Something in my stomach felt tethered to the tips of his fingers, some force pulling me closer. Yet, in my head I wanted to scream and run. His hands reached higher, and I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to feel the weight of his fingertips on my skin, if there were any weight to the apparition before me at all.
Was he real? Would his finger feel like ice?
A roar of noise burst through the room, and I started, jumping back instantly.
“Liam,” Mathias growled, pushing himself in-between our bodies, his leathered hands shoving at the man in front of me. “Brother, come. Father is waiting.” He eyed me with a snarl and threw an armful of clothes at me, then grunted once and led his brother to the door.
Brothers.
“Is this some sort of cruel joke?” I yelled out, desperate to stop them, to get answers.
Mathias whirled around to face me. “You were never supposed to come here.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that a few times already,” I snapped. I held my clothes against my chest. They were freezing, like someone had left them outside in the cold. “How about giving me some information I could work with?”
“No.”
My cheeks heated, then Mathias shoved Liam out of the door.
Liam winked and waved.
I wanted to remind him to unlock the door for me at dawn. I would let him just about touch anything he wanted as long as he helped me get the hell out of this place.
Hours must have passed.
Hours spent lying on the disheveled bed, staring at the ceiling, listening. Snow hissed at the windows, and the storm that bellowed behind it sounded like wind rushing through the trees, or whatever it was just outside the window. I could see nothing out there but a thick gray mist and fat flakes of snow.
There were other sounds too. Voices. Whispers. Shadows that moved and crept along the walls and ceiling.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there. Long enough to notice when the voices died away and the room gradually began to change. It was like something out of a dream. Slowly, so achingly deliberate, it was almost invisible to the eye, the room began to...well, age. There was just no other word for it. I first acknowledged it in the tiny webbed cracking of the ceiling. Hair thin fractures moving and spreading, creeping over the paint and stone. I even squinted my eyes to see clearer. Then, faintly, stains appeared and rock and dust chipped and unhurriedly flaked down around me.
I watched as the room degenerated into a ruin, filled with dust and debris.
What a few hours ago was a beautifully furnished space, full of elegance and decadence, had become tomb-like and dissolved. As the time edged by in quiet, hushed murmurs, everything seemed to fade into a dull, long ago silence. Dust and ash piled up on the dresser. Grime and soot covered every item. Somewhere, a clock struck six and the room reconstructed itself as an abandoned vacant space.
It was morbidly breathtaking.
Then I heard a small click.
The sound of a key being slipped into a lock.
Metal slid against metal. A key turned.
I pushed myself up in the bed, drawing the filthy sheets around me, against the sudden sharp draft of icy wind. I squinted through the darkness toward the closed door.
The door creaked open a sliver.
I tiptoed through the darkness, knowing well the shadows here could hide just about anything. Behind me, my shoes left footprints in the dust.
There was no sound from the hallway. No retreating footsteps or whispered words, only the intense listening and constraining of breath on either side of the door.
I wrapped my fingers tightly around the doorknob and pulled it quickly, yanking the door open in a flood of wind and icy chill.
No one was on the other side.
A sensation of cold fingers crawled down my spine, and I shivered. Steeling myself to whatever fate lay beyond the threshold, I stepped silently out into the hallway. Someone chuckled darkly from beyond me, and the door to my room slammed closed.
I frantically searched the dark corridor. Was there someone watching me? A frenetic energy tingled around me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. God, that sensation kept happening to me. I was beginning to despise it.
Without another thought, I took off running, the darkness of the earthly stone walls putting me on edge. Were they closing in? Was I underground? Caged, bound somewhere, drugged, hallucinating? Was any of this real?
It freaking felt real.
Every door I tried was locked, bolted from the other side. I banged on the wood planks, screamed until my throat was dry and my voice hoarse. No one came out.
I grabbed a torch from the wall, the only source of light, and descended down the only staircase I found. There had to be an exit out of here.
