The Forbidden Doors Box Set

by Cortney Pearson

  “When will he be in?” I’m aware of the greedy persistence in my tone. But I have to work here. I can’t explain the allure, but something about this store calls to me.

  “I’m…” His eyes wander up toward the balcony before returning to me. “Not sure. Tomorrow might be a better time.”

  The three of us exit the display room, and Nikolay saunters toward the checkout counter where a man in a thin green jacket glances around impatiently.

  Nikolay deftly hurdles over the squared-off checkout counter and plunks out the man’s total on the gilded register. He cranks a handle to the side of it before the machine gives off a cheery ring.

  I shrug at Piper, undeterred. “Guess that’s my cue.”

  Nikolay turns his attention back to me. “You are welcome to stop by again, Everly. I’ll tell my father of your inquiry. Now, if you will excuse me.” With a little bow, Nikolay Terekhov sorts through the books sitting on the register, stooping to place a few below the desk.

  “Sure thing,” I say, walking backward to keep my gaze on him and stepping on Piper’s toes in the process. She winces, tearing her attention from some plaques hanging near the door.

  “Sorry,” I tell her.

  Nikolay waves goodbye, and we head out the door.

  I link my arm through Piper’s the instant we’re out in the fresh, chilled air outside. Snow falls in gentle silence—no flapping wings, nothing but chilled reverie filling the air. Still, I hurry to my car and sink in, eager to press my back against the seat.

  It’s only superstition, I know, but after what happened on the way in, I don’t want to be exposed any longer out here than necessary.

  “I haven’t bothered filling out any of the other applications I picked up,” I tell Piper as she gets in. “I’m going to work at that bookstore. Plain and simple.”

  Piper laughs. “And it certainly doesn’t hurt having Niko-whatshisname there to look at between shelves.”

  A childish sort of giddiness settles in at the thought of his intense blue eyes, retro-classic style, and tranquil manner. My hands grip the steering wheel. “He never told me when to come back in.”

  “While you were in that room—the one like a museum, with all the pretty books—Nikolay was talking to someone upstairs. I’m pretty sure it was his dad.”

  Confusion rolls in. I crank the ignition, and the beater rumbles a purr. “If that’s the case, then why didn’t he just say so?” I ask, pulling into the street.

  “I don’t know. I’m assuming Andrei Terekhov is his father,” Piper says. “He’s sure got the lineup of credentials.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs. “That plaque, by the door. It had the usual impressive stuff like educational background and a doctoral degree. But one of them claimed he was an expert in thaumaturgy,” Piper says. “Whatever that is. I’ll have to ask Todd—he would know.”

  Thaumaturgy? “Who’s Todd?”

  “My boyfriend. My best friend.” The words ring with something like admiration and disbelief all rolled together. I can’t help but smile for her.

  “Does he drive a red truck and have floppy brown curls?”

  She sinks into her seat, an adorable rose color climbing her cheeks.

  I pull into our parking lot. “He’s cute.”

  “That he is.”

  The conversation halts once more, but this time I let it. “Thanks for going with me,” I say as I pull into Layla’s extra parking spot. It’s not covered by the communal awning, but I’m not complaining. Scraping ice off windows builds character. Or so I tell myself every morning.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Piper says. “Not many people…do that. You know?”

  I kill the ignition and reach for my bag in the backseat. “Ask you to hang out?”

  “Not since—” She bites her lip, shaking her unfinished thought away. “Anyway, see you tomorrow?” Her hand flies to the door’s handle, and she lets herself out, scurrying up toward our mirroring apartment doors before I get a chance to answer.

  four

  It doesn’t make sense. Why would Nikolay’s father be hiding upstairs if Nikolay told us he wasn’t there? And those credentials. Thaumaturgy? I’ve never even heard the word before.

  I sit so long in my car the fleeting heat is slowly replaced by cold. Exiting a car shouldn’t be this hard. But the base of my skull prickles.

