Chapter 4
4
T he past refuses to release its grip, threatening to drown me. My chest tightens as flickering shadows close in. I shake my head, trying to banish both the memory and the man it conjures. I don’t want to think about him , and I definitely don’t want to recall the way he’d stared at me with hunger, as though I were an offering instead of a person. I guess that’s not too far off from the truth.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a deep voice snaps, slicing through the fog and yanking me back to the present. I spin around, and the mirror crashes to the ground, shattering on impact. My brain is slow to comprehend as I scramble backward, colliding with the wall. Finally, a blood-curdling scream rips across my vocals.
A man stands in the doorway, wearing a black mask with neon-red “X” eyes and a jagged grin. He’s tall, the black hoodie he wears strains from the width of his shoulders. He prowls toward me—slow, methodical, like a predator—and I feel every inch the prey.
“What—” My voice cracks, and I instinctively step back, only to slam into the wall again. “P-please. I— I just needed—” I’ve never been very good at standing up to intimidating men. Faced with a masked man and the memory of Josiah fresh in my mind, I’m surprised I can speak at all.
“To steal from us?” His voice is low and cold, causing chill bumps to erupt all over my body. He stops a few steps in front of me, and I swear I can feel his gaze burning into me through the mask. “Who sent you?”
“N-n-no one!” I stammer, my breaths coming in gasps as black edges into my vision. “I swear, I…please d-don’t hurt—” The words get stuck in my throat as his hand shoots out to grab my arm.
Finally, my brain wakes up, and I bolt for the doorway. Too late, I think about my bag—still sitting on the chair next to the fireplace. Everything I need for my new life is in there, and a sob wrenches out of me. It hasn’t even been a week, and I’ve already ruined everything my mother risked for me.
My footsteps echo as I race down the hall, my heart pounding against my ribs. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to keep moving. The walls keep changing, but I can’t stop. All I know is that I have to get out of this place. I don’t know what I’ll do without my purse and everything inside it, but that’s a problem for later—assuming I survive tonight.
A wall shifts, revealing a new opening. I would’ve missed it if not for a sudden lightning strike nearby, illuminating everything for a brief moment. I look back, searching for the red glow of the man’s mask, before disappearing around the corner. There’s nothing there—only darkness.
Relief is short-lived, barely registering before I collide with something hard… and warm. I reach out, grasping for anything before I fall flat on my rear. My fingers fist black fabric as momentum pulls me into his chest. For a moment, I let my forehead rest against him, closing my eyes as I take a few shaky breaths—more half sobs than anything.
I can tell he’s leaner, and slightly taller than the man in the red mask. Slowly, I look up and whimper at the sight of the black mask with a neon orange Jack-o-lantern face with a too-large smile. I cling to him for balance, my trembling breaths warming the air between us.
“Well, well,” he rumbles, his voice low and menacing, vibrating in a way that makes my bones ache. His head tilts slightly—a mocking gesture laced with cold curiosity. “What do we have here? Is the thief lost?”
Glowing orange triangles stare down at me in place of eyes, the cruel, almost Cheshire-like grin perfectly matching his tone.
My throat closes, any words I might have said lodged behind the lump of fear choking me. I stumble back a step, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs as I try to put distance between us. I don’t see him reach for me before my arms are in his grasp, preventing me from stepping away. His grip is firm, on the cusp of painful.
“You’re trembling,” he observes, clearly amused. “Scared?”
“Please,” I gasp, shaking my head while my mind claws through the fog of fear, desperate for a way out.
“You should be,” he whispers, leaning in until his mask is inches from my face. “But don’t worry, little thief. We’ll take good care of you.” His laugh is dark and twisted, shooting icy fear down my spine.
I release a choked cry while trying to wrench my arm free. “No. P-please. I’m not a thief. I—my car broke down. I just need?—”
“Convenient story,” he interrupts, tilting his head to the other side, assessing me. “But I don’t buy it.”
He releases my arm suddenly, causing me to stumble backward into the wall. Before my sluggish mind can tell my body to move, he crowds me, placing a hand on either side of my head. The position forces me to crane my neck to meet his hidden gaze.
I hold my panicked breath as he leans in to whisper in my ear, “You better run, little thief.” The mixture of his words and proximity sends a shuddering jolt of heat through me, something I’m unable to name, yet feels amplified by my fear—insanity, I’m sure.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” he says as the fingers of one hand trace the curve of my jaw, both his words and actions confusing me. “I’ll admit, the hunt excites me just as much as it does you.”
I blink, snapping out of the spell he’s had me under before slipping under his arm and running again. His laughter follows behind me, the dark sound as warm as it is terrifying.
“What is wrong with me?” I mutter soundlessly to myself, struggling to readjust to the darkness. The absence of the orange glow is both a blessing and a curse. My fear is so acute that my mind must be trying to compartmentalize some of it into other feelings—ones I’ve never felt before.
