September 6, 2009
A Promise
The Nave of the Sacred Heart
Polished pews of sturdy oak line the sides of the cathedral’s nave, separated by a pathway of cobalt stones. Columns of white granite stand at even intervals between the windows, a small shrine is carved into each, housing exquisite statues of saints and martyrs. The vaulted ceiling of the nave soars high with chandeliers of burnished copper hanging from each vault, lit only for evening masses and eulogies. On the ground, tall candelabras of thick beeswax candles light the carpeted steps towards the prayer altar, The wide stone sills of the stained glass windows are decorated with small fluted bowls of bluish glass, heaped with flowers. The atmosphere is peaceful, touched with a hint of olden charm and a love for which only divine grace could bestow. A spiral of iron-lattice steps wind up in a precarious helix into the church’s main spire where the church’s bells are kept.
Darkness creeps together with the pale-haired, tall man as he stands alone outside in the empty church grounds – long devoid of people as the last Mass for that night ended and the only brief interim he would stand here unmolested before the next next round of guard patrol happens again.
A small, lighted lantern sways in the distance, heralding the approach of a young Sister, her head encased in a habit and the rosary about her neck dances in a cheery manner. She spies the tall man and out and of benign curiosity, she goes to him, inquiring in a soft, girlish voice of what he is waiting for. The reply is given in quiet courtesy and as strangely as it seems, the Sister’s brown eyes glaze a little and with a tiny mote of a welcome smile on her face, she walks the tall pale man towards the doors of the Church, opening them for him to enter. He does not do so however, at first and leans in to whisper one more time to the Sister’s habit-covered ear, another question, the act done so formally and gentlemanly there is little suspicion about what he’s doing.
The young woman retracts a little and turns to peer into the hazy darkness of the Nave, illuminated by candlelight and shards of moon glow before lifting up her face towards the tall man and nodding, her lips parting to form a little remark. The pale-haired one nods in gratitude before slipping into the Church as silently as a shadow would, and the Sister closes the doors with a soft ‘clack’, audible to whomever is there upon the pews.
Within, amidst the rows of deserted pews, slender fingers curl into the palm of a young woman, the hand it belongs to rests peacefully against her heart as her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm of slumber. The lighting was sparse within the Nave, casting a soft glow upon her relaxed features, yet still enough to see clearly that clutched inside that grip is the crucifix she is seldom found without. In her lap rests a journal, its open pages revealing rows of neat penmanship and the appearance of newly applied ink.
Anique stiffens suddenly as a sound brings her awake rather suddenly, her body tensing visibly. Her eyes open quickly and she scans the room curiously as straightens up in her seat. Already a knot had begun to form in her lower back from slumbering in such a position. Rising from the pew in a fluid motion, her skirts fall about her in voluminous folds and with them, the audible sound of her journal tumbling to the polished floor at her feet. The sound seems to echo in the otherwise empty church and the sound of her surprised ‘oh’ follows.
Hastily she kneels to retrieve her parcel, her fingers skimming over the spine to make sure it is intact and frowns as she realizes her blunder in falling asleep.
The tall pale-haired fellow walks down the aisle of the Nave, his boots making muted little stepping sounds on the tiles. Both his hands are shoved into the deep pockets of his black velvet coat and a darkened green gaze is fixated upon the back of the sleep-nodding girl at one of the pews, the familiarity of her back and the way her tresses fall down and about her shoulders. He pauses at one of the pews, perhaps five or so behind hers and with one knee knelt and one hand cupping the pew’s engraved crocus top, the pale man inclines his head towards the grand statue of the rose-wreathed angel upon the altar before standing up straight, his hands once more wandering into the coat’s pockets.
The girl’s falling journal and her startled wakening from her nap draws only yet but a brevity of a sickened smile on his lips. He starts to walk, sufficiently to come into the girl’s view, his stature splaying multiple shadows across the tiled mosaics of the Nave’s floor before quite absurdly, he leans his form against the pew opposite hers, his head canting to a side.
A chill makes its way down Anique’s spine as she finally takes note of someone else. Her eyes watch with a reluctant uncertainty as the shadows play across the floor in the corner of her eye, finally to fall across the open pages of her journal where her gaze remains fixated. A person of manners might have made their presence known quite some time earlier instead of walking upon an unsuspecting person such as this one had.
Instinctively, perhaps by the way her entire body responded in a frightening hum, she knew without glancing up. Almost as if Anique cannot help herself however, her blue-green gaze begins its rise of the figure before her. Her fingers tighten upon the pages as the familiar manner of dress greets her vision, until her eyes rest upon Christian’s visage – her own paling in response, though her lips this stubbornly as she refuses to flee from the mere sight of him. The tilt of his head might have been endearing upon any other person.
“M’lord” Anique greets upon an expelled breath as she slowly rises, the journal and her quill closed within its pages held in one hand.
A soft rustling of linen slacks shudders through the dead silence before Anique’s greeting as the pale man moves barely from his position, the smile cast upon his lips meager in expression.
“You appear afraid to see me, fraulein.” He tells her in a tone one might perhaps associate with regret and a semblance of forced grief woven into it. Hands leave their territorial grip of his coat’s pockets and lift upwards to spread in this helpless, emphatic manner towards Anique, the flickering candlelight glinting off the silvery cuff-links and the plain metal rings on his fingers. “Although I doubt much about whether you have found peace within His House, perhaps let me know of your decision whether to return or that you wish to go home?”
The question ends. The silence ensues once more and his green eyes richly verdant like a grass-soaked lawn now lands upon her face; there seems no hint of a threat now in his voice now and just a soothing, velvety darkness, which twines like an invisible serpent around his words.
Her eyebrows pull together in thought, confusion mingled with a sort of inner refusal to be drawn in by that gaze. Her head shakes just slightly, auburn tresses are illuminated by the candlelight, as she pulls her eyes away from his, drawing the journal in close to her and holding it in a protective gesture.
“I recall being told to feel such,” Anique responds to his first remark, proud that her voice did not waver but came out firmly, reminding him that the event was still fresh within her thoughts. Her glance fixes upon the open gesture of his hands and from there rise to his face once more as the sound of his voice draws a curious gleam to her eye.
“Why are you here? Perhaps I did not run far enough for your liking and you wish to finish?” Her tone is not harsh as the words themselves would otherwise be. “I am a simple being, if you wish me to leave you have but to say so.”
An expression shuttles across Christian’s features, the look on his face seems to be one of a man being stung by the barbed words only a woman is capable of flinging. It is with faint recollection of his own noble upbringing and that the etiquette of humanity seems remembered for this instant over centuries of unlife.
“Such harshness, fraulein.” He answers to her, his eyes drawing some reference of strength from the shadows cast down by the wings of the marble angel on the altar before green oculars dwell with a contemplating slowness on Anique.
“I will not have you leave; I have come to apologize.” He continues, hands bared towards her, akin to the spread of wings upon the Angel’s back, his own shadows cutting into the seraph’s own on the tiled floor. Simplicity entreats simplicity, Christian thinks, ruminating a little and that within His House, the pale man would not utter even a threat despite his non-reverence of this Faith held so highly by mortals, and yet served well his fellowship.
Anique’s eyes widen slightly at his response. She was strangely intrigued by his seeming return to normal and wondered exactly what had brought about the anger she’d witnessed the other night. Likewise, she immediately feels remorse for her own stinging questions, and revealed so in the change of her expression. “It appears I owe you an apology as well.” She responds.
Her mind was working however as the words slipped from parted lips. A half smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, a gesture of grudges that should not be held. She notes his hands opened in such a position and she takes several steps toward Christian, her gaze moving across the planes of his face as if trying to gauge his sincerity and deciding not to trust at all. She would find the answer.
The moonlight touches the stained glass of the long arched windows, flecking them with silver.
The pale fellow holds up his hands against her approach; perhaps to depict a negative reaction to her apology – that Christian believes she owes nothing or that she is asked to still her movements towards him.
“Fraulein, you must not apologize. The fault is entirely my own.” He says, a touch of ironical amusement and wan sincerity in his tone though that his expression nearly cracked somewhat but he manages to recompose himself, having sensed just a movement of shadows behind him.
/Elizabeth/. He grimaces inwardly – she is watching, of course in her comfortable little abyss, obviously. Why wouldn’t she watch? She’s so interested in this whole little dramatic escapade that it seems to be the only joy in her own unlife.
“Would you return to the bookshop then?” Now Christian lays his hands down, the drawing down of fingers artfully interweaving a symphony of shadow and moonlight on the Nave’s floor and those fingers draw behind his back – a gesture of openness towards Anique, and a hidden warning of primal irritation to the hidden Elizabeth. “Would you? I will make up for it, my unanswerable anger, fraulein, as a good gentleman should.”
Anique’s movements do still at his gesture, her hands clasping the book behind her as she stands a few feet before Christian, her eyebrows arching ever so slightly at his words. She responds sincerely, her eyes averted momentarily as she speaks. “No one has ever treated me in such a way, put their hands on me, threatened me, made me question my beliefs as you have.”
Glancing up at him briefly, a moments caress, and she turns to the pew she had occupied previously and places her journal there. Her now freed hands idly twisting her hair over one shoulder, leaving her other bare. Christian didn’t need her, Anique mused, so why was he bothering?
“You’ve apologized and I thank you for that. The truth is, I enjoy the work and I was not looking forward to returning home to the smug expression of my brother.” Chewing her lip, she considers her words before continuing. She was asking for trouble, she knew it. Anique casts a wary glance at him and nods her head in acceptance.
“I’m either a fool or a saint – The first being more likely.”
“The acceptance puts relief to my mind, fraulein.” The pale-haired man inclines his head, the flaxen strands of his hair winding down his neck. His hands are removed from their clasp and shoved back into his coat’s pockets before he elicits himself from the lean-to against the pew. Green eyes shift in a leisurely motion towards the journal she has placed upon the pew before they turn again to regard Anique, the expression in the viridian irises very pleasant.
“I will do no such thing again to put your mind at unease and that you may continue to work peacefully in the bookstore.” He seems to consider something in his mind as he steps away, creating a distance between him and the auburn-haired girl. “I am not to judge whether you are foolish or a saint in this, fraulein. I am just your employer and I will stay that way, with promise.”
He gives her a little bow, the shadowy touch of his tall stature mingling with her shorter one upon the Nave’s tiles and with fleeting softened steps, the pale-haired man dismisses himself from the church, wandering out from the doors as easily as he had came in earlier.
You Should Fear Me
The Visions of Clarity Bookstore
Alessandro drops a slice of lemon into his cup of fresh brewed black tea as he eyes the darkening skies through the glass panes of the bookshop’s windows. He blows a few teasing clouds with the steam from the tea and rolls his eyes.
He is waiting to go home apparently but since no one is there in the shop, not the girl or his master, Alessandro’s pilfering fingers found Christian’s latest import of leaves and decided to help himself to some.
The front entrance of the shop gives away its telltale ring as Anique returns with a few parcels of mail and a package wrapped in brown paper. The cool air lingers about her frame and the fresh scent of fall clings to her cloak.