Shadows crossed where they shouldn’t. Whispers pressed against the wind, tricking my ears into hearing words that weren’t there, things that shouldn’t be heard. I ran in every direction, but each hall I took led to a stone wall with no exits in sight.
My heart thudded loudly.
How was I going to get out of here? Where were all the people I saw before? Were they laughing at me somewhere? Messing with the city girl with the freshly dead grandmother and boyfriend who…what did it matter?
Where was everyone?
Rainey, a low voice murmured in my ear.
Rattled, I jumped and looked over my shoulder.
No one was there, but an icy chill brushed against my skin and worked its way deep into my shoulders. I spun around, panicking, knowing someone was there. Someone had to be there. Someone was playing awful tricks on me. I ran down another empty hallway and skidded to a stop when I suddenly saw a shadow, a shadow darker than all the others.
I swallowed hard—pulse racing through my veins—the beat of my heart thumping hard and fast—so loud, I could hear it.
Focus, Rainey, calm down. None of this is real.
And then—as the dark mass shifted—time seemed to slow down. The hallway became dead silent, the howling wind outside the walls stopped, even the heavy panting of my breath was inaudible, like everything around me in that moment; the world, every person, every creature was holding its breath, waiting for what would happen next.
I stepped forward, holding out the dying embers of the torch I held in my hands. The small movement cast a faint glow along the wall, revealing the figure of a person crouching back into the corner. The shape blurred at the edges, and I blinked my eyes tightly to try to focus my vision.
My skin turned to ice, as if winter had settled on my shoulders. I knew this figure. I knew who this was with every terrified, shivering bone in my body.
“Grandma?” My voice cracked and came out as a whispered sob. I collapsed to my knees, the hard stone floor scraping and slicing into my skin. I wanted to rush to her, but she couldn’t be real.
She can’t be real.
She was huddled on the floor, pale-skinned and decaying. Her clothes, the dress she was buried in, were smeared with dirt, and her eyes were hollow and lifeless. A loud sob slipped past my lips, and her image blurred more through my tears.
“What the hell is happening?” The words shrieked out of my mouth, slicing through my throat like glass.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Her voice was weak, and it echoed like she was speaking to me from far away. “Too dangerous.”
“This is real? All this is real? Or am I high? Did someone drug me and I’m—”
“I tried to take you away from this. I tried to save you.”
“From who?” I needed answers.
“The King.”
“The what? The King? This is fucking America. We don’t have a King!”
“He’s not my king. He took your mother. I didn’t want him to have you too. He’s a thief. A soul collector,” she spat.
I stepped closer, holding up the torch. “You’ve read too many books—”
And that’s when she disappeared.
Chapter 13
I stood blinking stupid
ly at the spot I just spoke to my dead grandmother in. It was empty, of course.
I’ve lost my damn mind.
A door slammed somewhere far off.
I took a deep breath and spun around. “Okay, so let’s say this is real,” I said to whomever might be listening: practical jokers, murderers, dead people, who-the-hell-ever. “This place is like some castle? Where dead people hang out. Right. Okay.”
I held up the torch, pointing its strange white glowing flame in all the cracks and crevices I could find. I pressed my fingers on every stone, searching for any trickery—any explanation—for what I saw.
I came up with nothing.
I headed down to the lower floors, back toward where I assumed was an entrance, figuring I could just walk out of there.
Let someone try and stop me. I’d shove this crazy-ass torch thing up their ass.
No one tried.
Everyone was just gone. There were no other people; just me. No other sounds. The only noise was the soft padding of my shoes against the floor echoing down the halls.
The disregard and decay of the castle worsened the closer I got to what I believed was the ground floor. A whole wall collapsed in what looked like a once beautiful ballroom. Thorny, leafless shrubbery and spiked vines climbed through the rubble and shattered glass of each window. Puffs of milky white mist crept from the openings and crawled over the floor. Wisps of fog like clawing fingers desperate to touch me.
