Gothicana

“Do you mind if I roll down the windows?” she asked him before her claustrophobia would come in.

He gave her a slightly puzzled look before pressing a button on his side that rolled her window down entirely. Cold, frigid air whipped through her braided hair, and Corvina smiled at how it filled her lungs. Distance flew as he expertly weaved the vehicle over the curves, his speed definitely higher than the taxi’s had been on the way up. And this time, since she was sitting up front, she could see the plunging valley at each turn over the nose of the car, almost as though they would fly off into it before swerving at the last minute.

“Thank you for taking me, Mr. Deverell,” she told him sincerely. “I truly appreciate it.”

He stayed silent for a long moment before speaking. “Vad. When we’re alone, you can call me Vad.”

When. That was the first thing she noticed before his name.

Vad. The urge to taste the syllables on her tongue was overpowering, but she resisted for the moment. “What does it mean?”

“Untamed.”

She turned sideways, giving him a once-over. “Huh. You don’t seem untamed at all.”

The side of his lip twitched as his eyes flashed her a heated look. “You have no idea, little crow.”

Despite the cool wind on her face, she could feel her skin flush. “You give me mixed signals, you know?” she told him quietly. “When you say stuff like that, it’s one. Then you warn me away from you, it’s another. You need to make up your mind about what you want from me.”

His response wasn’t one she expected.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm with a bite of cold.

“Who’s the letter to?” he asked, changing the topic, taking them down another treacherous curve.

Corvina looked down at the envelope before gazing out the window at the darkening sky.

“My mother.”

She felt him cut her a look she couldn’t decipher. “Your file says your parents are unavailable. Usually, that means dead.”

Corvina looked up in surprise. “You read my file?”

He shrugged. “I told you I found you unusual. So, how’s that letter to your mother if she’s unavailable?”

Corvina felt her throat go tight, her fingers clasping together as she wondered if she could tell him if she should tell him. She’d always been alone in her life, never really confided in anyone by choice. She was used to it. But for some reason, she wanted to confide in him and she wanted him to keep her secrets safe. End of the day, she didn’t know a thing about this man except that he played the most beautiful music she’d heard, he was highly intelligent, and he kissed her like she was both something to cherish and something to ravish.

“If I tell you,” she swallowed the knot in her throat, “does that stay between us?”

He stayed quiet as they drove over another curve before he gave her a glance. “Anything we talk about stays between us.”

The subliminal messaging under his use of words made her pause – when they were alone, anything they talked about, all of it indicating to something more. She didn’t understand if it was actually there or if she was reading too much into it. But he was someone careful with his words, she’d noticed. He’d not overtly lied to her, and her instincts were screaming at her to cave in.

“My mother is alive, but unavailable,” she told him, brushing the edge of her finger over the envelope. “She’s in a psychiatric institute.”

She felt him steal another look at her. “Why?”

Corvina blinked, not willing to admit everything just then. But she didn’t want to lie to him either. “She’s unfit to live on her own. She needs continuous supervision,” she gave him half the truth.

A beat of silence passed before he asked quietly. “Did she ever hurt you?”

“No!” Corvina looked up, denying even the thought of it vehemently. “Oh god, never. Mama would have killed herself before she ever harmed me. She even tried to.”

“How long has she been at the institute?”

Corvina closed her eyes. “Three years, eight months.”

God, she missed her mama. She missed her scent of soil and sage and all things love. She missed the food that she grew herself. She missed pouring the wax as she sat and worked the jars. Her mama might not have talked to her but Corvina never once doubted the love between them. And she missed that.

“I’m sorry,” the deep, gravel voice soothed the raw edges inside her softly. She looked out the window, blinking her eyes rapidly, her nose twitching with her need to cry. 

“What about your father? Is he alive too?”

She breathed in the fresh air. “He died when I was one.”

“Jesus.”

Corvina shook her head at his expletive, needing a distraction. “What about you? How did you come to be here?”

Another curve around the mountain.

“Probably how most kids come to Verenmore,” he said, his tone quiet. “I grew up in a home for boys and got adopted as a teen by an old man who had no other family. He’s the one who taught me to play the piano. I came here after he passed on my eighteenth birthday.” 

That was the most she’d heard him speak about himself, and though he’d delivered that in an even tone, she could feel something frothing inside him. He’d said a lot but he was hiding something. Without thinking, she touched his shoulder and squeezed, feeling the warm, hard flesh under her palm, little sparks of electricity making her hand tingle.

“I’m sorry,” she told him sincerely.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he gave her a nod, and Corvina pulled her hand back.

Wanting to lift the heavy mood crowding them in, she asked a question she’d wanted to for a long time. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. Why?”

“The grey in your hair.” It was hot.

“I’ve always had premature grey hair,” he told her, steering the vehicle expertly around another bend. “Never understood why anyone expected me to hide it.”

“You carry it well,” she told him truthfully. “Especially with your eyes.”

Those eyes slid to her wordlessly.

They sat in compatible silence after that, Corvina looking out the window and enjoying the wind around her, him driving down the roads and mulling over his own thoughts. After a few moments, he fiddled with the music dashboard and the heavy strings of the guitar came over. Corvina listened to the music and smiled, not alone for the first time in a long time in a space her body and mind were at peace, with the unlikeliest of men.

The hours flew by with the music between them, broken by occasional light conversation. He didn’t ask her another serious question and neither did she, her mind on the letter she had to send to her mother for her birthday. Her mama might not remember a lot, but that was the one day she never forgot. She waited every year on her birthday week for contact with Corvina, even though her doctors said she didn’t want her daughter to come and see her. 

The sky grayed outside as the town gradually came into view in the distance after countless songs. The terrain slowly flattened and Corvina took in the view of the houses dotting the sides of the road as they sped by, children playing outside, couples walking by, people doing normal, everyday things that felt so far removed from her reality.

Mr. Deverell took a turn at a T-point, slowing down as they came to the main street in the town. Corvina recognized it. The train station she’d stopped at was at the end of it.

“I’m going to drop you off here,” he told her, pulling in neatly outside a small single-storied blue building with a board that said POST OFFICE. “I have some errands to run, so I’ll be back in an hour for pick up.”