Chapter 27
I’m in my grandpa’s office, holding his journal.
My fingers run over the pages, luxuriating in the texture of parchment and tracing his handwriting. A strange piece of him left behind, and a part that frustrated me as much as I appreciated it. And I’m staring at the symbols and impenetrable language, tension rising as I still can’t solve the…
The ink melts across the pages, turning into smoke. I gasp and rear back, clutching the journal tight as the smoke swirls and sinks back into the pages. Liquid ink spools down the parchment before threading into sigils and words I no longer struggle to decipher.
Somehow it looks the same but just different enough that the illegible scrawl makes sense. Softened enough that my suddenly rewired brain grasps at new meanings. No longer infuriating nonsense, but coherent clues to something definitive. Perhaps something my grandfather wanted me to find.
My eyes narrowed on the clearest line in the middle of two fuzzy paragraphs. A code?
No, it was coordinates.
A whooshing wind crashes through my ears.
The walls bleed and blur, turning to mist as the room dissolves.
My heart revolts. It twists and drops, worsening the sensation of the world being ripped out from under my feet and tipping me sideways. Paralyzed, my form crashes through the floor, and I couldn’t so much as flinch.
Pitch darkness claws up and swallows me.
I blink, finding myself in a new location.
The world crystalizes around me like fractals of a diamond flattening into a clear pane of glass.
As if I had become a puppet on strings, my foot moves forward.
Propelled through the glassy surface, I enter a world of gray gloom and a thick fog so palpably heavy it grabs at my ankles with each step forward.
I’m at Kilbride, walking across the misty quad at night. My legs are moving as if they know the way.
I feel like another ghost, one of hundreds, haunting the campus.
In my periphery, I see them. Specters caught in time, lost in the veil between worlds and trapped for eternity. And I am one of them, and they are me.
I am heading toward the address from the journal, somehow knowing it was a location on campus. Memory of how I got there evaded me, but that’s inconsequential. I have somewhere to be. It’s very important that I be there.
The archive building materializes from the gray shroud.
Rising one brick at a time from the darkness in all its aged glory.
Arched, narrow windows, ivy snaking through the grooves in the stone—the large wooden door parts soundlessly like jaws opening and ready to feast. And I slid inside like a willing meal, eager to be swallowed into the cold, concrete stomach of the beast.
I blink, and I’m no longer in the foyer.
I’m on the stairs, going down, down, down.
The deeper I go, the darker it becomes.
There’s a steady plink, plink, plink, of distant water dripping from ancient pipes. A moldering, musty odor snuck into my nose, provoking an urge to gag I couldn’t act on. A persistent chill whispered over my skin, as gentle as a teasing lover’s touch, but horribly frigid, turning my bones to ice.
One floor. Then another. And another.
Another.
Shadows shift along the walls as breath fogs from the lips. A gentle exhale of darkness permeates the stone walls and wooden stairs. They feel present, like memories and living beings of history walking beside me, guiding me.
Another set of stairs.
Older, rickety, with steps that groan with complaint on each step. Deeper and deeper into the bowels of the old building.
And another.
Another.
Deeper and deeper still, into the bowels of the earth.
As if I were walking into a pit, a void, a chasm.
Or a grave.
Crack!
The step shattered underfoot.
I plummet into the abyss. My heart thunders, my pulse quickens, and a scream dies on my lips. I’m a frozen statue dropping like a stone into still waters.
A sob bubbles in my chest and clogs the back of my throat.
Then I blink.
I’m standing before a set of unremarkable, weathered doors.
Somewhere behind me, a single candle flickers, lengthening the shadows before me into figures.
They grow arms and reach for the doors. Rusted hinges scream in protest against being opened.
This place feels like a living thing, and I am a parasite waltzing through vital organs and straining joints.
But it is welcoming me and pointing me to where I need to go.
I can’t be late.
The sickly yellow glow lights the way, revealing a narrow tunnel of stone gradually morphing and degrading into a cavernous gullet.