Smiling at Alessandro a bit guiltily, she settled her things on the nearest table and removes her cloak. “Hello.” She greets him, moving about for several movements before pausing to look at him. “Why are you still here? It’s late.”
Alessandro sucks the rest of the tea into his mouth, swirls in around and calls out rather impatiently, “You’re finally here?” He gives her a cursory glance and moves off to wash the cup.
“I am still here because Master Von Karlach is not here and you’re not here.” He yells from the backroom, the sound of splashing water evident. Wiping his wet hand on his shirt, Alessandro comes out, frowning.
“He left stuff for you to do.” Alessandro jerks his damp hand towards a towering stack of books near to Anique’s desk. “He doesn’t look too happy these days, you better be careful.”
Anique appears taken aback by his gruffness as he comes out from the back. “I apologize then for you’re having to wait. I had some letters to send out before the Inn became overrun.” Always mindful of her manners, she brushes off his initial abrasiveness and smiles in a comforting way, hoping to put him somewhat at ease.
Glancing toward her work desk however, the smile dims somewhat. It was more than the usual two or three books he’d leave out for her. “I’ll be mindful of his mood then, thank you for letting me know.” She hoped then that perhaps she could avoid his presence tonight. Perhaps she’d waste less ink on her fingers then as well. Noticing a wet mark on Alessandro’s shirt, she grins slightly but says nothing of it. “Any idea why?”
“He looks kind of thin recently. And I have never seen him eat.” Alessandro muses, rubbing his chin as he picks up his satchel to sling across his back. “Maybe our employer is not human. He doesn’t feel human either.”
“Maybe he’s a ghost!” Alessandro curls up his hands and tries to scare Anique as he made a foolish-looking, screwed up face and he dangles his digits in front of her, “And you spend the nights here, hah. Aren’t you scared out of your wits?”
Anique laughs and swats away his fingers, the sound coming out a bit more nervous than she meant it to. “Perhaps he prefers to eat alone. As for him being thin, he could have caught something with the weather changing.”
“And ghosts!” Shaking her head at him in amusement, “What nonsense. You’re just trying to frighten me Mr. Alessandro and it will not work!” Grinning, she starts toward the oriel. “Perhaps a werewolf will catch you outside.” She teases, not believing for one moment that such things were real.
You’re one brave girl.” Alessandro stretches himself and yawns, brushing away the hair that has fallen across his forehead. He makes his way to the door and grabs the handle, pushing it down before twisting his head to speak to Anique, “Well I got to be off now. My dinner’s probably getting cold thanks to you.”
Suddenly, the young man lurches forward as the door is pulled away from him, and he nearly lost his hold on the handle. “What the!” Alessandro flails a little, trying to catch his footing and he throws both arms in a blind attempt to balance before realizing he is hugging Christian Von Karlach in a very ungraceful manner.
“Alessandro? Are you –“ Anique hurriedly rushes out from her work space to check on what’s going on. Seeing the very unmanly embrace between the two, her steps halt in the middle of the shop. “Oh.” She finishes her sentence, two eyebrows raised in amused confusion.
Her lips rise at each corner, giving her the appearance of a very entertained child. Hands clasp together before her as she watches with avid curiosity. “Good even, Lord Von Karlach.” She calls out welcomingly.
Alessandro hurriedly jumps at least a few big steps away, waving his hands maniacally in apology. “I did not mean to, Sir! Are you hurt anywhere?” He makes an attempt to go nearer to Christian and tries to adjust the pale man’s wrinkled coat. The attempt is quickly deflected with a very dismissive hand raised up against the young man. “Go home, Alessandro. I am fine.” Christian pulls sharply at the ends of his coat, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric and adjusts his ivory-white cravat.
“You’re here?” He gives Anique a bare glance of interest as he strides past her to where the counter is and the ledger kept. The short swallowtails of his coat swish behind him as he steps up the short flight of steps to access the counter, one white hand on the closed record book.
Nodding in agreement as she is addressed. His obvious dismissal of her presence and the question of her even being there brings about the familiar shade of pink to her cheeks as if she were overly warm.
“Should I not be?” Chewing the inside of her lip, Anique reminds herself that she was warned. Tilting her head, she regards him for a moment. She’d been working here for weeks and still had not figured out this man.
“It appears there is a lot to do so if you need nothing from me, I will leave you be.” Her words are purposely spoken in an unobtrusive manner. Turning on her heel, the swish of her skirts signals her withdrawal from his presence. She does, however, glance back briefly to see if he’d even bothered to look up while she spoke.
“Of course you should be.” Christian replies half-pleasantly, head bowing downwards to scan the writings and records in the ledger as he flips with accelerating motion through it. He does not look up even as he continues to address her in a clear, bell-toned voice, “You have twelve books to complete scribing by the end of the week, fraulein. I will need to return them post-haste to their owners.”
He finishes reading the ledger and closes the large book with a muted thud, pressing his hands onto the counter and he looks to Anique’s direction, smiling rather ferally, “Would you want tea, fraulein? I have a new import of black leaves, vanilla almonds and dried fruit for a tea press.”
Anique smiles brightly at his offer and nods her head in acceptance, the underlying tone of his smile lost on her as she stops just before the steps to her work area. “I would love some tea.” Turning around, she leans against the frame for a moment as if considering something, tugging at an auburn lock in her thoughtfulness.
“Have you been ill recently Lord Von Karlach?” Of course she didn’t believe the things that Alessandro had suggested. Anique suddenly had the inclination to prove the man, and the others like Benedict, wrong.
“Ill?” Christian chuckles, stepping into the backroom, his tall, poised back facing Anique. A soft chiming sound of porcelain cups being taken out and spoons being settled on a silver tray descends throughout the bookshop. “What makes you say that, fraulein?” His voice echoes the tinkle of silverware as he opens without much effort, a tall tin covered with an exotically printed wrapper. “I do not remember being ill for a long, long time.”
He grins, his profile clear to Anique as he bends his back slightly to scoop a blend of leaves, vanilla and almond into a glass tea-press. He retrieved a small copper kettle with hot water, which has always been set on a protected warmer for those endless cups of teas, and pours that into the press, seemingly with utmost caution.
“You have to start scribing if you want to sleep tonight, fraulein.” He suddenly says while in the middle of placing cups and saucers and the tea-press on the tray.
“It’s been noted that you are looking thinner than usual and that you do not eat.” Anique remarks as if making light conversation. She wonders briefly how much she should tell him if he truly was in a foul mood. Perhaps he’d find it amusing as she had. “I thought perhaps you hadn’t been feeling well.”
Taking his last comment as a subtle warning to get to work, she makes her way to her desk and prepares to start. She can hear his movements from the other room and with a resigned sigh; she takes one of twelve very large books. “You are quite a topic for gossip I have found.”
“You indulge yourself in gossip, fraulein?” Very much with skill, the pale man has balanced the tray on one hand and in his other, a small round table which he promptly drops down behind Anique’s chair and on which the tray is placed.
Christian does not offer her a cup as yet but he stands rather behind her, gazing down at what she is about to do or is going to do, his eyes casting a veil of scrutiny down on Anique.
Anique sucks in a breath as if offended but too polite to retort at the suggestion of her being a gossip. “Of course not!” Her body tenses visibly at his presence and she wills herself to relax before continuing, her fingers deftly placing her inkpot, quill, and parchment out before her. As she works, she shrugs slightly as if it were of no consequence.
“It seems their curiosity about you is great enough that they seek me out to tell me so.” Smoothing a hand over the paper, she offers a glance up at him before hiding the stain of a nervous blush. Tugging her hair behind her, Anique secures it with a piece of ribbon before making the first fluid markings on her parchment, the canvas quickly soaking up the pigment she lays upon it.
“If it is just Alessandro asking you, he’s been taking too much hashish at the Raven.” He ascertains with a low chuckle, hovering his gaze above her and the lamps hanging about the oriel cast multiple shadows down by her tableside. A small sound muses itself out from his throat as he watches her press a few letters down onto the parchment. “Have you been so out of practice that you forgot to illuminate the capital letter before starting, fraulein?”
Deftly, without much invitation, he spirits the quill out of Anique’s hand and plucks it away, without dropping a single drip of ink onto the parchment. “Lay a new piece of paper, fraulein. I will illuminate the first and you continue with the rest.”
What was merely a small tinge of pink upon Anique’s cheeks has now bloomed into a full scarlet blush. “Perhaps you do not realize the affect you have when you stand so near.” Her heartbeat seems to pound in her ears, its beat steady as a drum as she places a hand over her chest as if that action alone would still the embarrassment of her error.
“You have seen the work I have done so far, sir, and have had no complaint. I forget now because you hover so.” Anique answers honestly, not objecting as the quill is slipped from her fingers while she places a fresh sheet of parchment. Tucking a few stray auburn tresses behind her ear, she turns her gaze slightly and realizes how close he truly is.
“I don’t understand why I react this way to you.” The words seem to be meant only for her, thoughtful, puzzled, and never intended for another’s ears. She doesn’t even appear to realize she’d said it aloud.
“Because you’re afraid, fraulein?” His reply is almost instantaneous after she said that comment out loud and with the quill poised above the parch, he tilts it to an angle that it does not drip ink or blot the paper at all.
His profile is visible to her only now for he has not turned an inch to face Anique. All the while, he has been speaking towards the parchment laid on the desk. “Indeed I have no complaint of your work thus far, fraulein, you have been a good, hardworking scribe.” His hand droops, letting the nib slowly linger upon the parch and ink flows out, ribboning itself across the paper into a ensemble of vine-leaves and curled accents around the stylized edges of a capital letter ‘I’
“Your turn.” He offers her the quill silently, twisting the feather back to that angle so it does not drip, the motion of his arm casting a long shadow across the parchment, shadows that seem to dig and warp into the paper itself.
Anique’s eyes widen briefly and she refuses to look at him, her eyes riveted to the sheet before them as he moves his hand in such a way that speaks of great time and skill put into such a task. With a nervous laugh, she fails at attempting lightness. “What reason do I have to be afraid?” She bites her lip for a moment as she accepts the quill; keeping it poised at the angle he offered it in.
“I am a woman of faith and the only thing to fear are those who do not have such faith.” She says it with such conviction that there would be no doubt that she believes every word to be true. Her head shakes as if willing herself to remain on task, whispering softly, “Ghosts, demons, and the rest are all make believe…”
As an after thought, she pauses the quill before beginning, her blue green eyes tracing his profile. “Thank you.. for your compliment.” This time she takes care with her lettering, not wanting to start again for missing something from the original text.
Christian draws up a tall-backed chair and places it next to her, himself sitting upon it. Drawing up a hand, he leisurely straightens a cuff while he watches her begin her work. And out of the blue, another question is shot towards her. “Would you want to know what others do not, fraulein?” He leans forward to douse his voice over her, his elbows resting on his knees and his pale hands in a restful position very near to the crook of her elbow.
“You say with such great assertion that you are a woman of faith so therefore you will not fear those that thrive in the darkness.” As if so entertained by Anique’s insistent declaration, he draws swiftly close to her, his seated body a barrier between the girl and the wall of the oriel behind, a curving smile on his pallid lips.