I feel my breath turn ragged as exhaustion threatens to overcome fear and adrenaline begins to fade. An open doorway appears around the next turn I take, illuminated by a streak of lightning. The following rumble of thunder is loud enough to rattle the windows and make me yelp before I bolt through the doorway into the unknown.
I have no idea where I am within the shifting manor; I haven’t even come across the Great Hall again. The moon provides just enough light through the large windows for me to look around. It’s not a decision I make—more of a natural instinct—when I start toward the shelves of books lining the entire room of the massive library.
“What are you doing, Celest? You don’t have time to admire the absurdly wonderful room, and you definitely don’t have time to breathe it in,” I mumble to myself.
I can’t help it. Is there anything better than the scent of books? With great reluctance, I pull my eyes away from the shelves and scan desperately for a way out or a place to hide. If the stitch in my chest pinching my lungs is any indication, I could really use a moment to catch my breath.
“Lost, little thief?” A new voice cuts through the tension-filled air.
I whip around, the dizzying movement blurring my vision before I focus on another man leaning casually against the far shelves, his arms crossed. Shrouded in the same dark attire, his hood shadows his face, but the glow of his mask is impossible to miss. Its electric-blue lines form sharp, angular shapes that carve out a pair of hollow, sinister eyes.
“I asked you a question,” he says, his voice deep and unhurried, with an undercurrent of something dangerous. “What are you doing here?” That heady feeling returns, taking root in my abdomen.
I stumble back, pressing myself against the nearest shelf. My chest heaves, though I don’t think it has much to do with exertion. Something stirs inside me, waking—something that terrifies me to acknowledge. It feels too much like excitement, and that thought alone steals the breath from my lungs.
“I just… I didn’t know anyone was here,” I manage to say through the tremor in my voice.
“And that makes it okay to walk into someone else’s home?” The eerie glow from his mask reflects off the polished floors as I watch him push off the bookshelf and prowl toward me. His movements remind me of a cat stalking its prey—slow and deliberate, while savoring my fear.
I take a step back with every step he takes toward me. “I-it was open… I—I didn’t mean to…” I stammer, my voice cracking. “I was just?—”
“Just what?” he interrupts. “Admiring the décor? Stealing something that doesn’t belong to you?”
“N-no.” I hold up my hands in what I hope looks like surrender. “I wasn’t stealing. I swear.”
His laugh is low and humorless, vibrating with condescension. “Funny, that’s exactly what a thief would say.”
I glance around, desperate for an exit. The library doors behind him are the only way out. I weigh the odds of getting to them without him intercepting me. They aren’t great.
He steps closer, dragging his hand along the shelves. I back away, but his movement is slow, deliberate. “You’re shaking like a leaf in the wind,” he observes, his tone laced with mockery. “Tell me, is it out of fear… or guilt?”
“Neither,” I snap, surprising even myself with the defiance in my voice—never mind the fact I’m terrified. Panic threatens to consume me, as I try to hold my ground, and somehow time feels like it’s moving faster and slower at once. “I’m not a thief.”
“Brave words,” he replies, never pausing his unhurried steps toward me. “But bravery doesn’t mean much when you’re caught.”
“Please,” I beg, shaking my head. He’s only a few steps away, and I know I need to make my move. “I’ll leave. I didn’t mean?—”
“Oh, we’ll let you leave,” he says, his voice dropping before he continues, “just not anytime soon.”
I don’t wait around to hear what exactly he means by that and run past him. My shoulder brushes against his, and he doesn’t try to reach out to grab me or slow me down. It’s like he knows he doesn’t have to—like he knows I’m not getting away.
“Wrong move, little thief,” his voice calls after me, before he tsks me, as if he were scolding a child.
I sprint down the corridor, dimly lit by the blue glow of his mask, while my breath comes in halting gasps. The sound of his footfalls following at a leisurely pace speaks more to his confidence than my chances of escape.
I cry out in relief when I realize I know where I am. With the constant flashes of lightning, the Great Hall becomes easier to navigate. Just as I see a red and orange glow out of the corner of my eye, I find the hall that leads to the rounded entryway.
Trying and failing to keep my thoughts on escaping this situation before dwelling on my next problem, I kick myself for leaving my purse behind. The relief I feel when my hand clamps around the brass handle of the front door and pulls it open is tempered by the knowledge there’s nowhere for me to go.
Well, nowhere I’m willing to go at least.
The cold rain pelts me from all directions, drenching me the moment I burst through the heavy front door of the manor. The sound of it slamming shut behind me can barely be heard over the deafening storm. It’s far worse than what I walked through earlier. Howling winds rip through the surrounding trees, as I sprint down the winding driveway, begging God that I don’t slip on the slick pavement with each frantic step.
I glance back, just once—and wish I hadn’t. Three dark figures emerge in the doorway, illuminated by both the glow of their masks and the dim light of the entryway. As one, they move, their voices cutting through the storm as they chase after me.
“Hurry, before she gets too far,” one of them barks out the sharp command.