Silence pounded at my ears. “Hello?” I spoke, cutting through the quiet.
The only answer I got was the thundering of my own heart.
Just keep walking. Get out of here.
Through a pair of double doors was a great room filled with paintings of devilish creatures and dark beady-eyed birds. Their faces, each one, seemed to stare down at me and follow me with questioning eyes. I stopped in front of one portrait of a figure of a man in a dark field. A long white sheet covered his face and cascaded down into tall grass. To the left of him, a raven, with its wings spread wide, hung in the air, caught in mid-flight.
“Hello, crazy portrait people,” I said loudly, waving like a lunatic. “Any one of you freaks want to jump out of the shadows and tell me what the hell I’m doing here?”
None of them did. Thank fuck.
I didn’t think they would, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
“Okay, then. Thanks for all the help and hospitality. I’m outta here.”
I pulled open another pair of heavy doors that led to a subterranean courtyard, and beyond a row of short brambles, an entire underground city.
Nope. Just, no. I’ve died and gone to a world created by Tim Burton.
My hands clutched involuntarily at my chest.
The bleak landscape that lay before me was startling, but worse still were the icy chills that ran through me, trailing frost over my skin that felt like fire.
Shivers tore up my spine, yet I stood still, gawking at the scenery.
Once, perhaps a long time ago, the grounds would have been stunningly landscaped and gardened—maybe in another lifetime. Now everything was a mess of overgrown thistle and thorn, withered flowers trampled and long forgotten. Beyond the remnants of the cracked marble patio rippled with dead grass and upturned roots, on the edge of the estate stood the dark ruins of a large village. Thatched roofs butted against the top of the cavernous canopy of the underground city, blackened with ash and decay. Wilted ivy and leafless dead vines drooped through broken windows and crumbled walls of dust and rubble.
My feet crunched over the dry grass and debris of the garden until they stepped onto a narrow cobblestone street that curved and zigzagged out of view.
I spun around, looking everywhere, trying to see everything all at once. Shops and houses of all sizes, abandoned and rotting. Darkened windows covered in soot, barrels and books, broken mason jars and other strange things teetered on top of each other in giant piles. Dirt and leaves and twigs and the complete lack of sound. Dark woods, with twisting gnarled trees and dead branches reaching out for an unseen sun. Fog so thick, everything became monochrome, everything soft shades of gray. And all around me drifted down soft white feathery snow that was neither cold nor wet when it landed upon my hand.
An old weathered sign hung crooked from a post that jutted out in the middle of the cobbled pathway. A large bird was carved into it next to the name Ravenswood. As I slid my palm over its intricate lettering, a sharp splinter stabbed into my thumb. I hissed out a cursed as a dot of crimson welled around the tiny wood shaving that stuck out of my finger. Pinching my fingers together, I thankfully got it out and flung the sliver of wood to the ground. It fell in the rut between two cobblestones, a small bit of my blood still covering it.
I walked through twisting alleyways, and inside each empty long forgotten place, wisps of soft white fog curled through every corner. I searched for what had to have been hours. The entire place was empty. A vacant ruined castle. A city lost in rubble. A strange underground world where chairs were left a bit askew as if someone had just been sitting down and snow fell like soft ash, a ghost town. Statues of ravens perched on every roof and darkened building. The entire place empty, only shadows remained. The only sign of life I spotted was a small dried chrysalis that hung from a dead tree, so desiccated it would never get the chance to become a butterfly.
My feet ached as I made my way back onto the estate of the castle where I first came. There had to be a way out of this place. I walked back through the main entrance and the ballroom and watched the shadows darken around me.
A low ringing startled me. A beautiful sound, like the peal of wind chimes in a soft breeze. Its calming effect rebelled against the angst of being trapped and confused by the thick solid walls of the place.
Then a hum started vibrating, low and steady at first, then picking up speed. I felt it rather than heard it, from the tips of my fingers down to the soles of my feet. Wind swooshed by me, blowing up my hair in an icy breeze. The feeling and sound morphed into the bustling of people, laughing and walking, materializing out of nothing.
