Lux (The Nocte Trilogy, #3)(10)

Castor sits obediently and immediately, poised in front of Dare.

I stare at him in awe.

“How did you do that?”

Dare looks up at me and I decide that he must be…. eleven? His hair is a bit shaggy, almost touching his shoulders even. But his eyes… his eyes haven’t changed.

Dark

Dark

Dark as night.

“You have to be firm,” he tells me, his voice clipped and British. “You have to be the boss. They’ve been trained this year, but they’re still puppies. You have to control him.”

I’m hesitant, because Castor is twice, maybe three times my size. Why would he listen to me?

“Call him,” Dare tells me. “Do it firmly. Say, Castor come.”

I do it, trying to mimic the sternness of Dare’s voice.”

Castor looks at me without moving, and Dare snickers.

“You’ve got to call him with authority, little mouse.”

My head snaps up. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a mouse.”

He laughs. “Then don’t act like one. Call him with purpose.”

My lip curls and I snap, “Castor, come.”

Castor gets to his feet and comes straight to me. He stands in front of me, waiting for my command. “Sit.”

He sits.

Like magic.

Dare smiles, and his teeth are very white. “See? He’s been trained. And I’m sure he remembers you. They were both trained with your scents.”

“Our scents?”

Dare nods. “Yeah, yours and your brother’s. Sabine kept a few of your shirts to use for them. It worked, didn’t it? He knew you?”

I nod and I can’t argue. He did know me. But it feels weird to know that my scent was being used without my knowledge this year, even though that’s dumb. My scent doesn’t belong to me. Not really. I put it out into the world, and once it’s released, it never comes back.

Dare walks to me, a little bit skinny, a little bit gawky, but he seems so sophisticated to me, so worldly. He’s three years older after all. The eleven-year olds at school won’t even look twice at me. Well, unless it’s to call me Funeral Home Girl. I cringe at the memory and Dare looks at me curiously.

“What?”

I swallow because I’ll never tell him of that particular shame. “Nothing. What are you doing out so early?”

He’s the one who seems to cringe now, but then he hides it. “It’s the only time I can come,” he shrugs, without explaining. “Don’t tell Sabine, ok?”

That seems like a dumb thing to ask because we aren’t doing anything wrong, but I agree. “Ok. What are you doing out here?”

Dare shrugs. “Nothing. Just walking around.”

He’s smart because he has a jacket on.

“Can I come with you? I don’t know my way.”

Dare hesitates, but finally nods. “Fine. But you have to be quiet. We don’t want to wake anyone up.”

“This place is so huge,” I answer. “No one will hear us out here.”

“There are eyes everywhere,” he tells me. “Don’t doubt it.”

“Ok,” I answer, because he wants me to agree. But I think he’s being paranoid.

We walk along the path toward the grounds, far away from the house, and Castor stays a few feet in front of us. Every once in a while, he lifts his giant nose to the breeze, checking checking checking for something.

“What’s he watching for?” I ask Dare curiously.

“Anything,” Dare guesses. “Everything. Who knows? Newfoundlands are known for their hero instincts. He’d probably die to protect you.”

“And you?” I ask quietly. Dare glances at me.

“Probably. But he’s not mine. He’s yours.”

I’m dying to ask why Dare couldn’t have a dog, because he so obviously loves Castor. But I don’t. Because I have a strange sense that it would offend him, that it would hurt his feelings, and I don’t want to do that. I have a strange fascination with this boy and his dark eyes.

Dare pauses on the path, and he seems to be trying to catch his breath. I suddenly notice that he’s pale, paler than the last time I’d seen him. I touch his elbow.

“Are you ok?” I ask quickly, and he yanks away in annoyance.

“Of course,” he snaps. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Because you can’t breathe.

I don’t say that though because obviously he doesn’t want me to notice. So I wait quietly with him, patiently. Finally, after minutes and minutes, he continues on his way, although his steps are slower this time. Castor slows too, determined to stay near us.

A boy in my class at school has something called asthma. He has to carry an inhaler, and oftentimes during recess, he has to stop playing so that he can breathe. I decide that Dare must have that too, although it’s stupid to me that he wants to hide it. Having asthma is nothing to be embarrassed about.

Dare points to a stone building in the distance.

“There’s the mausoleum. Every Savage has been buried there. You will be too.”

How depressing.

“And will you be?”

The question comes out before I can stop it.

Dare laughs, but there is no humor in it. “Doubtful, and I don’t want to be. My father was French, and I’ll be buried in France. They can’t keep me here.”