Nesting (Demonic Games Book 1)

by Sara Clancy

  It was warmer out here in the sun than it had been within the house, and the difference made him shiver. In a small act of mercy, there wasn’t any wind. Hunching his shoulders, he tried to search the pathway while never actually looking down. Odds were, all he would see was a sheer drop into the crushing river below. If he was remarkably lucky, the drop might just end onto the drawbridge. Either way, it wasn’t a sight he wanted to see.

  Not able to spot her from where he stood, he was about to call out to her when a noise made him stop. Someone was whispering his name again. He could have sworn he heard it, but it was far too soft for him to be sure. Still, having nothing else to go by, he followed it, striding out further onto the walkway.

  In addition to the enclosed structure at each corner, the castle rose up to encase random parts of the walkway, dividing it into segments. It made spotting anyone rather difficult. So he continued to scan as he moved. It was a difficult trick to both search and keep himself from looking over the edge, but he was doing reasonably well as he approached the first guardhouse. The inside of the structure was littered with shadows, but he didn’t pay them much attention. Until one moved. Something twisted in his stomach and his pace faltered.

  “Grandma?” Swallowing thickly, he worked the croak out of his voice and tried again. “Is that you?”

  He spotted another streak of movement. Pushing aside his unease, he hurried forward. Bracing his hands on either side of the doorframe, he leaned his torso into the guard tower. It was a small space. Pretty much just a box of a room. And it was completely empty.

  “Grandma?”

  “Mihail,” a voice whispered against his ear.

  He whipped around. Just as he turned, a strong force slammed into his chest. It knocked the air from his lungs and sent him staggering back. His lower spine struck the railing, the momentum kept him going, and he was sent toppling over the edge.

  Chapter 2

  Fear choked him. It reduced his screams to a pathetic squeak that could barely be heard over the rush of his own blood. He was falling, dropping like a stone. All of his organs shifted at once like the roll of the tide, his heart thundered against his ribs, his fingers clenched as they vainly searched for something to hold onto. Cool air whipped at his hair, obscuring his vision as it lashed at his skin. Even still, for the briefest second, he was sure that he saw a figure standing upon the battlement, watching him fall. Before he could blink, his back cracked against something. The spike of pain at the impact finally released his shriek of terror.

  Water rushed in to fill his mouth as the lake swallowed him. Mihail gagged and sputtered, the agony in his back forgotten as he struggled for air. He was still falling, diving down into the depths of the icy water until the light became a muted haze above him. It felt like a thousand needles were burrowing into his skin at once. They each filled with a venom that destroyed every trace of warmth in his body. Instinct took over despite his frozen mind. He began to thrash and kick, his waterlogged clothes making every movement a struggle.

  Slimy seaweed-like plants wrapped around him as he dropped, cradling his spine before brushing along his sides. The tendrils bobbed in the water as he moved, brushing against his limbs like questing fingers. Just before he could reach the surface, they tightened. Their grip was like iron fingers. A cluster of grasping hands keeping him in place. The more he struggled, the stronger they became. Dozens became hundreds, looping around his ankles, wrists, neck. Every thrash made them squeeze. Fire exploded within his chest. His lungs ached for air, the inferno spreading the longer it was denied.

  Twisting his wrists, he snatched up handfuls of the mush and yanked. At first, they held like steel but soon gave way, allowing him to rip up from the roots. He pulled over and over. Until the water was filled with floating debris. Struggling against them, he lurched to the surface. The first breath made his head spin. Grabbing and lurching, he made his way to the bank of the lake. Nothing had ever felt as good as the cold stones against the palms of his hands. Water rushed from him and he dragged himself up. It didn’t feel like he had an ounce of warmth left as he collapsed against the stones. Still, the droplets evaporated off of him like there was an inferno under his skin.

  Suddenly, hands were upon him. They grabbed handfuls of his jacket and pulled, trying to drag him further from the edge. Mihail flinched. A sharp gasp left him as he reeled back and looked up. An elderly woman stood before him. A thick bear fur coat ballooned around her slender frame. It made her shoulders look twice their size but still couldn’t disguise how frail she was.

  Age had hollowed her cheeks, turning what had once been high cheekbones into razor sharp ridges. Her eyes were large like Mihail’s, but the irises were several shades darker than his own. Her hair was the same. The traditional Vaduva chaos, as his mother liked to say. And like his mother, and himself, this woman had a crown of rich brown curls that twisted in every direction and seemed to have no care for gravity. It really was a family trait. Something that connected him back at least two generations. Despite the lingering cold and fear, that realization made him smile. The look she gave him in return was both warm and hesitant. As if she wasn’t entirely sure what she should be doing right now. Admittedly, the grin might have taken her by surprise.

  “Mihail?” his grandmother asked.

  He nodded quickly, the motion spraying droplets from his hair. Pushing his damp curls off his forehead, he allowed her to take hold of his other arm. Of course, he didn’t let her do much, other than keep a hand on his arm as he awkwardly lumbered to his feet. Water drizzled from him, flooding the ground and weighing heavily on his clothes. Still, her grip was impressive. Age hadn’t taken the strength from her fingers, and she wasn’t exactly shy about showing it.

