10. Footprints
FOOTPRINTS
ASHER
“ B lakely, wait!”
Asher skidded and nearly slipped down the stairs. His heart hammered in his ears, too loud to hear if Lev had given chase. He sprinted down the hall, running for his life until the stone floors grew a skin of parquet diamonds and the walls wore paper again.
The labyrinthine hall forked. He chose the widest path, hoping it would lead him to the central staircase, but all he found was a narrow stairwell with a low ceiling. The stairs spat him into darkness.
Terror took hold. His anxiety was out of control at Lichenmoor. He hadn’t needed medication for over a year, and wished he’d brought it.
Trying to slow his breathing, he focused on his other senses. It was a trick he’d learned in a men’s support group. Stagnant air, the scent of dust and damp. Raindrops pattered in a steady rhythm, no longer an angry downpour. The tapestry-lined wall beneath his fingertips.
When his vision adjusted, he found a long hallway with doors on each side and a stained glass window at the end.
He flipped the light switch, and a line of wall sconces glowed to life, illuminating most of the hall, save for a few broken bulbs casting contrasting shadows.
He felt like he’d trespassed on a liminal space where he didn’t belong. Dust blanketed the floor, dulling his footsteps as he walked to the first door, pushed it open, and stepped into the pages of a ghost story.
Goosebumps crawled across his skin as he wound past phantom forms hidden beneath linen-draped furniture. He stopped in front of a human-shaped obelisk as tall as him and ripped the sheet down, the sound like a flag whipped by the wind.
After the cloud of dust faded, leaving the taste of it on his tongue, he faced not a monster or statue, but himself.
The man in the oblong mirror was unrecognizable, eyes wide in fear, dark hair wild; mussed by Lev, no doubt. He inhaled, trying to quell his racing heart, and sneezed.
Turning his back on the mirror, he walked toward a wall of curtains and flung them open. Damn. Fog had swallowed the starlight and obscured any recognizable landmarks to orient himself.
He returned to the hall and opened one door after another, searching for a way out. Most of the rooms were empty, but some stored more sheet-draped furniture and the occasional bust or statue that made Asher’s pulse stutter to a standstill before restarting.
Halfway down the hall, a large pair of footprints appeared without origin, almost as if someone had teleported. What the fuck? A thin layer of silty dust had settled into them. The footprints weren’t recent.
Chills swept up his spine as he followed the footsteps to the last door.
He twisted the tarnished knob, but it was stuck.
He wiped his clammy palms on his pants and tried again.
This time it twisted a little, but the door wouldn’t budge.
Marshaling his strength, he gripped the knob and heaved himself against the door .
Nothing.
What was locked away at the end of a hallway so abandoned it was lonelier than a mausoleum? He kneeled on the floor and peered through a keyhole covered by cobwebs.
He blew hard into the hole and pulled the remaining strands of cobwebs out. The hair on the back of his neck lifted as he pressed his eye to the keyhole.
The room was dark, but the next bolt of lightning slipped through a gap in the curtains, spotlighting the silhouette of a man. A fist clenched around Asher’s heart. He blinked, but the silhouette was still there.
Heavy footsteps hammered behind him like a battering ram. A hand yanked him back from the door and onto his ass. His stomach lurched. Panic seized him.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Lev shouted, face red with rage.
“I was lost. I was…” Asher scrambled backward and slammed into the opposite wall. “Ouch.”
The color drained from Lev’s face. He pasted a mask of concern over his rage.
“I’m sorry. I can’t have you in the east wing. It’s not safe,” Lev said, voice even and calm again. “It’s a wonder you made it this far without breaking your neck.”
“I didn’t know I was in the east wing.” Anger replaced his earlier anxiety. “Like I said, I was lost.”
Lev extended his hand. “Let me help you.”
Asher didn’t take it. He pushed back on his palms, got to his feet, and brushed the dust from his hands.
Lev clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll escort you to bed.”
“I don’t need an escort. If you give me directions, I’m sure I can find my way.”
Lev scoffed. “Doubtful. You have a terrible sense of direction. Come along.”
Asher hated how condescending Lev was, but what he hated most of all was how much Lev’s command dug into his brainstem and compelled him to listen.
“I’ll draw you a map tonight. Some places in Lichenmoor are so isolated no one will hear you if you call.”
It wasn’t a threat. Asher knew that, but it was true.
Lev could hurt Asher and no one would hear him. He could lock him inside one of those rooms and leave him there as punishment, or leave him there to rot.
Wait. What if the silhouette in the room was Lev’s captive? He discarded the thought. There weren’t enough footsteps, and wouldn’t the man have called when he’d heard Lev scolding him?
“I haven’t been here in years. What if I never found you?”
Was that a tremor in his voice, a stutter in his confident stride? If Lev hadn’t visited, then who had left the footprints? Or had he lied?
Lev stopped in front of a tapestry of a cloven-hoofed demon cavorting with a lamb. Lev lifted the tapestry to reveal a squat door carved into the paneling.
“This is the fastest way out of the east wing.”
Ah. So that was where the footprints had come from. But the question remained—who did the footsteps belong to?
Lev pushed the door open, ducked his head under the frame, and disappeared into the darkness.
With a mix of dread and dawning acceptance, Asher followed.