1. Rune
Rune
Ismile around a mouthful of honey latte, grateful I made myself leave the house today.
The world has been a little crazy lately. With the whole Battle of Versailles thing. And the people can turn into wolves thing. But there’s nothing like a free birthday beverage to make an afternoon better.
I move toward the curb, making room for the older couple on the sidewalk walking toward me.
“Hello.” I smile.
They don’t hear me. Or they ignore me. But I swear I saw her glance at my bare legs.
I take another sip and drop my smile after they pass.
So sorry for wearing shorts. Sincerest apologies that my body is going through some kind of heatwave today.
Maybe next year for my birthday, I can move to the middle of nowhere. No neighbors. No one to politely move aside for while I’m walking around in the woods. I could become a forest witch, like from the fairy tales I read as a kid. Just minus the whole villain thing.
I wonder what sort of job would allow me to do that.
Maybe something like my current setup, just not in town.
The town I’m in is cute. Perfectly fine. I live in the historic downtown area, so the summer was swarming with tourists, but now that it’s offseason, there aren’t a lot of people coming to Upstate New York.
When I reach the end of the block, I turn onto my street.
I force myself to appreciate the cuteness as I savor my latte.
It might not be a forest-witch setting, but it is sort of like a fairy tale. Two-story houses line both sides of the street. No two neighbors are painted the same color. But the neighboring houses are nearly close enough to touch.
My imagination has always been active, as my teachers used to say, so I can’t help but imagine what it was like living on this street back in the day.
Perfect nuclear families. Kids playing hopscotch down the sidewalk. Pies cooling on windowsills. Cocaine habits and mistresses hidden from view.
I snicker at my own thoughts, then take another sip to cover my expression.
Back then, this was a family street. Now, almost all the homes have been converted to commercial properties with storefronts on the ground level and rental apartments upstairs.
I’ve only been here for six months, but I’m already feeling restless.
My parents say it’s in my blood. The want to move. Always looking forward to the next adventure. But that’s because that’s who they are. As soon as I moved out of the house at nineteen, they moved to the other side of the country. Then they moved overseas. And now they’re down in Costa Rica.
But I don’t feel the desire to move because I want to see something new. I feel the need to move because I have to get somewhere.
But I don’t know where. And I don’t understand why. And I don’t know what I’m looking for. And that is the problem. All I know is that I won’t find what I’m looking for here. And I have to move.
I reach up with my free hand and rub at my chest.
It’s your birthday, Rune. Save the existential crisis for tomorrow.
A car door slams, and I notice the delivery van in front of my place.
My brows lift. Is that for me?
I pick up my pace until I reach the dark blue house with the pair of light blue doors.
The Gallery is stenciled across the window in the top half of the door on the left, and it leads into the little art gallery that takes up the lower level of the home.
There’s a large picture window in the center of the building, boasting a display of this month’s featured artist. Then there’s the second blue door on the right, with a small arched pane of glass at the very top.
Too high up for my five-foot-five self to see through.
And leaning against that door, the one leading up to my apartment, is a small cardboard box.
I pull my keys out of my purse and unlock the door, then pick up the box and tuck it under my arm.
Even from across the world, Mom and Dad always manage to get my gift delivered on my actual birthday.
After I push the door shut behind me, I lock it. Then I kick my shoes off in the small entryway and start up the narrow flight of stairs.
I realized I left my phone at home when I was halfway to the coffee shop, so I didn’t linger, because my parents usually call right at my birth time, 3:33. Which, by my guess, should still be a few minutes.
My socks are silent on the hardwood as I step into my studio-style apartment.
The stairs lead to the back corner of the apartment. Across from my bathroom. And between the stairs and the bathroom is the single window overlooking the tiny backyard and rusty fire escape.
Turning toward the front of the house, I walk past my bedroom. Then I step into the living room-kitchen combo. With a luxurious two windows that overlook the street.
Thankfully the place came furnished.
The bedroom section consists of a plain bed frame, with the headboard against the bathroom wall. A large dresser, since there are no closets, and a full-length mirror propped against the wall.
The front part of the room has a kitchenette area with a short counter, a small table with two chairs that I pretend is a breakfast nook, and a loveseat sofa that awkwardly faces the bed.