“The first time we met, I asked if you are afraid of the dark, fraulein.” Christian whispers, locking his startling greenish gaze upon the girl’s blue-green ones. “You are not afraid anymore now?”
Her eyebrows furrow together briefly, coming together to form a knot of thoughtfulness in the center. Riveted to the spot by the gaze that falls upon her, Anique suddenly feels surrounded by his presence. “I do not claim to know all the answers. Things that are beyond my control… there is always a chance at being proven wrong. But a mortal choice to deny His protection is more fearful to me than what awaits in the darkness. A man without faith is lost, without purpose, without a soul…”
She swallows suddenly, realizing that perhaps he did not share her naive ideals and would become angry. Also, that she had not truly answered his last question. “I suppose I am afraid of the dark at times as any person might be.”
The intense gleam in his eyes dim for a moment as he listens to her lengthy recitation. A snicker finds it way from him towards Anique and Christian draws back, and somehow, the cold rage that shadows him, retracts too. He lifts and crosses his legs, lounging a set of clasped hands on his knee.
“You are very simple, fraulein. Simple goodness and without any hidden backdoors.” He lolls his head upwards, staring at the beams of the bookshop’s ceiling, his white skin stretching taut over his neck muscles, yet no faint tracery of veins can be seen.
Then he stands up, brushing at his coat and pulling it straight. “The tea grows cold, fraulein. Have it before it loses flavour.” He tells her, picking up the tall-backed chair with as little effort as he did earlier with the tray and small table and he turns to move from the oriel.
“Are you claiming there should be more?” Anique asks suddenly, hurt by his suggestion that her beliefs meant nothing more than mere simplicity in itself. The upset was evident in her features as she frowned at his back. “Perhaps I am simple. Nothing compared to your greater experience for certain but what do you believe in? I’m beginning to think you are that thing in the darkness you claim needs to be feared.”
Her chin trembles stubbornly, knowing that he was her employer and could pull it out from under her if he desired should she anger him. Caged when she’d sought to be free. “You do not frighten me Lord Von Karlach. It is the amusement you seem to find in my ‘simple goodness’ as you call it.”
Christian drops the chair down, letting it land squarely on its four wooden feet. He turns to stare at Anique, the gleam once more returning to his eyes. “I do like simple goodness, fraulein. It keeps me from doing the things that should not be done.” He seems to loom larger than his actual height even, his smile stabbed by the shadows drilling through the latticed walls of the oriel.
In just one, very quick motion, Christian steps to the girl’s side, his hands closing around her shoulders, not tightly at first but loose enough to allow her a route of escape perhaps, enough to squirm and run out of the bookshop. “You should fear me, fraulein.”
It was there, in her eyes, the fear, as she stared in silent shock at the speed in which he’d come upon her. The threat of what might be looming ahead should she continue to speak as she had been. A slow trickle of awareness began its weave through Anique’s conscience at his last statement, yet to be realized. Could she be wrong?
Murmuring softly under her breath, as if saying a small prayer, her eyes close to break the paralyzing contact with his. When she opened them again, she expelled the breath she’d held when he grabbed her.
“I apologize.” Anique whispers with great feeling before quickly wrenching herself away from his clutching fingers. Tears were forming in her eyes. They began their glistening descent down her cheeks as she pauses only long enough to snatch her cloak up from the chair and runs from the shop, the door clanging shut behind her in her haste to escape.
The New Scribe
Corte de Lions – Outside the Visions of Clarity Bookstore
The evening bells of the church could be heard along the streets of Irae. The lamplights glimmered as evening had settled, wavering with the breeze and casting shadows over shop doors that had already locked up. The fountain gurgled restlessly, marking the center of the square where several people passed by to admire it, possibly making a wish on their way home to their evening meals.
Anique fidgeted for a moment before the Visions of Clarity, her fingertips making an unaware dance over the stone. The warm evening did not warrant a cloak and after smoothing a hand over her dress, she made for the entrance of the bookshop, assuming she’d run into Allesandro and give him her message for the owner.
A clap of military boots sounds behind Anique and the voice of Benedict, the guard whom had given her the crucifix a few weeks back, appears from the shadows cast by the buildings around them.
He places his lance down and his features writhe into an odd frown upon recognizing Anique and the shop that she is standing in front of.
“You’re here again?” He says, not a question but more of a rather worried rhetoric remark. Immediately, his eyes scour over her frame and noting that she’s not carrying anything. Something fearful quickens in his voice. “Are you visiting Lord Christian?”
A smile greets the man as Anique recognizes him, still wearing the crucifix about her neck. Her pleasant response was genuine, not knowing very many people in the city yet. Seeing a familiar face was a relief.
Her features change as soon as he addresses her however, not even receiving a greeting before his tone and questions give her a moment for pause. Her brows knit together in confusion, “I am here to give him a message, yes.” She nods in answer as she speaks, her hands clasp together to hide the nervousness she’d calmed moments before and he was now bringing back.
Benedict’s solemn face registers an expression that acknowledges what she has just said. He exhales in the warm summer air, feeling his clothing chafe against his perspiring skin. Inspite of the heat, the church guards still have to wear their full livery every night while they are on patrol.
“I hope everything goes well.” He says quietly, unsure of what else to talk about now. Everytime someone goes into the Visions, Benedict would fear for the worse and he has made it his personal duty to watch the Visions carefully for any signs of the devil and Christian von Karlach’s rumored demons.
Anique eyes him peculiarly, her lips rising in the corners slightly. “Thank you.” She responds politely, remembering the last time they spoke in this same spot. He had seemed to want to say more then as well. “Perhaps.. to set you at ease I can wait until you pass again when I leave?”
Again, she set her mind on the opportunity that had been presented to her in Christians offer of employment. Benedicts response to the man did little to sway her from the strange impressions she always had when leaving the shop owners presence. Taking a step back, she offers the man before her a patient smile. “I should probably go in soon though, before I miss his employee.”
Benedict’s mouth opens as if he really did want to continue speaking but the door of the Visions open with a ominous tinkle of the copper bells hung on the silver crane handle. A pint-sized girl dressed in a white smock comes out of it, her face framed with two long black braids. She supports a few books with one hand and upon seeing Benedict, her forehead darkens with a scowl.
“I’ve told you not to wait for me anymore, Benedict!” The girl cries, shutting the door behind violently, the bells tinkling in protest. “I am old enough now, I can go home on my own and Mr. Von Karlach is not a demon, you hear?”
Esther strides past Anique, her eyes narrowing towards the church guard who is her brother and who is looking very much dazed at his sister’s sudden outburst in front of Anique and almost in the middle of the night too.
He takes a step back, bowing his head in distress and before he turns to leave, Benedict gives Anique a strange, imploring look.
The guard picks up his lance, walking away with his sister storming behind him, the crucifix around her own neck flying madly like her tossing braids. As she departs, something floats down from the stack of books she carries – a tiny bookmark shaped like a leaf of silver – onto the cobblestone pavement.
“Miss!” Anique calls out, immediately stepping forward to retrieve the forgotten item. Her eyes had widened at the girls outburst, more so at her words than her daring to do so. She hadn’t understood the look Benedict had given her either, further confusing her, and what he again might have said. The need to know grew inside her.
Glancing at the door as if it were out of her reach, she sighs, lifts the hem of her dress, and takes several more steps toward the departing pair. “Miss, you’ve dropped something.” She should probably consider the detainment as a sign to turn away from this shop completely, but the thought was fleeting as she held out the bookmark.
The two are out of earshot, Esther not hearing and the brother and sister vanish into the myriad of streets towards the west of the City. Silence ensues for a moment before a carriage rattles past the gray building, not stopping as it hurries along its way.
“You need not worry about that.”
A voice follows the opening of the door again and Christian is there, his eyes following the steps of the siblings, which Anique couldn’t see anymore. “It’s just a complimentary gift given to her because she bought more than usual tonight.”
“I’ll give it to her when she comes back tomorrow night.” The man tilts his head towards Anique and ventures to push the door further open. “You have been standing out here for quite a long time, fraulein. Are you waiting for something else?”
He presses his tall body against the glass of his shop’s door, his eyes continuing down her clothes and down to her shoes, then he smiles slightly, waiting for her indication or wish to move instead.
Jumping at the unexpected voice, Anique finds her gaze drawn immediately to Christian standing in the door, her fingers suddenly gripping the bookmark too tightly before realizing her actions and holding it out for him. “I… um. No, well..”
She’d expected his helper, not himself and just as it had before, a blush began to paint her cheeks a light pink. Taking an agitated breath, she attempts again to speak like a normal being. “I had wished to speak with you about the offer you’d made before.” With a relieved expression at managing a full sentence, she comes forward and up the step toward him, the bookmark still being offered.
“The offer.” Christian nods sparingly, putting out a pale hand and deftly picking the bookmark away from her proffered one. He slips it into his shirt’s pocket and turns to enter, the amber glow within encapsulating his figure and sparking tiny streaks of golden highlights in his hair.
“Have you come to a decision?” He asks, not looking back towards her as he makes his way towards the counter of polished oak where a large ledger sits together with a silver pot of ink topped by a rather ostentatious looking swan feather quill.
The interior of the bookshop would look familiar to her except for a small extension towards the left, a small oriel, a semi-circular room paneled with oak lattices. A new scribe’s desk is placed there together with shelves, which perhaps contained all sorts of pigments and inks.
Alessandro is nowhere to be seen, yet there is a scent of fresh-brewed chamomile tea in the air.
Nodding, Anique withdraws her hand as she follows him further into the shop. Moving idly past the shelves, her fingers glide down several of the spines, reading their titles.
Approaching the counter, her eyes catch the new addition and she scans it with interest, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth before her gaze is pulled back again to Christian. She seems to think for a moment before speaking again, her expression wondering.
“I realize that it’s been some time, so I understand if it is no longer good. However, if you are still willing to offer me a position here, I would accept.”
Leaning against the counter, Christian places his elbows behind him, resting on the counter itself, his very stance rather relaxed and languid though his eyes still harbor the glint of the predator that he is and they stalk Anique with their gaze as she moves down the shelves.
“The offer is open, always. I was, in fact, wondering if you decided against coming here.” The pale man chuckles, straightening up and turns to walk up the stairs leading to the back of the counter.
“Tea?” His hand gestures towards a couch set before the oriel, upon which a kettle sits on a small blue flame. Porcelain cups are already set out as if it awaited her, together with silvery spoons and a bowl of sparkling sugar scrapped from a sugar loaf.
Anique smiles lightly, pleased by the answer he provided her. The dangerous glint in his gaze that she probably should have taken note of goes unnoticed, her figure relaxing somewhat. “Thank you,” She murmurs, moving to pour tea into one of the cups and offering to pour another for him as well. The scent rising with the steam reminded her of someplace else.
“I hadn’t meant to take so long. My brother was very unhappy with my decision. The least I could do was provide him with a replacement.” She answered, frowning briefly as she remembered their argument. Pausing with the teapot midway, she thinks back to the church guard as well and suddenly averts her gaze, knowing that her thoughts tend to tattle on her through her expression.
