Chapter Eleven The Nova
Chapter Eleven
The Nova
The day was marked by the resinous scent of yew. A laurel fastened to the entry of my home, a black ribbon to present my mourning. Then, a black crepe on the door handle.
I’d seen my husband’s body, freshly departed from the soul, yet it hadn’t begun to feel as real as it did now, when it was being announced to society. Suddenly I was very aware that my family knew, my neighbors, the rest of the block.
My lungs were made of lead, rigid and unable to expand freely. It was like my body knew to punish me, to smother me for my mistake.
The covered knob turned, and my door opened. Maxim peeked out, wiping his hands with a cloth. His brow furrowed, the wrinkles between them now becoming permanent as he aged, but they had always been there. A chronic worrier.
“Everything is set?”
“Yes,” he said, glancing back inside, “guests will be arriving soon. But he is in the parlor.”
“Did they do a good job?” I tried to joke, my face wet under the black veil. “I suppose any state would be better than last time I saw him.”
He beckoned to me, not ignoring my jests but also not answering them. “Come.”
All windows were opened, for spirits and the stronger odors. Fresh lilies and garlands of white roses. The pollen alone made my throat itch. All mirrors had since been covered in modest sheets, the home cleaned and prepped for visitors, and a presentation for one departed.
The coffin was traditional, old-fashioned. A silk interior and dark wood with custom carvings. The outside inscribed with his Nova and Eclipse birth signs, then symbols from the Everie that the family thought best described his life.
I did not move from the doorway. More bodies entered my house, more than I would care to have at once. Distant relatives of Dorian’s, friends and spouses I’d never met, then eventually my in-laws.
All were shrouded in black or a more traditional deep navy. Star-shaped brooches, thin veils, and gloved hands clutching Everie cards. They would place the cards in a box propped on the foyer table under a large arrangement of pungent blooms.
I smiled, not too much, a somber amount. Every hand was shaken, condolences were traded, then there were no more.
A house full of chattering people, the warmth rising. Despite our home being larger than most, the bodies made it unbearably hot.
For a brief moment, I was standing in front of an open door.
Not metaphorically, literally. A breeze swept through my veil, cooling my only exposed skin under the dark customary coverings.
The overcast clouds muted the street. Among the mournful mumbles of my company, occasionally I could hear the laugh of playing children running through the street, a dog howling in alarm in the distance, the smell of oncoming rain, the swish of the street trees brushing together.
Would it be so bad to run?
A hand squeezed my shoulder.
Maxim stared back at me.
He jerked his head toward the parlor, indicating it was time I came in from welcoming visitors at the door. Though I would prefer that to having to talk in this state. I didn’t think I could trust what came from my mouth.
The dark crowd assembled in the parlor, the casket in front of the wood-carved fireplace, its mantel covered by a cast-iron case for the warm months.
With each step, my Peculiars slunk along my feet, weaving their way in between my steps. A gathering like this must have been a feast for them.
A sickening taste in my mouth. The nausea and the pounding in my head weren’t helping my composure.
When I reached the front of the room, my Peculiars scattered among the sea of legs.
This part I must do alone.
I cleared my throat. The attendees turned, eager for a few words from a widow.
People were like the Peculiars in that way. We fed off each other’s emotions. Our happiness, our grief, even our anger. It was contagious, cathartic when consuming another’s instead of experiencing it yourself.
“Thank you all for attending.” My voice had a hard time finding its place when addressing so many.
I was good with words, with explanations, especially things I understood.
But rarely did I have to speak for so many at once.
Especially since I had no explanations to give, and I barely understood the circumstances myself.
“Dorian would be happy to know he was the cause of such a gathering, of so many he loved.” I couldn’t say he wanted this funeral to begin with, but I had to simply evade such statements.
There were somber nods, pitiful looks.
They didn’t know it was my fault.
I glanced above their heads in the wall mirror, the sheet already half slipped off.
My attire was shocking, not just because it was inherently ghastly.
From head-to-toe black, the fabric had a glossy sheen to it, a satin weave with small matte star patterns lining the entire outfit.
On my veil, a four-pointed star embroidered in front of my face.
Everything was covered except for my hands.
The casket open behind me.
“There aren’t many words I can use that aren’t too clinical or possibly too superficial for a time like this.
As someone who invents things, I certainly have a hard time summoning words appropriate for how I’m feeling.
I can dream up contraptions and machines, see chemical reactions before my eyes, even if just jotting on a page—but now I’m not even sure I can do that.
” I swallowed hard; it was like the words were just coming, and no brainpower was involved.
I might look back on them and they might be a mistake, but all I knew now was that they were raw, unrefined.
My mother-in-law, front and center, pursed her lips. Dorian’s sister, Clara, at her side, followed by three more cousins. The other guests tolerated my botched speech out of respect for him, not for me.
The door opened in the hallway, mutterings of greetings before Maxim stepped aside, and my mother wheeled my father in. She looked rushed, some hairs out of place. Papà didn’t have his necktie on, but it must have been a fight to get him to leave as it was.
A deep breath, but I could spare a smile in her direction. She stood at the doorway, her gentle smile piercing the crowd’s looming. I just wanted to hold her hand, like how I was shy about ordering my own sweets when I was little.
“Dorian could do anything,” I began again.
“I was the dreamer; he was the hands that made it happen. He did it not for money, not for fame, but to be there, to bear witness. He was a man who believed that being present for important things was just as good as being the creator itself. We would not be where we are without him. I don’t know what I’ll do next, but whatever it is, I will do it for him.