It’s not large, but the vaulted ceilings make it feel airy.
For a short-term solution, it’s been great.
What’s also great is the practically nonexistent rent since part of living here means running the art gallery down below.
The Gallery is hardly busy, and is only open four days a week, but it forces me out of the apartment. And I can do my side gig of online transcription work when it’s empty.
I set the box and the rest of my latte on my little table and hang my purse over the back of the chair.
It only takes me a moment to find my phone on the kitchen counter, but I’m surprised to see a missed call from my mom.
I double-check the time.
It’s 3:21, still twelve minutes away from my birth time when they usually call.
I hit Play on my voicemail, then set my phone on the table.
“Happy birthday, Honey!” “Happy birthday, Princess!” my parents shout in unison.
I walk the few feet to the kitchen counter.
“Sorry we missed you,” my mom singsongs. “I wanted to catch you right at your birth time, but we have to run out. We’re meeting some friends for cribbage. But we love you and hope you’re out doing something fun.”
“I picked out the bracelets!” Dad shouts.
I roll my eyes as I pull a box opener out of my junk drawer.
“Bye.” My mom hangs up.
“Bye,” I say into the silence.
I flip the knife open and push the blade out.
Using my other hand, I turn the box on my table.
I might not be doing something fun according to their standards, but Dad just unwittingly told me what’s inside this gift from them.
I snort as I drag the blade along the center of the tape. He really is—
My hand jerks back before my brain even registers the pain.
“Shit,” I hiss, setting the box opener down.
I turn back to the kitchen, heading for the sink.
A spot of blood wells on the tip of my thumb where I nicked it.
My feet stop.
Without thinking about it, without trying to stop myself, I bring my hand to my lips and put the tip of my thumb into my mouth.
My eyes close.
They open.
And I gasp.
What?
Freezing rain whips against me, and I squint to see through it.
WHAT?
A fierce gust of wind blows my red curls across my face.
I shove my hair out of my eyes as I blink.
I blink again. And again.
But the coldness doesn’t disappear. And the wind doesn’t die.
And the fact that I’m standing on some sort of fucking mountain remains the same.
I turn in a circle, holding my hand up against the weather. But the rain is coming down so hard I can barely see.
Whaaat is happening?
I blink.
Rain still pelts me.
How did I get here?
I stick my thumb into my mouth. And pull it out.
I lick my thumb. Over and over.
But my apartment doesn’t reappear around me.
I pinch my arm.
But I don’t wake up.
I’m not asleep.
“What?” I try to shout, but the frigid air sucks the breath out of my lungs.
Another gust of wind crashes into me, and I stumble a step forward.
My arms reach out for the wall of rough gray rock.
This is crazy.
I went from sane to crazy in one heartbeat.
I press my hands to the stone and keep my back to the wind.
Rain still blurs my view, but when I look over my shoulder, I can see that the flat path I’m on is actually a ledge on the side of a mountain.
My pulse jumps as my throat tightens.
I lean my weight onto my palms against the wet stone and close my eyes.
I don’t want to fall off a cliff.
Even if I’m having a psychotic episode and the cliff isn’t truly there.
Just stay calm.
This will all end in a moment.
I wonder if I should just stand still and wait whatever this is out. But the cold… it’s so real.
Shivering, I blink my eyes open.
I need to stay warm.
I need to get warm.
Keeping a hand against the rock, I shuffle forward down the narrow ledge.
Then my hand meets nothing.
My heart lurches as I stand, half frozen, staring at the entrance to a cave.
Surely this is something I should avoid.
An extra big raindrop hits the back of my head.
“Fuck it.” I give in to the insanity and step into the dark cave.
The quiet is instant. And without the wind, the cold is slightly better.
But only slightly, because my jean shorts are sticking to my thighs and my thin long-sleeved shirt is plastered to my body.
And even though all this is freaking impossible, my hair is wet and strands are stuck to my face. And oh my gods, I can’t.
Reaching up, I bundle my hair into a clumpy ponytail at the base of my neck and tug one of my stretchy bracelets off, using it as a makeshift hair tie. But my curls are too thick, and the bracelet isn’t meant for this, so once around is all I manage.
