Chapter 10
932 Words
10
With the note in hand, Sam arrived at the impressive gate of the Fickle Estate. With rows of windows and a small fountain in the front, the grand mansion dwarfed any of the neighbouring houses. Sam double checked the address, but she was at the right place.
She gathered a breath in preparation and rubbed her hands together before she rang the bell. The pebbled driveway leading up the estate was so long she couldn’t even hear the bell, but only seconds later, the door was swung open by an elderly man. He limped his way to Sam, his walking cane leaving dimples into the pebbles. With a friendly smile, he paused in front of the gate.
“Finnegan Finley Fickle?” Sam asked.
“Yes?” he croaked, the dark mole above his upper lip dancing. A noteworthy feature that she committed to memory.
“I’m Samantha Rain, Warden to Clan IF. Could I come in and ask you some questions?”
He leaned forward, his beady eyes scanning the street. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm… Miss, umm…”
“Rain.”
“Miss Rain.” Fickle chuckled awkwardly. “I’d like to see some identification, please. I can’t just let anyone into my estate.”
Samantha froze. “Right, of course. Identification… Identification…”
Fickle flashed his eyes. “You don’t have any yet. Is this your first job, Miss Rain?”
“Yes. No. Yes.”
“Your Night Mark will suffice.”
“What?”
“Your Night Mark. The mark of your familiar.”
With shaking hands, Sam rolled up her sleeve, wondering what this would prove. The blue mark underneath wasn’t visible to her, but from what she remembered, the Nox could see it regardless of the time of day.
Fickle gestured for her to come closer and stupidly enough, Sam stuck her arm through the metal bars of the gate.
Rookie mistake.
As soon as she’d done it, she regretted it. Panic tightened her chest, her reflexes not quick enough to pull her hand back before he grabbed hold of her.
With caged breath, she waited as he rubbed his finger over her skin, teasing the slight scar leftover from Shadow’s bite.
Multiple scenarios flashed through her head, all strengthened by the stories she used to hear from visiting prison guards. If he pulled her arm, she’d be smacked against the gate. If he twisted it the wrong way, he could break it. If—
Fickle released her arm, seemingly unaware of her turmoil, and Sam quickly pulled it back. She rubbed her wrist, trying to steady her breathing. She’d only been a year off duty and she was already rusty.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her composure. “I can return later with identification, if you prefer. My apologies, Lilith didn’t mention I’d need it.”
“Lilith?” he echoed, his voice rising. “I see we have a friend in common.”
Sam frowned. Friend?
“Well… If you’re one of Lilith’s…” Fickle reached forward to unlock the gate and with a click, the metal contraption swung open. “Please, come in, Miss Rain.”
A little suspicious, Sam stepped forward. She crossed the boundary of his estate and the noise of the city fell away, overtaken by a type of silence that only the countryside provided.
How strange.
With shrieking hinges, the gate swung back in its lock and a shiver ran down Sam’s back. All her senses were pinging and alarm bells were ringing in the back of her head. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in a position to do anything about them.
Maybe she should have listened instead of meddling in Pixie affairs, but she drew some comfort from the realisation that if it wasn’t safe to visit Fickle on her own, Lilith wouldn’t have let her.
The gravel crunched under her shoes, a stark contrast with the soft breeze rustling through the surrounding trees. She was certain there hadn’t been this much wind on the street, but it didn’t make sense for the weather to be different just on his estate.
She threw one last wistful look back at the street before she followed Fickle into his mansion, hoping and praying that wouldn’t be the last sunlight she’d see in a while.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” her host welcomed her. He hung his cane on a rack with skull head knobs and ventured further into the marbled hall, his limp suspiciously gone.
Sam carefully stepped forward, her footsteps echoing into the open space. The beautiful tiles and stoic columns that framed the grand staircase were magnificent and almost distracted from the strange bits and bobs scattered around the place. Almost.
She couldn’t help but notice the bronze sculpture of just the lower half of a person or a strange collection of black feathers and marbles sitting in a glass bowl. None of that compared to the row of portraits on the wall that all missed their left eye and the teeth dangling from the beautiful, golden chandelier instead of crystals.
She gulped, trying to swallow away her uncomfortableness. “Nice decor. I like your paintings.”
“Thank you. I did them myself.”
“Right… You’re missing some eyes there,” she half-joked, trying to break some of the tension.
The man shrugged noncommittally. “I forgot.”
“Aha.” Sam wasn’t sure what kind of artist made statues from toe to top or forgot people had two eyes, but that was the least of her worries right now.
“Could I interest you in a cup of tea?” Fickle proposed. Before Sam could reply, he clapped his hands. “Tea for our visitor.”
Sam waited for a moment, expecting the furniture to move or the entrance of an animal butler, but when nothing of the sorts happened, she relaxed a little. Pixie or not, Fickle was just a regular old man in a posh home he probably inherited through his family. After the weeks she had, that was a relief. She could deal with regular.
- Writer
