He inclines his head to one shoulder. “I can make the nightmares stop at least, if I write it in one of our books.”
I clutch the book still cradled in my arm. It’s not the same. He told me it’s not the same. “What power does writing it have?”
Nikolay rises from the couch to join us. He gestures to the shelf behind his father’s desk, where not a few exquisite volumes slumber. “If it’s in one of our books, we can transfer the information—or sometimes the soul of the problem participant—into the book itself. But as we don’t know who or what it is haunting you, that will be difficult.”
“Why? You’re saying it won’t work?”
Andrei says, “Writing it will stop the nightmares, but it won’t guarantee that whoever this is won’t try to find another way of contacting you. And you may not like that any more than what is happening right now.”
“What do you suggest?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“I think gathering a bit more information about what this individual wants will be the best way of handling it. Even if you can get me a name, Miss James, we can work from there.”
“A name?” I mutter, as though such a simple thing is foreign to me.
“I think your crow isn’t accomplishing its task through these dreams and has attempted to reach you through your phone. If that happens again, try returning the communication. Can you do that?”
“I—”
No. No, no, no.
“I’ll try.”
He continues writing, dabbing heavily on the paper with his antiquated pen. “It is just a matter of doing things properly. Having an idea of exactly who is haunting you will help.”
Inviting the communication is the opposite of what I want to hear right now.
“It is how we removed the spell from Sierra Thompson’s mind,” Nikolay adds.
I inhale. “Just like that, you transfer it. And you’re not worried it will get out somehow?”
Andrei smiles. “It is highly unlikely that a spell will ever be released once it’s inked into our pages.”
The surety of his statement offers more comfort than I expect. Welcome the communication the next time it happens, and he can get it to stop. “Wow. Thank you. And yes, I’ll see what I can find out.” Though the prospect of encouraging communication with whoever it is sours my stomach.
Andrei dabs the ink from his pen and rests it on the desk, blotting the paper with a cloth. “Crows can read changes in our lives,” he says. “They are extremely intelligent. Did you know they can even be taught to count?”
I shake my head. The strain of the day’s events leaves my knees weak. I quiver on my way back to the couch, my movements jagged and rough.
“So what message were they trying to bring to me?” I ask. And why would they want to hurt me in the process?
Andrei considers this for a moment. “That is what you must determine. Whether it’s for good or ill will be interesting to see.”
“Interesting? They’re hurting me!” Without thinking, I brandish my burned palm in his direction like a traffic cop.
Shame fills me. I sound way too much like Sierra. But this is why I’m here. If he helped her, he can help me. And I’m sorry, but scribbling in a book and pronouncing it done doesn’t seem like much of a solution.
Nikolay looks pained and uncertain, as though he wants to come to me but isn’t sure he should.
“Sorry. I know you’re doing what you can.”
“It is all right, Miss James,” says Andrei. He rests on the coffee table separating the couch from the chairs near his desk. “I’ve done what I can for your nightmares. But the crows themselves will stop when they’ve delivered their omen to you. I cannot interfere with that. They read change, and you’ve just had a major change occur in your life, have you not? Maybe a person has not died, but some other form of death has taken place. Perhaps this crow is warning of something more metaphorical than literal.”
Metaphorical death warnings. Perfect.
He squeezes my elbow, giving me a whiff of toffee and brandy. “Find out what you can about this messenger. We will go from there.”
“Okay. Thanks for listening,” I tell him, resigned. Sleep will only tell whether the nightmares are really over or not. But after what happened outside that door, I hope it’s enough.
I pause at the exit. “You still—I still have a job, right?”
He gives me a fatherly smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “If you still want one.”
“I do.” My eyes flit to Nikolay, and warmth seeps from his expression. A kind of eagerness glimmers there, as though he wants the same thing.
Snow drifts down in lazy, fat flakes, creating a picture of calm through the store’s darkened windows. Soft, hazy light highlights only a few areas within. Nikolay escorts me to the door in calm, unassuming silence.
“I’m sorry, about earlier,” I can’t help saying. “I’m apologizing a lot, aren’t I?” I’m fraying at the edges, barely holding on by a thread. But the fact that he’s here weaves an extra one in for good measure.
“You have nothing to apologize for. I am sorry things are haunting you, Everly. I will do what I can to help.” He gives a sad smile and digs in his pocket for the key.
On an impulse I move in front of the door, blocking his way from opening it.
He lowers the key. Curiosity fills his gaze.
“Do you—” I swallow, gripping the book to my side with my good hand. “Do you want to come to a party with me? Tomorrow? It’s at my friend Todd’s house. You could take the night off and come.”
“With you?” Of all things he sounds incredulous.
My cheeks burn, but I don’t break from his gaze. “With me.”
Time freezes, stilling the world right along with it. His eyes flick to my lips for the smallest moment. “Yes, I would like that.”
My breath hitches in my chest. He steps closer, lowering his head so his hair tumbles into his lashes. The world shrinks, consisting only of him and me, his heat and mine intermingling and enclosing this strange connection we’ve been working toward since I got here.
