Chapter 1
“Be righteous in this life,
for it is not Our Lady you meet after—it is Anam,
the Keeper of Names and Reaper of Souls.
He is your judgment.”
- The Old Book
The shutters shook fiercely, rattling like teeth in a fever.
A cold draft coiled down my neck, and my skin prickled before I understood why.
Beyond the second-story window, oak branches bowed in the gusts, their brittle leaves torn free and whirled into the night. The sound wasn’t the playful rush of autumn, but a low, hollow cry that seemed to carry its own warning. My pulse matched its rhythm.
“Mavis, what’s wrong?”
Kaven’s voice was behind me, warm and familiar, but I couldn’t turn away from the glass.
“The wind is blowing from the west,” I replied, my voice quieter than I intended. “It never blows from the west.”
The hair on my nape raised, acutely aware of the wrongness in the air.
I was taught that the Sky watched, and the Ground remembered. Each belonged to the gods. Something was amiss—and the Sky was watching us closely now.
“Mavis, the wind is just wind.” His words were flat and tired, as if we had done this song and dance more than he could count.
I put a finger to the glass, scraping at the condensation. “It isn’t. Can’t you feel it?”
The cold seeped through, making me tense.
“No, because there’s nothing to feel. You’re scaring yourself again.”
“I’m not scared. I’m concerned,” I bristled. “There’s a difference.”
“Well, I’d rather not spend my life bothered by shadows in the corner.”
“Shadows move. Maybe you should be wary of them.”
I turned at last. Kaven was slouched across his bed, a battered book in hand, his rich mahogany skin catching the quick flicker of lightning through the shutters. His shadow flashed in the light, showing itself to me. It made me realize that anything could hide in the dark.
“Do you ever get the feeling,” I asked, “that you aren’t alone? That someone is only a breath away, watching?”
His brow knit. “You mean the gods?”
The skepticism was thick.
“Or something else.”
His eyes widened, a flicker of unease quickly masked with mischief. “A ghost?”
The word clung to the air. A shiver rippled through me, and I froze. Mother always said sudden chills were caused by the touch of a spirit. Of course, Father dismissed it as superstition, but the thought persisted. Maybe we weren’t as alone as we thought.
Kaven broke into a wide grin. He knew exactly where my mind had gone, and he thought it amusing.
“Relax, you’re not being haunted.”
“It’s not a joke.”
He folded his page and set the book aside. Then, he pushed up from the squeaking mattress and sighed, “I know it’s not a joke.” Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, he asked, “Are you ready to go downstairs? We’ve hidden up here long enough.”
My shoulders tensed.
Sensing my hesitation, he gave me a pointed, chastising look. “Mavis, it’s her name-day. She’ll want you there.”
We stared at each other for a few moments in a quiet battle of wills. Seconds of squinting through prolonged eye contact passed before I finally let out a sigh of defeat. He won.
He smiled in victory and placed a quick kiss on my lips. Lacing his fingers with mine, he tugged me toward the door.
I grunted. Crowds made my skin itch. I felt every stare as if I were naked, every accidental brush of skin as if it were a burn.
We descended the staircase together, the chatter and clink of glasses growing louder with each step. Candles flickered in metal sconces, scattering light across the oak floor.
Grandmother Alma stood in the corner of the dining area, muttering to herself and looking worriedly out the window. I squeezed Kaven’s hand with a pleading look.
Kaven glanced at Grandmother Alma and back at me. He rolled his eyes. I smiled and pushed at his chest—but he didn’t budge. He groaned, mouthing, “Five minutes.”
I nodded, and he bent down to press one more kiss on my cheek. He passed through the archway, leading to the sitting room, while I made my way to Grandmother Alma. Upon hearing my footsteps, she twisted toward me. Her gaze relaxed as it met mine.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
Her frown tilted upward into a wavering smile.
“Oh, I’m alright, dear.”
There was a slight tremor in her voice. Her eyes wandered back to the window, glinting with interest. Did she share the same ill sensation I did?
Without looking back, she asked, “What can you feel?”
I searched the storm’s chaos for words to capture exactly how I felt. There were none.
“The wind is fierce tonight, and it’s blowing from an odd direction,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
A moment of silence passed. I put a hand to my stomach and pressed my fingers inward, as if I could dig out the discomfort. Nausea threatened to overwhelm me as bitterness coated my mouth. It was acrid, reminding me of ash on my tongue.
“There’s something in that breeze that doesn’t sit right in the pit of my stomach.”
“Good.”
I furrowed my brow. “How is that good?”
“It means you are no fool. You see this storm for what it is.”
“And what is it?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “A warning.”
My chest grew tight, and my breathing turned into short pants.
“Can you sense omens, Grandmother Alma?”
“Elders have always had a knack for sensing the weather, but omens are a different beast.” She hesitated.
“Not everyone shares the beliefs I do. Whether it be salt on the front stoop to ward off evil, or the chirping of crickets signaling good fortune. But I know this wind carries an off-putting scent in the air. I can smell it—something wicked.”
I fidgeted with the hem of my tunic as she studied me, forehead wrinkling.
“Lately my dreams have been filled with flashes of something I can’t make out, like smudges of charcoal over painted canvas. It’s mixed with a feeling of helplessness I can’t shake. Then, just as I’m about to pierce the haze, I hear screams and wake up.”
“How long have you been having these dreams?”
“A week.”
I trusted her with my secrets. She was the only one I didn’t fear judgment from. The last time I told Kaven about my dreams, he dismissed them, saying that they were just nightmares. My dreams then had been suffocating, like I was holding my breath.
A few days later, a little boy drowned in the river.
Kaven held me while I cried over the boy, but he didn’t understand the depth of my sorrow. When I told Grandmother Alma what happened, she believed me. I have gone to her ever since.
“What do they mean?” I asked.
“In truth? I do not know. It is something you will have to discover yourself.”
Another shiver racked my body—but it wasn’t from the cold.
Grandmother Alma lifted her shaky hand and lightly patted my cheek, lingering to cup my face.
“Now, if you’ll excuse an old woman, I believe it is time I retire for the evening.”
She dropped her hand, but her worried expression remained. After she left, I stayed still, lost in thought. All I wanted was normalcy, structure, and security. But I knew my destiny was to have none of it.
The shutters groaned, and the candles guttered low. Then, in the silence that followed, I swore I heard it—my name, whispered in the wailing wind.