Page 80 of Florescentia

“No! No, he doesn’t need to eat right now—”

“You should have told me!”

“I just meant he would if you kept him too long!” I laughed, having to pull her from the pantry. “Just come, I want to say hello to Papà. Hopefully he hasn’t started telling him any outlandish stories.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Eclipse

The warm energy quickly stalled as I entered the next room.

It was colder, hostile.

Other shadows were lurking, but they wouldn’t dare approach. This was not only due to my presence but the telltale ring of a cipher nearby. They all had a different tune, annoyingly only heard by those from my world. I supposed we were extra sensitive to a multitude of things: energy, colors, language, and other enigmas.

The man was weary and gray. Too young for his mind to flay the way it had, but old enough to have aged since I’d last seen him.

I could only hope her father had been conservative in his journaling. What would happen, would happen. He couldn’t stop it, as much as he’d tried.

He slouched in the chair, facing inwardly to the parlor. Staring blankly at the empty coffee table. The room was stale; not even the dust moved about in the air.

“Dorian,” Salvatore muttered, his voice scratched and aged, “no sugar.”

I couldn’t help a chuckle that tickled the back of my throat. I approached his side, then set down the tray and poured the coffee anyway.

“Biscotto,” he added.

I tucked the treat beside the cup on the saucer, delivering it to the rickety hands.

He sniffled, clearing his throat before he took a steady sip. Salvatore’s eyes closed, his face easing as he tasted that little piece of home.

Nostalgia was one of the best tasting, my favorite flavor. It was like a hidden note, a richer savor to any feeding. With my hand placed on his shoulder, the feeling was strong enough to pierce my core. It was like watching a flower bloom rapidly, a colorful and fragrant display, even overwhelming to most.

His homesickness didn’t even allow me any room to crave the sweets.

I removed my hand as I sat across from him.

He was a lucky one, all thanks to our bargain. Not many who had suffered like him had the luxury of aging, of fading away peacefully. Because that was what was happening. He was fading in and out of this current world involuntarily, spending half his time in between, eventually to pass fully over to the Otherside, as his daughter had so fondly named it.

He was a fool for thinking he could meddle with the other world and still keep his sanity.

His eyes were tired, wrinkled from strain and a lifetime of expression. Of joy, of pain, of all human ranges. His eyes were clouded in color, which made a haze much like the one over the river on early mornings.

Then, they landed on me.

Immediately, they hardened.

“You,” he said, his voice grave.

“Hello, old friend.” I smiled at him. “How long has it been?”

His muscles tightened, wound taut enough to straighten his posture. The lines in his face became vivid, settling into the stress that tainted the meat, strained the heart, spoiled the brain.

I leaned against the back of the sofa, breathing deep when the scent of trepidation teased my nose.

“Are you here to collect?” The weary man’s voice nearly broke at the weight of the words.

“Not yet.” I felt the pull from where he sat. The trapping sigil carved in the bottom of the seat from when he’d last tried to summon me sang like a kettle in my ear. The people called it tinnitus.