“It’s done!” I say, fighting him. “They’re destroyed, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
He tightens his grip on me, reeking of tobacco and lye. His knife bites the skin at my throat, and I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut.
“On the contrary,” says Meiser, his voice rumbling from his chest into my back. “Andrei visited me before my knob disappeared again. He told me of his plans. I know where the new knob is.”
“Let her go,” Nikolay snarls.
Meiser presses the knife harder against my throat, constricting my pulse. My head lightens, panic curling to my toes, and still he backs away. His feet crunch over a few pieces of glass. We’re getting closer.
“I paid good money for the services I received. I’m not going to let you back out now.”
“What do you care?” I grit out through my teeth, digging my nails into his skin. “Just live your life and move on.”
His knife breaks through skin, and I let out a cry. Blood trickles out, steaming in the frigid air.
He dips his head so his tobacco breath smacks my face with each word. “I care because I’m not going to lose my legacy. I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears into my theater, and I intend to immortalize it.”
A tear trickles from the corner of my eye. I can feel where he cut me, and the image of Rosemary hanging from the balcony of that legacy chills me to the bone. “My cousin will die if you activate that knob,” I sputter.
“What’s one more life in the scheme of things?” he says, low and menacing.
“So long as it’s not yours,” says Nikolay, inconspicuously edging closer to us.
Meiser points the knife cane at Nikolay. “You threatening me, boy?”
Nikolay raises both of his hands. “You worked hard to establish your business. But I’ve also sacrificed much to put an end to mine. You will not retrieve that knob.”
“We’ll see about that.” Meiser pauses, clenching me tighter to him. I close my eyes, imagining him licking his lips, contemplating his next actions. Dreading what he’ll do next. Any minute now he’ll slice my throat the rest of the way, and this will all have been for nothing.
With a grunt, Meiser pushes me at Nikolay before he gets the chance to do anything else. I stumble into Nikolay, knocking him back so he staggers, hitting heels against the checkout desk.
Meiser breaks for the door and disappears from sight, dashing down the sidewalk outside.
“If he puts the knob in his door, it will complete the spell,” Nikolay says. “Layla will die, and her soul will be trapped.”
I push up from Nikolay’s chest, desperation driving me. “We can’t let him take it.”
“Wait a moment.” Nikolay grips my arm, holding me to him as he attempts to sit up. Blood stains his shirt, and I tear at his collar, searching for the source.
“It’s yours,” Nikolay says, stilling my hands. “It’s yours.”
My hand flies to my throat where Meiser broke the skin. Sure enough, blood seeps through, leaving my fingers red. Nikolay removes a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to the spot.
“What now?” I ask.
“We get to it first,” he says simply, rising to his feet and offering me a hand.
“You know where it is?”
“My father had me hide a few of the knobs. I always chose the same place. And while I didn’t hide this one, I’m certain my father would continue to use my hiding place.”
I stare at the shattered door, cringing at the curious looks we’re receiving from passersby.
“I can’t believe your father told that creep what he was doing, creating a new door like that.”
“He had to,” says Nikolay. “Meiser saw you take his knob, and it’s only natural he would have posed a complaint. I’m sure he told Meiser to placate him. Now. Come.”
He rushes off and returns in a thick winter coat. He holds one out for me as well, and I slip my arms into the sleeves. The fur lapels brush my face. This is a woman’s coat. His mother’s?
“None of the others contacted your father, when their knobs went missing?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Okay, then,” I say, securing the kerchief at my throat again. “Where do we go?”
“Papa traveled back, placed the knob, and then came back to Jerry’s and your time. He didn’t yet retrieve it in 2017 because the door wasn’t ready. The knob would have been his final step. And as he didn’t know I retrieved the knob from Piper’s house, he would have done this quite recently.”
“I’m sorry about your front door,” I say as Nikolay and I navigate through the broken glass.
He presses his lips. “This kind of door can be easily fixed.”
We step through to the street. The air is cold and filled with hints of chimney smoke. Nikolay hails a taxi, a black Model T, similar to practically every other car here, except for its yellow exterior beneath the black hood. I slip onto the seat in wonder while the driver asks over his shoulder where we’re headed.
Nikolay gives an address, and we putter off, the vehicle’s mechanical workings sounding strange to my ears and chugging beneath me more than I’m used to. We head across town, passing what I know of as a hotel that happens to be an entirely different building now.
The formidable stone structure looms on its corner within a broad fence. A single tower dominates the front, topped by a pointed roof.
“Here,” Nikolay says, leaning forward with a hand on the back of the driver’s seat. He passes forward a small bill, and we shuffle out to the vertical sign displaying the school’s name. Cathedral Parish School. An Institute of Learning.
“Your father hid the doorknobs in a school?”
“It was once a church,” Nikolay says as we hurry up the steps, through the doors, and into the long hallway. “My father figured there was no safer place.”
“I guess,” I say, taking in the old flooring, the white walls and gaps of doors along the hall. We hurry through, past the doors, past a set of stairs, until Nikolay pushes through another set of stairs to the basement.
