Lux [h.s]

forty-nine

A few long moments went by, and Cora considered turning around and telling Harry she hadn't been able to do what he'd requested of her. She didn't know what that woman—Paisley, she'd already heard that name before, but couldn't remember where—was like, or what would happen. The memory of the last time she'd gone after an address for him was all too fresh in her mind. She couldn't have it all collapse around her again.

She glanced around warily, but Ives was nowhere to be found, and she was standing alone in the street. Maybe it was only her nervousness speaking, but something felt off.

Then, she heard a deep clack. A key turning in a lock.

The door was opened, but just barely, and an eye peeked through the sliver of golden light.

"What do you want?" a rough voice asked, and Cora flinched. She could see a woman through the narrow opening, with curved, bony fingers and a sharp gaze. She was older than her aunt, but not by much, but she gripped the frame of the door like she'd seen a couple more decades than her age suggested, clutching the dark purple shawl that was draped over her shoulders. For an odd moment, it reminded her of Ives's eyes. But his eyes held the entire night sky in them, while her cloak was dull, soulless, of the same fabric Cora imagined the sheet that separated the world of the living from the world of the dead to be made of.

"I was told you can help me," Cora replied, getting over the multitude of shadowy feelings in her chest and remembering why she was there. "I've come a long way," she added, not wanting the woman to be taken aback by her accent. She'd never had the occasion to notice it before, but the people she'd met on the Isle of Dar so far had that mysterious, foreign accent she'd first noticed in Harry—which meant that she too must've sounded like a foreigner to them.

The woman looked her over and grunted. "I help no one." She made to close the door, but Cora stopped it with her hand. She glared at her, and for a moment Cora believed she'd crush her fingers.

"I have no one else to ask." The words sounded too much like a déjà vu in her mouth. "I've come from overseas, looking for someone."

"We've all lost people, young lady," the woman grumbled. Somehow, the word lady sounded like an insult. "That doesn't mean we're entitled to other people's help."

"But I've been told you can help me," Cora insisted. She'd come too far to give up now. "I'm not entitled to your help, but I know you can give it to me. Wouldn't you like others to help you too, if they could?"

The woman frowned. "Let's hear it, then. What are you so sure I can help you with?"

"I'm looking for someone."

The woman's demeanour changed immediately. Her fingers clenched around the door, and her gaze slid along the street furtively. "Come inside."

Cora gave her a wary look but stepped into the house. The strong scent of tobacco and burning wood hit her nose instantly, mixed with the sugary smell of jam. It reminded her of home so harshly that she had to take a moment to get used to her surroundings and realise she was farther away from the hostel than she'd ever been.

As her eyes got used to the darkness around her she noticed the sides of the room were covered by bookshelves, that were filled by what looked like a multitude of paper sheets, messily thrown about the room. Some were also on the floor, some others burning by the fireplace, that was on the other end of the room. The fire glinted red in its stone alcove, and its warmth reminded Cora of Harry. She suddenly felt more at ease.

"Who are you searching for?"

Cora jumped. She spun around just to see the old woman surpass her and walk towards the fireplace tensely.