“Like she couldn’t figure that out,” says another girl with too much makeup and dirt-brown hair to her shoulders. The two smirk at each other. Sierra introduces her as Tabitha.
“Hi,” I say, wishing I dodged harder to the left. I hate these awkward introductions.
We volley through the usual introductory greetings—where are you from? Why did you move here? Where are you living?—I lie to all but one, the fact that I’m from Shady Heights.
“Oh, that’s right in our backyard!” says Tabitha. She sneaks a look at Sierra as if checking for her approval. Her demeanor is careful, forced, and I get the impression she’s the kind of person who does what she thinks others want, instead of what she really wants to do.
“It’s a little farther than that,” I say, remembering the two-hour, emotional drive here, ignoring multiple texts and calls from everyone but Jerry.
I glance at my phone. He hasn’t texted since this morning.
I’m new girl fodder today, I tell him now, hoping for some support. Feels like I’m on display.
That’s what you get for leaving me, he replies with a frowny emoticon.
I clench my jaw and hold back everything I’d like to say. I’d be there still if he hadn’t ditched town on me right when I needed him.
“Can you believe them?” Sierra asks, nudging me. Her lips are glossy pink, her skin flawless.
I push my pigs-in-a-blanket hot dogs around on my tray, confused. “Believe who?”
“Todd. And Piper. Sitting over there like they’re better than we are.”
The girl, Piper, sits in the corner of the lunchroom beside a tall boy with curly brown hair tufting below the edges of a baseball cap. He pores over a textbook on the table and waves his hands animatedly as if explaining something, to which Piper grins and turns a soft pink.
I recognize that smile and her strawberry-blonde hair. “That’s my neighbor,” I say without thinking.
“Stay far away,” Sierra says pointedly. “People who get too close to her get in serious psychotic trouble.”
“That’s harsh. What do you mean?”
Sierra continues glaring across the lunchroom, so I stare harder, trying to see what she finds amiss. Piper looks innocent enough. No piercings. No tattoos. I think about the kind of trouble Jerry got into with probation officers and DUIs. The kind of stuff my parents hated him for. And the fact that Sierra is here gossiping about Piper like this makes me begin to dislike the beautiful girl now leaning in to dish out more.
“You’d never guess that Todd used to be Jordan’s best friend, would you? Then all this crazy stuff happens, and it’s like they can’t be bothered to even look at us. Todd used to sit with us every day, you know? And now—” She clears her throat, gesturing toward them again. She straightens her back and purses her lips.
Piper beams at the taller boy, who shares a look with her so warm I glance away.
“What kind of trouble did you get into with them?” I ask, unable to help it.
Sierra drops her glossed mouth in disgust as though shocked I’d even ask such a ridiculous question. “Let’s just say they’re not what you and I call ‘normal,’ and leave it at that, okay?” She dips her spoon into her applesauce.
“What do you mean?” I prod. “What happened?”
“If you want my advice about those two? Don’t go asking questions, Everly. Sometimes a warning is enough.”
And she finishes it off by licking her spoon.
The funny thing about warnings and me is that we don’t get along. Maybe it’s this newer rebellious side I discovered the minute I caught my mom reading my diaries about Jerry. The good, dutiful daughter in me snapped. Then again, I guess I’ve always been this way around everyone except for my parents. It’s the whole reason I started dating Jerry in the first place.
So when I see Piper after school—alone—I hurry to catch up instead of dodging back to my car.
“Hey,” I say.
She blinks several times, her mouth parting as though she isn’t sure what to say. She’s pretty, with serene blue eyes, a perky nose, and zits covered by a shallow layer of makeup. A scar rests at her throat. The two white dots sit at just the right place, I jokingly think they’re from a vampire bite.
“It’s Everly. I live—”
“Next door,” she finishes. “Hi.”
Dead stop. This is going well.
She hugs her books to her chest, staring at the ground. I kick a clod of snow from the sidewalk.
