Nevermore (Nevermore #1)

Nevermore (Nevermore #1) Page 131

Isobel’s attention zoned in on those doors. From what she could tell, besides the open window, they looked to be the only way into or out of the room. They probably connected to another colored chamber, she thought. She wondered if she would be able to find some way to get to them from where she was now if she continued down the same passage. If she found her way to those doors, would they be unlocked? After all, even if she could knock out all the glass from the stained-glass window, it would still be too narrow for a person to fit through.

“Funny as it sounds,” Pinfeathers said, “you, of all people, confuse me the most in this. I thought this was exactly what you wanted.”

“It was.”

“But now you’ve changed your mind.”

Varen did not answer.

“Or rather, I should say, she changed your mind. The cheerleader. Well, anyway, that’s why you’re in so much trouble, I’ll tell you that. Too many admirers and not enough that’s admirable.” There was a long beat of silence in which Pinfeathers strode to stand between the curtains. Arms folded, he stared out. “She is lovely, though, isn’t she?” he continued.

“Especially when she gets angry. But you already knew that. Of course, they’re both lovely. And in such different ways. You know, though, I should probably warn you right now that you and I—seeing as what we are—well, we’re bound to have similar tastes. Then again, that’s an odd thing for me to say, because the cheerleader isn’t much in your tastes at all, is she?”

“Shut up.”

“And I think that’s part of it. You know—together we seem to have a real problem with wanting things we just can’t have. Only now you’ve got it all. Apparently, it’s more than you can handle.”

“I said, shut up.”

“Though it might cheer you up to know that she is strong. Or at least she’s got it strong for you. And I mean you. I have to admit, it makes me more than a little jealous. But you have to wonder if—are you listening to me?”

“No.”

Pinfeathers sighed. “Your dismal moods bore me.”

“Then go away,” Varen said.

“I think I might. Perhaps I’ll go check on our friend again. Tap, tap, tap on his chamber door once more before we carry him out to finish the job. Heh. Though a word to the wise for you. The Mistress returns soon, and between then and now, I think I would change my mind about doing what she asks. At least, I would if I were you. Ha-ha! If I were you—get it?”

Isobel watched as Pinfeathers transformed again. He shrank, contorting, his wiry frame turning murky through wisps of violet until he emerged once more as a large black bird. His dry laugh morphed into a croaking cackle. Then he flapped his wings and, circling the room once, shot through the curtained window.

When he was gone, Isobel moved the tripod torch aside and positioned herself in front of the stained glass. “Varen,” she whispered.

His gaze turned slowly toward her. Through the diamond-shaped chink, his black eyes met with hers. His face, so white, so drawn, seemed like that of a ghost.

“Varen?” she called again, this time louder. “Varen, it’s me. It’s Isobel.”

“Isobel,” he said simply, his voice a monotone.

“Yes. It’s me.”

“Isobel is gone,” he said, turning to stare into the fireplace. The fading embers within cast a low orange glow across his face. “I told her to take the door in the woodlands.”

“No. I didn’t leave. I wouldn’t. Not without you. Please. How do I get inside?”

“You can’t,” he mumbled, “even if you were real.”

“Varen. Look at me. I am real. I came to find you. It’s me—I can prove it.”

All at once, the screams started again. Muffled, long howls of anguish grew louder, accompanied this time by a barrage of brutal banging. Her heartbeat tripling, Isobel looked in the direction of the hellish racket. It was coming from the next chamber over. For a moment, despite its rawness, she thought she recognized the voice, and it spread a sick dread through her.

Brad.

But that was impossible. How could he be here?

Isobel looked back to the window and started, her heart leaping almost painfully in her chest. Varen was there, standing before the mottled stained-glass pane that separated them.

Through the open chink, his black eyes rested on her. His bruised face, wan and void of emotion, seemed almost alien in the dim light.

“You’re a dream,” he said, “like everything else.”