I laugh, shaking off the strange trance his nearness held me in and hugging the book to my chest, reeling in disbelief. These books are incredible. I can’t believe he gave me one. Just like that.
He offers a pale hand. “I’ll keep it for you on the register downstairs, shall I? Come. I’ll show you how to operate it.”
“Thanks,” I say again, the ground beneath me unsteady.
Nikolay heads down the spiral metal staircase, his boots making soft pattering noises with every step. Sherlock perks up and follows him down, his tail fluffing haughtily behind, and I trail after the cat to the main floor.
Nikolay lifts the board at the squared-off counter, bending it at the hinge to allow entrance. The enclosed, wooden space is surprisingly small, clearly designed for a single employee at a time, with hidden shelves below the register where a few books and a small box of tissues sit. He waits for me to enter before joining me, closing us in.
Standing this close to him gives me the sense we’re alone, though in the middle of the store. I open my mouth, ready to ask where that door really leads, when Nikolay speaks first.
“You have operated a register before?” His slim hand rests on the register’s flat-topped surface where below, a black readout is broken up by white numbers that flick to display a total. The belly of the brass machine bulges. Its stick-out keys pop along like buttons on the suit of a man who’s eaten too much.
“Never one like this. It’s beautiful.” Little scrolls ornament its brass sides. I can’t imagine how anyone can do such detailed work.
“Here.” He urges me forward with a hand. There isn’t room in the small space for the two of us to stand side by side, so our shoulders brush as I inch forward and take the space he offered.
His proximity is maddening. He smells like leather and vanilla, and his breath touches my neck as his voice strokes my ear.
“We do not scan items as you would at the grocery store. You must enter the total manually.” He leans in closer to reach the buttons. Heat from his body spreads its way across me, sending a flush to my cheeks.
Jerry. I’m with Jerry. Even though I haven’t spoken to him since our fight last night. Still, I have to force thoughts of him, to keep them from heading in a completely different direction than what they should be. A direction I like far more than I should.
“If an item is twenty-five dollars and thirty-one cents, you must enter it like this.” His finger punches the button labeled twenty, then five in the next column, then thirty, then one.
He inclines toward me to hit the final button, his face inches from mine. I know I should back away, but I can hardly think. He pauses, a muscle jumping in his jaw as if he’s just now realizing how close we are. Deliberately, his eyes pin to mine. We breathe together for a single moment before he swallows.
With slow, calculated movements, his fingers brush mine. The touch sends shivers through me, and he leads my hand to the handle of the machine. “Then you must turn the crank, to solidify the total.”
Heart in my throat, I force my attention on our hands as they turn the crank once, twice—
The bell tinkles, and the door crashes open, shooting a rush of cold air and reality along with it. I startle, jerking back and stepping on Nikolay’s toe. The fact that his arms at my waist keep me from doing any further damage to his persona doesn’t help. Heat blares in my cheeks and grows hotter when I realize Sierra Thompson is staring right at us.
Unlike the first time I met her, with her hair perfectly coiffed and nary a wrinkle in her clothing, now her hair frizzes at the ends like Sherlock’s fur. I can’t shake the image of it floating from her shoulders of its own accord at lunch earlier. Frenzy deranges her eyes, and her chest heaves as she grips the counter’s edge. She stares right at Nikolay as though I’m not there at all.
“Are you the guy?” she asks with desperate impatience. She glances behind her shoulder. One side, then the other. Her fingernails tap the wood. She doesn’t so much as acknowledge me.
“Excuse me?”
“Andrei Terekhov? You handle freak stuff that happens, right? I was told I could come talk to you—I s-s-saw it. I’ve got this weird connection with a girl’s memories and I thought it went away, but it came back. It won’t stop—” She shudders, unseen monsters swirling around her head, and she twines her fingers in her hair, pulling at it as though trying to split it from her scalp.
“It’s making me absolutely crazy, and I just want to go back to normal, okay?”
I wait for Nikolay to shoo her away or write her off, to direct her attention elsewhere. Instead, he gently maneuvers his way around me, lifts the counter to exit the rectangular desk, and puts his arm around her.
She sobs at the touch, as though his presence alone is therapeutic.
“I am Nikolay Terekhov. Andrei is my father. This sounds like his area of expertise.”
Relief floods her face. More tears gush out, and she glances up at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open. “You’re serious? You guys can help me?”
Nikolay gives her a tight nod and squeezes her shoulder, guiding her toward the staircase leading up to the apartment I rarely see his father leave.
He takes her hand in his. “Come with me. It will be okay,” he assures, gently plucking her fingers from the fabric of his shirt.
I turn, unable to resist watching their progress toward the spiral staircase. Nikolay says something to her, and Sierra plunks down in the leather armchair above, her feet hammering in one place like a controlled storm. I can’t pretend I don’t know she’s there, and as no one seems eager to let me test out the register on them, I leave the desk.
Sierra stares up at the climbing shelves of books along the balcony’s walls, raking hands through her hair and breathing heavily. I attempt to leave her to herself, though I’m not sure where to go. It’s not like I’ve had much training about my new responsibilities here.
“You. Everly James.”