He lifts a hand as if to say no to the tea. Turning away, the pale man picks out a few books from the shelves hugging the inside of the chamber crafted behind his counter, “Your brother will not be making a mistake to let you experience what you deserve, fraulein.”
The sound of a book slipping his fingers and falling to the ground with a loud echoing thunk sounds through the entire bookshop. He makes a faint tch sound before sweeping the book up and glancing at Anique, “You know you will have to live here to and fro from your place and be late for work.”
She blinks at him for a moment as if misunderstanding his meaning, nearly choking on her tea before she coughed and covered her mouth. Anique was under the impression that the owners frequently occupied their shops.
“Is that appropriate?” She asks, recovering slightly. It wasn’t the idea of living there, as it would make her situation much easier. But to live with a man when she was unwed? She was positive that even that was unacceptable behavior in Irae.
Setting the cup down on the table, she watches him as he moves about, unsure exactly how to respond just yet. Her conflicting morals were evident in the sudden rigidity in her seat.
“I do not see a problem, fraulein.” Christian replies almost immediately after her question as he glides down the steps, books in one hand and settles, much like a swath of floating silk, upon the empty couch next to Anique.
He balances the stack of volumes he has chosen on the chair’s arm, one elbow lightly keeping them in place and preventing them from falling. “Now, fraulein, why would it not be appropriate?”
His question is soft and somewhat suggestive, not in a carnal sense of things but more like a cat batting around a mouse before it eats it up. “You are going to be my employee, it is best you stay in the shop and watch it. Alessandro does not live here, he lives with his sister near the priory.”
“But..” Anique’s brows knit together as she watches him sit before her, his complete calm and poise about his suggestion making her feel as if she’s being silly.
“Do you not live here? It would not be suitable for me to live here with you, employee or otherwise.” She asks, her voice sounding hesitant now, as he seems to add a persuasive quality to his words. As if the mere idea of it is not questionable.
She fiddles with the crucifix about her neck for a moment, a nervous gesture as she meets Christians gaze with uncertain eyes.
“I don’t live here.” Christian replies, crooking a long white finger and drawing it across his lips, rendering a smile in its progress as his green eyes catch her playing with the pathetic symbol of protection around her neck. “Does that solve your fear, fraulein? You will be by yourself here in this shop at night.”
He sinks slightly back into the soft, feather-filled cushions of the couch, looking extremely comfortable as the amber glow intensifies in the bookshop, along with a strange warmth as if someone has opened up the windows to let the summer air in.
“Wouldn’t you want to know what your duties are before you even agreed?” The man suddenly asks, fixing jewel-toned eyes on Anique now.
Her worry seems to expel on a breath as those words are uttered, nodding and smiling with relief. “Yes, that helps a great deal.” Even his amusement, that she assumes to be because of her worry, does not bother her.
“That was to be my next question before you frightened me about living here with you.” Anique covers her mouth as soon as the words leave her mouth, her eyes widening upon him, realizing that her comment seemed rude.
“I mean rather… about living anywhere.. with a man. I’m very sorry.” Again, those eyes create a rose colored blush upon her cheeks. Folding her hands in her lap, she nods her head. “What exactly is expected of me? You’d mentioned scribing before.”
Christian laughs at her words, the offense not taken but instead of him, converted into amusement and she is rewarded with a less predatory look from him. “Now for what you need to do,” He murmurs, standing up from the softness of the couch rather reluctantly.
“Here, follow me to the oriel.” The leather-shod soles of his boots make little scruffing sounds as he crosses a geometric-patterned carpet towards the newest inclusion of his bookshop, the scribe’s oriel, the small chamber built for Anique only.
A sheer curtain hides the inside partially from the view of customers and he pushes that away, keeping it upwards to wait for the girl. “There will be a door here when the builders come tomorrow so you can work in here without being disturbed.”
She follows him without a word, passing closely by him as he holds up the curtain. Anique grins softly as she’d noticed this addition when she first came in.
Curiously, she moves about, examining where she’d be spending a great deal of time from now on. “I was wondering what this was.”
She pauses, glancing over her shoulder to look back at him. “I’m sure a routine will settle itself once it all starts but are there certain things you expect of me? When I should be working, what to avoid…” The look on her face shows that seeing this has her excited to begin.
“I will place selected books on your table here for you to copy when the shop closes at night. Other than that, in the daytime, Alessandro will instruct you on what you should do.” He runs a hand over the top of the desk where a lacquered box sits and with a single stroke, he flips the box open. An array of tiny bottles filled with ink pigment, capped with gold, sits in neat rows, each bottle inscribed with miniscule writing of the color it contains.
“All the things you need are here, pigments, inks, quills, parchment.” His hand wanders up to another shelf constructed above the desk where stacks of pressed paper sat in piles. Then, he returns a look at Anique, his hands settling behind his back. “Have you any questions?”
Shaking her head, Anique mirrors his stance with her hands behind her back. “Not at the moment.” She meets Christians gaze, the faintest pink still evident on her cheeks although she seems otherwise relaxed again. “I think you’ve explained it well enough.” She smiles slightly, noting that he wasn’t even sure of her skill and she was prompted to wonder why he’d offered it to her specifically without first finding that out. All she had was her notebook that he may or may not have glanced at before. “Will I be seeing you here often? I seem to find you more easily in the evenings.” Without realizing it, she’d drawn closer, as if she had a chill and in search of heat she’d never find.
His eyes narrow for a brief second as she inches closer, the hand holding up the box of inks freezing in its position and his head droops slightly from his height to look down at Anique, “Then in the evenings you will see me, fraulein. There’s no need for me to be here… all the time.”
He lets the box’s cover drop, the thudding sound breaking a sudden glass of silence in the chamber. “There are candles if you feel it’s too dark in here.” He murmurs, spreading his hand on the desk and indicating to the drawer below the top. “One could see strange things in the dark if there’s not enough light.”
Christian chuckles lowly as if his own little metaphor amused him. He continues to lean against the scribe’s desk, dusted half with amber, half with darkness and behind him, the curving shadowy lines formed by the oak lattice around them appeared to dance for an instance.
“You may want to bring those books I have placed on the chair and put them here, lest either I or you forget that those are valuable collections which need to be copied in two days’.” He instructs, turning his head towards where the stack of books is still balanced perfectly.
“And be careful.” A slow tap of his boot on the ground issues with the warning he gives her. “There’s some high steps right here I forgot to remove. It would not be rather pretty to see you fall on your face.”
“Shadows are nothing but a trick of the light.” Blinking, as if she’s just realized what she was doing, Anique clears her throat and takes a step back. Nodding in understanding, her brows furrow minutely. “Of course,” She murmurs softly, taking note of his words as she makes sure to catch the step without error.
She passes by with the faint rustling of her dress and the sway of auburn tresses, feeling almost relieved to not be so near in that room. Picking up the books balanced on the arm of the couch, one begins to slip from the top of the stack and with some maneuvering; she gets it back under control. “I may fall on my face soon enough without the steps “ She grins, arriving with the books tucked in her arms and setting them on the desk.
“Thank you by the way… for offering me this job. It’s a chance for me to have a small sense of freedom I suppose.” Closing her mouth, she wonders why she felt the need to add the last part.
He found such irony in her offer of gratitude and those words but his smile is hidden away from her as he makes his way down the short flight of stairs leading from the oriel. “As for your living quarters, on the second level, there’s a room right to the end. It is furnished and you can move in immediately.”
“You can start work tomorrow in the evening if you wish and rest tonight.” He added, his back turned against her now as he vanishes again behind the counter, the sound of his voice floating in an ethereal fashion towards her. “That’s an interesting point, fraulein, but don’t be tricked by the light yourself.”
The soft sound of a door shutting and a click of a lock signifies his departure from the inside of the bookshop though his voice seems to leave a remnant of its echo in the books and within the walls.
Opportune Proposition
The Nave of the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart
Polished pews of sturdy oak line the sides of the cathedral’s nave, separated by a pathway of cobalt stones. Columns of white granite stand at even intervals between the windows, a small shrine is carved into each, housing exquisite statues of saints and martyrs. The vaulted ceiling of the nave soars high with chandeliers of burnished copper hanging from each vault, lit only for evening masses and eulogies. On the ground, tall candelabras of thick beeswax candles light the carpeted steps towards the prayer altar. The wide stone sills of the stained glass windows are decorated with small fluted bowls of bluish glass, heaped with flowers. The atmosphere is peaceful, touched with a hint of olden charm and a love for which only divine grace could bestow. A spiral of iron-lattice steps wind up in a precarious helix into the church’s main spire where the church’s bells are kept.
A continuous peal of church bells sounds over the City in low rhythmic bellows, calling the faithful of the Church to evening mass. At the first rise of the evening star over the rooftops of Irae and when the sun sinks finally into the horizon of the horizon of the Azure sea, the bells ring out, their call hypnotic and casting a comforting veil over hurrying citizens.
Shops are closed for the mass, owners placing signs upon their windows and children are dressed quickly in presentable clothes. Cabs and coaches appear out of the midst, from nowhere, the public ones picking up passengers by the side while the private cabs congest on the Boulevard nearing the Cathedral. Groups of cloaked and coat covered people hurry in haste by the Valdislav Conservatory, some making slight signs of the cross to avert the evil the University is thought to harbor.
There is rain this evening, slanting silvery down from the sky. It is slight, more a drizzle than a downpour. Children huddle against their parents, waiting for their turn to enter the Cathedral and of course, being blessed with holy water offered in the scallop basins before they find their way to the respective pews.
Walking together and mingling in with the others waiting, a man and woman were having a conversation between themselves. As they walked, the man held his arm over the woman to shield her from the drizzle, hunched over slightly so that he could be heard. The only resemblances between the two were the shade of their eyes, his darker hair coloring and stockier build contrasting with her smaller frame.
As the pair approached the entrance Nikolas leaned down to whisper something in his sisters ear, a smile tugging at her features before she nodded and looked up at him. He pulled away from her, dug his hands into the pockets of his coat and departed back toward the street.
Anique stood there for a moment, watching him walk away before she turned her attention back to the cathedral. In no rush, she made her way through the pews as she watched the people about her settling themselves into their seats. Removing her coat, she settles it across her lap before sitting at an end near the front of the altar. The seats were already filling quickly and the whispers of private conversations as they waited reverberated throughout.
A young boy wrapped warmly in a furred coat sits next to Anique, his round chubby face turning towards her and he sneezes a little, holding his gloved hands to his nose. His mother slips in next, fussing over him and apologizing to the young girl, smiling beatifically. It seems in church, everything is all well and friendly. The mother herself is fair of face, brown curls framing her face prettily and she takes off her woven straw hat before urging her child to sit and not bite at the tips of his gloves.
The pews are slowly filled; men and women coming in, their shoes and boots making wet contact with the marble tiled floor of the Church. A strong scent of frankincense sweeps through the warming interior in the Nave, the altar attendants lighting up large beeswax candles by the sides with their smaller handheld candles.
