My Savior's Secret

Chapter 4

Later that evening, the entire hall was gloomy from the dark-clothed people chatting quietly, coming in and out with flowers and gifts, with faces meant to be somber but more obligatory. The Weverins dealt with the inflow of visitors with impressive poise, and I was introduced to at least thirty people by sunset, all of whom I’d forgotten.  

Flowers of all assortments decorated bouquets. Garden baskets flowed from the porch and foyer. Colorful lilies and tulips and roses, violet irises, red carnations, orchids kept separately from the masses—goodness, there was superiority between flowers—and even potted shrubs, ferns, and ivies.  

Cards piled up on the table. Random strangers talked to me, and Rego managed to take them off my hands. These graceful floral tributes and commemorations—it all seemed like an excuse to socialize and bolster one’s own image.  

Did these people even know or remember my mother? They were undistinguishable black blobs on the gleaming cream floor. Any gossip about my mother were disembodied murmurs. 

I heard it was a fire. It was at her own house. Poor woman. Doesn’t she work for the police? Isn’t the Elrian chief head of her division? She left the clan to marry a man out of the country. I heard she lost her husband, too. She deserves it. Their poor child. Will the daughter be living here?  

I found myself at the rotating display of gourmet cookies and fruits. A caterer went back and forth refilling the display, and visitors left no space empty with their own edible contributions. 

Rego removed the gifts to clear the way. Boyne and Mildred made a special welcome to a pair entering the foyer whose arms brimmed with purple orchids. One was an elder and the other probably in his mid-twenties, both equally sophisticated in appearance and high-ranking given the servile attention they drew from nearby visitors.  

The Elrians. Grandson and grandfather. These peoples’ loud gossip held enough intel to fuel a Wikipedia. 

They were being led towards me when the ambience plummeted. All heads turned to the entrance. A hush fell over the entire hall.  

A black-cloaked individual, hooded, sauntered into the mansion. His engrossing height and disposition overshadowed those around him—even the two Elrian men. A black mask hid his face nose-down, and a mantle, pinned at the neck of his hood, curtained his entire body except the bouquet of flowers through the slit. 

Every spectating face either showed curiosity, wariness, or plain wonder. Or a bit of everything. Not a word about this fellow. Some gossip would serve me well now. 

The anonymous man pulled down his hood, revealing messy raven waves coming free over his eyes.  

“I knew using the front door was a bad idea.” His voice resonated in the room, blithe and breezy, as he circled to take in his surroundings. He pushed his hair back and whistled. “Look at this place.”  

“Where’s Elliot?” the older of the two Elrians spoke up. He seemed to be the only one who knew this mysterious stranger that appeared way out of the Weverins’ element.  

Boyne looked at the elder in shock. “I wasn’t aware you invited Elliot.” Were the Elrians that important to invite people of their own?  

“It’s for our own good,” the elder said.  

The mantle-man replied, “Elliot’s unwell. I’m here in his stead.” When he received no response, he continued around the banquet, repelling everyone in his path. “Sucks he picked me, huh?”  

Mildred spoke with a constrained voice. “Why you?” 

“Exactly. Why me?” He paused across the snack table. “Trust? Convenience? The forest is pretty close.” He popped a grape in his mouth from the fruit tray. “Maybe he wanted me to make amends with Darian. Wonder where he is.”  

“He’s not h—” Mildred corrected herself. “He’s on his way.” 

“Typical of him.” 

The younger Elrian coughed to cover his snicker, and his grandfather commented dryly, “You’re quite outspoken for a young lad. No wonder Elliot loves you.”  

“I get the job done. Let’s leave it at that.” The man held a more serious tone. “I don’t care about you guys. Who here is Shiloh Spears’ daughter?”  

All eyes zinged in my direction. It didn’t take long for the stranger to catch on. When his eyes met mine above his mask, I got the clearest view of them. Stark and bright green, like lush spring glades. 

Murmurs started. Spears? Is he denying her Weverin blood? How dare he look down on us. Who is he? What clan does he belong to? Why is he wearing a mask? Is he from the Underground?  

He strode around the rotating table and towards me like a dark cloud. There was a slow, daunting motion of his steps, daring me to move back. My feet didn’t budge. He stopped in front of me and gave me the bouquet. His hands were in peculiar leather gloves.  

My eyes soon flickered to the flowers. Chrysanthemums. Full, deep gold ones.    

He placed a tiny note on top of the plastic wrap and lowered his voice. “For your eyes only.”  

I opened the folded note. Go to the balcony. Alone. A chill trickled down my spine, but warmth replaced it when I looked at the mums. His eyes lingered on me before he walked away, past the speechless crowd, the Weverins, the Elrians, out the door without a second glance.  

Mildred rushed towards me. “What did he give you?”  