My palms turn into fists. After a brief hesitation, I turn and glance up. “Hi, Sierra. Are you okay?”
She slouches forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Just because you’re new here doesn’t mean you can listen in on private conversations.” Her words sound more collected than they did moments ago.
“I was right there,” I say, my back instantly up. “And besides, you were sort of shouting.”
She points a manicured fingernail at me. Then, as if realizing what she’s doing, she checks herself and lowers it. “That’s the old Sierra,” she mutters to herself.
I blink a few times. Wow, she really is crazy.
“So you’re friends with Piper now?” Her tone is acidic. She wipes her palms against her stomach, sniffing, and then tosses her hair as if for effect.
At the mention of my neighbor, I can’t help but wonder where she and Todd disappeared to today. Though even if I asked she wouldn’t tell me, which only strengthens my resolve to get answers for myself.
“Yeah. But—what happened to you?” To Piper?
“I’m sure she told you all the juicy details by now. About how pretty posh Sierra Thompson went psycho.”
Confusion wrinkles my brow. Piper and Todd alluded to something, but I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“She didn’t, actually,” I say.
The door above opens, and Andrei appears with Nikolay trailing behind. Sierra’s face crumples at the sight of him. Her sob tears through the resonant room.
Andrei crouches beside the chair. I strain my ears, wishing I could hear what they were saying. After a muted exchange, Sierra’s face pales with relief. Andrei offers her first a handkerchief, then his hand, and she takes both, walking with him not to his office, but the row of romance novels I stumbled across earlier.
Her answers leave me more puzzled than ever. She said she has a connection with a girl’s memories? I remember Piper’s evasive
actions in the lunchroom. Todd’s quick inclination to dive in and help Jordan keep Sierra from hurting herself. Is it Piper’s memories she’s connected to? I make a point to ask her the next time I see her. What with the crows attacking Layla, and now this, Piper has to know more than she’s letting on.
I expect Nikolay to find me, to offer more training or maybe go into details of shelves and cataloguing books, but he’s nowhere to be found. A woman with plentiful cheeks and a rosy warm smile approaches the desk, her hands full of cookbooks.
I have more fun than I probably should pushing the pop-out buttons on the register and turning the crank, exchanging money with the woman when the drawer gives a distinctive clang and knocks into my stomach. After giving the woman her change, I close the drawer with satisfaction mixed with worry.
I glance around, eager for Nikolay’s feedback. The shelves turn their backs to me. Not even Sherlock prowls their tops. I wonder if this is a regular occurrence. Something tells me the Terekhovs lose a lot of business.
“Nikolay?” I call, heading toward the smaller, blurred windows that limit the sunlight at the back of the store. A few customers glance at me as I pass, scurrying like bugs caught beneath an upturned rock. Would he have gone with his father and Sierra? And leave me alone to man a store I know nothing about running?
I make my way back up the stairs, eager to find one of my employers, when another thought descends.
Andrei didn’t take Sierra to his office.
He led her toward those romance novels.
Toward…
I tread on soft feet through the stacks’ variegated halls, moving in time with the quiet, antsy rhythm of my pulse. Each step I take makes me feel eerily on display, and I rub the chills slithering up my arms.
The door rests there, as hushed as ever. But unlike when I saw it before, this time a beautiful etched knob juts out, right where a knob should be.
Stillness closes in. The space is filled with nothing but the possibility of an onlooker watching me, or worse, approaching. That possibility looms closer until it’s at the base of my back, and I turn, dusting more shivers from my arms.
An empty row stares back, the books silent soldiers on their shelves, the columns sentinels. A hollow ringing takes over my ears, rooting my feet to the floor.
Andrei took her through that door. But how? Why?
Swallowing, I reach for the knob.
The phone in my pocket buzzes and I shriek, hands rushing to my face. I step back with a frantic chuckle, resting a hand over my racing heart.
“It’s nothing,” I mumble, mentally chiding myself. “I’m being stupid.”
I pull the phone out. Jerry’s name is on the text notification, and a new dread fills me.
You ignoring me now?
I’m not sure what to say to him, and after what happened with Nikolay at the register, I question whether this long distance relationship is the best thing for either one of us right now. Jerry said it himself: he’s not going to wait around forever. He can’t leave Shady Heights, not without permission from his probation officer, and I refuse to leave Cedarvale. What does Jerry expect?
Thought you were ignoring me, I think, but I don’t send. Instead, I lock the screen and reach for the knob. My fingers graze the cool brass.
Little by little, the phone warms in my free hand. Warm, hot, hotter. The plastic burns into my skin like a pan taken from the oven without a mitt. I shriek and instinctively drop the device. It lands facedown, and I hold back a small scream at the sight of the red rectangle branded into my skin.
I back into the shelf behind me. My nerves are raw, my adrenaline spiked. “What was that?” I mutter, eyes stinging at the pain.
I want to run, but I’m frozen, still attempting to process. What just happened? I stare from my hand, to the phone, and back to my hand again. Dizzy and weak-kneed, I fight my thumping heartbeat and bend for the phone. I hesitate to touch it again, but I can’t really leave it there.