They just appeared.
I squeaked out a small cry and stumbled back against the wall. Around me the space, which was just dark and empty a mere moment before, was pulsating with activity and life. For a fleeting moment, I stood in awe, gawking before this strange underworld city of people. This couldn’t be some prank, could it? If it was, it would be the most elaborate trick ever pulled on someone, and I knew of no one with the means or creativity to do it. It had to be real.
I cautiously stepped forward, away from the shadows of the corner.
Something nagged at my back though, bristling at the nape of my neck. Some far off memory tingling at the back of my heels, yet I couldn’t remember, didn’t care. Was it my grandmother? The spirit of her behind me, reaching out in warning? If this was the city of the dead, why would she not show herself to me now? Why hide? Why lie to me for so long? What was she saving me from? Who was this king?
Two more steps, and I joined in the stream of people walking through the halls. Some were dressed in fancy gothic attire; grand ballroom century old dresses with billowing hats perched upon their heads, and some in the flimsiest of nightgowns, impractically transparent. Styles of every era, a plethora of the most gorgeous costumes I’d ever seen, and almost every one of them bore painted skull faces, each with its own expression of joy.
I tried my best to ignore the shock and fear that kept pulsing through my mind. Hurrying, I weaved through the crowd and blended in with a loud group of girls dressed as cheerleaders.
I want to listen to them talk. They’re not much younger than me. What are they doing here?
Before any of the girls said a word, a hand gripped onto my wrist and I fell backward in a violent explosion of flailing arms and fists. My back slammed hard against stone, and my head thudded hard into the grime of the floor.
I waited for the pain. I expected the warmth of blood to drip down my scalp—the sharp snap and ache of broken bone
s—yet, I felt nothing.
Above me, Rose Delacroix’s face hovered over mine, alabaster white for bones and deep, hollow kohl circled eyes. “Sugar, I’ve been looking for you.”
I climbed up to my feet as she glared at me from head to toe.
“Oh yeah? Really?” I snapped, wiping my hands down my shirt and jeans. “Well, I’m not going anywhere with you until you start explaining things.”
She grabbed my wrist and shushed me. “Hush up now, child. We best get you cleaned up before he lays eyes on you.”
“Who’s laying eyes on me?”
Without answering, she dragged me through the crowd into a small room and shut us inside. “There’s not much time,” she mumbled, yanking at my shirt and pulling it right off my head. Her hands were gloved, and just like with Mathias, I’d felt a deep iciness from under the thick silk material.
“Why does everyone wear gloves here?” I demanded, pulling myself away from her touch.
She cackled in reply as she pressed a heavily layered dress over my head and spun me around to tighten the back. The dress was huge, a gown made of crushed velvet and smooth silk. It was awkward and hard to move in, and when I looked up at the mirror across the room from me, quite alarming in the allure department, I resembled a nineteenth century streetwalker. I grabbed at my tremendous cleavage, disbelieving it was really mine.
“This is absurd.”
She tugged on the straps on the back of the dress almost collapsing my ribcage into my lungs. Breathing was nearly impossible. A small, garbled cry of protest was all I could muster.
Ignoring my gasps, Rose strong-armed me out of the dressing room and back into the halls. I was practically dragged all the way to a room where the opening of the stone walls met the mist and snow of the eerie outside underworld.
I breathed in deep but smelled nothing. Everything in this place had no smell or taste or life.
I stood gawking, thousands of people stood in the mist, dressed in their hideous outfits, and I wanted to scream. Rose grasped onto my wrist instantly. I wanted to flee. I would rather spend the rest of my life in the white of this world than with these crazy people. Anger and hatred rose inside me like madness. I struggled to free myself from her clutches, but I was neither strong enough or able to.
Ravenswood (Ravenswood Series Book 1) Page 10