“It’s always basements,” I mumble, but he doesn’t slow his pace, still leading me down the long hall, out of the direct sunlight. He hurries into a storage area, its sides lined with discarded desks and chairs, even with what looks like a broken blackboard, and we stop short.
Meiser’s back is to us. He holds a smaller knife in one hand, and the evidence that he’s been digging into the brick is clear. Traces of mortar tinkle near his feet. The knob sits in his open palm, leaves scrolling along its circular surface.
Nikolay swears in Russian.
“A school,” Meiser says with a laugh, fisting the knob. “Only your father would plant something like this in a center of learning for children.”
“Hand it over,” Nikolay demands.
“Over your dead body?” Meiser suggests. “With pleasure.”
Nikolay lunges for Meiser’s waist, barreling into him. Meiser grunts, his cane knocking from his hand and rolling toward me. Nikolay punches, but Meiser deflects, jerking back and rearing his fist with the doorknob in hand. The equivalent of brass knuckles.
“Watch out!” I cry.
Meiser strikes Nikolay’s face, knocking him to the ground. Nikolay curls in agony, and Meiser falls to his knees, choking his hands around Nikolay’s throat.
“No!” I panic, searching the poorly lit room. I dive for Meiser’s cane, though I don’t know how to activate the blade in its end. Nikolay struggles, his shoes scraping the wooden floor.
Glee shrouds Meiser’s menacing expression. “Maybe I’ll take your store as well,” he says, gritting his teeth. “It is the inspiration for my theater, after all. An immortal building, unaffected by time.”
“Nikolay!” I cry. I don’t know what to do. He’s turning red, his movements slowing.
I hem around, grab a lamp from the table of discarded items and dart forward. It’s heavier than any lamp I’ve lifted, and taking heart in that, I smash it as hard as I can across the back of Meiser’s head.
He crumples to the floor, freeing his hold. Nikolay rolls to his side, coughing, gasping for air. I rush over and fall to my knees beside him.
“Are you okay?”
“The…knob…” Nikolay chokes out through staggered breaths.
I wheel around and pry the knob from Meiser’s hand. He lies motionless on the floor.
Nikolay hacks a few more times, babying his throat. I help him to his feet and support his weight, and we climb the stairs out of here, out of this nightmare.
The taxi takes us back to his store. Several people congregate around the shattered door, including a police officer in a tight coat with gold buttons down the front and a hat secured to his head by a strap under his chin. The officer helps shoo people away after we assure him we’re all right, and I help Nikolay crunch across the broken glass and back inside, back up the spiral staircase and into his bedroom.
I get him a drink of water and prop some pillows behind him, sinking onto the mattress beside him.
“Better?” I ask after he takes a long slow swallow.
He smacks his lips and lays his head back. The skin of his throat is purple, bruised by Meiser’s fingers. “Better. Thank you, Everly.”
I tuck in close to him, extending my feet beside his. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
He kisses my temple. “Agreed. I’m only fortunate you were there with me. You have it?”
I pull the knob from my coat pocket and place it in his hand.
He turns it one way, then another. Its unique, floral scrawling really makes it beautiful. A shame, really. “We have to destroy this, as quickly as possible.”
“Then we destroy it. And go back home.”
A solemn pain overtakes him, one I’m guessing has nothing to do with the bruises on his throat.
I readjust my weight to sit across from instead of beside him. “What is it?”
“Destroying this will sever the pathway for good,” he says. “We won’t be able to access it any longer. It will be done, as we planned from the beginning.”
“No pathway means…” I don’t say it, my voice trailing off.
He swallows, wincing at the pain it causes him. “I will wait for you to get through.”
“Nikolay…”
“And then when I’m certain you’ve returned to your own time, I will destroy it, the way we did with the others.”
My chest tightens, hating the words. I glance around at the gas lamp on his desk, old-fashioned chairs, the touches of the past right before my face.
“No,” I tell him.
“There is no other way. We can’t leave it. Layla is bound to this knob, Everly. If we try to take it back to 2017 and destroy it, it will continue to exist in all points of time where there are still five doors in existence until then. We must destroy it here, in 1921, to stop it from being used in the interim years.”
“And killing Layla.”
“This will destroy that last, tenuous connection that made it possible for you to travel here and find me. This is my time, Everly. That is why my cypher brought you here. You must go back to your time.”
I press my eyes closed, fighting away the tears building there. “But I just got you back.”
“Everly—”
“I’m staying.”
“What?”
I open my eyes, taking in the shock masking his face. “You stay, I stay.”
Softness trails his eyes. “You will never see your family again. You will never see Piper again, nor your own time. This is my time. This is where I belong. I was never granted a full life here, but I will have one now.”
“And I can’t go back knowing you’re alive here and living without me. I lost you once, Nikolay, and I can’t live like that. I was miserable. I couldn’t rest until I found my way back to you. I’m staying.”
“You would do that for me.” It’s almost not a question.