“Why run?” another calls, his manic laughter unsettling, and I just know it’s Orange Mask. I love that he’s having so much fun at my expense—how wonderful for him. “We just want to talk.”
Yeah, right.
I’m one hundred percent certain they don’t just “want to talk.” The thought is so absurd I nearly laugh myself. Instead, the sound I make is more of a whimper than anything. Panic surges through my veins, and I change direction, running toward the woods flanking the driveway. My breaths come in short, ragged bursts as I plunge into the trees.
The woods are dense and dark, making it next to impossible to see more than a couple of feet ahead of me. Branches claw at my face and arms as I shove my way through the undergrowth. The weight of my drenched jeans tightens around my legs and slows me down, but I don’t stop. I can’t. The rain barely muffles the sounds of their footsteps—steady and deliberate.
I dart around a cluster of trees and scan desperately for a path forward. Rounding the trunk of a massive oak that seems to appear out of nowhere in the dark, I skid to a halt.
Orange Mask leans casually against the tree, as if he’s been waiting for hours. His silhouette towers over mine, the dark fabric of his hoodie plastered to his chest by the rain. Even in the dark, I can make out the lean shape of him.
“Going somewhere?” he asks. His tone is playful, but the knife he tosses in the air and catches repeatedly—without looking, mind you—says otherwise.
My heart jumps into my throat as I wheeze out, “Please.”
He tilts his head to the side—something I’m beginning to notice he does often—and I have a feeling if he weren’t wearing a mask, his grin would mirror it.
Without thinking, I take a couple of small steps back, grab onto a fallen branch, and swing it at him with all of my strength. The wet wood cracks against his arm, causing him to flinch. The grip on his blade falters for just a moment. I don’t waste the opportunity to dart past him and curse my feet for slipping in the mud as I run.
“You’re only making this harder for yourself!” he calls after me, his voice still carrying that insufferable mocking edge.
My lungs burn and feel as if they are near bursting as I push myself harder, my legs trembling from the effort. The forest floor is slick and treacherous; every step threatens to send me sprawling. I don’t dare look back again and risk losing my footing.
The sound of one of them is too close—branches snapping, heavy breaths cutting through the storm. How I can hear anything over my own labored breathing is beyond me.
Just ahead, I spot a narrow path that’s barely visible through the trees. I veer toward it, hoping it will lead me somewhere—anywhere—that can offer me safety. As if to dash all of my hopes, just as I reach the path, another figure emerges from the shadows.
The man in the electric-blue mask.
His broad shoulders block the narrow space as he steps into my path. His movements are slow and deliberate, as though he doesn’t see me as a threat.
Honestly, though, why would he?
“Enough,” he says, his voice both calm and firm. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”
I stumble to a stop, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. “Stay away from me!” My voice is shrill as I huff out the words in a near staccato, each one interrupted by a heavy inhale. I think of my mother’s courage and stand a little taller.
I will not break.
He takes a step forward, raising his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “You’re lost. Let’s talk?—”
“No!” I cut him off, backing away before turning sharply to my right. I would have to be crazy to trust him. I don’t look to see if he follows—I already know he is.
My legs scream, and I worry they might give out at any minute as I push my body further than I ever have before. My soaked shoes squelch with every step, and I can barely see through the rain. I didn’t think it was possible, but it’s gotten even darker. The trees blur together as I run blindly. Their voices grow fainter behind me; however, I don’t—not for one second—think I’ve lost them.
I climb a slight incline, and my foot catches on an exposed root, sending me stumbling forward. I just barely catch myself on a low-hanging branch, my fingers digging into the wet bark as I struggle to stay upright. I refuse to be taken out by a tree root.
“You’re persistent,” a new voice says, startling me—seems to be the theme this evening. I whip my eyes around and come face-to-face with the man in the neon-red mask standing a few feet away.
I can’t, for the life of me, figure out how they move so quickly. They can’t be human. That’s the only explanation. Everything about this night has me second-guessing reality as I thought I knew it.
His stance is casual, but his eyes are sharp. His dark clothing clings to him, equally soaked as I am, but there’s an air of ease about him that sends a chill down my spine.
“Not human,” I say with what little breath I have.
“Persistent,” he repeats, “But not very careful.”
I don’t respond. I can’t; my lungs won’t let me. Instead, I spin on my heel, panic surging, and I bolt down the hill. Just as my foot slips in the mud, I have the presence of mind to admit that was a bad move. This time, there’s no saving myself as I tumble forward. My body rolls down the steep incline while rocks and roots scrape against my skin.
This is it. This is how I die.
Pain explodes against my temple as my head hits something hard—a tree or a rock; I can’t be sure. The world spins violently, and my vision darkens as I try to push myself up.
The last thing I hear before everything goes black is Red Mask clicking his tongue in disapproval.
“Now you’ve gone and hurt yourself,” he mutters, his voice distant and low. He sighs, then picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. “Should’ve been more careful.”