My hand trails along a wall slick with condensation, or stomach fluids, and feeling the faint pulsating of life within.
A pungent, fetid smell wafts into my face, and I cringe.
Enthralled, I descend deeper and deeper.
Charged air with a distinctly sulfuric taint blows around a corner, and I follow the curvature of the stone with my breath held and chest tight.
Dread skitters over my skin, and the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
A blinding light stops me. Hand lifted, I peer through the shield of my fingers to make out the general shape of a bonfire. Orange and red and gold, crackling, spitting flames, and burning hot.
I froze. Even my heart became ice.
A circle of robed figures surrounds a blazing fire pit, chanting in a language that grates at my ears, a sound too jagged to be human.
Their voices rise and fall in a resounding, feverish cadence.
One by one, the robed figures step forward.
Each loosens the tie at their throat, letting heavy fabric fall open before slipping off completely.
What emerges from beneath the robes is viscerally, horribly wrong.
Skin splinters and warps, bones twist with brutal transfiguration, and eyes bulge into yellow discs.
Feathers erupt from their bodies like black thorns tearing their way through delicate meat, rendering flesh.
Viscera drips from elongating claws, and dewy feathers ruffle as they grow.
Their mouths stretch, unhinge, tongues lolling as they gag and choke on their infernal rebirth.
Wicked grins split wide as if delighting in euphoric bliss, too wide, reforming into sharp, hooked beaks as their forms twisted and deformed.
Limbs crack backward. Talons click against the stone. Mortal flesh sloughs off feathered bodies and sizzles into ash. I should run. I should scream. I should do anything but stare as if locked to the spot by invisible chains. But I’m held hostage by an unseen presence and forced to watch.
Grandpa’s journal had led me to the unholy sanctum of Moloch’s apostles, carved beneath the school. A church of horrible worship and grotesque rebirth hidden within the ancient innards of the university.
The stolas are gyrating and moving around the fire. Their hooting shrieks grow louder and rhythmic. A ritualistic chant meant to entice a beast from another world into ours.
And it is working.
The fire is swelling, shivering, leaping into a great inferno. And something will come through.
A breath catches in my throat.
The sound betrays me.
Everything abruptly stops.
The chanting. The growing fire. All movement.
A tremble skitters down my spine.
Every set of haunting yellow eyes turns in perfect, eerie unison.
And lock onto me.
Watching.
Always watching.
Thrashing awake, I struggled against the sheets tangled around my legs. Chest heaving, throat burning, I shook away the horrible spinning blur in my vision. Gradually, painfully, the edges of the world cleared despite the nightmares clinging to my mind.
The panic was fading, but insistent, prickling under my skin until restlessness prevailed. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, shivering against the chill in my room. Something crinkled under my hand, and my head snapped down to find a scrawled note from Luther.
Be back soon.
—L
I couldn’t have said how long I remained there, balanced on the edge of the bed where my mind was halfway trapped between hellish dreams and reality. I fiddled with the little slip of paper in my hand, thoughts churning faster than an avalanche.
What a horrible dream.
Except it hadn’t felt like one. Every second of that nightmare had been as tangible as the world now. While the sudden shrieks of the stolas and my terrified scream had ripped me from that horrible dimension, part of me struggled to separate it from the current silence of my room.
Moving to drag myself from the bed, my hand passed over the lingering warmth where Luther spent the night. His absence left an inexplicable ache inside me, and now I felt nothing but the bitter cold of an unseasonably early winter penetrating the room.
I cursed him for leaving so early in the morning.
His comforting embrace and tender affection had made the lonely dark seem a little more bearable.
Without him, my bedroom seemed suddenly vacant, and I couldn’t stand another minute sitting there all by myself and wallowing in the slime of a nightmare.
Slowly, I made my way to the bathroom to wash the cold sweat from my skin and warm me up. There was no evidence of the night before in the bathroom, which I found odd. No used towels, no dirty clothes. Even my hairbrush was sitting on the counter where it belonged.
Had he cleaned? How had he known where my things belonged?