I lift my chin, trapped in the one-way trail we’re navigating. His gaze trips over me, from eyes to hairline to mouth. My nerves pulse, eager for the interaction, be it a step, a touch, a kiss…
Nikolay withdraws, widening my vision. A glower settles on his face, and the expression chills me.
“What is it?” I ask, heart racing.
A fist hammers the glass behind me. I whirl around, nearly tripping on my own feet. Nikolay’s arm catches my waist as I stumble into him. My hands rest on his chest, and I stare at Jerry glaring at us through the glass.
twelve
I cringe, knowing exactly what this looks like, Nikolay nearly kissing me at the door and now wrapping his arms around me. How long was Jerry standing there? And yes, I was planning on breaking up with him just as soon as I got the chance, but Jerry didn’t know that.
He pounds harder on the glass again, his shouts muffled. “Open the door!”
“A friend of yours?” Nikolay asks. A raised eyebrow is his only sign of distress.
“Open the door, please,” I say, running a hand over my hair.
Jerry’s steaming breath stains the glass. He slams another fist against the door frame, and Nikolay fumbles with the key, twisting the knob.
“If you break my windows I will personally see that you cover the damages,” Nikolay says without any preliminaries. Intimidation threads his otherwise calm voice.
Jerry rams the door open, forcing his way in and shoving Nikolay back.
I rush forward, stepping between them. “Jerry, stop it.”
Nikolay slicks a hand through his rumpled hair, looking unfazed. His chin rises. “I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you.”
Jerry looks terrible. He wears an overl
arge navy blue jacket with a ripped pocket. Likewise, the knees of his jeans gape with fraying mouths. “What are you doing here, Everly? No wonder you were ignoring me—you’re here hooking up with this—”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off. “My phone died. I wanted to call you back, but I couldn’t. And what am I doing here? What are you doing here? You broke probation. You’ll go back to jail, Jer.”
He leans in, breathing in my face. I revolt at his tinged breath. “Layla told me you might be here,” he says, his words slurred. “I had no idea you were meeting your new boyfriend.” He releases another breath at me. The alcohol reeks, like a mixture of urine and moldy bread, and I gag, shoving him back.
“You drove here drunk, without a license?” I haven’t smelled this in so long. And I’ve never seen him this angry.
His dark hair dangles like a snake over his shoulder. His eyes blacken with loathing. “You’re coming home with me. Right now.”
He claws my arm, pulling me forward. I try to wrench free and nearly drop Nikolay’s book in the process. Jerry loops an arm around my waist, dragging me with him. The book slips. I pry at his grip, twisting, struggling to gain my footing. Cold winter air and snow seeps in through the open door, and Jerry kicks it open wider with his foot.
“Stop it. Jerry, stop!” I drop the book and let my body go limp. He nearly trips, swearing again. I manage to wriggle free, adjusting my shirt, which came up slightly in the struggle.
Jerry snarls from the open entrance. Snow flurries behind him, adding to his deranged image. His shoulders are hunched over, his eyes bloodshot and wild. Gone is the glorified image I clung to of him, the sight of him waiting for me in our darkened corner of Barry’s, the smoky desire in his eyes that was only for me. I dreamed about him. I romanticized him. And now he’s more revolting than his breath. He’s controlling. He’s possessive. And I never want to see him again.
He charges at me like a bull, and this time Nikolay interferes, thrusting a hand on Jerry’s shoulder.
Jerry’s eyes narrow, and he brushes Nikolay off. “Get your hands off me.”
“Get out of my store,” Nikolay says. He’s broader than Jerry is, and with his suspenders and sleeves rolled up, I get the image of a working boy in a past era confronting bullies in a back alley.
Jerry scuffs a hand beneath his nose, an ounce of hesitation in his gaze. “Just as soon as Everly goes with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” My voice betrays the fear coursing through my veins. “Don’t call me. Don’t look at me. Don’t ever come near me again.”
Jerry’s face falls for the first time since he arrived. “Everly.”
“We’re done, do you hear me?”
His nose begins to twitch. His eyes turn to slivers. Anger roils off him in waves, and in seconds he shrieks and whirls around, gripping the magazine stand. He crashes it to the floor. Magazines topple, spilling and bending awkwardly, landing mangled on the floor.
Nikolay moves in. He takes Jerry’s lapels and throws him out into the street before closing and locking the door as quickly as possible.
Jerry scrambles to his feet and punches the glass so hard I’m certain it will break his hand. He recoils, swearing and cradling the crumpled hand to his chest.
“You’ll regret this!” he shouts through the window.
“Ignorant fool,” Nikolay mutters under his breath. He digs a phone from his pocket and approaches the window, pressing one number at a time slowly in Jerry’s direction so he’s sure to see every number. Nine. One. One.
Jerry swears at him and bolts for the car, stumbling before he manages to get in. The yellow of his headlights dyes the snow an unnerving, haunting shade before he manages to shift it in gear and drive off.
Nikolay presses call. “I’d like to report a drunk driver who just assaulted my establishment…” His voice fades out as adrenaline beats in my ears.