  It’s nothing. It’s daylight.

  Encouraging myself, I push out into the flurry of wind blustering through bare branches. My keys clink to the pavement, and when I bend for them, I stiffen.

  A faint caw hangs on the air. My shoulders seize. The sharp feel of a beak against my back grows, tacking its way up my spine, forcing my feet forward until I’m jogging, running, breaking for the apartment.

  My shoe slips on a patch of black ice beneath the newest layer of snow. I hit the ground, landing hard on my backside. Pain springs up into my leg, but I push back to my feet, panic surging in my veins like carbonation, pop-popping its way along as it propels me to run, to get inside, get my back against the nearest wall, to not let them near me.

  I glance frantically behind, but there’s nothing there. The cawing grows as I thunder up the steps. My key slips from my trembling fingers. The cawing increases, beaks pounding on the door, thud, thud, thud, hitting everywhere around me as though I’m on display for a knife thrower.

  I dive for the key, hurrying to unlock the door. I push into number fourteen and scream.

  Layla is pinned to the couch, her arms up to block the flurry of black birds beating around her head, cawing violently.

  “Layla!”

  “Get it off!” she screams, shrieking as they pull at her hair with their beaks and draw blood from her cheeks. One dives for her eyes, pecking between her fingers, and all I can do is stand there in horror.

  I should move. Get a broom, dive in, shoo them away. But I’m frozen. Powerless.

  Someone shoves past me, knocking me into the open door, which smashes into the wall behind it.

  Piper’s brother, Joel, pushes through the birds, somehow managing to grasp Layla’s shoulders and shake her. Every shake jostles me as well, and I tremble as the birds fade. They don’t fly out through the door—I’m not even sure how they got in here. They just disappear.

  The blood at her eyes, dripping from a pinpoint in her cheek—it makes my skin tighten, and I swallow the bitter tang in my mouth. Slowly, like clay being molded by patient fingers, her disheveled hair tames itself. The blood fades away, and her eyes return to their normal, untarnished brown. It all disappears, leaving Layla sitting there, gripping Joel’s arms, searching his face for some sign of reality. For a confirmation that she isn’t going crazy.

  “Are you okay?” Joel asks, crouching on one knee in front of her. He doesn’t take his worried face from hers.

  “What was that?” Her hands visibly shake, and she continues clinging to his arms.

  “Those birds,” I say in a breath. My hand aches. I look down to find it gripping the door knob. I peel my fingers off one by one, letting them stretch themselves. “How did they get in?”

  I saw nothing behind me, but something chased me to the door, and then they were already inside when I opened it.

  I close the door and cross the carpet to where Joel kneels before Layla. My back aches, remnants of pain pulsing between my shoulder blades as well.

  “What birds?” Joel asks. “Who was here? What was that?”

  “The crows,” I say, hugging myself. They were there, outside the bookstore too. I felt them. “They were flocking around her. They were…”

  Joel’s brows knit together, and he meets Layla’s confused gaze. She slowly shakes her head.

  “Something was attacking me, but it wasn’t birds,” she says. “I just felt…something. Something dark.”

  “You m
ean you didn’t see them?” A flush tingles through my body, causing every inch of me to shake.

  Joel rises as I sit beside Layla on the couch. His quizzical gaze sweeps across our living room, my unemptied boxes, the Chinese food boxes strewn over our small dining table. “There was nothing here when I came in,” he says. “I just heard you screaming.”

  “It’s a good thing you did,” she says breathily. “You scared whatever it was away.”

  I dip my head into my hands, disorientation and aftershock making it spin. “There were birds here. They were pecking at you,” I say again, as if saying it enough will make it true.

  Layla watches me, and then her eyes slide to Joel whose face is still bent in concern. She gives off an uneasy laugh. “Look at us. You probably think we’re looney.”