Slightly shaken, I quickly rinsed off under the scalding water.
Once cleaned, I returned to my room, donning a sensible crimson sweater and fleece-lined leggings.
The sweet tobacco scent stained my room, and for the first time I realized how it had invaded every corner of my life.
Even when he wasn’t here, I could always smell him.
At first, it comforted me. His overwhelming presence followed me at every turn, and I’d wanted nothing more than to wrap myself in him completely. And recently I had submerged myself in the oceanic depths of him. All the hard muscle, the heat, the dominating energy that made me come undone…
Halfway down the hall, I came to a stop, staring at the wood grain in the flooring. My mind whirled a thousand miles a minute, piecing together fragments into a complete picture.
The front door swung open, and I clamped down on a scream. I threw myself against the wall, heart hammering, until Luther walked over the threshold before stopping short.
“Ophelia, are you alright?” he asked.
I collected myself, nodding numbly at him. He smiled in reply, then turned into the kitchen. Placing a hand on my chest, I begged my painfully racing heart to calm.
“I’m sorry I left so early,” he was saying as I entered behind him. “I had some errands to run and grabbed breakfast on the way back.”
“Oh, thanks,” I replied, tone flat.
He noticed.
Turning, Luther raked his gaze over me in search of the problem. He always seemed to do that. To observe and assess me as if I were something to tend to and care for. Endearing most of the time, but now it made me feel twitchy. Uncomfortable.
Even when Luther hadn’t been here, traces of his existence had. There had to be a reasonable explanation for why. But words failed me as I tried to formulate the necessary questions. I stepped back, swallowing over a lump in my throat as time stretched in cruel silence.
“You’ve been here,” I whispered.
His head tipped to the side, expression blank. “I thought we went over this.”
“No. Not with my grandfather years ago. Recently. You were here. In my home.”
Luther tensed, moving as slowly as a predator as he crossed his arms over his chest. A muscle in his jaw clenched.
His dominating presence didn’t feel so comforting suddenly.
It morphed into an overbearing darkness before my very eyes—into the tidal wave I’d feared would drown me from the beginning.
A nervous shiver worked through me.
“Yes, I was.”
I jolted at the abrupt confession. A shocked gasp breached me, and his sea-storm eyes held my gaze. Challenging me to question him.
“Why?” It was half a sob, and I hated it.
Luther had eaten the distance between us without me noticing. Stalking forward into my personal space until he towered over me. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took.
“To protect you, sweetheart.” His voice was deceptively suave. “Any one of those monsters could have broken in and gotten to you when you arrived in Kilbride. They could have—no, would have—hurt you at the first chance that presented itself.”
“You were in my personal space. You… you were watching me.” A prickling sense of dread clawed down my spine. A weight dropped in my stomach.
“I had to ensure you weren’t in danger,” he said, lip curling into a sneer. “I did what needed to be done, and I always will. Everything I’ve done was for you, whether you like it or not. I protect what’s mine, sweetheart, and that’s you. You’re mine.”
“I don’t belong to you!” All the fear and rage burst out of me. “This is so fucked up. So fucking fucked up!” I shrieked at him, slamming my fists into his chest to create space between us.
Luther moved to grab my wrists, but I whisked out of the way.
“Ophelia—”
“No… No, I don’t want to hear any more of this. Get out.” My throat felt raw, and I was on the verge of tears. “Just—fucking—get out!”
Luther stared me down, fists clenched at his sides. “You don’t really mean that.”
I snarled back, “Get the fuck out!”
A bitterly tense second split the air. I held my breath, unsure if he would listen or if I’d need to make a run from him.
Luther growled under his breath, the sound revving through his chest. His dark eyes cleaved through me as he stormed by.
I froze into stone, shivering from his body heat as he passed. I shut my eyes, staunching the flood of tears threatening to break loose.
The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the walls and shake the foundation of the home. Still, I didn’t move. It wasn’t until I heard tires peeling away that I finally sobbed, gasping for air as I collapsed to my knees.
Luther was gone.