  Once he was up and actually face to face with her, he felt a sudden jolt of nerves. It had been so long and he looked like a fool. A clumsy fool who was in quite a bit of pain. So he pushed his hair back again and smiled.

  “Hi, grandma.”

  A flurry of words left her mouth. Each syllable came at a rapid pace, too fast for him to be able to make any kind of sense from it. She seemed to notice the twist in his face and abruptly stopped, tilting her head to the side to study him carefully. The expression was more than enough for him to piece together what she was silently asking.

  He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, I don’t speak much Romanian. I kind of forgot most of it.”

  She looked confused.

  It took him longer than he would have liked to remember how to ask if she spoke English. But her Romanian answer was swift and, mercifully, a word that he actually knew. Nu. No. With a bit of fumbling, he started to introduce himself. He remembered speaking Romanian as a child, and the struggle that learning English had been in the beginning. The first year of boarding school had been a nightmare. But he had adapted. And since there had been no reason to switch back on a daily basis, he hadn’t spoken a word of it since he was five. He had just assumed that the knowledge was tucked away somewhere in the back of his mind. And that once he was back around Romanian speakers, he’d effortlessly pick it back up. So far, that had not proven to be the case. If his grandma hadn’t arranged everything, including his taxi ride out here, he’d probably still be at the airport.

  With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the rest of his fumbling. He didn’t understand what she said next, but the reassuring arm she looped around him and the way she led him towards his bags made the message clear. Awkward introductions could wait until after they made sure he was okay. Or at the very least, until they had gotten some warmth back into his bones. Weeds and water sloshed off of him as he shuffled along beside her. He paused when he heard a solid click against the stones.

  Crouching down, he noticed something glisten within one of the mounds of pond scum. He plucked it free and wiped it clean with his thumb. More water oozed out of his glove at the touch and helped to wash the stone clean. An emerald, the size of a fingernail, instantly sparkled as if it had been freshly polished.
The gold band of the ring, however, retained its tarnish. He pulled it free of the sludge and looked up to his grandma.

  “Lucky we found this, huh?” he said.

  Her hand snapped out with startling speed. In a flash, she had snatched it out of his hand and shoved it into her jacket pocket. A few sharp words escaped her as she wrapped her hand around his arm again and pulled. Mihail furrowed his brow but didn’t bother to ask any questions. She wouldn’t have understood him anyway. There was no desperate need for all of his bags, so he only took one and followed her to the main entrance.

  The doors were huge. Seemingly constructed from a single piece of wood, it was tall enough that a plane could pass through without trouble. Faces decorated the surface. Each one was different, peeking out from a nest of snakelike coils to scream or laugh. Seeing them now, he remembered just how unsettling he had found them when he was a kid. They were so lifelike that he would convince himself they were watching him and moved when he wasn’t looking. Now, as an adult, they still made his stomach squirm, although he was better able to appreciate the skill that went into making them.

  Despite its size, his grandma opened the door with ease. Entering the castle from this point was like entering a completely different world. The main foyer was grand and spacious. In its glory days, it would have been an incredible sight. Now, even as dust and insects made their claims, it was still imposing. Doors lined the walls, placed between life-sized portraits. In the center of the room, guarded by two colossal stone gargoyles, the floor abruptly stopped to allow for a staircase. As he neared, he could see that it only went down for half a dozen steps before it split into three different trails. He couldn’t see where any of those ended.

  His grandma didn’t hesitate for a moment. She led him through doors and down magnificent halls. Up marble stairs, down sloping corridors, over bridges that crossed sitting rooms, and balconies that overlooked libraries. It was as breathtaking as it was confusing. The closest he could reason was that most of the rooms had to have been built into the peak itself. There was no other way for there to be so many massive rooms without the castle looking like the size of a Las Vegas casino from the outside. By the time she opened his bedroom door, he was utterly lost.

  The room itself was just as impressive as the others were. Ancient artworks depicting full-bodied women and gilded dragons lined the walls. Every piece of furniture was a gothic antique and rose up with decorated, extravagant spikes. The cabinets, the chairs, even the curtained bed was set with a battlement of its own. Set upon a pedestal, the wooden frame was constructed of strong, uneven edges and rimmed with thick curtains. The bed was large enough to fit five people comfortably. While looking soft and clean, the mattress and bedding seemed to have been constructed around the same time as the furniture. It wouldn’t have surprised him if the lumpy looking padding were filled with hay and feathers.

  Leaving him to put his suitcase on a metal trunk, his grandmother crossed the room and opened the heavy velvet curtains. Thin strips of black iron rose up like vines, the tangled lengths holding misshaped hunks of crimson stained glass. Ripples ran through the treated glass, distorting his vision of the balcony and the mountain range beyond. He could only imagine how high they were. It made a shiver run down his spine. Suddenly, he felt every ounce of the cold that clung to his clothes. For the first time, he noticed the wet footprints he was trailing around the house and felt a pang of guilt thinking of the historical rugs he must have ruined.

