How long until I got pneumonia?
A sound from the sky broke the silence. A flock of ravens landed in the black branches above me, the birds studying me with beady black eyes. One of them hopped onto the snowy ground, just a foot away from my blue-tinted toes. The bird cocked its head, letting out an odd squawk that sounded almost like a question.
“Shoo,” I said, teeth chattering. “Not about to die yet.”
His friends followed soon, and I was surrounded by a swarm of glossy feathers, whispering wings, and glittering eyes. Their presence was not menacing, though.
“Wish I had your feathers,” I mumbled, rubbing my arms more vigorously.
The bird standing closest puffed its feathers and crooned with empathy.
The sound of a carriage approaching startled it, and it craned its neck to see who was arriving.
“Arthur!” I whispered, hope blooming against my better judgment.
Yet the carriage that shook to a stop didn’t bear our family’s crest. It was black and unmarked. Doctor Vexley wasalready outside, dressed in a warm coat, rubbing his hands to warm them.
The carriage door opened, and a man stepped out.
I let out a disappointed hiss. That was not Arthur.
The man was tall and breathtakingly handsome, with the casual elegance of old money and good genes. His sapphire blue eyes brushed over the sad landscape—and snagged on my shivering form.
A wave of shame choked me, so hot and suffocating that I nearly felt warm. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide the way the wet, tattered nightgown clung to my body.
Too late.
The newcomer’s attention fixed on me, and he said something to Vexley.
Now, both were staring at me, and I suddenly wanted to run. It was more than just shame that made me uncomfortable.
Something was odd about this man.
Despite his sculpted features and long blond tresses, despite the French-tailored suit—there was something wrong.
The ravens sensed it, too. They took off, filling the air with hateful screeches.
Was it the cold, the beating, the hunger—or was I already losing my mind?
I wasn’t sure.
But for a moment, it looked as if Vexley’s visitor had sprouted powerful wings that glittered silver in the gray light.
I blinked—and just like that, the wings were gone.
Vexley cursed as he led the visitor inside.
“Damned birds,” he said apologetically.
“Those are no ordinary birds, Septimus,” the visitor said with an accent I couldn’t place.
Before disappearing into the dark purgatory, the newcomer turned once more, looking straight at me. Then he smiled and dipped his chin, touching the edge of his top hat like a real gentleman.
And, to my surprise, I wasn’t keen on going back inside.
Somehow, I preferred the biting cold to the presence of that odd man.
Daphne