“For you. For me! You want to talk about being selfish? I want you, Nikolay. Do you…” I hate to ask it, remembering the way he pushed me away in Todd’s truck, unable to bear the rejection.
He grips my arm. “Death will be a part of our life, Everly. You would probably die or be very old before you got the chance to see your family or Piper again.”
“It’s a part of life no matter where you live. But you—you’re a part of my life too. A big part.”
“Everly.” He closes his eyes. “I have been in agony every single day since I gave that book to Rosemary, anxious, worried I drew the cypher wrong, worried she wouldn’t carry out her part of things after what my father did to her. Worried that you wouldn’t be willing to come to me after all. I needed to see you one last time.”
He opens them again, piercing me with that blue gaze. “When I saw you in my store, I could hardly breathe. And I know breathing will come that much harder if you leave me. But asking you to stay will mean so much, more than much.”
“You don’t have to ask. You said once that being attached to me was a reality. You are my reality, Nikolay. And I’ll take you in whatever time period I can.”
It’s that moment, when two jarring tones find harmony, when the final piece in a puzzle clicks to complete the picture, when eyes flash and thoughts connect in a single gaze. His hands caress my cheeks, and he pulls me to him, his lips coaxing me until our ankles entwine and we’re lying side by side, elbow to elbow, until his mouth melts me so much I never want to move again.
“Society is much different here,” he says, stroking my hair. “We would have to marry.”
The pronouncement isn’t as much of a shock as I thought. That’s how they did things back then. Back now. We couldn’t live together unwed. And there’s no way I’d want to live apart.
“How romantic of you,” I say with a smile. “So how do we do it?”
“Marry?”
I laugh, sliding my hand around his back. “Destroy the doorknob.”
Nikolay sifts his hands through the folds of his blankets. I find the knob first, and he cups my hand and the knob in both of his, tilting them up to press my hand to his lips. “Leave that to me. If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him.
I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
thirty
five
Piper Crenshaw steps into Terekhov and Son Books, mouth agape. It’s no longer abandoned. No longer devoid of its books. The glass front door is intact, as if it was never shattered at all, and a soft bell tinkles upon her entrance, with Todd, Layla, and Joel following soon after.
“She’s supposed to be here?” Joel asks, scoping the area.
Piper doesn’t answer. It’s been a few days since they spoke, since she and Joel secured a new place in Shady Heights. Piper couldn’t wait to tell Everly, to convince her to join them there.
Layla was hesitant, but after several attempts, she finally gave in and told Piper what Everly had done. Where she went.
“How is it like this?” Layla asks. “When we were here a few days ago, it was completely abandoned. Now it’s thriving like nothing happened.”
Kids camp out in chairs to ingest their favorite stories. Several associates in maroon aprons assist a woman at the checkout counter with the same old register Everly thought was so amazing.
Piper turns in circles, staring in awe. What did Everly do to bring it back to life?
Todd veers off toward the Non-Fiction section. Movement catches her eye, and together, Piper and Layla make their way to the display room, where the Terekhov’s exhibited the cursed books they made. But instead of books behind glass, the room is more of a woodshop. Shavings litter the floor, and the
carpentry table she saw in the basement, the one with long boards and knobs for cinching and binding books, is positioned before the window.
A small boy sits at that table, his tongue out in concentration, while an older man in a red polo and dark slacks peers over the boy’s shoulder and offers soft encouragement.
“Excuse me,” Piper says, “but do you work here?”
The man lifts his head. “That I do,” he says, tucking hands into his pockets.
“And do you mind—I mean, what happened to the Terekhovs?”
The man’s brows connect. “You’re looking at them.” He gestures back to the ten-year-old-boy behind him, turning a crank on the paper.
Confusion wrinkles Piper’s brow. Layla blinks several times.
“Old family trade,” the man says. “See these books? We make them, right here in the store. Gives it a personal touch.”
“I don’t understand,” says Piper.
“Here,” says the man, guiding her back out to the main area. He nods at customers as they pass and pauses at the exit, gesturing to a plaque on the wall.
Nikolay and Everly Terekhov, Book Makers.
Piper’s knees turn to rubber. She gasps, hardly believing it, tiptoeing closer to the picture beside the plaque for a better look. They’re older in the picture, in their thirties or forties maybe. But Piper would know those faces anywhere. Everly grins in a sepia tone, wearing a headscarf and pleated dress, beside Nikolay in a suit and narrow-brimmed hat.
“I don’t believe it,” Piper says in a breath.
“She was supposed to come back,” Layla says in disbelief. “She said she’d bring him back with her.”
Piper manages to break away from the photo before Layla does. “You’re—you’re a Terekhov?”
“Everett, by name. And you are?”
“Piper Crenshaw,” she says, staring absently at the plaque, still in shock. Mind lurching, trying to work it all through. Everly only left Monday. It’s only been two days.
The man’s jovial tone turns solemn. He examines her. “What did you say your name was?”
The Forbidden Doors Box Set Page 53