  Caught in his contemplations, he didn’t notice his grandmother crossing to the heavy drapes on the far wall until she pulled on a cord. Ropes separated the curtains and drew them back with a whoosh. Instead of revealing another set of windows, they parted to display a tub. At least, that was what he thought it was. Large, round, and made of metal, it looked more like a human sized goblet than a bathtub. One of those carved faces was set on the bare stones above it. His grandmother twisted a knob set behind the curtain and steaming water began to spew from its gaping mouth.

  “Bathtub it is,” he mumbled to himself.

  She looked over her shoulder at him but didn’t comment as she pulled back a framed painting. Mihail grinned as the painting moved on unseen hinges and opened up to a medicine cabinet. Dad was right. Nothing here is what it looks like, he thought with amusement. Without comment, she pulled out a few jars and dumped the contents into the water. A dozen different scents hit him at once. There were too many to identify one in particular, and the resulting concoction was both spicy and sweet. She spoke then, still too fast for him to understand any of it, but he assumed by the movements of her arms that she was telling him to get in.

  “Thanks, grandma,” he said as he peeled off his soaked jacket.

  She turned to him. “Bunica.”

  “I don’t know that one.”

  “Bunica Draciana.”

  “Isn’t your name Draciana?”

  With a bemused look, she shook her head and placed a hand on her chest. “Bunica.”

  It clicked and he had to resist the urge to smack himself in the forehead. “Grandma. Bunica means grandma!”

  She mirrored back his smile with a dazzling one of her own. Looks like we have something else in common. We both think I’m an idiot.

  “Thank you, Bunica Draciana.”

  Crossing the distance between them, she pulled him into a tight hug. For as weak as she looked, it felt like her bones were made of diamonds. It was a struggle for her to work her mouth around the words, and the result was laced with a thick accent. Still, he understood it perfectly, and it made him smile against the top of her head.

  “Welcome home, Mihail.”

  ***

  Mihail’s fine cashmere sweater wasn’t any match for the chill that ran throughout the castle. Even when layered with a button down shirt, the warmth he had gathered from the bath was soon lost. Sitting at the end of his bed, he stared at his lucky button and thought of what had happened. Only a few hours had passed and already he was starting to doubt everything he had seen. It was far easier to believe that he had been beamed by a falling tile than the idea that someone had managed to push him. No one could have been there. Not without me seeing them, he realized as he played it over in his mind again. There wasn’t anywhere someone could hide.

  But still the thought lingered. What if there is someone else here? Castle Vaduva was a labyrinth. If someone did get in, they could hide for centuries and no one would find them. But there is a literal drawbridge, he reminded himself in hopes of easing his mind. Unless they scaled the cliff, it’s not likely. And who would go to that much trouble? Mihail wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that. So he traced the lines of the bear on his button with his thumbnail and tried not to think about it.

  Time crept on and the shadows in the room grew heavy. Bunica Draciana still hadn’t returned. It made him paranoid that he had missed some part of the interaction. Had she told him to come down? It seemed insane that she would believe he could navigate this place so early on. But then, given that she had spent decades here, the place didn’t seem too imposing to her. Maybe she got hurt. Or the stranger found her. Telling himself that he was worrying for no reason didn’t help to push the thoughts away. So he stood up, made sure he looked somewhat presentable, and entered the hall.

  The hallway was littered with small, metal gargoyles. They clung to where the walls met the ceiling, each one looking down upon the hall with grotesque smiles. Sparing a moment, he reached up and traced his fingertips around one of them. They had all been so much bigger in his memories. And scarier. Just like most things in this place, they served a dual purpose. Positioned as they were, each one caught the light from the one before it and sent it to the next. When the moon rose, they would all glow silver, lighting the halls without the need of a single candle. A small nostalgic smiled crossed Mihail’s face as he lowered his hand.

  The sudden strike of piano keys shattered the silence. He whipped around, casting his gaze up and down the hall, failing
to pinpoint where it was coming from. As he searched, the clash of keys evolved into an intricate melody. Mihail picked the direction he was relatively sure was the way he had come, and headed off. Perhaps it wouldn’t lead him to the piano, but he might stumble across something that was somewhat familiar. The music encased him, rolling off the walls to crash down upon him like a breaking swell. As he searched, he made a game of trying to guess the piece, but he was quite sure that he hadn’t come across it before. For all its delicacy, it was a complicated piece. It made him smile to think that they might have something besides hair in common. And knowing that there’s a piano is a bonus, he thought.

  It didn’t surprise him to discover that his attempts to follow the music had left him utterly lost and in a hallway he had no recollection of. So he took to opening doors at random. Surely, one of them had to loop back around. While the rooms in this side of the castle were still decorated with utter finery, they hadn’t been tended to in what seemed like decades. Dust covered every surface and layers of cobwebs dangled from the ceiling in long strips. He stumbled across a few dozen servants’ quarters before he found a narrow hallway. Sunlight seeped under the door at the end, and he decided that it was as good a direction to go as any. Maybe the view from the window will at least point me in the right direction, he reasoned.

  As he neared, it seemed that the music was coming from the other side of the door. He curled his fingers around the handle and carefully inched forward until he pressed his ear against the wood. The strings of the piano continued to boom forth their rapid melody. He opened the door. The music stopped.