The Forbidden Doors Box Set

by Cortney Pearson

  “Everly James,” says Mr. Terekhov in an accent just like Nikolay’s. He gives me an outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I am Andrei Terekhov, and my son tells me you’re looking for work.”

  “I am,” I say with a hopeful smile. “I’m reliable. I’m honest—I love to read, so I can offer your customers recommendations if necessary.”

  “Oh?” Andrei’s brows arc. “What is your favorite book?”

  “The Great Gatsby. I’m intrigued by the 1920s. By any time in history, really. I guess I love old things.”

  A few wavering moments pass. “F. Scott Fitzgerald was a revolutionary of his time,” Andrei says finally. Nikolay gives me another wink.

  My heart pumps, waiting for what’s next in this impromptu interview.

  “We would be happy to have your help, Miss James,” says Andrei after a few agonizing moments. “Nikolay was just saying earlier how he would appreciate not having to stock the shelves when there are so many other more important responsibilities to be taken care of.”

  “I can stock shelves. I can do whatever you’d like,” I say too eagerly.

  “Be here at three forty on weekdays. Ten a.m. on Saturday. We are closed Sundays.”

  “Great!” I say, catching myself too late. But I don’t care. Reality is sinking in, a reality so different from the dismal depression I was feeling earlier that it sings.

  Andrei rests a hand at my shoulders, guiding me toward the stairs. “Come in tomorrow, and we will finalize the paperwork.”

  My lips spread into a full-on grin. “Thank you.”

  “Good night, Miss James.” Andrei treads back to his office and closes the door behind him.

  I grip Nikolay’s arm, practically bouncing for joy. “You—I—that was amazing! Thank you.”

  Nikolay inclines his head, his eyes dancing. “It seems I will be seeing more of you after tonight.” He gestures for me to precede him back down the stairs. I let out a sort of squeaking noise and stare up again at the decorated ceiling, at the shelves, brimming with excitement. This couldn’t have gone better if I planned it myself.

  Nikolay extracts his keys, reaching the door before I do.

  “I can’t wait.”

  “I look forward to it as well.” He opens the door for me. A rush of harsh, cold air slaps my cheeks, and I pause. The wall plaque Piper mentioned hangs near the door. The engraved letters depict Andrei Terekhov’s accomplishments, from schools I don’t recognize in Russia, to degrees, to that final, strange word Piper mentioned.

  Thaumaturgy.

  “Something wrong?” Nikolay asks, no doubt wondering about my delay.

  I peel my gaze away from the plaque and smile once more. “No, nothing is wrong. Thanks again.”

  And I walk back through the snow to my car.

  seven

  I can’t believe I got the job. I didn’t even fill out an application.

  Chatter overtakes the lunchroom now, joined by clanking utensils and bursts of laughter. Sierra sits at the same round table with a group of kids. Her boyfriend, Jordan, sits to her left with his hand on her knee. She fluffs back her hair and waves me over, not bothering to watch whether I actually do or not. Now that’s confidence.

  Or snobbery.

  I wave back, but I’m not about to sit by her again.

  Piper looks pretty with her hair pulled up halfway. A book lies open beside Todd’s tray, and he points to its contents with sweeping, exaggerated gestures. Piper laughs at something he says before her eyes stray to me. I hesitate for a moment, worried she’s sick of me after the way I pestered her for answers last night, but she waves me over. Apparently, our lighthearted chitchat when I came back last night made up for my nosiness.

  Sierra’s sour glance glides to them and back to me with a warning and a chin raise. I feel like I’m strung in the middle of some ongoing battle between the two girls.

  Sierra is obviously the pinnacle of automatic coolness, a sure sign I’ll fit in with anyone just by being in her proximity. But Piper smiles again, and I veer toward her while the sting of Sierra’s glare burns into my shoulders.

  “Hey, I heard the news,” Todd says when I sit.