The buzz of the crowd sings in the air as small hymnbooks are passed down each pew and copies of bibles are taken out quickly, many a hand turning the pages to check or read while awaiting the priest’s arrival.
The boy who is next to Anique taps her lightly on her shoulder, pushing a small volume of paens to her. “Here!” He pipes, beaming till his blue eyes are squeezed by his fat cheeks.
Returning the smile offered by the boys mother, Anique had wandered into her own thoughts as the dull hum of voices calmed her, a familiar sound though not from people she would have recognized elsewhere. The dampness clinging to the hem of her skirt slowly began to dry and her curiosity roamed over the pews, taking in the iconic statues and the stained glass window, impressing all she saw into memory for later.
Her brows crease momentarily as she takes in a man standing several pews across from her, the only face so far that looked familiar. Her features light with recognition as she realizes that this is the man she’d met more than a week ago in her bookstore. The tapping upon her shoulder startles her out of her study, her attention being drawn to the little boy beside her as she leans down to him. Anique laughs as he hands her the hymnbook, holding it warmly in her hands. “Thank you” she responds, amused by his cheerful presence and the smile remains as she again looks in the direction of Christian.
“Welcome!” The boy giggles and with small thick fingers, open his own hymnbook, his chatter returning to his mother now that she instructs him on the pronunciation of several Latin words on the page he has pointed to.
A bustle above the pews sound as the choir gets into their places, the resident harpsichord player at his place high up in the chancel. Altar boys in their white vestments, a red sash defining their waists, proceed out from the antechambers, bringing with them golden bowls, candlesticks and the last one carried a large Tome glided in gold and crimson.
The mother, together with all the others, hush their children and all stand in attention as the Father preceding the mass this evening appears.
From where he stood, Christian von Karlach curls his fingers into a prayer fashion but his eyes are not upon the priest offering blessings to the altar boys as they each offered him their bowls and the book. The cold gaze slips to where Anique is, and he smiles barely before the one sitting next to him rises, blocking him from her view.
Anique rises with the rest, her eyes drawn away from Christian as her attention is placed where it should be. She is aware of him however even though he is no longer within sight, her eyes focused forward before her head bows and her fingers palms slide against each other. A slow warmth spreads over her, knowing she should be paying attention, and her palms come together as her hands clasp, fingers interlocking.
To look in his direction now would be obvious at the angle in which they stood and with an effort she keeps her eyes averted. Something always seemed to compel her to watch him with interest, anticipating. Not here, not in the house of God, she would not be so obvious where her attention was trying to go and where it should be, she chastises herself as she focuses again on the procession.
The choir begins to sing, the sopranos leading a chorus of ‘Ave Maria’ and now music fills the entire Nave; the priest lifts both arms towards the spiraling ceiling of the church’s tallest pinnacle, his mouth opening and closing in holy song as well. Rustles of pages sound in tandem with the singing as those unfamiliar find lyrics in the hymnbooks while those already well practiced sing with gusto.
The young child by Anique’s side is more crying out then singing though he seems very eager to be the loudest in the church whilst his mother looks on in embarrassment.
The rest of the crowd is made up of a varied ensemble of rich and poor, the nobleborn way in front, seated in the best pews of polished clean wood, the commoners in packs at the back, trying not to be caught in the chill draft coming through the large closed doors.
Christian, himself, shifts slightly, perhaps in mockery of that he knows what goes through Anique’s mind. And now he is quite visible to her; his pale locks and hands upon a closed hymnbook on the ledge of the pew before him, a subtle curl of his lip indicating more than just a smile.
The music overwhelms Anique as her voice mingles with the rest, her gaze falling upon the singing faces of those around her. She smiles at the woman across from her, understanding and charmed by her son. The words muddle themselves for a moment as her gaze moves and falls again upon Christian. Stopping, she clears her throat, and a hand moves to her chest as if she had a cough, an attempt to cover her stumble.
He seemed to find the entire gathering amusing, too good for them or knowing something the rest did not. A frown mars her features, clearly bothered at her own lack of focus in showing her faith. Even more determined now, she again takes up the words only this time mouthing them as the song nears its end.
The choir finishes with their rendition of the hymn and they settle back in a rustle of robes on their benches in the chancel. The rest of the congregation sits as well, children being hushed, men taking off their hats and women arranging their skirts and gowns. Altar boys hurry to the Father’s side, bringing him bowls filled with fragrances and lighting candles.
The senior boy follows behind, holding up a large crucifix, ancient and weighty in his hands. He does not genuflect at the altar and proceeds to place the cross upon the stand before returning to his kneeler, as the other boys do.
“Let us pray.” The Father voices, spreading his hands to the faithful gathered, loud and important his voice is as it spreads through the entire Nave and reading the opening prayer from the sacred book placed before him.
The masses pray in unison, bowing their heads together – a sight of perpetual faithfulness. It is over just as quickly and as the priest calls for the people to sit at their pews, the place where Christian is, is empty.
Head bowed in reverence, the slender booklet rests in her lap where her palm rests atop it. Anique lifts her gaze forward as her fingers toy with the crucifix at her neck, listening for several moments to the voice speaking loudly to all of them. Finally, she notices the empty spot where Christian had previously been and she frowns at finding it empty.
The thought occurs to her that perhaps now she could keep her mind on task, not on a man she hardly knew where such thoughts should not be during mass. That is hardly the case however as now it is almost impossible to make out the words, merely a blurred voice sounding in her ear yet not heard.
At the next interval, everyone rises from their seats as again the music begins to play and voices fill the interior yet again. She makes an attempt yet after several moments she resigns herself and rises from her seat. Placing her coat over her arm, the hymnbook is left in her place as she follows the aisle between the pews to the entrance. She could not show faith tonight when it was not first in her mind.
Some beggars are huddled at the entrance, listening fervidly to the priest’s sermon and trying to rub their chilly hands to get warmth into their bones. They eye Anique as she approaches, rather hungrily, wondering if she’d have any money for them.
The doors embellished with a large silver cross each, painted of course, are easy to open. One just needs to turn the latch to push at it to go to the Church’s grounds.
Tall iron gates, tempered and wrought to a shiny midnight blue, stand at the entrance to the city’s main congregation of religion and worship. The insignia of the pious are placed upon the gates, emblazoned on twin metal discs. Paths of crushed white stones divide the expansive grounds into squares of lush green lined with squat bushes of lavender and lilacs. Great wisteria with their dark black boughs and delicate violet blossoms cover the lawn, provide awnings of cool shade to worshippers and visitors. The main path continues straight, circling around a large marble statue of the patron saint of the Church, its gray hand raised in a silent invocation of peace, before merging again towards the paneled wooden doors leading into the sacellum of the Sacred Heart.
Her steps falter and slow as she nears the door, noticing the look she receives from the poor souls standing in the doorway with the cold. They were better than she, showing a love despite their place in life and still they were here. Unable to merely walk past them, her expression looks troubled. Kneeling down to a little girl, her coat showing several holes and shivering, Anique appears to whisper in her ear and as she does so she presses several coins into the girls palm and closes it over them.
Rising then, the little girls face beaming up at her and the secret she’d just been told, Anique pushes at the door latch before the music had died down. Tugging her coat tightly about her, the folds fall about her skirts and enveloping her in warmth. She walks slowly, not intending to leave the grounds but to keep some semblance of the chill off before she was picked up.
He laughs the moment the doors of the church are shut, the radiance and warmth of the holiness within vanishing into the cold night. Mist clings to the stone edifices outside the church and upon the drooping branches of the wisteria that is planted in its grounds and mist clings its white tendrils to his form too.
Little light illuminate the dark grounds of the Cathedral; whatever light shines filters weakly from the lamps far upon the street, basking trees, statues and bushes into odd contortions of shadow.
The pale-haired man is leaning against a stone wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his own coat and he is looking at her now, his eyes enveloped in amusement that she has left Mass to venture out here, falling prey to her own curiosity.
Her eyes widen as she hears laughter, turning her head to the side first before her body follows the movement, letting her vision adjust for several moments. Did she actually hear it? Perhaps it came from inside although she could hear nothing coming from the doors now.
Turning away again to head down the path, Anique suddenly jumps at the presence of someone there. “Oh!” she gasps in shock, expelling a breath that can be seen in the cold night air. The mist clinging to Christian’s frame makes him appear as if he were a statue himself molded from a very detailed hand, menacing still in the dark shrouding them both. “You nearly frightened me to death!” She blurts out as she steps back, her nerves on edge as fear still clings to her.
The drizzle has ceased but the skies overhead are still a dull red and thick clouds shroud the wisp of a moon hanging almost desperately to a patch of dark sky. “Come, come.” He exults clearly with mirth in his voice, the ends of his lips curving upwards, the smile cold however. “Are you still afraid, fraulein?”
He comes nearer, just two steps before her, suddenly looking larger and taller, a shadow playing behind him now the clouds have shifted, causing more moonlight to shed its watery white patches onto the Grounds.
And as usual, his eyes are kept captivated on that cross she wears. It has never ceased to make him laugh; that paltry sign to avert evil.
“Well I wasn’t,” She responds, straightening out her coat and tugging it close to her body, anything to not have to look directly at him, to see the amusement her response elicited. She feels rather than sees him move closer and quickly she draws away another step, away from the feeling of being overwhelmed by his presence looming over her.
“Until now..” Her eyes rise, her head tilting to look up at him and notices where his attention is fixed. A shudder courses through her, possibly from the cold. More than likely it isn’t and her hand encircles the item in her palm. Pulling it over her head, she releases it from her neck, bringing with it the tumble of auburn over her shoulder. The chain dangles from her hand, removing the item that seems to hold such an interest to him. “I’m beginning to believe you prefer it that way.”
His pale fingers snake out to pluck the little ornament from her proffered hand; chuckling as he does that. “Why, fraulein, can I use this for?” He turns the cross over in his palm once more, back and fro. And then holds it back to her, the chain twisted roughly inbetween his fingers.
“Why are you back in this City?” He questions, edging closer less a lover, more a predator, his eyes glimmering green and his feet making even more strange sounds upon the soaked grass. It is obvious, his garnered interest in this mortal. The centuries have made him bored – and tedious. And he is lonely. Is that not excuse enough to toy with a kine so naively charming.
“And take this back, fraulein. Such pretty things only will do you good. I have no use for it.” His hand hovers above her face, the ruffles of his cuff shifting ever so faintly as he sways the crucifix in front of her eyes, the silver catching the pale moon rays as the object swings like a lazy pendulum.
Stopping the item in its sway as it rests in her palm, her fingers curl around it, the point on each end a digging reminder into her flesh. “You seemed fascinated by it, moreso than most.” She responds to his first question. Her brows furrow together to form a crease as she feels him move in. No person of manners would be so intrusive and she fights the urge to back away.
“I am here with my brother, I was not able to see the city during my last visit as I’m sure you are aware.” There was no obligation to explain her purpose here, yet the answer comes without second thought as he seems to stalk her, waiting for her to run in fright. Those eyes get the better of her, smaller than she already was and she begins to move away. Never before had another person made her feel so intimidated. Any presence of safety she felt was shattered and the dangerously thrilling idea of what may happen nags its way in the back of her mind, never allowed to surface to the front.
