2:10 October 4, 2009

"How are we not dead right now?" I ask loudly as we pull into Nyx's small garage. Whoever said that women couldn't drive was a dumbass. We were on seventy before we hit the highway and reached ninety-five before turning onto her street. The twist and turns on the roads were nothing but a blur. The rain barely had time to hit us. The ride that would normally take twenty minutes was cut in half. She laughs as she puts a plastic covering over her bike.

She is still smiling as we run across the small stone pathway leading from the door of the garage to the front steps. I am taken aback by her spectacular house. Though in a way it does not surprise me. Calvert Road used to be the place to build any high society home until the eighties when Mayor Strider decided to start putting things in the middle of the town in a spot just behind the Town Hall. Now it is mostly an empty road where grass and moss have covered the unfortunate remains of condemned buildings.

Nevertheless, this place is the furthest thing from condemned. It is three stories tall and painted white with deep red shutters. To me the building looks like two rectangles were glued together next to an upside down ice cream cone and a cereal bowl but I suppose that to a trained eye it would be much more graceful. Directly in front of me is the door, which is a few feet above the ground. You walk up three black steps to get there. The steps appear to be made of stone. The first section of the house is shaped like a tower with only one eight-sided window at the top. I assume that it connects to an attic. Guarding the tower on either side are two black shingled roofs that cover the other two parts of the house. Each of them is the same shape and size as one another. They have rows of four windows on each level except the third floor. There it a dome on the backside with a glass ceiling. I can only assume that it is a greenhouse or something of the sort. Together the house gives off an air that makes you believe that it is far more important than it should be, as if it were a fairytale castle. It could be I suppose if ivy were not attempting to cover it. They begin to grow at the road that they use as a driveway and as they mix with moss extend once they reach the sides of the house. Flowers are planted around the base of the household along with several small pine trees. A few birdbaths even sit in the small yard.

Nyx pushes the door open and we step into her home. The room opens up to a hallway with a grand spiraling staircase across from the door. This entryway is completely circular. Next to the door is an old-fashioned five pronged coat rack where I hang my jacket. While Nyx puts the keys up on a hook, I take a few steps forward and look around. The walls are painted a rich cream color, which contrasts with the dark hardwood floors. The walls are completely bare.

The room to my right is a sitting room of some sort. It has a golden couch in it with a matching chair and chase lounger. The couch faces a large fireplace. The furniture sits on a large red and gold rug that has two corresponding ottomans underneath of an angular coffee table that rest in the middle of the ensemble.

To my left is a grand dining room with scarlet colored walls. A table that appears to be made of the same wood as the floors sits in the center with eight similar chairs placed around it. There is a large china set standing in a case on the far wall. Next to, it is a partially closed mahogany door.

Nyx whistles sharply and soon the door pushes open and a large white dog emerges from behind it. It is at least three and a half feet tall from its shoulder the floor. It has large floppy ears and long silky, wavy fur. I notice a large jagged scar going down its back and wince. It does not appear to be hurting him though. His long tail moves rapidly back and forth until it sees me. Then it begins to bark.

"Hush, Buyan!" Nyx shouts at the dog. It automatically stops barking. She pats her lag and he comes to her. She scratches behind his ear and his tails begins to thump the floor. "This," she says looking at me. "Is Buyan." She looks at Buyan and makes a similar introduction. I smile and reach my hand out to pet him. "I wouldn't, Seth. Most Borzois are rather stoic around strangers Buyan on the other hand tends to be a bit more malicious." I take my hand back when he starts to bare his teeth at me. Nyx laughs before standing up. She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. She stands up and starts to walk through the dining room.

Buyan follows her but I do not. Nyx looks back over her shoulder at me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say slightly flabbergasted. "It's just that . . . I've . . . never been in a house this big before." I grin sheepishly. She smiles at me. I barely notice as the dog comes back and moves behind me.

"For what it is worth, I like yours better." she admits.

"Really?" I ask her as I start up towards her once Buyan pushes me forward.

"Really. It is warm and comfortable. The houses we live in are always . . . cold." She says and wraps her arms around herself. I notice goose bumps rising on her arms. Is it cold in here? I do not have a lot of time to think on it because she turns back around and goes through the mahogany door.

I follow her along with Buyan into a large kitchen. The floors match that of the rest of the house. The walls are a darker cream color though. There are hooks on the right wall holding up different pots and pans. A smooth counter runs across the right half of the room along with two rows of cabinets. In the center of the large white room is a small wooden table with a chair at each end.

"Do you want anything to drink?" Nyx asks me as she crosses the room to open a cabinet. She reaches to the top shelf and pulls out a large square package. When she sets it down on the smooth counter to open it, a rich cocoa scent fills the air. She turns around to look at me again. My eyes float away from the tiny box to meet her eyes.

"Hot chocolate," she explains gesturing to the box. "Want some?" I nod my head and she smiles. "Good, now sit." She points at the small wooden table between us.

