It felt as if I were watching a scene from a movie, or through someone else’s eyes. Something wasn’t right with all this. It was like sitting at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. The dining table was set for a royal feast. Dark wrought iron chandeliers hung long from the ceiling, and small flickering tea light candles topped the twisted metal, casting a soft, warm glow over the odd assembly of people and plates of food before me.
I was suddenly ravenous. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate.
The only empty chair was next to the woman in the sheer dress, who when I shifted into the seat I realized was sobbing uncontrollably into the white fabric she grasped tightly in her hands.
“Are…are you okay?” I asked, immediately full of concern and worry.
She turned her head away and wept in the other direction.
Okay, then.
The guy in the top hat nodded to me and winked. “Food here tastes like shit,” he whispered with a sinister smile. “I usually keep tasty treats in my room. You'd might like to come by.”
“No, thank you,” I snapped, reaching out and placing a small pastry on my plate. The woman next to me wailed louder and tapped her finger along the table.
I took a small bite of the pastry, and my stomach curled. It tasted like chalky nothingness. I tried to spit it into my napkin nonchalantly. Top hat guy blew me a kiss.
Fruit. Fruit was safe. I grabbed a grape off another plate and popped it in my mouth.
I spit that shit out too. It was utterly tasteless. And just the wrong texture. It felt like sandpaper.
“Rose,” I said.
She made no sign that she heard me.
I cleared my throat and called out a little louder, “Rose?”
This woman was just plain ignoring me. Screw this.
“Rose!” I yelled out, banging my fist on the table. “I stayed as you asked. I want to know about my grandmother.”
Rose gasped, choking and sputtering, then a beat of dead silence as she glared at me. I wanted to stand and run, just go home and forget this craziness; was it too late to turn back now? Maybe the police back in New York found some answers for me and I was just wasting my time down here. Or maybe I was having a psychotic breakdown from the loss of my grandmother and having a tea party in Wonderland.
“You need to tell me right now what the hell is going on and what you know about my grandmother, her murder, or that book she was holding in an envelope with your name on it when she was killed.”
A heavy hush fell over us as I darted my eyes from one person to another. The weeping woman cried silently into her napkin, staining it with dark wet tears.
I was about to lose my mind when the door burst open, wood slamming against metal and stone. Sharp snaps of electric heat surged across my chest, and I grabbed at my loose collar in shock.
In rushed a tall stranger wearing a deep, angry scowl. “Bain, what have you done?” His tone was a twist of both outrage and despair.
The world narrowed to a single pinpoint of focus before me, the menacing figure of a man with hair darker than the midnight sky. He wore a long black coat with a frayed high collar, the entirety of it looking like patchwork leather. His fingers, heavy with dark metal rings and a crown of thorns, sat on the tip of his head.
I felt myself falling somehow, spiraling and circling in a free fall of questions and fear. Who was he? Why was he so angry? And did he have a girlfriend?
Questions one through two were just mild curiosity, but three, I really, really wanted an answer to. I squirmed in my chair uncomfortably. What was it with this place that I kept losing the ability to think straight? It was as if I fell into some carnal sexual fantasy world. I huffed out a loud breath and squeezed my thighs together.
He snapped his attention directly at me, and our eyes locked.
Jesus Christ. It was like looking at the sun.
I wanted to shrink down under the table. He was decent looking and all, but his eyes? They were full of hate and fury. They were such a light color, from where I sat, they looked white.
He looked from me to Rose, then from me to Bain and stepped back, stunned. “It’s you. You’re here.” His voice was no more than a whisper.
I froze in my seat, my heart hammering like hail pelting through my body. I’m here? It’s me? What did that mean? How did he know me?
The man blinked twice, winced, and flashed a dark, enraged look toward Bain. “Where is my father?” Anger wrenched in his expression. If he wasn’t angry when he stormed in, he was plenty angry about not knowing where his father was now.