  He inhales through his nose, hiking up the sleeves of his dress shirt and taking a seat in the chair angled in the corner. “Actually, you’d be surprised. I know a thing or two about being visited by things other people can’t see.”

  Layla laughs again. A nervous, shaky laugh. “You’re just saying that so I won’t feel so stupid.”

  He taps his fingertips together. “No, it’s true. Piper and I lived in a very…interesting house before we moved here.”

  “Interesting how?”

  Joel shakes his head. “The point is, I don’t think you’re crazy. I do think something is going on here, though. Why would you think they were crows?”

  Something about Joel’s demeanor speaks comfort and trust. Must be a family trait; Piper had this same effect on me, welcoming my openness with her calm manner. It means a lot that he’s sitting here, discussing this with us, considering what just happened.

  “I saw them,” I say, still shaking. “I have this…”

  “Everly has a recurring nightmare about crows chasing her and stabbing her in her sleep.”

  Joel’s eyes narrow. I wait for him to laugh, to fight away incredulity, but his face wears nothing but acceptance and worry. “Has this ever manifested before?”

  “Not before today. I was coming home from town with Piper and…” I pause. That feeling outside Terekhov and Son’s. It hadn’t entered—just waited for me to come back outside. “I think the crows followed me home.”

  “If that’s true, how did they get inside?” Joel asks.

  Layla sniffs. “There were no crows here.”

  “None that we saw,” Joel says. “Have you ever seen them before?”

  I shake my head, releasing a tense sigh. “Not when I’m awake.”

  “And Piper didn’t see anything?” Joel asks.

  Another head shake. “Not that I know of. She bolted from my car pretty quickly, though.”

  Joel thinks it over for a few more minutes, absentmindedly rubbing his chin. “Maybe you guys should sleep at my place for a few days.”

  A smile creeps onto Layla’s face. “Oh?”

  Color rises in Joel’s cheeks. “Safety in numbers. You can sleep in mine and Piper’s rooms. We’ll take the couch and floor in the living room.”

  Layla drags in a low breath, darting her gaze at me. At this point I wouldn’t mind another pair of eyes to tell me whether I’m going crazy or not. Because no matter what they say, I saw crows attack her.

  “Thanks, but I think we’ll be okay,” Layla says.

  Joel bobs his head for a second before slapping his hands on his knees. “Okay, then.” He stands, stopping at the desk in front of the window where Layla’s computer sits. He scribbles on one of her sticky notes and leaves a finger on it. “My number. In case you need it.”

  Well, that was subtle.

  Layla’s lips purse, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. Hey, at least he still wants anything to do with her after seeing how crazy we are. She gives him a nod, and he heads for the door.

  Layla catches him just before he leaves. “Hey, Joel?”

  He glances over his shoulder, and I admit, I see exactly what she sees in him. The guy is smooth, in his black, pinstripe dress pants, white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his brownish hair combed to the side in a style that’s just the right amount of dashing and nerdy all thrown together.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  He inclines his head before stepping out and closing the cold out with him.

  five

  Treading carefully with hot cups of cocoa in either hand, I make my way back to Layla and hand her Snoopy mug over before easing onto the shabby couch.

  “I’m never watching anything scary ever again,” she says, taking the mug.

  “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

  “Come on, that was seriously messed up, Ev! I just—I was sitting here, trying to talk myself into getting onto the forum for my online writing class when it just…I mean, you saw crows? Attacking me? Isn’t that what happens in those dreams of yours?”

  I cup the mug harder, letting its heat sink into my fingers. The cawing, the blood dripping from her face—it all reverberates in my mind with agonizing detail, planting a bitter taste in my mouth.

  “They mostly attack from behind.” What is going on? Never mind why I’ve been dreaming about them—why are the crows appearing now? I could have sworn something was haunting me right outside Terekhov’s. Now this.

  “But you see them,” she clarifies. “In your dream.”

