by Sara Clancy
Mihail nodded and started to look through the items. What he really wanted was some painkillers.
“I don’t mean to start another argument,” Radu said carefully, “but could someone please explain to me what just happened?”
Abe sighed. “Demons can’t affect physical difference in the world unless they are tethered to this reality. That’s why they latch onto people.”
“But they can haunt toys?”
“No. If they’re feeding off of their victim, they can move toys. But they can only possess dolls.”
Mihail frowned. “Why only dolls?”
“Because that’s why they were created in the first place,” Abe said. “They were designed to house the restless spirits of loved ones. It’s an open invitation. Demons just need the owner’s approval or summoning to get in there themselves.”
“I still can’t believe it bit me.” Radu looked over to Abe. “Have there ever been cases of demons actually eating someone alive?”
“A lot more than you’d think,” Abe shrugged.
The answer didn’t leave any of them feeling settled. Abe finished fixing Radu’s bandage into place and shifted around to take a closer look at Mihail’s ankle. The pain had dulled into a constant even sting while it had been immobilized. Now that it was moving again, the pain was twice as bad. Cries tried to work their way up his throat, forcing him to swallow them down.
“Well, at least one good thing came out of this,” Abe said absently. “We know Draciana ain’t being helpful.”
“How did you get that from this?” Radu asked.
“It had a clear chance to kill Mihail, right? It tried to take him instead. Someone wants a hostage.”
“Right,” Radu said. “You’re thinking that the doppelganger planned to use Mihail as leverage to force Draciana’s hand.”
“Pretty much.”
“So she’s holding her own. That’s one tough lady.” Radu sounded impressed.
For his part, Mihail knew he should feel some kind of pride. That was his grandmother, facing down a demon without blinking. But his head was still filled with the way she had come to be in this situation, of the lies and death, and all he could feel was numb.
“We just need her to hold out until we can get there,” Abe said.
His fingers were solid but gentle, expertly cleaning the claw marks and dressing them in fresh bandages. The whole time he kept talking to Mihail, keeping his voice even and calm. He didn’t say anything in particular. Just placed himself as a distraction for Mihail to hold onto. But for once, Mihail didn’t want to be placid. He wanted to be productive.
“How are your parents?” Mihail asked.
“They’re in the Philippines.”
Mihail's brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah. Apparently, they wrapped up their original task quickly. The priest they were helping was so impressed that he told them about this other case over in the Philippines. They’ve headed over to deal with that. They arrived an hour ago and can’t return home until the issue is resolved.”
Radu folded his arms over his chest before he remembered his bandage. “You seem very tense about this.”
“We really could have used the extra back up. Going in alone is gonna be dangerous.”
“Well, is Father Petran still in town?” Mihail asked. “Maybe we could convince him to help us before he leaves.”
“I don't think that's likely to happen,” Radu said.
Mihail bit his lips and nodded. “Did your parents give you an idea of when they’ll be back?”
“Nope.”
Mihail observed his friend with a sinking feeling, “Why do you look like you’re getting ready to do something crazy?”
“Ya can’t just expect me to ignore this. I’m patching you guys up then heading over.”
“Without backup? You just got through yelling at us for stupid decisions,” Mihail said.
“I was in there this morning.”
“The spirits weren’t all riled up this morning,” Mihail shot back. “Don’t you remember what happened last time?”
“What happened last time?” Radu cut in.
Growling under his breath, Abe glared at Mihail as he answered, “When I’m not prepared or protected, there is the tendency for me to be jumped.”
“Possessed,” Mihail corrected. “You were possessed and tried to kill me. You almost died yourself.”
“Yeah, it was unpleasant–”
“Oh, unpleasant,” Mihail parroted. “As I recall, you ended up with several broken ribs and almost drowned.”
“What?” Radu asked.
Abe dismissively waved a hand out towards him. “He’s exaggerating. It was just a few fractures.”
“That still seems rather significant,” Radu noted.
“It happens all the time,” Abe snapped. Pushing a heavy breath out through his nose, he hissed at Mihail. “Shouldn’t ya be bellyaching about your poor granny right about now?”
“I don’t appreciate the tone,” Mihail said. “Yes, I’m worried about her. Of course, I am. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not worried about you. And I’m putting you on the top of the priority list.”
“That’s sweet. But not practical.”
“You want to talk about practicality? Okay. My leg hurts. If you get possessed, I might not be able to outpace you.”
“I can handle it.”
“And if you can't?”
“Then it won’t matter to you because you won’t be there.”
Mihail paused. “You’re planning to go without me?”
“Let’s just calm down,” Radu said. “I’m sure Abe and I can handle it.”
“You’re not comin’, either. I can’t even trust you to close a door. I’m not taking ya in there to die.”
“Okay, now you’re talking crazy.”
“This isn’t your fight,” Abe said. “I’m the medium. I’m the one who promised that boy that I’ll take care of him.”
“The Russian boy?” Mihail asked. “That’s what this is about?”
Abe turned his full attention to patching up Mihail’s ankle, angrily sucking on one of his fangs as he did so.
Mihail ducked to catch his gaze. “You told me that I couldn't help anyone if I’m dead.”