  I pause. I don’t know him well enough to read whether he’s being sarcastic or truthful. I suspect my leaving when I did gave them ample time to discuss exactly how insane I am, either for thinking I saw crows attack my cousin or for insisting Piper knows more about it than she’s letting on.

  Piper blushes, dipping her head. “I told him you got the job.”

  The warning bells ringing through my nerves slow, though I’m still a bit frazzled. I lower my bag onto the empty seat beside me. “Oh, um…thanks.”

  Todd closes his book and plunks his corndog into some ketchup.

  “So did you ever figure out why Sierra was standing outside Crestwood last night?” I ask.

  Unscripted, the three of us in unison peer back at Sierra. Arms folded, her glare simmers in our direction across the noisy lunchroom. I consider waving to her, but that might be more of a knock at her than the amicable gesture I mean for it to be.

  Piper stares at her lunch tray for far too long.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I say, sensing Piper’s unease. “It’s okay.”

  She bends her head once more, her hair sweeping down enough to hide her face. “I get that you have questions, Everly. I know things seem…weird. I just…I don’t know how to describe it without sounding completely psychotic.”

  Funny, Sierra used the same word to describe her. “Does Sierra know what happened to you?” I force myself not to look back at the other girl again. If she didn’t know we were talking about her then, she would now.

  Todd barks a laugh, rolling his glance to the ceiling. Piper angles her mouth, a mock of a smile. “Oh yeah. She knows.”

  “So something did happen.” I peel off a bit of bread from around my corndog and pop it into my mouth. “If it makes you feel any better, she isn’t spilling the beans either.”

  Piper’s head cocks at this. “Really?”

  “Sure. She had the perfect chance to bash you to me the first time I sat with her at lunch, and she didn’t take it.”

  “We’ve come to a truce of sorts,” Piper says with a shrug, “but that doesn’t mean we like each other any more than we used to. They’re even more pissed at me now, actually, because they think I’ve taken Todd from them. In all actuality, he was my friend long before he was theirs.”

  A flurry of scenarios twines its way into my thoughts, cataloging what I know. Piper and Joel’s interesting house, their dislike of old things, Sierra’s warning me away from Piper and then completely contradicting that by lurking outside Piper’s window.

  “Maybe she’s jealous,” I say.

  “Of what?” Piper asks. “Me?”

  I shrug. “Why not?”

  “Where do I start?” Piper says under her breath. Her eyes slide in Sierra’s direction for the smallest moment, leaving me to wonder exactly what happened between them.

  A connection coaxes the air. Something pulls from the edge of my skin, and I rub my arms, chafing away at the chills that aren’t cold. But that isn’t the most unnerving thing—the chatter in the lunchroom has completely quieted.

  Others glance around, the pull between us droning, distracting them as much as it does me.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper, staring upward, before movement steals a shriek from my lips.

  The walls warp and vibrate around me with a wicked, pulsing hum. Students pause, forks and milk cartons dangling inches from mouths. Every hair on my arms rises as I make eye contact with Sierra.

  She’s sitting too still. Too perfectly. Her face is void of expression, and she stares off, transported somewhere else entirely. And then Sierra’s hair begins to lift from her shoulders.

  Murmurs begin again
as she rises to her feet, her lip curling in an almost feral way. Her head jerks to the side as though she’s been slapped. Once, twice, over and over, her head jerks, her hair flipping each time.

  Sound breaks, pouring like water through an invisible barrier. Kids are in uproar, running for the exits, while a small few gather around Sierra, some with their phones out, taking videos and snapping pictures.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I ask Piper.

  “Not again,” Piper mutters.

  Sierra’s eyes roll up into her head, which hasn’t stopped jerking. Her boyfriend pulls her to him, hands on her shoulders.

  Todd dashes across the lunchroom, hurdling over a fallen chair, and I follow. Jordan tries holding her face in his hands, to stop Sierra’s feral jerking.

  “It’s not right!” she shouts, shoving him back and running two hands through her hair. Her knees buckle, and Jordan catches her before she hits the linoleum.