  “Yeah, I do. I just—I don’t understand. Why are the dreams happening at all? It was one thing when it only affected me, but…” I trail off, attempting to focus my thoughts.

  “Now they’re real?” she offers.

  I shiver and push harder against the cushions behind me. “Not only that. Why did they go after you? I was outside, and it was almost like something was pushing me in here to find them attacking you. Like another crow outside knew I needed to get in here. What does it mean?”

  She sets her mug on her knee. “When did you say you first started having these dreams?”

  “Not until I moved here,” I say, sipping the hot blend of chocolate and coconut.

  “And they attack you, in your dreams?”

  My shoulders tighten as if in expectation. “Yes. Always in the same place, directly between my shoulder blades.”

  She mulls this over, her brow bent in thought. “They attack you in dreams. They come for me in reality. What are they after? And why now, now that you’re here in Cedarvale? What’s changed?”

  A lot, I think, trying to snap a panoramic view of exactly everything. The fight with my parents, Mom packing up my belongings, the crows. “I don’t know,” I say instead.

  Layla takes a long breath. “I’m just glad it all stopped when you walked in. Especially since Joel was here.”

  “He was really cool about it.”

  “Unfazed,” she says.

  “He did say he lived in an interesting house. And Piper, his sister—I’ve heard some weird things about her, but she hasn’t really opened up about any of it.”

  “What are you saying?” Layla asks, tilting forward. “You think they know what’s going on?”

  I glance to the desk. “I’m just saying, it sounds like if anyone can help us figure this out, it’s the Crenshaws.”

  Layla draws Snoopy back to her mouth with a grin. “It would be a shame to let his phone number just sit there, on that paper.”

  “A waste of perfectly good ink,” I agree.

  She gives off a little squeak, but something is still wrong about it. It’s almost forced, and I can tell the same unease burrowed in my spine is also plaguing her. Whatever it is that followed me home, I don’t want to be anywhere near it again.

  Fifteen minutes later, Layla and I troop out onto the landing between our apartments, arms full of pillows, blankets, and bags on our backs with homework, toiletries, and jammies.

  Joel opens the door. He’s dressed down in jeans
and a plain green T-shirt, and he dishes out a tantalizing smile. Layla gives him several stunned blinks.

  “Ladies,” he says, taking her armful of pillows. “Come on in. I ordered pizza.”

  “I like this arrangement already,” Layla says, regaining her senses. We walk in, and she sets her bag near the long chaise on one end of their scarlet sectional with its striped, decorative pillows. Unlike the rundown couch and the mismatched pieces of secondhand furniture spotting our unit, everything in the Crenshaw’s place appears to be brand new.

  “Wow,” Layla says, scoping out the décor.

  “I know it’s a bit much,” Joel says. “But after our last house, which was chock full of antiques, we wanted everything as updated as possible.”

  “Are you kidding?” I interrupt. “I’d love a house filled with antiques.”

  “You wouldn’t love this one,” Joel says inwardly.

  “Why not?” I ask. “Did something happen there?”

  He ignores me and goes on. “In any case, we sold what we could, and here we are. Piper picked most of it out.”

  “She has great taste,” Layla says, admiring the room staged like a furniture display. She gives me a pointed look, but this is why we came. We need answers.

  “Where is Piper anyway?” I ask, glancing down the hall. “Is she here?”

  Joel gestures down the hall, but the doorbell rings, interrupting his train of thought.

  “Pizza’s here.” He grabs his wallet from the granite countertop. Piper emerges, from down the hall, blonde hair draping down her back.

  “So I guess we’re staying the night,” I say, refraining from asking the questions burning in my brain.

  She gives me a sweet smile. “Cool. You can meet Todd.”

  “Is he here?”

  A tall boy with brown hair curling over his ears and a pair of earbuds dangling from the collar of his faded Ramones T-shirt appears from the same door Piper did. I recognize him as the betrayer of Sierra’s group, the boy sitting with Piper at lunch.