I closed the note. “A sympathy card.” She reached for the bouquet, but I moved it away. “I’m feeling a little tired. There’s still some time until the funeral, so can I be alone for a bit?”  

Mildred passed a swift glance over her shoulders towards Boyne and the two Elrians.  

“I’ll meet everyone another time,” I assured her. Agreeance among uncertainty slipped into her face, and I found the opportunity to excuse myself.  

I carried the flowers upstairs, the murmurs in the hall having resumed, and put the bouquet on a table in my room. My fingers hovered over it for the biggest, most orange flower in the bunch.  

With the flower in my hand, I went to the balcony. It was serene outside, a delicate breeze ruffling my hair and dress, the sky a shade darker yet the navy only beginning to layer the sunset. I put my elbows on the railing, rotating the stem of the flower. 

I’d been only eighteen when my grandma had died of a heart disease, at a phase when I’d become an adult but was too young to know what to do. Who to go to. My mother had flown back to Canada to be with me. We’d planted chrysanthemums in the backyard in her remembrance. Some were baby pink, soft white, but my grandma’s favorites were yellow and orange like the marigolds.  

That was the last time I’d seen my mother and grandmother. Losing both in different ways. 

I didn’t know how much time passed when someone landed on the balcony behind me with a soft thud.  

It was the man in the mantle.  

Surprise won over my apprehension. “How’d you get here?”  

His mask was down, and a lit cigarette hung between his attractively full lips. “I have a knack for climbing things.” He took out the cigarette and approached the other end of the railing.  

I rolled the stem between my fingers, taking my eyes off his lips, instead watching the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dark and the smoke curling and disappearing into the air. I hated the smell. I wouldn’t put myself near smokers, either. Normally. 

I pointed my flower at him. He looked at the flower and then at me. I shook the flower at the cigarette. “Can I have one of those?”  

“Have you ever held a cigarette before?”  

“Do you have one or not?” 

“I’m not here to smoke with you.” My question stayed resolute, and he sent me a mused look. “I don’t carry cigarettes.” When he saw the confusion on my face, he took his cigar out and examined it. “I bumped into Darian outside and made a request.”  

I heard that name two times now. Darian. I was sure I heard it a third time before, but my memory was a blur.  

The man held out his bud. Was he offering it to me? This person who no one knew yet barged in and out of the mansion at his discretion? What more, I didn’t put my mouth on things others already have, no matter how great their mouth. 

But what the heck.  

I walked up to him, ignoring the way he watched me, and put the cigarette in my mouth. My lungs clenched, the smoke sucking my breath, and I went into a fit of coughs.  

“Ew,” I croaked. His lips tipped up lightly as I recovered fresh breath and handed the cigarette back. Done with that forever.  

“Ew, it is. Haven’t smoked one in years.” He put it back in his mouth, reached into his cloak and passed me an envelope. “Elliot told me to give this to you privately.” 

It was bumpy with an object inside. My name was addressed on the top in blue writing. To Scarlet Spears.  

“This person Elliot…he must know my mom well.” He must know enough to send chrysanthemums the color of marigolds. “You came on behalf of him, right? Do you know my mother?”  

“I came out of duty to the old man. I don’t care who his connections are.”  

I glanced at him, my curiosity taking an interesting turn, trying to make out his face, the ridges, his eyes in the unapologetic dark. “Who are you?” He continued smoking, but he didn’t show any enjoyment from it. “What clan are you from?” 

“I don’t belong to a clan. You’re a temporary visitor, so it’s best to stay out of Etherian affairs.” Was that advice or a warning? 

Despite shutting me down, there was this mystery and mischief around him, as if he could shake the whole of Etheria frivolously. Was he dangerous? The Underground didn’t sound friendly. Was it alright for us to meet here clandestinely?  

“You see that forest?” he said. Beyond the mansion’s estate was a shadowed line of abundant trees. “I sometimes hang out there. It’s one of the few, but they’re the most peaceful places in Etheria.” 

I’d gone hiking in Canada before, either to sort my mind out or get a breath from life. Nature gave me the sort of therapy people couldn’t.  

“Perhaps not much for sightseeing, but if you need a break from this pretentious mansion, try it once before you leave.”  

Was that his way of consoling me?  

He held the ebony rod and, to my alarm, hopped right onto the railing with impeccable balance. I got a slight glimpse through his mantle. Tactical pants, belted with kneepads, tapered to his boots.  

He gave me the leftover cigarette bud, winked at me, and dropped off the railing. I looked over the railing as his mantle soared up and he disappeared into the darkness below. Seconds later, I found him again walking across the field putting his hood back on and heading towards the forest.  

Only then did I realize I forgot to ask the most important question, even if he wouldn’t have given me an answer.  

Who exactly was Elliot? Who exactly was he?