  “Is she okay?” I ask, propping my hands beneath her head. One of her hands breaks from Todd’s grip and she rams me back so hard I nearly tumble into one of the upended chairs. Piper catches my elbow, offering support.

  Several others still surround Sierra’s table, but Jordan props her against his body and pushes through them, whispering in her ear the whole time. He struggles under her weight; Todd crouches, lifting her feet, and the two of them manhandle her from the lunchroom.

  “Make it stop,” she whimpers, tears streaming from her eyes. “Make it stop.”

  “It will, baby. It will,” Jordan says, though the worried glance he swaps with Todd confirms both of their doubts.

  “Make what stop?” I ask, still staring. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Piper’s eyes sweep across the lunchroom. Most kids turn back to their tables, some jerking their heads in mockery of Sierra’s creepy outburst. A few laugh, and the lunchroom’s usual chatter flares up to full blast once more.

  “It’s all my fault,” Piper says, lowering her head into her hands.

  I grip the back of one of the nearby blue chairs, unable to take my glance away from Sierra’s empty table. “It’s almost like she was possessed. How in the world can that be your fault? You were just sitting here—”

  Piper lets out a little noise and rams away from the table, yanking her backpack and dashing off down the same hallway. Several people blink in my direction, but I weave through the upended chairs and follow her.

  Piper isn’t by her locker, nor is she in the bathroom. I nearly give up when I catch sight of her long blonde hair, purple sweater, skirt, and black boots heading out the south exit, near the band room. She carries a small, boxy instrument case. I wrack my brains, trying to remember which one she plays.

  “Piper!” I call, but she pushes through the door and into the sunlight. Through the side window I see her climb into Todd’s waiting pickup truck. He rattles off, tires squealing out of the parking lot.

  eight

  The bell clangs when I enter the bookstore. I purposely ignore the plaque and make my way toward the back of the store, wishing I could ignore the crows and Sierra’s strange episode as easily and just be excited about my new job.

  But Sierra’s outburst troubles me. The startled looks on kids’ faces in the lunchroom earlier aren’t that different from the way Joel and Layla gaped when I first told them it was crows attacking her.

  Is that what I look like to others? If I continue seeing crows no one else can see, will something similar happen to me?

  I’ve got to ask Piper again. She can’t keep denying things, not when she herself said whatever happened to Sierra was her fault.

  Sherlock prowls on the top of a bookshelf, a white fuzz-bomb with legs, scanning the aisles for potential shoplifters, like he really is Nikolay’s guard cat.

  I climb the circular staircase to the landing where I spoke with the Terekhovs last night, while a different kind of fear seizes me. What if I imagined the impromptu interview? Maybe I’ll show up and they’ll turn me away, call me insane. The crows are clearly evidence that I see things that aren’t real—maybe last night I was so distraught, I made it all up in my head.

  They didn’t give me much instruction, other than to come at three forty. I check my phone—pushing away the disappointment that there’s no text from Piper. I can’t help wondering where they all disappeared to. The hospital, maybe? And I can’t keep hoping for any answers from her. I’ll have to find them for myself.

  I wince. Three forty-three. Hitching my courage, I step to the hall and knock on the door labeled Employees Only.

  Andrei Terekhov opens the door, wearing a dress shirt and vest. Tiredness rims his eyes, and a hard-edged smile stretches on his cheeks. My smile falters.

  “Everly James, good afternoon,” he finally says.

  “Hello.” Wow. Stunner.

  “Please, come in. I have the necessary paperwork all ready for you to fill out.”

  Relief pours over me. I sit on the rolling chair opposite from his desk, anticipation making my ankles jiggle. “Is Nikolay here?” I ask, trying to ignore the twinge his names gives to my stomach.

  “He’s on the balcony, sorting the children’s section. When you’ve completed your W2, I will send you to him for more instruction.”