Bain laughed dramatically. “Probably playing with his newest toys. There was a small party in the Hollow last night. So many new people came to visit us.”
The man’s eyes flitted to mine again, and his chest heaved like he was holding himself back.
“Mathias, meet our newest guest. Her name is Rainey Halerow.”
I was about to say hello or smile when I noticed something move in the corner of my vision. My attention snapped to the motion—it was transparent—a touch lighter than a shadow, and it slipped across the wooden floorboards and trailed quickly up the wall.
My skin crawled with shivers. They ran up my neck and tickled at the little hairs there. The shadow melted up into the frame of a mirror that hung on the wall—one of those gothic-styled ones, with scrolls of curling vines and black birds that framed its oblong shape. The dark shape edged and tangled itself in the vines of the decoration slowly misting and blackening the bottom of the mirror. I shifted my eyes up, and there in the reflection stood a man staring back at me.
“What the fu—” I whirled my head around the room, desperate to find the person attached to the reflection. “There’s someone in the—” I couldn’t finish the absurd statement.
This place was making me crazy. There had to have been some heavy hallucinogenic drugs in the air at the party the prior night. I was definitely seeing the effects of something that was still in my system. That really pissed me off. I didn’t like the thought that I had no control over if I ingested a drug or not. It was my body, and only I got a say in what went inside it; no one else.
“In the mirror?” Bain smirked, tilting his head, looking. “There’s no one there, Rainey. There’s no one here but us.”
That’s it. I’m done.
“Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” I pushed myself up off my chair and folded my arms across my chest.
Mathias’s nose flared. “No one told her?” he growled.
Why was he mad at me? I didn’t do anything wrong.
“Told me what?”
“You walked through the Hollow.”
“Right, that house. I was looking to speak to Rose.”
“And did you follow him here?” He pointed to Madden, whose head hung low.
“Yes, but…”
“Stupid girl.”
The fuck you say to me?
I threw down my napkin. “Okay, I need to get out of here, right now. The theatrics are quite enough. You people are fucked up.”
He was instantly in front of me, blocking my escape. “There’s no way out of here,” he spat. He nodded his head, and the room tilted. Behind him, the bizarre fete changed and the most skin crawling grotesqueries unveiled themselves.
Instead of golden buttered pastries, mounds of dirt and ash spilled over poorly tarnished trays. What just before I saw as elegantly designed china holding the most perfectly ripened fruit now held shriveled forms, decaying into a fine gray dust. Worst of all were the people. Haunting figures, their clothes torn, revealing pale, dead flesh. Skeletal, shadowy faces looked back at me with sad, lost eyes. It was as if I were inside a skillfully rendered painting, one that lacked all color and life. A dark winter landscape shrouded with a soft white mist.
They were… all the people were dead.
I backed up to the wall and gasped. My eyes, wide, flickered quickly back to Mathias. His expression held no kindness or pity, just an unsettling rage that seemed dir
ected all toward me.
I bolted for the door, but the arrogant fuck stepped in front of me again.
“I’m leaving now. Get away from—” I began to protest, but he grabbed hold of my nightdress and pushed me through the door, into the dark shadows of the hallway. Behind us, Bain and Rose laughed.
“You can’t leave. How can you be so stupid?”
He shoved me forward, and I fell against cold, hard stone.
I staggered, mouth open, a wisp of my hair stuck to my bottom lip crawling into my mouth as if ready to choke me. Before me, Mathias stood stone-faced and still, and I had the tingling sensation everything I’d ever thought to be real was shattering down around me. A hushed silence blanketed all around me, and the only sound I heard was the beating of my heart.
His eyes. They were the same as the boy’s in the picture.
“You followed a dead man through the Hollow. Welcome to Ravenswood, Rainey Halerow.” He said my name with a sneer of disgust. “The City of the Dead.”
