Chapter 19 #2
Smiling fondly, Henri thumbs one of the red threads. In a low voice, he says, “Trust your instincts, August. Watch your surroundings. Listen carefully. And try not to go backward.”
His eyes glance over his shoulder. The guards watch us.
I lean closer. “Are you helping me?”
He clucks his tongue. “Clearly.” Turning to me, he adds, “Look, Milos built the labyrinth to entertain himself. It’s dangerous and difficult. Stay alert and don’t look in the mirrors.”
I shudder, remembering that mistake last time.
“What do they do?”
“Reveal your worst fears and nightmares,” Henri answers. “Milos had Meli create them.”
Careful. She’ll give you nightmares.
Henri said that at the ball like it was a joke. Now the playfulness is gone from his eyes. Serious, he says, “They’re meant to distract you. Avoid them.”
I nod. “Is it true? That no one’s ever escaped?”
“You’re not ‘no one.’ You’re August.” He takes my cheeks in his hands, pinching. “And this face is way too pretty to be trapped where no one can see it.”
I laugh, elbowing him away.
After a final smile, Henri steps over to the guards. I inhale deeply, then walk through the maze’s entrance. I haven’t even made it ten steps before Henri calls, “Look for what you need the most and it will be there!”
“What the hell does that m—”
A rumbling noise cuts me off. It sounds like gears turning. Suddenly, a stone wall shoots up from the floor. It closes the labyrinth off from anyone else entering. Or exiting.
I’m sealed inside.
“It’s fine,” I mutter to the flower-covered walls. “I can do this.”
I have to, I remind myself.
In front of me, the narrow passageway is lit by streams of gold light. They cascade through thick leaves overhead. For a few feet, nothing changes. Sculpted shrubs carved into mythical creatures. Vibrant blooms blossom along the ivy.
Around the first turn, a gilded thorn mirror taunts me. I ignore it, navigating until I reach the end of a corridor. Two choices await:
Left or right.
The landscape is identical both ways. The stone floor is clean and level, no footsteps. Not a single indication of what path others chose before me.
Trust your instincts, August.
“Yeah, thanks, Henri,” I mumble.
After a breath, I choose left.
It goes like that for what seems minutes. The passageways shift from short to long. Some have mirrors, others don’t. Flowers burst along the walls in sugary colors: pink amaryllis, orangey hibiscus, lavender aster, yellowy tulips. I alternate between going left, then right.
The light follows me like a gleaming shadow.
Around another corner, I stop. Against the wall is a gilded thorn mirror.
“No.” I spin in a circle. “This can’t be the same spot.”
But I can’t tell. Nothing’s changed. No matter how many steps I’ve walked, it all looks the same—clean and untouched.
Sweat prickles against my forehead. Erratic heartbeats fill my ears, loud as the buzzing. The…voices. I hear them everywhere. Behind me, in front, through the walls.
Quickly, I run past the mirror.
Around every turn, I lose track if I’ve gone left or right. Or right, then left. I pass winged lions and six-headed snakes and men with bull heads. The mirrors’ frames change from leaves to roses to feathers to serpents. I never dare look into their reflections.
My footsteps aren’t heavy enough to hide whatever’s chasing or leading me.
AugustAugustAugust.
Dots swirl in my vision as I cut another corner. A harsh exhale of voices brushes the back of my neck. I look over my shoulder.
Nothing’s there.
My foot catches on something. A loose stone, maybe? I tumble forward, palms braced for the fall. The sting of my hands scraping the floor is not nearly as bad as the impact. Or what I see at the other end of the passage.
It’s a man. But not exactly.
He’s half-hunched over, his feet dragging. Limp dark hair droops into his unfocused eyes. His jaw is cracked open, but the only thing that comes out is a constant buzzing. Clothes hang off his frail body. A dull gray film covers him.
He’s a soul like from the beach. And he’s staggering closer. Hunger fills his every broken step.
Get up, my mind screams.
“G-get up,” I stammer to myself. But I don’t. My bones feel heavy. The only thing that works is my arms. I throw them in front of me as if that might keep me safe.
Nearby, I hear a wisping noise. Through my fingers, I spot movement behind the soul. Vines slither like vipers along the floor.
They coil around the soul’s ankles. He struggles against them. It’s useless. He’s jerked to the ground. In a blink, the vines tug him around a corner, gone.
The noise goes with him.
It takes forever before my breaths calm. For the shivers to fade. I lower my arms, but it’s another mistake.
On the wall in front of me is a mirror. Gilded thorns circle smoked glass. Ice flows down my skin. It can’t be the same mirror from before, right? Have I really been going in circles this entire time?
Pain thrums from my scratched palms as I pull my legs to my chest. I don’t know where to go. How to start again. Definitely not in the direction that soul was just yanked. But the other way is just another left or right that will lead me back here.
The voices are louder in my head.
AugustAugustAugust.
Helpless, I look into the mirror. The reflection ripples like the tide at dawn. I’m too exhausted to prepare myself for what I’m about to see.
Will it be me from the car accident again? Maybe my parents in the hospital waiting room? Or London’s parents the moment the doctors tell them their son is dead?
Maybe it’ll be something worse:
Max in a coffin. Mom as she sobs over Dad’s headstone. Me, kneeling in front of my parents’ graves.
Every possible outcome swirls in my brain before the reflection even takes shape. Meli’s power seeps into my throat like smoke, choking me.
Still, I can’t look away.
When the glass solidifies again, a gasp rattles my entire body. It’s my worst nightmare come true:
A boy with wavy brown hair. Sunlit tan skin. White T-shirt and board shorts and slides with socks.
It’s London before a car smashed into us. Before I killed him.
He steps right through the glass to stand over me.