“Do you have Mr. Bateman for history?” I ask, trying to dredge up a discussion out of nothing.
“I saw you talking to Sierra today,” Piper says. “I know why you’re here, but it won’t work.”
My brows pinch together. “What are you talking about? What happened between you guys?”
Piper glances over her shoulder. “What did she tell you about me?”
I shrug. She scoffs and begins walking toward the ball field across the lot.
“Hey,” I say, hurrying to catch up. “I’m not here because of Sierra.” Not quite a lie.
She keeps her eyes forward. Chin high. “Yes, I have Mr. Bateman for history. No, I won’t help you with your homework.”
I laugh at this. “Fair enough.” She keeps walking and this time I jog to keep up. “Do you want to come to this great bookstore with me? I can give you a ride home afterwards.”
She hugs her books tighter. Her eyes shift to me for the smallest second before looking ahead again. “No thanks.”
“Come on. It’s a bookstore. You like books, right?”
Piper looks at me again. “Sierra—”
“She told me to stay away from you,” I spill, frustrated by all of this, but unwilling to give up. “I don’t like people telling me what to do. Plus, she seems really full of herself. Look, I understand you want your space. All I want is to be your friend.”
“To challenge Sierra,” she surmises.
“To have a friend,” I say pointedly. “I don’t have any.” Not here, anyway. I grip my phone, thinking of Jerry’s last text about getting what I deserve for leaving him. I still haven’t answered.
Her face softens. “None? At all?”
This seems to change her mind. With a pitying smile, and a final glance at the field behind us, she joins me on the way back to my car.
“Not besides my cousin. And my boyfriend. But he’s…having a hard time since I left and it’s—” Our steps crunch the snow in silence. I unlock my door and hit the button to unlock hers as well.
“It’s what?” she asks, sliding into the passenger side.
I clamp my phone in one hand, tossing my bag into the backseat. “It’s—” I stare out the frosted dash. “Hard. I know he’s upset that I’m gone. But I’m happy here, and it just seems like—”
“He should be happy for you.” It’s not a fill-in-the-blank statement, to help me finish the thought. It’s more like a declaration at the offense of Jerry’s lack of support for me. My mouth drops for a minute; her words resonate with the frustration that builds every time I talk to him.
I shift into gear and slowly head toward the street. I haven’t voiced this to anyone. Not even Layla. But Piper’s calm presence is welcoming—she’s the farthest thing from Sierra’s so-called psycho.
“Yeah, he brings it up every time we talk. He keeps bugging me to come back. I wish he would act interested in me, in what I’m doing here, you know?”
“What have you been up to since you moved?” she asks.
I follow the route Layla and I took yesterday, down Normal Ave and then onto Main and off on another street where the shops stand in the same order. I parallel my beater with the curb in front of Terekhov and Son Books, and cut the ignition.
The question cracks at something in my chest I didn’t know was building up. What have I been doing since I came h
ere? Trying to stay invisible, I think, until I finally convinced Layla I was staying for good and she helped me get registered for school.
“Job hunting,” I tell Piper with a smile. “I stopped here Saturday, but no one was in. But I have to work here.”
I rub my palm with my thumb, remembering the way that door heated up, remembering the way it hummed and lured me in.
“Says who?” Piper asks, fingering the window as she stares out at the storefront. Her fingernails are each painted a different color, like Skittles.
“Me.” I give her a bright grin. She laughs, and pushes out onto the sidewalk.
One hand on the cold knob, I pause at the store’s entrance. A feeling presses me, tightening the muscles on my back. The cars careening past, Piper’s chatter, it all fades as the street turns unnaturally quiet save for one sound—the beating of wings.
three
“Do you hear that?” Sweat trails down my back. I thumb the click-down handle while anticipation collects beneath my sternum.
“Hear what?” Piper asks in the stilled calm.