He lets the chain fall free, the cold metal chilled by the night air hitting her hand that has grasped it. Behind them, a bell rings softly from the inside, signifying the coming end of Mass. Have they been out here for thusly so long? The knowledge of a crowd pouring out from the Church does not sit well with Christian; there’s still more he wishes to do with this girl.
“Coming to Mass is not exactly seeing more of this City.” He cocks his head, stepping back swiftly away from Anique and draws his coat up, pulling the collar about his neck. “I do have a proposition for you; seeing how talented you were with your stories.”
He seems to have discovered her little lie or perhaps. Maybe this offer would intrigue her further.
The bells draw Anique’s attention, glancing at the doors and etching worry across her face. How many times had she been alone with this man now? Being caught by curious eyes was not something she wanted, especially with him towering over her. So close that she could not even correct his assumption that she’d only been to mass throughout the day.
“What proposition?” She eyes him warily, feeling slightly more secure as he draws away and she runs her hands over her arms, a biting chill seeping into the material to her skin. Those thoughts that had begun to creep their way into her conscious were quickly stamped down, making her world right again as she regards him from a safer distance.
Another bell rings, this time twice in succession. His head snaps back quickly to her and his eyes seemingly blaze green for a moment. “I am looking for another helper in the shop, someone who can scribe well. You have left quite the impression on me. Perhaps you might consider.” The pale man proposes, his gaze fixing on Anique. “I can pay you well; and in a few years’, you can save enough for your own shop.”
The doors of the Church creaked open, the people now walking on in hastened steps or short strolls now. Chatter filled the air as church guards hold high lamps and torches to guide the churchgoers back to the gates, the light banishing all the shadows of the late evening.
Two eyebrows arch in surprise, not expecting what he’d just offered her. Several thoughts come to mind, demanding to be taken note of as if a warning for her to take careful consideration. Her brother, who had always been protective and the idea that she wasn’t sure she could trust this man. How long had she wanted to be someplace new though?
Her thoughts were revealed in her expression, unknown to her. He’d inadvertently found something in her she kept to herself and her bottom lip is pulled into her mouth as she stares at him, searching hopefully as people move around them unnoticed. “I would love to accept your offer.” She admit, glances down the pathway, knowing her brother would be there soon to take her to the Inn. “I would have to speak with Nikolas of course, I’d be leaving him..”
Christian nods sharply, suddenly coming close as people push around them, some quite unhappy of the two’s obstruction of the way. And as he heards the guards of the Church come nearer, making sure the masses depart in an orderly manner, Christian leans forward, close to Anique so his whisper would be heard above the din in the Grounds.
“I will wait for the answer then, fraulein. You know where my shop is.” He retreats his presence after his words are done, the brightness of the lamps around them harsh on his form; surely the shadows would have made him look more inviting!
“Consider well. There are high expectations but the rewards, fraulein, are immense.” The pale man chuckles, his last sentence set to lure and captivate. Then he turns to go, melding so easily into the throng now as if he is never there.
Afraid Of The Dark II
The Visions of Clarity
To say Anique was lost would be an understatement, the City of Irae spanning before her was foreign yet compelling in its difference to the Darkhaven she was accustomed to. The guards, seeming to have noted her inexperience as she approached the gates, saw fit to interrogate her more than was necessary. Their amusement was evident as they questioned her before finally leaving her alone. She’d hoped to arrive sooner, wanting to avoid the lecture she may receive once she found her destination.
The fountain within the Corte came into view and it was here that seemed to be where the majority of activity was found. Several children were being pulled away by their parents as they splashed at the water playfully. Dusk had begun it’s descent over the horizon and worriedly, Anique hoped that she wouldn’t still be lost when the shadows fell to complete darkness. Her footsteps fell quietly, a parcel wrapped in brown paper held at her side, as she centered upon the fountain as her starting point.
A few guards garbed with crimson and gold tabards walk past Anique, their heavy boots resounding in unison on the pavement, their lances held high. These guards are not commonly sighted; only sent on their rounds by the Church’s second in command whilst the Cardinal is away on business.
Crosses embroider the corners of their vestments and their faces solemn. They stop for a moment, looking around and scouring the Corte for trouble. Trouble most kine would not understand but only these enrobed paladins could see. One of them, shorter then the rest of indomitable height, but taller than a common citizen, finds Anique an interest.
“A foreigner we have here?” He bespeaks in short, accentuated notes, shifting his lance to a less dexterous hand and bowing formally to her, a glimpse of a shining silver cross and chain seen within his buttoned up stiff collar. “Did you come here alone?”
Pausing in her step as the men pass her, her back stiffens immediately; worried that she will again be detained and questioned. She didn’t look like a common troublemaker out to thieve from pockets. Grasping the package more securely, holding it by the strings tied around it with both hands, she turns as she is addressed.
“Not completely alone, there are men waiting for me just outside the city.” Anique curtsies politely, rising cautiously. She had to tilt her head back to fully see the man before her. Noticing the marks of the Church, she smiles with obvious relief and lowers her head in a small bow of respect. “I am delivering an order here but I’m afraid I’m not sure where to start.”
The Church guard’s solemn face, set with a hard jaw, softens into a smile as the girl replies; she reminded him of his sister Esther. “Who are you looking for? I have time to help and you may call me Benedict.” The guard replaces the lance back his working hand and stands straight, saluting the girl slightly. “Lady Katherina will not punish me for being late to help someone lost.”
Benedict turns his head to see the rest of his comrades moving off on the next rounds to the Poor Quarters. A faint grimace cuts his lips; knowing he’d miss the action if they find a renegade.
“I am looking for the Visions of Clarity.” She responds, thankful for the offer of help and shifting the parcel to one side, she removes something from the pocket of her cloak. The single card given to her is all Anique has and she holds this out for the man, unable to read it herself now that the evening had begun and the lamps lighting the streets provided merely a glow by which to guide people.
Also noticing the men departing, her smile deepens a bit. “I’m sure if you point me in the right direction I should be alright. I won’t be in the city long.” The books had begun to weigh on her now and she lifts them up to rest more comfortably in her arm. “The man I spoke with did not state his name but the card says Christian von Karlach.”
A soft frown creases Benedict’s face as he bends down to peer at the card she is holding out in her hand as he bends down, his vestments crackling in their stiffness. The guard wore armor as well, a light silver plate over vulnerable parts of his body. “Lord Christian you are seeking?”
“He is new to the City; a month ago.” Benedict’s mailed hand barely brushes the tip of the card Anique is showing him and his hand lifts to point out the direction of the shop eastwards of the Corte. A building wrought almost in gray ice and gleaming copper window frames. “My sister Esther frequents his shop, albeit too often this week.”
His brow further creases with that frown and from around his neck, he pulls off the crucifix he is wearing and holds it out to her, “Take this miss, and be careful. When you go in there.”
Startled by his last words, her attention is pulled from the direction he’d pointed in to catch his eyes. The frown on his face confused her and the offering deepened a furrow between her brows at what meaning his words held. Replacing the card back into her pocket, her slender fingers encircle the crucifix to rest in her palm before placing her lips lightly to the cool surface and lowering it around her neck.
“I will be,” Anique promises, nodding her head in affirmation but there is a hint of question in her voice. Her gaze falls upon the shop for a moment, chewing her lip. “Thank you so much for your help. You have done me a great service. I’m afraid I would have wandered for hours without you.” She begins to turn in the direction of the building but pause gives way as his warning to be careful lingers. Anique turns halfway, pondering the question before she finally asks, “Should I be afraid of things that come with the night?”
Benedict chuckles, a hand reaching to pull back hair that the night wind has tousled, “It is always good to be fearful; that way you will keep out of danger and out of places which you should not be in.”
He thumps the end of his lance into the ground and salutes her again, taking a step back and bowing in the formal manner the guards of the Church are taught, with a knee bent at a small angle. “I have not met the Lord Christian but my sister speak extremely highly of his knowledge and expertise.” Benedict’s voice deepens to worry. “And his great friendliness.”
The guard waves to Anique and walks past her to where his comrades have vanished a while ago.
Anique nods in response and half waves at he departs, a thoughtful smile lingers upon his answer to her question. As she fingers the crucifix, she turns on a heel and heads toward the shop. It was not as far as she’d thought it might be and for that she is grateful.
Before entering, she tucks the chain beneath her blouse and reaches for the handle. He’d advised the books to be delivered at dusk so she didn’t think that it might be locked as it opened before her. Still, pulling the door partially closed behind her, she hesitates at the entrance.
The door is opened automatically. Wait, no, not automatically but by a hand and the tall figure of Christian von Karlach, his pale face half-marred by the shadows cast is before her. He does not loom ordinarily but his height seems almost made for that.
“Fraulein.” He begins in a soft voice, tinted with cold amusement, widening the door of his shop and bowing towards her, the soft folded clothe of his cravat swaying together with the dip of his head. “I will have to chasten your brother now for a allowing you to deliver these books alone in this City at night.”
He steps to aside, lifting up his arm in a gesture of welcome to guide her in, his head tilting towards her. “Come in then.”
Her pulse quickened at his sudden appearance, again overcome by his presence and the way she had to step back to see him. After having been warned by him beforehand about delivering his items herself, a corner of her mouth quirks guiltily and a shade of pink steals across her cheeks. His words were akin to her own father showing displeasure by her actions.
“I do apologize but it could not be helped.” Anique offers rather quickly, stepping inside as he gestured for her to do so. Both hands hold the package again, curled into her arms as she glances around the room she’d entered. “He was called away for some items he’s been waiting anxiously on. I don’t know what they were to be so important.” She turns toward Christian, her gaze falling upon him against her will. “I didn’t trust anyone to get them here intact.”
The inside of the shop is scented with exoticism; a mixture of rose and lavender oils drawing their fragrance across the tall shelves enshrouded. The dim lighting of the interior made it seem larger than it is; an illusion created by smoke and shadow. Some of the shelves are filled, some to half and some empty, darkness lurking in their unfilled corners and depths. The man in his immaculate clothing takes a long assessing look of Anique, a thin smile appropriating the occasion.
“That responsibility of yours is commendable, fraulein.” He crosses his arms atop his shirt and his eyes run over to the parcel she carries, “As you can see, my shop is quite the barren one for now and your delivery is much timely despite that traveling in here alone is not… a good thing.”
Christian lifts up his head lightly, eyeing her with a pointed peridot gaze, “The night is chilly, fraulein. Why do you hesitate to walk in? Are you afraid of the dark?”
That watchful eye again, his voice sounding to her almost like a challenge. Was she afraid of the dark? She’d never had a reason to be and was being rude by standing there. With that thought in mind, she moves further into his shop. “Your thoughtfulness moves me. I promise you I will not put myself in such a position for some time. The guards saw fit to ensure that much.” Letting her curiosity give way, she moved closer to the shelves that did have titles among them.