The plastic is cold to the touch. A large crack maps its way across the dead screen, and when I stand, a low, cackling caw flutters behind me.
nine
I bolt from the row as quickly as possible, panic amplifying every move I make. I clamber down the stairs and through the stacks, not bothering, not wanting to find anyone else—or worse, to give the crows an easy target.
I crash into Nikolay at the end of the traveling section and shriek.
“Everly?”
I ignore him and push out into the frigid weather outside, bending for the nearest pile of snow. I plunge my burning hand in, confused tears eking out my eyes. I blink them back.
Bitter cold snow soothes the burn momentarily, but I still feel its exact lines, the placement of my phone as it scalded my skin. I’m ready to pull the thing from my pocket, to chuck it as far from me as I can. But I can’t, not if I want answers.
The bell tinkles, and I sense more than see Nikolay make his way toward me and crouch beside me. His concerned gaze takes in the fresh snow I’m cupping in my palm. I close my fingers over it and draw my hand closer to my body.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, bracing a hand against the sidewalk for balance.
I don’t know what to say, so I ask my own question. “What did she mean, you guys handle ‘freak’ stuff?” I stare at the rust-colored bricks making up the building’s corner. I don’t want to look at him or anything else. The last time cawing followed me home, I entered to find crows attacking my cousin. They were here again, at the bookstore, and something made my phone burn my hand. Why?
“Has something happened?” His free hand tips my chin upward.
Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to find him examining my face. No birds. No imminent noises aside from his slow, balanced breathing.
I bite my lip. He hasn’t seemed to notice anything amiss about my hand. Most of the snow has melted against my skin, so I fist my wet palm, tuck it under my opposite arm, and stand. He rises too, keeping his eyes on me.
“Sierra had some kind of episode at school today. Having her burst in here demanding help like that can’t be a coincidence.”
Nikolay swallows. “Some people are just superstitious. She needs my father’s help getting over some problems.”
I wouldn’t call the way her body jerked today problems. “Is he a psychiatrist?” I ask, wincing at the pain in my hand. I should ask him what happened with Sierra, with my phone, but I need to hear more before I tell him something as strange as my phone heating of its own accord.
“Of sorts.” Hands in his pockets, Nikolay walks down the alley and leans against the brick. Sunlight picks its way through the metalwork of the ladder and balcony above him.
I join him. “Nikolay, what is thaumaturgy? Is that what they’re doing?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Perhaps I should show you how to handle inventory. You have not yet had a full tour of the store, and it will be important for you to know where—”
He turns away, ready to head back inside. I reach a hand to his arm, stopping him. “Nikolay. Please.”
He rubs the back of his neck, and reluctantly, his blue gaze meets mine. “Yes, that is what they are doing. Your friend is plagued with a mental disturbance, something that my father has many years’ experience helping to rid people of.”
I blink a few times at his ready explanation. I expected to have to continue prying answers out of him. “Like exorcism?”
“Not exactly. She is not possessed. It is a spell. Thaumaturgy is the use of magic to work miraculous deeds. My father has a tactic that allows him to relieve people of these spells and reassign the spell to a non-living location.”
Spells. Magic. Sierra’s hair rising from her shoulders like static, her body jerking, the door humming beneath my hand. The same door Andrei guided Sierra to…
In one blink it’s me. My body jerking, my hair rising, my h
and burned, my back stinging. It’s me running from nothing, from a bird, a beak, a flaw of imagination imperceptible to others.
A spell.
Magic.
I slam my eyes shut, unable, unwilling to hear any more.
“Everly? Are you all right?”
“No—just, no.”
He takes me by the shoulders. Slowly, I open my eyes. Sympathy shrouds his expression. “What is it? You can tell me.”
I don’t find words quickly enough. My mind is clouded with confusion. I can’t even begin to imagine what he meant by his father’s tactics. That makes it sound like some military strategy.
If that’s the case, then how in the world did Sierra Thompson end up on the receiving end of one of these spells? And not only that, if this is all what I think it is, how did I?
The burn on my hand shouts at me. I’m trembling so hard I can hardly stand still. “I’m sorry, I can’t finish my shift. I have to go.”
The door, the crows, Sierra. The door, the crows Sierra.
I drive one-handed. The roads are clear. Pass, pass, turn. Red light turns to green, and the road splits left, and then I’m at our apartment complex. Layla’s car is in its usual spot, but I’m not sure if that means she went home or back to Joel and Piper’s.
I knock at the Crenshaw’s door, awkwardness and agitation rattling through me. We didn’t talk about how long Layla and I would stay, so I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to go home now or not. No one answers. Hmm. That must mean Layla went back home too.
My palm throbs. I need to do something about this burn. Pulse thundering, palms sweating, I turn back to number fourteen. I hesitate, listening for the sound of crow’s wings, but nothing resounds.
It’s fine, I tell myself. If Layla went home, it’s because everything is fine. But my hands shake as I unlock the door. I no longer feel safe here. Then again, I’m starting to realize I may not be safe anywhere.
I take in the scent of coconut soap in the moist air, her perfume, and the sharp hint of hairspray drifting through the space.
The Forbidden Doors Box Set Page 34