I can’t figure it out. This sensation wasn’t here Saturday. It’s nothing, I tell myself. I’m just upset by my parents. By Jerry.
Piper’s brows rise. “You okay? Did you change your mind?”
The flapping wings beat faster, the sound reverberating up my spine. The same fear from my nightmares rushes in, fear that hardens my stomach. I push Piper into the store and slam the flapping noise out, pressing my back against the glass.
“It never happens while I’m awake,” I mutter to the wall, my head reeling.
“Everly?” Concern creases Piper’s forehead. “Did you see something? You’re whiter than a sheet.”
I inhale deeply, hoping to clear my head and slow my heart. I’m not sure what that was. It almost felt like something I couldn’t see was touching me. But that’s impossible.
I force a smile, cursing my raging pulse. “It’s nothing.”
Piper analyzes me a few long seconds before turning to the store.
I inhale the smell of leather, of ink and paper, wood and lacquer. Gradually, my shoulders relax. The atmosphere, the ambience and smell of it all, override the eerie impression and instead heighten the thrill I felt just touching foot to tile. The store is invigorated with a display of life it didn’t show last time. People gather along the shelves, bending for a better look. A young mom holds onto a fidgeting child’s hand. A man in a long dark coat and with plugs elongating his earlobes peruses the section labeled Languages. A woman crouches near a magazine stand. Several others scatter here and there along the shelves, lost in their own thoughts.
“I never knew this store was here,” Piper says, gazing upward at the fleur de lis etched in the white molding above our heads, the walls trimmed with the same mahogany as the register desk and shelves.
“It’s otherworldly,” I say.
“It’s cozy,” Piper agrees, but she holds herself rigid as though slime coats the walls. “I’m just…leery of books.”
“You’re scared of books?” I can’t tell if she’s serious or not, but if she is, no wonder she was so hesitant to join me.
Her mouth turns down. I consider offering to come back another time when she plunges farther in, stopping at the mahogany desk. Books are stacked atop it today. I can’t help reaching out to stroke the gilded, antique cash register with its stick-out buttons.
“Check out this register. Don’t you just love the antique feel of this whole place?”
Piper shrugs, folding one arm across her body. “I think I prefer things recently made. Things that don’t have a history.”
“You’d hate my collection, then.”
“You collect antiques?”
“Just a few. I have this thing for objects that once belonged to someone else. It’s like they’re not lost anymore, not when I’m touching something that used to be part of their daily life. Kind of reminds me how connected we all are.”
“I guess,” Piper says, dipping her chin to her chest.
I frown, wondering if something I’ve said bothered her. I change the subject. “Now the question is, doesn’t anyone work here?”
“Maybe they’re in the back.” Piper glances past my shoulder. “I think I saw someone moving back there.”
I follow her line of sight. “Maybe it’s the cat. Did I tell you I saw a cat here?”
This finally wins me a smile. “In the store?”
“Yeah!”
Her arms relax at her sides. “I like this place better already.” She grins before heading toward the young adult section, or to find the cat, I’m not sure which.
I head for the spiral staircase, eager to find the mysterious door again, but a half-circle of light catches my eye. It streams from the opening of a room nestled in the back corner of the store. Curious, I make for it instead.
The room’s red walls are curved, and shelves of a lighter, golden color climb from waist-high cabinets clear to the ceiling. Books rest behind a glass pane on these narrow shelves, but like prized jewels, they’re labeled with a metal plate announcing, For Display Only.
The space feels rustled, disquieted, as though these ornate books resting behind glass aren’t really at rest at all. A burgeoning curiosity prods my feet deeper in. It’s alive with an energy I can’t place—like the feeling around that door. It prickles my skin as surely as a too-cold breeze.
Whispers seem to swirl here, inviting me in, and I cross to where several bedecked columns stand along the room’s circular perimeter. Something is different, separating it from the rest of the store. The etchings in the wood are more refined and striking, almost as if this is a showroom of some kind not meant for the common public to enter. For a moment I wonder if I shouldn’t be here.