As her eyes run along the lines, she takes a moment to consider his question. “The dark here seems to me a bit more menacing than the streets of Darkhaven.” She turns to regard him, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. “Your items my Lord.” She murmurs softly, gesturing to the package she held and in her movement, the glint of the crucifix is visible for a mere second.
“I saw you speaking with one of them.” Christian remarks with a hint of perhaps a threat in his voice, that he is all knowing, all seeing? Or that he merely enjoys making her uncomfortable. Stretching out his hands, he takes the proffered parcel from Anique and his eyes narrow before dilating into inward mirth at the sight of the holy cross about her neck. “You’re afraid of the dark, aren’t you, fraulein?”
He turns his back to her, the coattails of his velvet outer garment flapping slightly with each glide of his feet where he undoes the parcel immediately with deft fingers, whilst continuing the conversation. “That is a pretty cross you wear.”
Slender eyebrows arch in surprise for a moment, unsure of what he speaks of before her fingers find the item nestled against her skin. Her fingers toy with it again as she looks down upon it. “Thank you, perhaps if you see the guard named Benedict you can tell him so. It was given to me by him.” Her voice is almost a whisper as he asks her again if she afraid of the dark.
Releasing the item from her grasp, she takes the moment he is turned away to let her gaze take in the full height of him from the hue of his hair to the hem of his pants. His question seemed to call up a defensive response in her and she chews her lip nervously. There was no reason for her to remain now that her task was done. “I suppose I am. I believe you were the one who warned me of such things.”
“The Church is sometimes too nosy for their own good. And Benedict,” Christian returns to Anique’s side, holding two of the books from her shop, an ice-edged smile on his lips. “He is interesting. I have oft seen him opposite this shop, staring for hours straight, unbending, unflinching.”
The pale-haired man orientates himself to look upon Anique full, placing one of the books under his arm so one hand is now free. That hand he reaches to Anique and lifts up the crucifix slightly from her, letting the silver catch the diffused light of the shop’s inside. He stares at it humorously, turning the tiny cross around to look at the back before dropping it back upon her hollow of her neck. “You must have struck fancy with him for he to give you something from the Church’s own private blessings.”
A smile crosses her lips, softening her features. “I believe he is merely protecting his sister. He mentioned that she frequents your shop regularly,” she begins before inhaling sharply at the sudden closeness of him, his fingers cold against the warm flush of her skin.
“Perhaps I reminded him of her…” She whispers, her blue-green eyes flying up to meet his as he releases it. Her hand covers the spot where the crucifix lie, warming the material beneath her palm and attempting to steady the heartbeat she could hear thundering in her ears.
Christian turns his back to her, walking to the first empty bookshelf and places the two books he has there, holding them upright with two straight pale fingers. Then, Christian looks over his shoulder at the girl, “His sister enchants me for long nights with her stories. She is quite the storyteller, young Esther.”
His eyes close slightly, like a cat readying to nap and yet still mindful of its surroundings. “Did you tell the good guard a story to obtain that holy gift from him?”
Anique was sure that it would be questionable, a young girl alone with a man in the evening yet she had not questioned the purpose of such visits from the guards sister. Afterall, she was here wasn’t she? “Telling stories for ones favor would not suit a man of the church.” Her brows furrow at the insinuation he makes. Alone with a man at night, the question of what she was still doing here presented itself, and she cast her eyes downward for a moment. “It was your name actually that acquired me such a gift.” Her gaze does not falter now; asking him silently why the crucifix was deemed needed to protect her.
Christian indulges her with a quiet smile and he appears to exhale shallowly as Anique mentions that his name brought her the bestowed gift. The man does not answer; and he returns to the pile of books on the table, picking up two more and lowering his gaze to her as he approaches Anique once more.
The shadows in his shop seems to deepen, like puppets jerking in a slow erotic dance with each other, twisting and gyrating with the sweet-smelling smoke from the censers around. “Telling stories can earn different favors. A favor to stay alive, a favor to gain a gift. Can you tell stories, fraulein?”
“I suppose I could.” Anique blinks, her gaze focusing upon Christian as her senses are assaulted. “Is it a story you seek?” The sound of his movements, the scent of incense, the sudden dryness of her mouth, and the feeling of such insignificance under that watchful gaze only deepens as the room becomes more ominous than welcoming. He seemed to quietly challenge her at every word. “What am I doing here?” She asks, abruptly covering her mouth at having said such a thing aloud.
His eyes seem to twinkle at the sight of the crucifix she wears, the tiny pathetic symbol of superstitious protection that is supposed to shield her from the denizens of the night. And he edges closer, shadows upcurling his form but not seen to Anique, the scent of vitae enchanting.
“Tell me a story, fraulein.” It is not a threat and one would detect an ion of intrigue in his words and so close to her jaw now he murmurs slowly but no breath comes from his mouth. “Now.”
A shudder courses through Anique’s frame upon that word, fear finally consuming her although no cause had been made. Her eyes close as she feels the need to back away from him yet unable to do so. How little she knew of the actual world, her knowledge coming from the books she made her life upon. She wets her lip, her mouth opening with the intent of bidding him goodnight. It does not happen. Instead, she does as she is told. Anique tells him a story.
A story of a judge who married out of necessity rather than love. Of a wife bearing two children, a son and a daughter. And upon the daughters sixth year of life, was taken away by a son who was cast out by their father when he learned of his wives affairs. The story of a daughter who upon her father’s death received everything and as repayment for her brother’s harsh treatment, gave it over to him with the belief that her father, in his grief, sought to make amends.
As she tells him the story he wants, Christian’s pale fingers reach to push the locks of auburn from her jaw and her neck, the soft strands looking fiery in the lamps hung above them. So stark against the white of his skin and so alive.
“Continue.” He insists quietly whenever he felt she seems to draw breath and pause; his chest pressing against her shoulder softly and he could feel the drum of her mortal heart now so close. Fangs emerge from his mouth now he comes near, dipping his head in an angle towards the fair skin of her neck.
He lets the books in his hands fall onto the ground, each one a silent thud muted by the shadows he commands. His hand grasps her shoulder, dragging her nearer in a lover’s embrace, breaking that skin with the sharp tips till dark sweetness wells up to his mouth.
Anique’s eyes fly open, jerked from the haze of her storytelling and a rush of air is dragged into her lungs. A lover’s touch, one as she had never felt in her existence, caresses her being. Her hands rise to clutch at Christian, her head tilting to the side. Whether to provide or withdraw is unknown as more of her neck is exposed.
That held breath releases itself, a sigh mingled upon a soft moan and her hands slide over the material of his arms as she is pressed into him. Her eyes close languidly; the room swimming through her suddenly blurred vision and the thought that she might faint from the overwhelming sensations occurs to her.
He takes care not to drink much, sensing much innocence this body contained and he takes a final sip, the crimson wetness slathering itself over his questing tongue like honey overrun. He pays no attention to the rapture of her response to the unholy kiss he has lavished her neck with. “Ah, fraulein, sie schmecken wie honig.” He lifts his head to whisper into her ear and circles his tongue over the two tiny wounds upon her neck, closing them off.
There is no blood trickle or stain; when he does feed, he does it cleanly. And once satiated, the pale man straightens himself, arranging a lock of hair over her shoulder.
It takes a moment for the realization to dawn upon her, hands withdrawing from him as she takes a step back. Staring at him through confused eyes, her fingers curl about her neck. The arousing affect of his actions began to dim and she turned pensively inward.
“I should go.” She whispers, her fingers brushing over the useless crucifix as she lowers her hand. Wondering when her story had stopped, she did not even remember how she’d ended it. “The men waiting will wonder why I’ve taken so long to return.”
“I have forgotten your payment, have I not, fraulein?” Christian smiles quietly, reaching into his coat pocket and drawing out a small pouch of gold coins. He holds it out to her, “For the books, fraulein and your diligence in bringing them here.”
“A guard should be around to walk you to the gates. Or shall I hail a cab for you to bring you there? It is a chilly walk.” The man crosses a few steps to open up the shop’s door for Anique, the satiation of blood welding a smile of pleasure on lips. “What shall it be?”
Her hand extends as she receives the pouch, nodding her head and mouthing a thank you. She felt flushed, her flesh paling under the lights as she neared the door. “I’ll wait for a guard. I am suddenly not feeling very well, perhaps the cool air will help.” She smiles upon the man before she departs, “Good luck with your store, I’m sure it will do well,” Anique offers.
A guard was indeed within the court and upon seeing her began to make his way in her direction. As her steps took her from the shop, she took a parting glance over her shoulder, confusion evident as her eyes raked over the building before she pushed it aside and was gone.
Afraid of the Dark
A Bookstore owned by the D’Estelle family
From the outside, it looked like nothing more than an empty bookstore, settled in between various other shops that had been locked up and deserted long before. The lights still lit from within cascaded onto the walkway even though the store was closed as dusk had fallen. The door remained open as well, the breeze cooling the otherwise stale air and mingled with the scent of ink and parchment.
Great care had been placed into the workmanship within. The inside was clean, the wood floors polished and the shelves built from the walls when the building was made, were well light so that customers could view the titles easily. Colorful runners had been placed upon the floor of every row, each one depicting scenes from different stories, fairy tales and legends.
A desk was placed unobtrusively in the back, and an elaborate design that was found throughout the store was carved into the edges. Here a female sat there, oblivious once again that she had not closed anything up, and held an open journal in one hand and the end of a pen held between her teeth. She glanced up briefly, noticing for the first time that the streets were now dark. With a shrug, her attention is absorbed once again into the pages before her. She could always lock up in another five minutes.
The door, already ajar, is pushed further by a gloved hand. A man steps in, his boots making soundless contact with the floor of the bookshop. And if not for the creak of the door’s hinges, his entrance would have been missed.
He stays at the doorway, lingering for a while before he walks fully in, his hands moving fluidly to shut the shop’s door behind him. The miasma of scents within the shop indulge his senses and he could perceive more than just books and scrolls in this place.
The door closing startles the girl and the journal is dropped upon the floor, the fresh ink having been written only moments ago smears on the pages and the floor as it lands facedown. She rises fully from her seat, eyeing him cautiously before speaking. Only a person up to no good would be out this late.
“Sir, I’m afraid that we’re-“ Her words stop as the voice of her brother nags at her about the importance of seeing to customers regardless of the hour. It wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten to close on time. Retrieving the book from the floor, she regards him for a moment and with a sigh of resignation she addresses him. “May I help you with something?”
He gives her a silver of a smile as he is regarded, divesting himself of his gloves and bows formally to the young woman, the folds of the shirt he wore beneath his coat crinkling.
“I would gladly like help.” He begins in a slow, halting tone, his eyes, the color indiscernible, shifting to run a faintly interested gaze on the books arranged neatly upon shelves.
The languid look reverts back to back to the woman and his fingers shift, holding his gloves in one hand. “Would this shop have any books of rare quality for sale?” He inquires, his attention fully dwelling on her now and the color of his eyes seem to waver and portray a dark green gleam now he steps into a stripling of light that has splayed across the shop’s floor.
