Page 67 of Florescentia

Dorian Christopher Fairfax

1845–1875

Beside his name on the double-depth plot:

Lucia Nina Collesano-Fairfax

1845–

A shadow cast over me, a silhouette backlit in the reflection of the black headstone.

“There you are.” A male voice.

I wasn’t expecting anyone, and it wasn’t my brother.

Slowly, I craned my neck up, squinting at whom it might be.

Then there he was, a star-shaped mark and striking pale eyes.

Heat crept up the back of my neck, not the humidity from outside, but the settling dread from within. A panic that felt like a slow internal bleed.

He held a hand out to me.

“Oh, you’ve learned manners?” I hissed through my teeth, taking his hand to stand up.

“Hello!” My mother-in-law waved impatiently.

I glanced at her along the path, her brow cocked as high as ever. I could already see a sneer forming, possibly a rumor blooming between her ears. I didn’t need anything libelous floating around her tearoom later, her guests gossiping about moving on or disrespecting the mourning period—with a man who looked so closely related to her son, no less, adding salt to the wound.

“Mrs. Fairfax, this is my cousin.” I patted his arm. “He came to help support us in this trying time. As you know, my mind is away from me.”

Her head cocked, though more in interest than distaste. “Oh! I was unaware. Your mother didn’t—”

“It was a surprise to all of us.” I smiled. “If you don’t mind, he and I have to discuss some things. I can meet you somewhere later for dinner.” I dug my nails into his sleeve, dragging him past.

I didn’t bother to look back at her. I could escape her insistence if I just walked fast enough.

“Cousin?” Altair scowled. “I am not—”

“There are strict rules. Being seen alone with another man, not related, means I will be socially flogged.” I walked faster, sweat beading at my temples. “If you must see me, if anyone asks, you are my cousin. From the old country. It’s best if you pretend not to understand English.”

“Oh, so you do understand rules. Certainly a surprising development from where I’m standing.” His dark brow rose, nearly disappearing behind the cowlick curl of his forelock.

“You know, for a cosmic entity from whence I still don’t know entirely where you came, you sure seem to have plenty of jokes.”

“Irony is universal” was all he said. “You seemed so keen on breaking rules last time your claws were buried in my back.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I ground my teeth.

“Yes, you do—”

“Stop talking.”

“Why? You’re getting red—”

“Because you keep talking about it.”

“What is it, then? I would have thought you’d be happy to see me again, due to your insatiable ambition.” He hummed, tipping his head toward me. “Unless you’ve decided to give up on the Otherside?”