Symbols and designs carve into the spines of the books’ deep leather. Like fingerprints, I can’t tie an exact matching image on any pair of books—each has been given its own defining touch.
A feeling tingles at my spine. I stiffen and turn to find a boy leaning casually against the polished column at the room’s entrance. Watching me.
“Oh,” I say, stupidly.
He’s tall and thin, his blond hair the same whitish color as Sierra’s boyfriend’s, but far better styled—shaved on the sides and smoothed just enough to one side. He wears a blue button-up shirt with suspenders, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and tan pants tucked into black ankle-high boots.
“Can I help you?” he asks in an accent, straightening and giving me an unperturbed glance.
“Do you work here?” He doesn’t wear a nametag, but considering his question, he must be an employee.
“I work here,” he says, entering the circular room. His boots tap lightly on the marble floor. His accent is thick and musical, heavy on the Rs, slow friction on the Hs. “Do you like the books?”
Hands in his pockets, he circles the room, slowly, watching me. Heat rises the longer he stares, and I turn back to the glass cases.
“The details on the spines,” I say, leaning in, resting a hand on the cold wood. “So different. So…intricate.”
“Would you like to hold one?” He removes a hand from a pocket, and with it, a key connected to a golden chain on his belt. With that small key in the corner lock, he opens the glass. A slim finger selects a shorter volume, darker in color than the others.
A charge swarms the air between us. He hands me the book, but I find I have to peel my eyes away from him. It takes several ticks before the patterns on the leather register in my vision.
This is from no century I’ve stepped in—it’s got to be one-hundred years old, at least. I flip to the first thick, textured pages where a copyright date usually lies, but aside from the marbled pattern painted on the inside, the pages are blank.
The book has no title. And from the way the spine cracks when I open the cover
, I know it’s the opposite. Not old. Extremely new.
“It’s amazing,” I say, handing it back to him.
His mouth kinks. “Thank you.” He replaces the book and closes the glass.
“Did you—you made these?” My gaze sweeps over the tall glass case, at the dozens of volumes resting on the shelf from center to the ceiling.
“That one, yes. My father has done most of the rest. I’m still learning the trade.”
“Sorry, but I have to ask. Where are you from? That accent. I can’t quite place it.”
He returns the keys to his jeans pocket after securing the lock once more. “St. Petersburg,” he says.
“What brings you to the US? To Cedarvale, of all places?”
He grins, gesturing around. “We come to sell the books, of course. Why are you here in Cedarvale of all places?” His blue eyes glint, and I get the feeling he’s taking in more of me than merely what he sees.
I tuck a hair behind my ear, suddenly timid. “I need a job. Are you guys hiring? I’d kill to work here.”
His eyebrow twitches. Once. Twice. “Interesting turn of phrase you use, Miss—”
“James,” I say, nearly blurting it out. “I’m Everly.”
He politely inclines his head. “Pleasure to meet you. My name is Nikolay Terekhov. And I’m afraid I’m not in a position to offer work. You may speak with my father when he returns, if you like.”
Crash and burn. My hope plummets.
Piper ambles around the corner. She gives me a small smile the instant she sees Nikolay.
“Who’s this?” she asks.
“Piper!” I say, too excitedly. Wow, this guy is doing a number on me today. I continue, hoping to cover my nervous insecurity.
“Nikolay, this is my friend Piper. She’s here to convince you to give me a job, just in case I’m not doing a good enough job of it.” I wink at him for good measure.
Nikolay stares somberly at Piper. For the briefest moment his eyes shift. He quickly overcomes whatever mental barriers he’s dealing with and gives her a weak smile. “Pleasure. And I have no doubt your persuasive powers are astronomical, Piper. Unfortunately, you will still need to speak with my father.”
The Forbidden Doors Box Set Page 30
