Nevermore (Nevermore #1)

Nevermore (Nevermore #1) Page 80

“You live here?”

A heavy wind rushed by, causing the leafy heads of enormous, ancient-looking trees to swish back and forth. The sun poked through the clouds, lighting the very center of the court where a huge fountain stood, much larger than the one outside her own neighborhood. Isobel cranked her window down. Crisp autumn air flooded in, chilling her face. She leaned out to get a better look at the fountain as they passed. Water poured from all sides of an enormous green basin, creating a curtain around an elevated base surrounded by graceful swans and solemn-faced cherubs. The rushing water of the fountain created a gentle hushing, the only other sound besides the hum of the Cougar’s engine.

At the very top of the fountain, a statue of a voluptuous nude woman looked down on them as they passed. She held a swath of fabric that clung to the lower half of her body and appeared to billow out behind her in a suspended arc.

The car rounded the fountain and headed down the other side of the court. Isobel turned her head, leaning forward to see through his window. A cast-iron lion grimaced at her from atop a stone pedestal. Two rows of ceremonial-looking gas lamps lined either side of the median, all lit with live flames that flickered within their glass holders. Another gentler brush of wind ran through the court, releasing a flurry of a thousand tiny yellow leaves. They fluttered downward, the light catching on their bellies, lighting them up like flecks of gold.

She knew they had to be in one of the oldest parts of town, somewhere in the historic district. It was a part of the city she’d always known existed, but one she’d never had reason to visit before now.

“It’s beautiful here,” she whispered, unable to decide which window of the car held the best view.

The houses themselves were incredible, each practically a castle in its own right, their facades done up in decorative brickwork and tiling, their fronts accented with small porches, porticos, and verandahs, the perimeters of which were set by carved stone pillars. Some of the homes had balconies, while others had rounded turrets with pointed rooftops. As they passed one gray-toned fortress of a home built completely of stone, Isobel thought she could make out tiny faces set into the facade, their mouths open in an O shape, their eyebrows angled down in fearsome scowls.

“What are those?” she asked, pointing.

“The faces? They’re called ‘green men,’” he said, slowing the car to a crawl so she could get a better look. “They’re a type of goblin or gargoyle. Protectors. They’re supposed to ward away evil.”

Isobel focused on one of the stone faces, which struck her as being different from the rest. While this green man shared the stern and foreboding expression of his comrades, his eyes, large and almond-shaped, seemed to convey more of a silent dare than a ward-away glower. And where the other faces had leafy beards, gaping mouths, and distorted features, this face bore a smooth and almost human look.

They picked up speed again, and Isobel looked away.

“I can’t believe you live here,” she said, shaking her head, unable and perhaps unwilling to mask the envy in her voice. He said nothing as they pulled up to an enormous redbrick home, simple only in comparison to the others that surrounded it. Varen shifted the car into reverse and backed into an open slot on the street.

Isobel stared up at the house. It had three levels, the topmost of which she thought might be an attic. The roof met in a peak there, with a little subroof sticking out from underneath the first, framing a rectangular, three-paneled window crosshatched by white Xs.

A small concrete porch led up to the front door, shaded by a simple verandah, which was itself supported by a row of painted white pillars. The front door, done in an opaque gold stained-glass design, shimmered a satiny dim yellow in the late afternoon sunlight.

Varen switched the car off and got out. Isobel got out too, careful not to tip the bag of food. She watched him over the hood of the car as he stepped back to survey the driver’s-side of the Cougar, frowning. Before she could say anything he looked away, walking to the rear of the car to open the trunk. They gathered their things and headed down the sidewalk, Varen picking through his keys.

“So where are your parents?” Isobel asked as he let them in.

“Out,” he said. “Who knows? They won’t be back until late. Some benefit auction event or something.” As they entered, their footsteps echoed against the polished wood floor. Isobel craned her head, awed at the incredible height of the ceiling. Someone must like old-fashioned boats, she thought, her eyes finding first the model of what she thought might be a schooner, perched on a long hallway table, and then a large painting depicting an old-time ship being tossed around on a stormy sea.