Page 20 of Florescentia

“You are our parents—you will never be a burden.” I had to blink away tears. “I want you to promise me. Promise me now that you will tell me if you are in need. At anytime, anywhere.”

She sighed, placing a hand over her heart. “I promise you. Let’s hope I never need it.” Her eyes were glassy, far off. I hated when she looked at me like that.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Good.” I smiled, though it was mostly to absolve myself. I couldn’t help but wonder if I could have done something, if maybe with one extra ritual during his early diagnosis, it could have all gone away. But what was done was done; I couldn’t change the past.

Out of the corner of my eye, blackness.

The walls were covered in picture frames. Ancestors, beloved pets, a Sicilian countryside, a painting of our family, stray photos of Maxim and me in our younger years, posing for proper portraits. The frames were heirlooms, taken from their home in the old country.

Behind them, movement.

In the shadows of the frames, more Peculiars. They wrinkled and thrived when I looked at them, yet they weren’t willing to move like some of the others. They gave the illusion of shifting candlelight.

They were feeding, always.

On me, on my mother’s emotional labor, on the days she might have felt strongly about being essentially alone. They were also feeding on my father, on the little fleeting moments of nostalgia, a delicacy.

I looked to my mother. Her face at ease, she sipped her coffee and began to talk about the cookies she’d gotten from the bakery around the corner. I was reminded that no matter how she might say she was fine, I would never believe her.

They said time was a thief, but there was no bigger con man than grief—the same trick, the perfect team.

Chapter Six

The Nova

My mother and I talked ourselves past dusk. The streetlamps began to glow with a blue fluorescence. Her street had new biolamps. There were so many little water bugs in the lamps that you could see them swell and move in little clouds.

The night was cool, the sun no longer present to abuse the skin and eyes under its torch. The cobblestones were washed in acid rain, not a trace of pedestrians left behind. The droplets pattered on my umbrella like hail, heavy and clumsy.

My home was only five blocks away, and I was not afraid. I was not alone. Peculiars were everywhere, albeit impossible to spot in the night. But I knew they were there, a newfound curiosity garnering their attention. The change was unsettling. It was one thing to exist alongside one another; it was another to be acutely aware.

My legs moved faster, gaiter boots rubbing the skin of my heel, my own steps feeling just too loud, like something would hear.

I stared down at the tattered journal my father had given me. I wasn’t entirely sure I should have taken it at all. He was just so insistent.

The edges were deckled, the distinct smell of aged leather and possibly some mildew. Small yellow spots of mold appeared on the side. I would have to paint the edges to preserve it longer.

The craftsmanship aside, the tickle of curiosity rummaged in my mind. I pulled the leather strings to undo the knot, then tucked my finger under the cover to open it.

A wisp by my ear interrupted my curious indulgence.

“Lucia!”

I flinched and cupped my hand over the side of my head.

Then a pinch at my arm, my hair.

My heart was suddenly running like a steam engine, face red from my pace. I neared the boulevard, the lights clustering together in hopes of painting the street a chilling blue hue.

I didn’t see anything; that’s why I crossed.

But as soon as my foot hit the pavement—a screech, the swinging lantern of a carriage. A horse reared, its glistening black hide slick with sweat, making it blend into the night, as well as with the carriage.

The lantern swinging near the footman blinded me, blotches in my vision as I fell out of the way, my hand roughened by the street when I forced myself back up.

There was a deafening bang, and a detached piece of metal hit the side of my head.

A second carriage, then a third.