The woman smiles in response to the question posed, her chin dipping in response to greeting as she half curtsies. She picks up several books placed upon a table earlier, tucking them in her arm as she comes forward. A move that made her feel small as she came within several feet from the man.
“Quality I can assure you of. My brother prides himself upon his taste.” Stepping back for a moment, she tries to gather what he may be interested in. “Rare depends on how much time you’d like to spend this evening.” Her eyes seem to request more from him as they fasten upon his. “If you’d prefer to tell me what you seek, I can have them delivered to you tomorrow.”
The only thing that moves about him would be his gaze and it does, traveling with her motions as she selects one book after another; as if he could read the titles as she picks them out. “Delivery would be an asset if my purchase is large.” He speaks with a small hint of pleasure towards her, drawing in the focused look in her eyes towards his own dark green ones. There is a delicate scent about her that he found endearing, amidst the musky familiarity of books and tomes.
“I do not have a preference as long as they are rare and there is a variety of topics covered.” The man entreats her, pivoting slightly to glance over her head, his fingers lacing in a hypnotic fashion into each other. “Would you have a table where I can peruse these books you’ve selected?”
It takes her several moments to pull herself away from that gaze, finding something curious about the way they remained upon her. It would have been extremely unsettling if it weren’t the voice the seemed to fall about her. Blinking for a moment, she nods in response, not trusting herself to answer after she’d rudely stood there for a few moments staring.
She turns from him, gesturing with her palm outward toward a table away from the windows where others could see. As she moves, the lamplight cast streaks of gold through the auburn hue of her hair before she turns toward him again. “I can look for others while you take a look, please take your time.” Intending to give him quiet, she steps away from the table so he may be seated after she places the books down. “You may call me Anique if you need anything.”
His invitation to her comes equally as fast as she provides her name to him. “Then come sit by me, fraulein.” He makes short steps towards the furniture she has pointed out to him and stops by the table, dipping his head and lowering his eyes upon Anique. “So you may tell me what these books each harbor and that you know their secrets more than I would.”
If the girl had been observant, she would have noticed Christian’s edging away from the lamp as he finds his way to the table, and a certain flickering of shadows across the side of his body nearest to the light. He waits by the table’s edge now, not at all looking at the books stacked by him but straight at the young woman.
Anique smiles wistfully as she glances at the books, knowing full well what contents they held, unaware of the man’s lack of attention to them until she glances up and again finds his gaze upon her. A chill runs down her spine, both frightening and thrilling at once as she again pulls her gaze away, unable to withstand the feeling of being read like the pages before them.
“Perhaps I have not read them.. or there are no secrets at all.” Returning to the table, she caresses a slender finger over the cover of a book and pulls the lamplight closer to her so that it is away from the pile. Turning the handle on the side the bright glare of the flame within is dimmed, both of them now cast in a softer form. “I would be happy to sit with you though and find them.”
The man’s movements startle as the light diminishes in its radiance but he feels more comfortable now. He undoes his coat, shrugging it off now like a river of night and pulls the garment over the back of his chair.
His hands hold onto the corners of the chair’s back, crumpling his coat a little. He says nothing and merely offers her that silver of a smile again before sitting and picking the first book off the pile.
“How long have you worked here?” The man asks, now his gaze no longer lavishes itself on her but on the writing of the first page he has turned to. He flips the book with utmost care, his fingers almost willing the pages to move by themselves. The light and shadows in the shop cut a odd weave across his profile, accentuating his features and making them look as if a master has chiseled them from ice.
The question contains simple interest and has always been his attempt at conversation with the various owners of the bookshops he visited, this one as well. It is a good thing he has fed on a wanderer sleeping by the road on his way here. Most other owners he visited ended up unwell the day after.
She seats herself beside him, the material where her dress is gathered at the back falling neatly in a cascade of light blue. Her attire was not that of a store worker, her features more delicate and without the harsh lines of someone who labored. “I grew up here.” The answer is simple enough without giving too much away. “This store belongs to my brother, Nikolas D’Estelle. You’d have met him tonight instead if you’d arrived a bit earlier. “ She watches in interest at the care he takes, wonderingly.
”Why would he let his sister man a shop thus so late at night?” The man smiles wonderingly, shaking his head a little perhaps at the brother’s negligence of his sister’s safety. “There are things that come with the night and are not exactly welcome.” Christian ends, drawing back her glance with eyes suddenly green like rain-soaked grass and he lifts his head to take a very swift observance about the shop. It does not look to him that this family is a superstitious one and he felt no barricade and could enter freely.
“You are not afraid of the dark, fraulein?” He strokes the cover of the book set infront of him with long fingers and shuts it with a mute thud. “Few women have the bravery to sit here in the night alone.”
She laughs softly, the sound a mixture between amusement and nerves. “Things that come with the night are bound to be trouble. Should you then be unwelcome?” She inquires, the teasing gesture of a smile faltering as he turns his attention toward her.
“I have found far worse things in those books than I have from being alone in the dark. There is no fault to Nikolas though, I should have closed the store quite some time ago.” Her eyes lower to his hands before glancing toward the door, assuring herself that it was now closed. “My ‘bravery’ can be summed up in forgetfulness. I prefer this time when I can write and candlelight seems a much more intimate setting.”
Anique quiets suddenly, her eyebrows furrowing at the man seated beside her in confusion. What on earth compelled her tell him that? She was unable to find a flaw in any part of him. He seemed to her in that moment a living statue of sorts and she was telling him things that could put herself in danger.
Her replies to his question were amusing enough to elicit a laugh from Christian, shattering the ice about him, rendering the man a touch of simple humanity. He leans back against his chair, his back meeting the soft layers of his coat, noticing her withdrawal. “There are worse things that could come out in the night and written of in books.” He corrects her in a gentle fashion without slight or derision, his hands moving like a puppeteer to will the next book upon the pile before him
He takes one look at the cover and shakes his head, turning and leaning at an angle close to Anique, “Does this shop have fairytales?”
“Fairytales lie on the carpets and are etched into the very woodwork, Sir.” She remarks, his laughter pulling her out of her own thoughts. “You speak as if you know of such things,” She murmurs, “I should wonder exactly who you are..” Her tone might not have been heard if she were not seated right beside him.
Instead of moving toward the shelves again, she instead goes behind the counter and retrieves a volume with silver lettering along the spine. Placing it down before him, she seems uncertain but considering the topic at hand, it felt appropriate. “People do not want to read tales when the prince on the white horse does not win. The darker side of fairytales perhaps?” She seats herself again and waits for his response before speaking of the book itself.
“And your shop has such tales of horror?” Christian replies in amusement, a little intrigued by the young woman’s effrontery in recommending other books rather than the ones he wanted. In one silken motion, his pale fingers trace across the silver lettering on the book she has put before him, shadows pooling wrymlike underneath his fingers. His smile is of quiet pleasure the moment he comes to the end of the metallic title, “Why would you offer me this, fraulein?”
She appears caught off guard by his questions and she tilts her head in thought. Perhaps she had misjudged his interests, she sincerely doubted it after having spent her life finding what people wanted but there was a chance. “We don’t usually. They came with a shipment last week and I was supposed to get rid of them. Should you want it, you may have it.”
Shrugging her shoulders as if it were of no importance, Anique leans back in the seat. This time her gaze searches out his, “I’ve offered it for the same reason you warned me of things that come from the night. You asked for a fairytale and I have given you one. It is the same as you would find upon the shelf aside from the ending. There is always a choice of what is good and evil in every fairytale is there not? If it is not what you’d prefer, you merely have to decline.”
“You can read my mind, fraulein?” The brazen temerity in her voice is close to obvious and it merely sends him into another laughing fit, albeit in his own mind while the face he possesses is clad in a charmed smile. Mortals never ceased to amuse him to no end, with their impatience and need to get things over and completed. “I would not decline such a sincere offer from you.” Christian sits up, a spark of gravity in his eyes now lightening to a peridot. “How does this tale end? If I find gratifying enough, I will buy it from you at twice its value.”
He does not tell her the ‘if not’ and his mouth relinquishes into a smooth line, awaiting her rendition.
She appears surprised by his question, “Read your mind? No, I apologize. I suppose I assumed and I shouldn’t have.” The truth was, Nikolas would be furious if he knew she hadn’t listened to him so she could read it herself.
“It is much like a normal love story. Curses, deceit, secrets, things that shouldn’t exist other than the pages of a book. There is the maiden, her lover, and the one who seeks to destroy it. She is taken to achieve her captors own means but instead of being rescued by her loved one and living happily ever after.. she chooses to stay with one who stole her away.”
As Anique finishes, her mouth turns upward slightly, now even more unsure than before after having told it. “I suppose it’s made for young girls like myself who prefer stories over.. other things.” Anything to change the topic now she asks, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Not all young women prefer such an ending to their stories.” Christian replies, patient till end to her declaration that she does not like ‘other things’. He would not be such a difficult customer; after all, he’s only here to buy new books for his own shop.
“Before that drink, what else can you show me?” His eyes drift to the rest of the dark shelves behind Anique and he rises up from his chair, the lamplight dousing the front of his body, igniting fiery tiny flames in the rubies of the dragons’ eyes of his cravat clasp. “Anything else, perhaps of more mundane nature other than rare. These ones you have selected, I will buy them and your book of faerie tales as well.”
“You’re right which is probably why I was told to get rid of it.” Anique responds, having withdrawn slightly to wonder. “After seeing so many of the same, I suppose it was interesting just to find something different.”
She watches him rise, taking a moment before doing so herself and telling herself not to talk so much. Taking a breath, she glances over the store now that shadow had fallen among most of the corners and aisles between the shelves. “There is a bit of everything, you are more than welcome to look if you like.” Her hands clasp behind her back as she stands, stretching slightly before looking for titles as he’d asked.
She does not seem so forthcoming and eager now and he shakes his head, eyeing the books placed on the table. “These will do.” Licking on a lower lip, the man withdraws a small card of black thick parch from his coat’s pocket and offers it to Anique.
White lettering marks the card he holds out to the girl; upon it printed in cursive handwriting, the name ‘Christian von Karlach’ and in smaller font, the address of a shop in the City of Irae.
Accepting the card handed to her, she reads over it and smiles softly to herself. It was strange to her that he did not introduce himself and not once had he addressed her by her name after she spoke it. The entire encounter seemed less than normal but perhaps that was because at this time she was without the company of a stranger.
She smiles at him however, closing the card in her palm. “Do you need them by a certain time? I’m sure when my brother returns, he would like to meet you since it seems you own a store of your own.” Her voice is soft and again she finds herself drawn to his movements, her expression openly curious.
“At dusk is the best.” Christian advises her promptly, perhaps already anticipating her question. “The journey from this town to the city where my shop is situated might take you two days on the trade trail.”
He returns her smile with a polite one of his own before easing his fingers underneath the collar of his coat and stripping it from the chair, “If your brother sends you on this delivery, I would be much surprised and would not hesitate to chasten him for negligence.”
Pulling the coat over his form till fitting, the man takes leave of the table’s vicinity, and the girl, the Beast in him bristling now it is denied for once, a taste of blood.
