Chapter 4
Nicole
Every pair of eyes fixes on me, the mouths behind the masks twisting into cruel smiles. I’m back in sixth grade, curled up on the ground, begging myself not to cry. The Baroness is gone—only Nicole remains.
No, this isn’t sixth grade, Nicole!
The ballroom of masked animals fades behind me, the marble under my heels echoing with each step as I move away from the party’s noise.
Every survival instinct in me is howling—Run!—but I don’t.
Show no fear.
Frightened prey is the finest lure for any predator.
Still, despite my best efforts at composure, panic coils around me, tightening, constricting.
Happy birthday, Harvest 290.
The words echo in my head. A whisper I can’t silence.
Or shall I call you Bunny?
I rip the headband with the bunny ears from my hair.
Outside, it’s dark and sweltering, the air heavy with humidity, and that bittersweet scent lingers in my nostrils. A cab sits at the driveway entrance. My heart skips a beat, and my legs start running on their own.
I call out, waving an arm, “Wait!” With shaky fingers, I yank open the door and hurl myself onto the back seat. “To Bankya. And make it quick!”
The driver raises an eyebrow in the rearview mirror.
“I’ll pay double.” I pull out a banknote to support my words.
The engine ignites with a low growl. Its vibrations pulse through my body, but instead of calming me, they intensify the unease already coiled in my stomach.
I lean back into the seat, but my muscles stay tense, and I can’t stop glancing toward the rear window. The darkness outside seems alive, every flicker of headlights making me flinch.
We reach the main gate of my house. I pay as promised and step out, clutching the keyring in one hand and the bunny ears in the other. The glow from the windows cuts through the night like a lifeline. A few more steps and I’ll be inside—safe, and able to breathe.
The taxi drives off, its engine roar fading into the night while I enter the code at the gate. My hands are trembling, and what should be a quick motion feels awkward and slow.
At last, I manage to get the code right. But then the keyring slips from my grasp and hits the ground. The clang of the impact slices through the silence.
“Damn it…” I mutter, crouching down. Just when my fingers brush the keys, that scent hits me again. More powerful than ever, it seeps beneath my skin and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
And then I hear it.
A low, short laugh. Dense vibrations that resonate through my chest and cause my heart to skip a beat.
A shadow looms over me.
“Already on your knees? Pathetic.”
I lift my head, and my stomach knots. A pair of dark eyes pierce straight through to my solar plexus and rob me of breath.
Towering over me is a man with lips curled ever so slightly and his arms crossed over his chest. My attention jumps from the black symbols tattooed along his fingers and forearms, to the defined muscles beneath his black shirt, and to the sharp cheekbones framed by tousled raven-black hair.
The man in the wolf mask.
“Stand up, creature. Cowards bore me,” he says.
I swallow with effort, my fingers tightening around the keyring. I command my legs to move, but my knees wobble.
He lowers his arms to his sides and steps closer. His shadow engulfs me, and my skin prickles from the ominous proximity. That scent—his scent, I realize— surrounds me in a suffocating cocoon.
He extends his hand to me. My heart pounds as I run my fingers over the tattooed symbols. Every cell in my body yells at me not to touch him.
But as if drawn by an invisible force, my hand reaches out. I gasp and try to resist, yet whatever is guiding it is stronger than me. The man’s palm closes around my fingers like a trap. His skin is so cold that it burns. Needles spread up my arm.
He pulls me to my feet.
I mean to check what’s wrong with my hand, but the moment I’m mere inches from him, that damned scent saturates my senses and makes me light-headed. Up close, he’s even larger than he appeared at the party.
I tear through my mind, searching for a memory that could betray his identity.
There’s nothing.
And really, could I ever forget someone like him? His features might have faded from my memory, but that predator’s energy would have left a lasting impression on my senses.
I glance at the windows of my house. My father must be in his study, glass of whiskey in hand, reviewing his projects. If I scream, he’ll hear me. No, I won’t resort to something so desperate. Not before I find out who my stalker is.
I square my shoulders, trying to make myself appear more imposing. It doesn’t work—this man is huge. Still, I lift my chin and summon my sharpest tone. “Why are you stalking me?”
“I don’t like being called a stalker.” His tone is low, with a hint of amusement. As if he finds this entire encounter entertaining.
As if I care what he likes or doesn’t like to be called.
The darkness in his contemptuous tone prevents me from voicing my last thought aloud. “What do you want from me?” I ask instead.