“Anyway, it’s all a moot point right now,” Radu said. “Neither of you can go anywhere until Mihail talks to the cops.”
“Why would I need to stay for him to answer questions?” Abe’s tone was still defiant but didn't have the strength that it had before.
Radu tilted his head. “You do realize that you’re on the radar too, right? The complaint named you as a partner in crime. They’re going to get mighty suspicious if you’re not here.”
Abe snorted, “I don’t care.”
“You should. You might have held them off for now, but if you start making a fool of them, they’re going to take it personally.”
Abe hissed through his teeth.
“Even if we set off right now, we won’t get back before nightfall,” Mihail argued. “The ghosts are always worse at night.”
“I said I can deal with it.”
Frustration forced Mihail to his feet, taking advantage of the fact that Abe was sitting, allowing Mihail to be somewhat intimidating. “What is the rush? Yes, you’ve taken risks in the past, but this is reckless, foolhardy, and dangerous. Stop being so pigheaded and talk to us.”
“There are thousands of innocent people caught in the crossfire,” Abe snarled. “Am I supposed to just forget that? Turn a blind eye as they get sacrificed on the altar of Draciana’s pride?”
Mihail wanted to cringe but steeled his spine and held his ground. “So we'll take care of it together.”
Not prepared for the direct challenge, Abe’s anger simmered but faltered. Casting his eyes to the side, he clenched his fists.
“I know I’m new to this, and I don’t presume to tell you your business, Abe,” Radu said, his voice as soothing as a cool placid lake. “But
it does seem that you’re making a plan without considering your resources.”
“My parents are in a different country!”
“True. But,” Radu jabbed a thumb toward Mihail, “you have someone who knows the layout and Draciana’s habits.” Then, he pressed his hand against his chest. “And you have a guy that has access to riot gear and tear gas. Seems like between the three of us, we can come up with something better than just storming the castle. Though I have to say, I’ve always wanted to do that.”
The police arrived while Abe was considering it. Mihail would have preferred to get Abe to finally agree before they opened the door, but there was a lot of blood to clean up.
Chapter 9
The rambling conversation with the police did little to ease Abe’s seething. It only added another layer of tension to the already awkward conversation. Mihail didn’t have to fully understand Romanian to know that the focus wasn't on him, Draciana, or the imposter. The only thing the officers wanted to discuss – while never actually saying it – was the promised bribe. Mihail had spent his time trying to be as small and inconsequential as possible. It hadn’t been a hard task. Everyone there knew that he was just a living wallet. He served no purpose until it was time to pay.
So Mihail had sat by the fire, trying to keep warm and prevent the pain in his ankle from drawing his mind back to what had just happened. In time, they had come for payment. After struggling a little to find a place that would allow a strong enough signal, Mihail had made the transfer with little thought, forgetting the number the moment he had typed it.
Mihail had found the waiting game that followed almost comical. If he had been asked to think up what a bribing police officer would be like, he wouldn't have pictured five men sitting around the chipped kitchen table, sipping hot chocolate while they waited for the banks to do their work. And making idle chatter about the weather, or recent boxing matches when the silence grew too uncomfortable.
During this time, Radu kept sneaking quick glances at the lines of salt, checking that they were still there and intact. It said something about the mindset of the town that neither of the other officers thought they were worth mentioning. For his part, Abe made every attempt to appear at ease. But he couldn't stop himself from restlessly running his tongue over the sharpened points of his teeth, switching from one to the other. His agitation put Mihail on edge.
Finally, it was done, and the officers left with smiles on their faces. From then on, the night was far less uncomfortable. Instead, it was exhausting. Mihail had never been the voice of reason in their dynamic. He was the novice, a stranger in a strange land, confronting things he had no idea how to handle. Abe was the rock. The unmoving one that served as the marking point for where sanity should be. Mihail wasn’t used to his new role, and he wasn’t particularly good at it.
Mihail had never felt more grateful to have Radu around. Obviously trained to talk people down from the ledge. The towering man served as an interpreter, taking Mihail’s stammered words and transforming them into sound reasoning that forced Abe to listen. It wasn’t lost on any of them that Radu also had the physical strength to keep Abe in place if negotiations failed.
Between the two of them, they were able to get Abe settled enough to sleep. Or at the very least, stay in his room until dawn. That left Radu and Mihail to bunker down in the living room. Neither of them mentioned the currently empty master bedroom. Nothing turned strangers into fierce friends as quickly as a mutual fear. Tonight, they both craved safety in numbers, the constant light of the fire, and the comfort of having the lines of salt in clear view.
After a bit of struggling, Radu succeeded in his attempts to cram himself onto the couch in what could pass as a comfortable position. Arms crossed over his chest and chin tucked in, he closed his eyes as if he were already asleep. Mihail doubted that he was, but didn't call the officer on it. Instead, he grabbed a few cushions and settled himself in front of the fire. It would be warm enough there that he wouldn't need a blanket.