With that, she starts to quickly move about around the kitchen. She starts by reaching back into the cabinet to pull out two separate bags of sugar; one brown and one white. Along with the sugars she takes out a tiny bag of filled with vanilla beans, an unidentifiable sack that smells like cornstarch, and an extra large Hershey's Chocolate Bar. Then she walks to the refrigerator and comes back out with a small orange, a bottle of milk, a stick of butter, and a glass jar filled with heavy cream. Nyx sets all of this down on the table before returning to the cabinets.

"Do you need any help?" I ask out of courtesy. Nyx shakes her head no. This time she gets out two silver bowls and two large mugs. Then moves to the wall pulling a pot off a hook. She sets the pot down on the stove then sets the bowls down on the counter. Once she retrieves a long metal whisk from a drawer she sets to work. Twenty minutes later we have a two cups filled with an almost pudding like substance with a dollop of something that she called an 'orange crème fraiche' on top. It is the best hot chocolate I have ever tasted and let her know.

"Thank you," she says with a laugh. "I'm sorry it took so long, though. It would have taken less time but I kept putting things away once they were used up. I hate a messy kitchen"

"It's fine," I say and take another sip. "Besides it taste amazing. Where did you learn to make it?"

"Oh," she starts dramatically. "It is an old family recipe handed down generation after generation to and by Venator women. This is a sacred drink in my family."

I slowly pull my mouth away as my eyes widen. "Really," I ask timidly.

"No," she says with a laugh, "I read it in a cook book. Honestly, Seth. Do seem unreasonably trustworthy to you or are you just the naïve sort?"

"Both," I say with a smile.

Nyx chuckles and leans back against the counter where she stands. We pause to drink a bit more before she asks me something. "What do you think?"

I knit my eyebrows together in confusion. "What do you think about the house? I told I thought it was nice but cold. How do you feel about it?"

"Well, I've only seen these three rooms. I would not feel right saying the whole thing is nice and have only seen a few pieces of it. For all I know you could have some torturing room in the attic," I say thoughtfully. Nyx nods her head and stands up. She walks over and taps me on the shoulder signaling me to follow her. I stand up and bring my cup with me as she walks to the back of the kitchen and opens a door I did not see before. We walk through the door and it leads us into a long corridor that must run the length of the house. The walls in here are bare and even windowless. The only light comes from three small lamps placed in the hallway, one at each end and one in the middle. To my immediate left is a door with a much smaller entryway behind it.

"This is the back door," Nyx says. "And this is our creepiest hallway." There is a laugh in her voice. I smile and take another sip of hot chocolate. We continue and she points to a thin white door on the left. "Bathroom." Halfway down the hallway we pass a large bookshelf with several large hardcover volumes. Nyx goes past it without a second thought. "The office," Nyx says pointing to the other door at the end of the hall.

"Office?" I ask. "What do you need an office for?"

"Well, it was a part of the house when we bought it," she explains. "It's mostly for Lorcan's use. He plays the stock market you see."

"Oh," I say. Nyx nods her head before turning the corner into 'The Gold Room,' as she calls it. Then she takes my cup and hers back into the kitchen leaving me in the entryway. When she comes back, we make our way up the long staircase. As we rise to the next floor the stairs stop. Wouldn't they keep going into the attic?

This floor is set up in the same way as the first one, except that it has more rooms and doors blocking each one. Nyx starts at the right of the stairs and says that three of these rooms are guest rooms and that the other is the den. On the other side are both of their bedrooms and the library.

"Library?" I ask. Nyx smiles and nods her head. She walks towards the large wooden doors and stands with her hand on the knob.

"If you are really a writer like you said you were," she states, "Then you'll love this."

With that, she pushes the door open in a theatrical manner and backs away leaving me room to enter. I walk inside stop abruptly. Before me is a sanctuary that would put the Forks Public Library, the place where I often spend my free time, to shame. The room itself is partially circular coming together in a glass dome at the roof. There are two levels to it. The first level that I stand on has bookshelves lining the entire wall. In the center of the room is a small table with a few books already spread out on it along with a laptop. Above that, it the second level, which you reach by walking up a set of stairs to my automatic, left. There is a black rail going around the wide walkway. There are less books on this level but instead has windows between the shelves where the glass dome drops down. I finally take another step inside and feel my shoes move against the dark blue carpet. I start making a noise that is half a gasp and half a laugh as I try to form words to properly express my amazement.

"This," I finally manage to sputter out, "is beautiful!" Nyx laughs at my excitement. "It's true! This . . . H- how?" Nyx continues to laugh as she walks over to the table. I follow her and sit down in one of the plush armchairs.

"I do not think I have ever seen someone get that excited about books before," she proclaims. She has a large smile on her face even as she shakes her head.

"This is your library," I say in defense. "Surely you must share my love since these are all yours."

"Well, most of them are move," she admits. "A few of them are Lorcan's though."

"Still," I exclaim. "You have to understand, Nyx. Libraries are like my church. They are the place that I go to celebrate everything holy. Even if the world falls to hell, the one thing that I consider holy will always exist and always remain to fight the dark void that is ignorance, which is a force that constantly continues to consume the world. That thing is knowledge and knowledge is found in books. And here I can almost taste the enlightenment flowing from these yellowing pages."

