that are not our own,” she maintains. “It is the way the universe has always been.”

I reflect on that for a minute, of my gentle father and my kind mother. There is no way either of them could’ve ever committed a sin bad enough for Finn to have paid for it. I shake my head finally, to signal my disbelief. Sabine smiles slightly.

“Take Adair for example,” she instructs me. “That boy has never done anything wrong. Yet his parents were all killed. His father died from cancer, then his mother re-married Dickie Savage. Dickie wasn’t a good man, and Dare’s childhood wasn’t either. Dickie died, then Olivia, and Dare was left all alone. Do you think he deserved any of that?”

I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he deserves.”

“Use your intuition, Calla,” Sabine instructs, and I can’t help but remember the vulnerability on Dare’s face the night I found him playing the piano in the moonlight. I can’t help but picture the face that I love.

“No,” I admit. “I don’t think he deserved those things.” How could anyone deserve those things?

“Sometimes the son must pay for the father’s sins. Or the mother’s,” Sabine adds.

That thought gives me pause, the injustice of it. “That hardly seems fair,” I tell her, picking a flower from the bed beside me.

“Life isn’t fair,” Sabine answers. “That’s the first hard lesson.” She crushes the flower she’s holding in her gnarled hand, then drops the tangled petals on the ground at my feet. “Don’t forget it.”

She walks away as Finn approaches me, interest in his imaginary eyes.

“What was she saying to you?” he asks as he takes her vacated seat. I shake my head.

“Nothing important,” I lie. “She’s a strange one, Finn. I don’t know what to think about her.”

“Me either,” he answers. “She kind of scares me a little.”

This, coming from the boy who sees demons.

“Mom trusted her,” he offers. “Maybe you should, too.”

I nod silently. Maybe.

“She said you have good intuition,” I tell him. “So what does your gut say about her?”

He grins at me. “Oh, so she sees the wisdom of my ways?” He closes his eyes and pretends to think, his brow wrinkled. “I think… she’s odd. And I withhold the right to reserve judgment until later.”

“Cop out,” I accuse him.

He grins wider. “It’s my right. I’m the wise one, apparently.”

I roll my eyes. “Lord help us.”

We make our way inside for a quiet lunch, for which neither Eleanor nor Dare join us. The dining room is utterly silent, but for my chewing sounds and china and silver scraping.

“Do you think it’s weird that we never see Eleanor?” I ask Finn when we’re finished.

He shrugs. “I don’t care one way or the other. To be honest, I’m sort of glad I’m not there with you. I don’t want to deal with Eleanor.”

“Gee, thanks.”

But I get it.

I don’t blame him.

This time, I don’t even think it’s a twin thing. I’m sure everyone must feel the same way about Eleanor.

Before bed, I try to call dad, and my call can’t be completed. I apparently have no signal.

“Maybe I can go into town tomorrow and try,” I mention as I grab my pajamas to change in the bathroom.

Finn stares at me drolly. “Or you could just call him on the house phone.”

I scrunch up my face. “I don’t know why, but I feel weird about it. Like someone is listening. Always.”

“Everyone is wrong,” he announces suddenly. “You’re the crazy one, Cal. Not me. Why would people be listening to your phone calls?”

“I don’t know,” I have to admit. “I just feel like they are. I can’t help how I feel.”

“No, you can’t. But you can help how you process those feelings,” he tells me helpfully. “Trust me, you don’t want to be crazy, Calla.”

Without another word, I leave to put my pajamas on. When I come back out, he’s already curled up on one side of my large bed. It’s unspoken now that he’ll stay with me while I sleep. He knows I don’t like being here alone. This huge place makes me feel small.