He raises an eyebrow. “Just your soul, bunny.”
“I’m no bunny!”
I bite my tongue. I shouldn’t show my irritation. In a standoff between attacker and prey, every move can shift the balance and give power to the other.
But what he does next obliterates my self-control.
He swings his arm through the air and—out of nowhere!—a scroll appears in his palm. “The terms of our contract are quite simple, but I’m obliged to present it to you,” he says. “It’s signed in blood by both parties, and there’s no way to undo it.”
He unrolls the scroll into a thick, dark red parchment, its color similar to dried blood. The surface glimmers in the light as the stranger stretches it between his hands and thrusts it toward my face.
I blink. There’s a text on it…
Text I won’t be reading!
I jerk back and draw my shoulders up. My pulse pounds in my ears, and my fingers tighten around the keyring. Despite being surrounded by darkness and standing face-to-face with a stranger radiating something inhuman, I refuse to let fear take over.
“My father’s home. If you’re not gone in five seconds, I’m going to scream,” I say, my voice thinner than I’d like.
The man shakes his head. “Why do I even bother, when no one ever takes it seriously, anyway?”
He tosses the scroll into the air, and it…vanishes.
Right. I’m done playing it cool.
Dread surges in my chest. I open my mouth—
He snaps his fingers.
“DAD!” The scream echoes in my mind, but no sound escapes my throat. I reach for my neck, trembling fingers brushing the skin there. Something’s wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
I’m about to tip into full-blown terror.
“Nicole,” the stranger says. The way the syllables of my name fall from his lips—half command, half caress—roots me to the ground.
Who the hell is this man?
He tilts his head, his expression cold. “Ten years ago, voluntarily or not, you performed a blood spell. You recited the incantation that summoned me.”
I frown, struggling to find any sense in his words.
He recites, “‘Wanderer of Shadows, Whisper in the Abyss. Come forth from the darkness to hear my wish’?”
Come forth from the darkness to hear my wish…
A memory flashes: a dark room. The face of my best friend from primary school.
A small knife piercing my skin. A half-forgotten story about a joker locked away in an enchanted prison.
My heart fluttering in anticipation, because deep down, I know that if the Black Joker can’t help me, nothing in this world can.
My insides lurch.
“The Black Joker.” I form the name with my lips, but no sound escapes.
A spark flickers in his eyes. “Very good. Most of them take longer.”
Panic threatens to flood me all over again. “Give me my voice back!”
He freezes, as if my words caught him off guard. “Rule number one,” he says slowly, “I give the orders.”
My chest rises with effort. I point at my throat with trembling fingers. “Is this… permanent?”
“‘Permanent’ is such a depressing word, don’t you think?”
“Then return my voice now!” I mouth. Then, I remember his warning, that he alone gives the commands, so I swallow my frustration and add, “Please.”
He gives me a honeyed smile that chills me to the bone. “Why not take it back yourself?”
The world blurs as shadows coil like smoke around my limbs. The ground vanishes, and I plunge weightlessly, stomach lurching, ears popping. A flash of light grazes my vision—
I land inside a dark cave.
Eerie trembling lights drift and dance in the air. Dozens of them—perhaps hundreds—float like moths, never quite touching me. With every movement, they emit a strange sound similar to wind rustling through dried leaves.
I blink several times to bring them into focus. These aren’t moths, but lights sealed inside glass vials with wings. Black wings stretch out on either side of the glass.
I slap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Inside the vials, the glowing lights struggle against the transparent walls. The cork stoppers seem to be the only thing holding them back from bursting out.
There’s no sign of the stalker.
“What the hell is this?!” I shout. No sound leaves my throat. I still have no voice.
‘Why not take it back yourself?’ His words echo in my head. Sinister. Mocking.
This is a nightmare. Or a movie. Whatever it is, it can’t be real…
Each vial has a small label etched with numbers that glow under the dim light.
‘Why not take it back yourself?’
Please, let it not be what I think it is.
Despite every instinct screaming against it, I reach out and grasp one of the vials. Its surface is cool and smooth. As soon as I touch it, its wings begin to flutter violently. Up close, they’re thick and leathery, resembling bat wings. I shudder in revulsion and fear, but refuse to let go.
I rotate the vial in my hands to examine it. The number on it is 83. The light inside pulses as if… alive.
Swallowing hard, I twist out the cork. The cave fills with a sound—a voice, a deafening cacophony.