May his time among the stars enlighten him to every question he’s ever had, every wonder that crossed his mind, and may I join him someday where he can tell me all about it. ”
Pleased nods and gentle claps of silk-covered hands. I supposed my performance was acceptable.
I turned around, though I hesitated to look down. A line began to form behind me to pay their respects.
Just get it over with.
I looked down at the body. He was well dressed, one of his nicer tweed suits.
The one with the leather covers on the elbows.
He liked to be stylish, as any well-groomed man would care to be.
I’d told Maxim to put him in this. If they were going to host this funeral to begin with against his wishes, I at least wanted him in his favorite clothes.
I wouldn’t let them pick a stark black suit or frumpy formal clothing that would make him look more like his father than himself.
“Lucia.”
I looked up at Dorian’s face, his eyes wide open and white. His face torn, eye barely back in its socket. His mouth dropped open wide.
With palms cupped over my face, I screamed. A tremor so wild, my body so ill from the sight. My hands turned to fists against my face, eyes screwed shut, hoping so dearly it had been a dream.
“Lucia!” Maxim caught me. My back hit his chest, and his arms held me up by my shoulders. “What is it?”
“H-his face!” I shook.
“I know this is upsetting.” He rubbed my arm. “It’s okay,” he assured me.
“You don’t see it?” My voice cracked, my head whipped back toward the casket with a pointed finger. “Look!”
Maxim and the guests exchanged worried glances, but he still acted on my request. He approached the casket, a hand out to let the others know to step back. Everyone was quiet, waiting for a reveal to what could have caused such hysteria.
With careful inspection, he looked down at the body.
“See!” I exclaimed.
Maxim leaned back up and looked at me. “Is there something wrong?”
“You’re really asking me?” I stepped forward. “Look—”
When I reapproached, Dorian’s face was fashioned with a death mask of copper, as peaceful as it could have been. The mask had no dents, no wrinkles or even a scratch. It had been sculpted to complete his damaged face. His expression no more than like when I’d spotted him taking a weekend nap.
I looked back up at Maxim, my hands held palms up as I gestured. “His face, it changed, I swear it!”
The crowd was getting restless.
Maxim glanced around before guiding me by my shoulders away from the casket. Others began to approach it, but I didn’t think they’d forgotten my hysterics.
As we passed the guests, one caught my eye.
The beast, in his human self, shrouded in traditional funeral wear.
It was the oddest thing; he blended in seamlessly, like he could be related to the Fairfaxes with how he’d fashioned his human skin—the star marking on his head was a giveaway only I would know.
But even I almost didn’t see through the camouflage.
Black hair swept to the side, pale eyes that struck you when framed by dark lashes. His attire was absent of a jacket but completely black, even the leather sleeve garters around his biceps. Everything about him felt sharp, symmetrical, a celestial ideal of a man’s image.
His eyes locked with mine. I swore a flash of light flickered as the irises turned to me. His cheek dimpled when he threw me a wink.
I lost sight of him upon exiting the room, led by my brother.
“You are unwell,” he said, guiding me to the hallway.
“Am I supposed to be well? How well am I supposed to be when I’ve just lost my husband?”
“Lucia, I am not judging you,” he said carefully, “but I think you need to get some help. A doctor. Help from a doctor.”
“I don’t have the time. When would I have had a single moment to do that?” I used my arms to gesture around me. “All I’ve been doing is what everyone else wants me to do. I’m doing everything except what I want, and most importantly, what Dorian wanted!”
“He would have wanted you to push through,” he insisted.
“I’m going to call a friend. I want you to make an appointment,” he muttered, digging into his inner jacket pocket for his calling card and a pen.
He used the wall as a flat surface to scribble a number on the back.
“Here.” He shoved the card into my hand and clasped that hand between his own. “Promise me you’ll try.”
“You’re starting to sound like my mother-in-law.” I took a deep breath, a full one so I could swallow whatever I wanted to say. “I will try.”
“Promise me.”
“Fine, fine. I promise.”
“Good.” He patted my hand before letting it go. “I can handle the rest of the service. I will bring you food later.”
“All right,” I said softly, realizing this meant I was relieved of my duties for now.
I flipped the card between my fingers, the typesetting becoming blurry.
Finally left alone.
Retreating to the bedroom might have helped if it weren’t for the mourning decor.
I hadn’t touched anything in the room yet, just opening the windows and throwing a sheet over the standing mirror in the corner earlier.
Crepe now covered the vanity, but everything else was untouched.
In fact, a layer of dust had already collected on the sheets and pillows, the chaise, and the writing desk.
I hadn’t slept here since that day, only come and gone in passing. My inadequate moments of sleep were stolen in new places, like on the couches, a lounge chair, occasionally my desk, or in a moving carriage.
The only thing on my mind was the phantom that had appeared in Dorian’s casket and the unbelievably sad smile my mother had given me. But that was it—I wasn’t just sad. I didn’t have time to be sad.
I was afraid.
I was wrong before: I did have more to lose. Some people’s circumstances could have been worse because of my mistake. I wasn’t even sure if the family members who surrounded me had suffered any other misfortunes or unlucky strokes. There was no telling how far the dominoes would fall.
So far I had no reason to believe that anyone else was suffering, but I feared one affliction could take someone like my father just as swiftly as it had Dorian.
It was important to weigh the outcomes, but also to keep a level head. Sooner or later, things would work out.
I locked the door behind me, along with some pestering anxiety, and fully retreated for the night.