Jerry came here. He saw Nikolay with me, embracing me, nearly kissing me. He must have been out of his mind to drive here as it was, and then to be greeted with that? No wonder he was so pissed.
But that doesn’t give him the right to think he can force me to—the thought angers me so much my shoulders tremble. I’m overflowing with so many mixed emotions. Shame that I ever cared for someone like Jerry, embarrassment that Nikolay had to be a part of that, and fear of what might have happened if he hadn’t been here.
I don’t realize tears are falling down my cheeks until Nikolay pulls me to his chest. “It will be okay,” he says, pocketing his phone. “I gave the police the model and license number of his car. He will never come near you again.”
The pent-up feelings of the past few days release themselves onto Nikolay’s button-up shirt. All the fear, the frustration, it spills out, and he holds me, letting me cry.
“You have had a terrible day,” he says when I pull away and dry my eyes with the back of my hand.
I laugh at this, a strange release of too many emotions being held under the surface.
“But if you ask me, he is worse than any crow.”
I laugh again, and Nikolay’s eyes alight. He wipes my cheek with a soft thumb and leads me to the register where a box of Kleenex lies beneath the counter.
I wipe my nose and cheeks, waiting for my jagged breathing to return to normal.
“I hate that my mother was right about him,” I say, dabbing beneath my eyes. My mascara is probably smearing at gothic levels by now. “That’s the worst part of this.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s why I’m here, in Cedarvale. She wanted me to break up with him—even gave me an ultimatum. If I wanted to be with Jerry, I couldn’t live under her roof. I couldn’t let her do that to me—force me to bend under her thumb, to do things her way or no way. I called her bluff. I left.” I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memory of that night. “And Jerry just proved what an idiot I am. I’m just glad he didn’t break your windows.”
Nikolay doesn’t look back as I gesture to the glass now smeared with several smudges from Jerry’s outbursts. Instead his eyes pin to me. He brushes a thumb against my cheek once more. “You are no idiot, Everly.”
I glance up at him through tearstained lashes.
“Come,” he says, taking my hand. He holds it to his chest and cradles it in both of his. “I will take you home.”
He bends for the book I dropped, and guides me out the back door of the store.
We share a silent drive. Nikolay doesn’t push conversation, for which I’m grateful. He presses a gentlemanly kiss to the back of my hand before I leave him and return to my own apartment.
I can’t take any more conversation, not even with Layla, who is probably still on her date. Instead, I go to my bedroom. I hug the book Nikolay gave me, trying to remember what he called these—some kind of Russian name. I inhale its leather, basking in incredulity at the way the books in his store have the ability to hold so much more than information.
In the peaceful quiet, I tuck my feet beneath me on my bed, crack open the book, and get a pen from my nightstand.
Nikolay said it was for protection, and only for me to write in. So I write.
I begin with the crows, with what Andrei told me about them. I draw one for good measure, the image taking shape before I know exactly what I’m drawing. I shade in the serrated but orderly feathers, the curve of the beak. The crow’s head is downturned, and the texture of the handmade paper brings it to life that much more. I add details about Layla and Joel, about Todd and Piper, about my new life here.
But I don’t write about Nikolay.
I don’t write about the way the sound of his voice makes the blood race through my veins. I don’t write about his ice blue eyes that see straight through me and make me feel as if all of me matters in ways I’m not even aware of. I don’t write about the maddening effect he has on me anytime
he’s near, how all of my thoughts might as well be someone else’s in those moments. I don’t write about Nikolay Terekhov, the handsome boy who almost kissed me. Who speaks in an accent that melts my will and send my pulse skittering all over again.
I clasp the book and inhale, smelling the paper, the leather, the tangy adhesive, and I keep Nikolay close, away from prying eyes. Not like a secret, the way I wrote about Jerry and prayed my mother wouldn’t find out. No, not a secret. More like a hope. The kind of thing I want to keep as close to my heart as I can.
thirteen
Layla stares out the window, one hand on her hip, the other parting a gap in the blinds for an easier view. Joel ambles down the steps, his gaze cast toward the sky, a briefcase in hand. He wears a suit jacket, his hair slicked to one side.
“What is it about lawyers that makes them so sexy?” she asks.
“I take it your date went well?”
“Ugh, Everly, he is such a great guy. I’m like, head over heels, you know? You seeing those crows was a stroke of genius.”
The relaxed remark punctures me. Instantly, my defenses flare up. “They were gouging out your eyes, Layla. I can’t just forget something like that.”
She blinks a few times. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I really like him. I’m trying to focus on the positives.”
I can’t help but smile. Layla is probably the only person in the world who could find the positive in getting attacked by supernatural crows.
“So—” She raises her eyebrows. “Did Andrei’s method work?” I told her all about what happened with Jerry and Nikolay last night. And to my relief she believed me about Andrei and the books too.
My dreams were shrouded with images of Nikolay’s blue eyes peeking over my hand as he brought it to his lips. But to my relief, no crows. No pain in my back, no sweat beading around my hairline or dampening my sheets. I slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.
“Gone,” I say. “I hope it wasn’t a mistake to share so much with Nikolay and his father.”
The Forbidden Doors Box Set Page 37