Noxx's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

The ship touched the glowing shore. A castle rose above the water, its spires tangled in thick black roots. On the stone steps, a family waited for them. Vesper took her hand and climbed toward them. His mother stood first, her white hair falling long past her shoulders. Beside her stood a girl, perhaps fifteen, with white hair in a neat braid and a gown as pale as frost. Behind them loomed a hooded figure in a ragged black robe, a scythe resting in one bone-thin hand. "My mother, Moira," Vesper said. "My sister, Lillith. And my father." He nodded to the hooded shape. "Mortis Grimm." Noxx bowed her head. Moira studied her with pale, hollow eyes. "You crossed the veil for him," the banshee said. Her voice carried an echo, as if two people spoke at once. "Few of the living would." She did not smile, but she did not frown either. Lillith stepped forward and touched Noxx's sleeve with cold fingers. "Your gown is beautiful," the girl whispered. The reaper said nothing. He only tilted his hood, and Noxx felt the weight of eyes she could not see. A bell rang somewhere deep in the castle. Vesper's shoulders dropped. "The throne calls," he said. "My people gather at dusk. I must hear them alone. It is the law here." He turned to Noxx. "I cannot take you in. I am sorry." Noxx watched him go. The great doors swallowed him. His family drifted back inside, and she stood alone on the steps with her bat on her cloak. The gray sky held no sun to mark the time. She had no book, no task, no way to fill the empty hours. She felt the old smallness creep back. Then Lillith reappeared at the door. "You don't have to wait like a statue," the girl said. She held out her pale hand. "Come. I'll show you the garden." Noxx hesitated, then followed. The garden grew behind the castle, black roses blooming under cold light. Moira waited there among the thorns. "My son chose well," the banshee said. She handed Noxx a pair of shears. "Cut one. The dead cannot, but the living can." Noxx cut a single black rose. It did not wilt in her hand. Lillith laughed, and the sound was warm, not ghostly. For the first time since crossing the veil, Noxx forgot to be afraid. She spoke with them of HallowMere, of her magic, of Vesper. The hours did not drag. They passed like water. When the doors opened at last, Vesper found her laughing in the garden with his mother and sister. He stopped and stared. Noxx met his eyes and held up the black rose. She had not waited for him. She had found her own place in his home.