Curled on the rug, Mihail rolled onto his side so that the heat of the flames pressed against his spine. It grew a little uncomfortable but he didn't move. He liked the way that the firelight washed over the floorboards to illuminate all of the lower hiding places. The reassurance that there was nothing but lint under the couch wasn't something he'd give up for the sake of a sweaty back.
A near lifetime of boarding school roommates had taught Mihail what it sounded like when someone fell asleep. There was little change in their breathing. It deepened and slowed. Radu was still awake. But the familiar sound of having another living person around helped to fill Mihail's bones with fatigue and his eyes began to droop. It didn’t surprise him that he would be the first one to drift off.
Mihail had always had a unique way of dealing with stress. He slept. Without fail, he had always been one of the few well-rested students towards the end of semester tests. It had been a slightly useful, if inconvenient, trait. But from his first night back in Romania, it had been a godsend. Sometimes, it was his only link to sanity. That thin, little belief that things could be better in the morning. The ability to escape reality for a while, even if it was only in his own head. With images of the doll and the burnt remains of his grandfather playing across the edges of his mind, he was ready to hurl himself into oblivion.
The unrelenting floorboards dug into his hip while little beads of sweat had started to cling to the nape of his neck. Still, his body craved sleep, enough for him to find himself remarkably comfortable. Soon enough, his eyes closed and he felt a warm fog bloom in his chest and roll up to fill his skin. The peace didn't last long. Nightmares rushed up to ravage his soul and hurl him cruelly back into the waking world.
Jolting awake, the world come back to Mihail in broken sensations rather than a whole one. The icy dampness of his sweat soaked clothes. An ache in his lungs as he panted. Blood roaring as it rushed through his ears. The shifting of gold light and ebony shadows. Eventually, there were enough pieces for him to remember where he was.
It was still dark, with the dying fire offering the only light. Long shadows gathered in every corner, their unpredictable shift resembling movement. The more paranoid parts of Mihail's mind screamed at him that the rag doll had returned. Tricking him enough that he was almost sure he had heard something scattering around just out of sight. Each false alarm vanished under the slightest scrutiny, but they only left him alone after he had restocked the fire. So he fed the flames until their tips lapped out of sight through the chimney. It produced a stifling heat that was almost unbearable. Still, Mihail tossed in one more log before he resumed his position on the shaggy, floor rug. He had to shift forward a few inches to keep from burning himself and closed his eyes. He fell asleep to the sound of spitting embers and Radu's snoring. The flames hadn't died before the nightmares woke him again. This process repeated itself on a seemingly endless loop until, finally, Mihail's eyes snapped open to find the muted, morning light creeping across the room.
Drained by the repetitive cycle and starting to feel the pain in his joints and ankle, Mihail remained still and watched the light grow for a while. It was slightly disappointing that the glow was a muted, sluggish gray instead of a brilliant gold. But the gathered snow clouds didn't allow anything stronger to break through. In time, his mind was too active to let him remain on the floor. Desperate to move, to have some kind of distraction or purpose, he resolved to get up. The pain caught him off guard. It felt like each of his joints had turned to stone. Radu was a surprisingly deep sleeper and didn't wake up with all of Mihail's fumbling.
The Claymont kitchen was a place Mihail knew well. For months now, it had been a source of solace for him. Perhaps the only place where he could feel completely and utterly relaxed, welcomed, and safe. Being in it now brought a small measure of normalcy. As he bustled around the little space, checking the drawers and pulling out frying pans as silently as he could, the tight knot his stomach had worked itself into steadily began to release. Th
e dread and fear didn't go away, and he still jumped at every unexpected sound, but at least he didn't feel sick anymore.
More than once, he was sure the doll had returned. He heard it in the faintest traces of movement, saw it as a blur in the corner of his eyes. Then he would have to stop and strain every sense to try and spot it again. There was only the ever-crackling sound of fire, Radu's steady breathing, and the ever-present battering of the storm. If it were the doll, it wasn’t able to cross the salt lines.
Devoting himself to the task of making breakfast proved more difficult than he had expected when his hands refused to stop shaking. In some moments, the sensation grew until he was barely able to keep his grip on whatever he held at the time. He tried shaking his hands loosely and balling them into fists, but he wasn't able to keep the sensation back for long. At least this served to chase away images of his grandmother from his mind.
The sun hadn't gained much strength by the time the rich, buttery aroma of croissants filled the cabin. Radu stirred, then. With an array of shot, pained jerks and bitter grunts. Sleeping on the couch had not agreed with him, and it took time for him to drag himself into a sitting position. Only once he had been upright for a minute, did he bother to push his dark hair out of his face. He squinted around the house. It took a few more blinks for him to wake up enough to notice Mihail standing a few feet from him. It might have been amusing to watch if Mihail wasn't utterly exhausted himself.
“What is that smell?” Radu grumbled.
Mihail smiled, “Breakfast.”
“Good.” Rolling off the couch was an ordeal that almost dumped him onto the floor. “I’m starving.”
“I thought as much.”
Abe was always hungry. Mostly because he never stopped working out. It was hard to keep that much muscle mass without stuffing your face at every opportunity. And, since Abe and Radu shared the same body structure, Mihail had considered it a safe bet that they also shared a ravenous appetite.