  Straight forward, just like I imagine a Russian boss would be. My tightness eases just a bit.

  I fill in the rectangles with my name, birthday, all the necessaries, and Andrei hands me a lined time card, a nametag, and a folded apron before directing me to the old-fashioned time clock with a pull-arm like a slot machine.

  “I guess the other employees all wear this too?” I ask, slipping the maroon apron on over my plain shirt and khaki cords.

  “Other employees? It is just Nikolay and myself.”

  “I’m the only other person working here?” I ask, surprised.

  “That you are. If you’ll excuse me.”

  They have to have had others ask—why would they hire me and no one else? And without my so much as filling out an application?

  With a curt nod, Andrei trundles back into his office and shuts the door behind him.

  Sweat collects in my palms. This is victory, I tell myself. I got the job—a job clearly no one else has gotten. The flash of a black wing preys at the borders of my mind, but I shake it off and walk slowly through the stacks, brushing my fingers along the spines as I pass.

  Everywhere I turn is another aisle, another promise of knowledge, another direction like a maze or a hidden corridor in a castle. I navigate my way along the balcony. For a minute I consider veering off to find books on crows, or maybe something to help people in supernatural distress, when I recognize the section of books featuring scantily clad men and women I saw my first day here.

  And just beyond is the door. It looms, as intriguing as it was that first day, with its recurrent, circular designs sculpted across the black wood at such an angle they almost glow. I step toward it, hand outstretched, eager to test its hum and perhaps even open it…

  “Everly!”

  My pulse kicks as though I’ve just fallen asleep without meaning to and gotten too short of a nap. I whip around, vision blanking. I struggle to orient myself in this slice of the bookstore and to remember Andrei’s instructions to meet Nikolay in the children’s section. I’m not anywhere near the children’s section.

  Nikolay makes his way down the shelves, looking cool and casual despite the sharp way he snapped my name. He wears rolled-up jeans with tan boots, a plaid shirt and braided suspenders. His tousled hair tops off the mixture of modern style with a vintage edge, and my heart catches for the smallest minute.

  “I’m afraid you won’t like where that door leads,” Nikolay says. Hands in his pockets, he slumps against the shelf. “Broom closets are dreadfully dull. If you open that, my father may assign you janitorial duties.”

  “That’s a bro
om closet?”

  He gives a non-committal nod.

  My brows arch. I glance back at the door, questions skewering my brain, not the least of which is how he thinks I’ll manage to open a door with no knob.

  “I’ve had to do worse things,” I finally say.

  “Ah, but I’m afraid not all messes are so easy to clean.” He winks.

  I don’t return his warm smile. Instead, my eyes narrow. There’s more to it. This is no broom closet.

  “Is that why it has no doorknob?”

  A dark glint passes over his gaze. He hesitates. “No. That’s just my way of getting out of doing unwanted jobs.”

  The darkness passes as quickly as it came. His lips press into a kind of amusement. From behind his back he offers me the book I didn’t realize he was holding. “For you.”

  Okay, pulse, you can slow down. Anytime now.

  “What’s this?”

  Nikolay shrugs. “The day we met, I noticed your interest in the marbleized books my father and I make. I want you to have this one. You can use it to write your private thoughts in, if you’d like.”

  “I thought you didn’t sell these.”

  His mouth crooks upward just enough. “We don’t.”

  The book releases a satisfying crack as the binding is broken for the first time. The lovely, vine-like designs on the inside of the cover send a completely different set of chills over me. My fingers trace over the heavy texture of the pages, lapping up the thickness of them.

  “It’s almost criminal to write in something like this.”

  “Not if you make what you write matter.”

  Our eyes catch, and the shelves around us fade in an instant. My body constricts, captured in that look, in his proximity. My breathing grows more staggered, and I gasp a shuddering inhale to try and recalibrate it.

  “Thank you,” I manage to say.

  “Come on. We’d better get going before my father swoops down on you for, how do you say it? Slacking on the job.”