Nyx's smile has gone and she is looking at me in an impressed and slightly pensive way. Slowly she raises her hands and brings them together five times. "Not bad," she says. She gives me a considerate smile. I feel a small blush rise to my face and try to return her smile.

I look at the tiny stack of hardcover books on the table. I pick one up and flip through the pages. "What's this?" I ask.

"The Fall of the House of Usher," she says. "It is an old Poe book. I have a very diverse sense when it comes to books. This particular stack for example contains Poe, Bukowski, and Clare."

"Clare?" I ask. She nods her head.

"Yeah," she says, "Cassandra Clare. She is a YA author. Have you ever heard of The Mortal Instruments series?"

"That depends; does Jace really need to have four different last names?" I ask with a laugh.

With that, we fall into an easy conversation for another three hours or so. We discuss our favorite books and authors before letting the conversation drift into movie adaptations and our own life. By five thirty, I have been questioning Nyx about her personal life and past for at least ten minutes. She is extremely reluctant to reveal anything. She tries to keep her answers to three or four words. After I ask her, once again about her parents she stands up and walks out of the library. Assuming that I am meant to follow I rise from my chair and go after her. I catch up with her halfway down the stairs. She goes through the Gold Room into Lorcan's office. She tells me to wait outside for a moment before opening the door to let me in. I do not have time to properly observe the dark windowless office because she pushes me over to the fireplace to show me something. I look up at the mantel and see a large painting.

The painting looks like something you would find in the house of a Mafioso. It almost makes me question whether she is part of some international mob. However as I gaze more closely at it I start to notice small things that make me realize it is a family portrait. There are three men in the painting and only two women. The men stand and the women sit. The oldest of the men is salt and pepper haired with small wrinkles forming around his eyes and cheeks. He has a small pointy goatee and a receding hairline. Seeing that he is the only one in the portrait with an open mouth smile he could almost pass for a delighted grandpa. Despite this fact, there is one main feature that makes me want to cringe and could surely send small children running. Across the left side of his head is a set of four long scars distorting his features and pulling the skin on his face back. The long scars start on his cheek and forehead then continue through his short curly hair and cutting his ear in half. Standing next to him is a middle-aged man with straight black hair combed back in a familiar style. He is tall and burly. His stature makes him appear menacing and the fact that he is in an expensive looking suit adds an intimidating quality. His face remains unscarred though. The last man is immediately reconcilable. It is Lorcan. He looks a little younger but not by much. He too is in a suit though it fits his currently angular build. Beneath him on a small red couch are two women. The eldest appears to be the same age as the man and has explosive red curls that fall down her back. She sits up straight and holds her head high. Next to her is a younger Nyx. Her hair is almost the same length as the woman's. What ties them together are their subtle similarities. They are all pale and are all in some way muscular. The men all share the same thin noses along with Nyx and Lorcan shares the woman's vibrant hair.

"This is your family," I say. Nyx nods her head with a solemn look on her face.

"Yes," she says. "That is my grandfather, Isidor. Next to him is Father. Then Lorcan, Mother and I. As she says each of their names, her voice is filled with nostalgia. She takes a deep breath and sighs before regaining her control. She closes her eyes and opens them. She crosses her arms then turns to me.

"That picture was made they day after my thirteenth birthday," she says. Her posture is almost unnaturally straight. "The next month my family fell ill. Lorcan and I were the youngest so we were healthier than the others were. After a few weeks, they were all dead. We buried them in Russia, which was where we were at the time. We traveled around so much because we celebrated life and tried to live it to its fullest. We continued to travel after that for a few years however; I began to fall into a slight state of depression. Every beautiful place we went reminded me of them and made me wish that they were here to see it."

As she says this, I see a few tears start to form in her eyes though she is constantly blinking them back. I reach out to her but she steps away from me and sits down on the rolling chair next to the desk. "That is when Lorcan decided that we needed to settle down. So, we decided on America. It did not have to be America, I can fluently speak almost eight languages, it is just where we happened to choose. That is how we came to be here," she finishes.

Her face is starting to get splotchy from holding back tears. I move to her and kneel at her side. "I- I'm sorry," I say. How stupid can I get? My remorse soon turns to tender sing of both grief pain because of my hurting her.

"Now do you know why I do not care for question?" she asks. Her voice remains steady and almost easy throughout the sentence. Her face is an emotionless mask yet once again it is her eyes that reveal her true self. The green sea is raging as silver storm clouds move in.

"Of course," I say quickly. I take her hands in mine. "I'm so sorry; about what I said, a-about what happened to your family-"

"Don't!" she shouts. She rises from the chair and moves from the chair. She walks over to the door leaving me kneeling on the ground. "I hate it when people do that. I do not want your sympathy. I want you to understand and I want you to have a little bit of insight into my life. So, now you will know to avoid this in future conversations," she says angrily. She runs a hand through her hair and seems to calm down. I stand up as she turns her back to me. She says something that I doubt anyone else would have caught. It is just above a whisper and perhaps barely audible to even herself. "Besides you didn't kill them."