With my hair loosely contained, I drop my arms to my sides and sigh.
I should just stand here and wait for my brain to take me back to reality.
My feet step forward.
I should not walk deeper.
But my feet keep moving.
Great. I’m in control of nothing.
It’s like when I cut my thumb.
I didn’t mean to put my blood into my mouth. It just… happened.
I try to stop my next step. But I give up when my body doesn’t listen.
This isn’t real.
Who cares where I’m going.
My wet socks slap against the ground with each step.
You’re going insane, Rune. That’s where you’re going.
The passage isn’t wide, but the cave ceiling is high overhead, making it feel less claustrophobic.
I keep going.
I shouldn’t be able to see in here.
It should be too dark.
But as I continue to walk deeper into the mountain, I can see just fine.
It looks like the cave might curve back out to an exit. But directly ahead of me…
I walk forward.
Toward the giant flat rock leaning against the wall.
It feels out of place.
I reach up and rub my palm over my chest.
I feel… weird.
A low vibration rolls through the floor, and I freeze.
Earthquake?
The big rock moves, slowly sliding several feet to the side. And reveals what it was hiding.
Another entrance. To another room.
I walk forward.
I can’t do anything else.
And as soon as I step into the cavern beyond, my pulse quickens.
There’s something familiar here.
I inhale.
It’s raining outside. But in here… it smells like a thunderstorm.
It smells like right after a lightning strike. When ozone lingers in the air.
I fill my lungs again. The scent is somehow calming.
It’s even darker in here, but I can still see.
I narrow my eyes.
And I can’t stop myself from walking toward the giant slab of rock in the center of the room.
It’s low.
Flat.
Like a sacrificial altar.
I don’t want to get closer.
I walk forward.
I have to get closer.
The table isn’t empty.
Is that… a man?
My hands shake as I step up to the edge of the slab, my thighs just an inch from the stone.
Maybe it’s a sculpture.
A pull in my chest tugs me even closer, and I lean over him.
It’s not a sculpture.
My heartbeat quickens until I’m fighting to breathe.
But I can’t look away.
He’s so still.
But he looks real.
His body is covered in a robe that looks real. As real as the sword lying on the slab beside him.
He’s tall. Lying flat on his back. Hands hidden in sleeves but folded over his stomach.
The man’s hood is pulled up, and the dark fabric covers every bit of him.
Except his face.
And his face is… handsome.
My gaze trails over his features.
Closed eyes with long dark lashes. Masculine cheekbones and a strong jaw covered in a beard.
His lips are slightly parted. And they look soft.
He looks relaxed in sleep.
My brain worries that the word might be death. But my heart rejects that finality.
His hair is long, trailing down over his shoulders, and dark to match his lashes.
I need to see more. Need to see through the shadows his hood is casting over his face.
My eyes bounce all over his features as the need to memorize every inch of him takes over my actions.
I swallow as my pulse vibrates in my throat.
Something is sticking through his hood.
Something shining in the dark.
Something pointy and black and…
I have to see.
I stretch my hand over the man’s face, reaching to push back the fabric.
I need to see.
Need to know if those are… horns.
But when my hand is over his face, I freeze.
And…
My heart stops.
Panic flares through my body.
My heart just stopped.
My hand stays frozen.
My heart has seriously stopped.
Why has my heart stopped!?
Panic blends with fear as my chest tightens. And feels heavier?
And then I stare, unable to move, as another drop of blood forms on the tip of my thumb.
It beads.
My heart stays still.
My hand stays frozen over the man’s face.
Storm clouds fill my lungs.
And then the drop of blood drips free.
Time warps as it falls agonizingly slowly.
My chest aches.
My heart still doesn’t beat.
And a weird sort of anticipation surrounds me as I watch the drop of my blood plunge perfectly between the man’s parted lips.
I start to sway.
Help!
The word echoes through my brain.
And the man’s eyes snap open.
They stare up into mine.
Solid black vampire eyes stare up into mine.
My heart slams back to life inside my chest.
I jerk back and trip over a crack in the stone.
I fall.
My hands reach for something to grab on to, but it’s too late.
I land on my ass.
My eyes close as pain ricochets up my tailbone.
I force them back open and blink at… my apartment.
“What the fu—”