Chapter 12
I grit my teeth as Mathias yanked me through the hall. People with painted white skin stretched over hollow bones and kohl-drawn expressions hurried past. They parted wide around us, murmuring softly, their attention swiftly dropping to the floor. They were all dressed in raggedy costumes, heads ducked against their chests, walking by way too fast.
Not one of them looked me in the eye.
I cried out in anger as he tugged me into a dark, cavernous walkway, his hands wrapped around my wrists. Thick black gloves covered his skin, and I wondered what gnarled sort of monstrous claws were hidden beneath the shiny leather.
I pulled back against his grip, twisting and struggling. “Let go of me!”
He did, instantly, and I tumbled ungraciously into a small alcove of dirt and rock. “Asshole!” Fury curdled deep inside me.
“You should not have come here,” he glowered.
I shook my head. This, none of this, could be happening to me.
“You better tell me what the hell is going on and what my grandmother has to do with any of this.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” He opened a thick wooden door and thrust out a hand, pointing for me to go through.
I refused, pressing my back against the wooden planks of the door.
His head turned slowly, his blue-white eyes boring into mine.
He was close enough to hurt me but far enough I thought I could slip past and run. I shifted my weight, and his arms shot out, hands slapping fast against wood, barricading me between them.
I flinched like an idiot—for all the badassery I thought I had, I flinched a whole hell of a lot. For a heartbeat we stood like that, me caged in his leather-clad arms, both of us glaring at each other.
“Get. In.” His tone was calm, but the skin around his eyes tightened. His jaw ticked.
Be a badass. Be one. What could I lose? I had nothing.
“Nope.” I jammed my hands on my hips, willing myself to show no expression.
His eyes narrowed. He might have leaned in a little closer to me too.
I forced myself to hold his stare, jutting out my chin in defiance.
Once again, like the first time I looked into that old colorless photo Bain tossed in front of me, a cloudy memory flickered through my mind. Pale blue eyes, tiny fingers on keys, laughter, and strange flames flickering in jars. I opened my mouth but found no words, and I blinked away the images from my eyes.
Had I seen him before? Was he the boy in the picture?
“Have I been here before?” I whispered breathlessly.
Mathias’s posture stiffened, raising the hairs on the nape of my neck. The question hung heavily in the space between us. Something whispered in my mind, a lost thought, a kind smile.
“Please,” I pleaded, “I need to know.”
“You should have never come here,” he whispered.
Heavy hands grasped onto my shoulders, squeezing tight. There was iciness underneath the leather, and my body shuddered with the touch. He dragged me forward—my body froze—too shocked to fight back and too cold to move.
“No,” I managed to ground out, squirming against his grasp.
A sharp rip of material made me gasp loudly, and my nightgown tore from my shoulders and arms. I struggled to hold it up. The asshole at least had the decency to look away.
The moment my feet crossed the threshold, his grip disappeared and I staggered inside, bumping into things.
I stood numbly, my eyes meeting his, arms wrapped around my shredded gown, holding it in place. Every thud of my heart felt like fury pumping through my arteries. I could not give up the questions. I wouldn't stop until I found out answers
“What is this place?”
He narrowed his eyes at me and barked out a laugh.
“Just tell me the truth!” I demanded. “Tell me something.”
Thousands of expressions warred over his features; I understood none of them until his pale face turned to pure fury, his leather clad hands clenched into tight fists, and he strode maddeningly to the door.
Not really the effect I was going for.
“Wait!” I screamed, struggling with the arms of the ripped material of the nightdress.
He paused at the door but didn’t turn back to face me—just offered a long, low sigh and stood there, unmoving.
“Can I at least have my clothes?”
Without answering, he left, clicking a lock from the outside. I stood listening, his footfalls echoing down the stone hall. A splintered crack webbed out through my brain, shattering my thoughts around me, making my anger a wildfire.
“Jerk!” I yelled, pounding a fist against the thick wooden door.
I ran to the window, but there was no way of opening it. So, I tore apart the room.
Tossing over its decadent, opulent, pretentious furniture, I grabbed one chair, carved with tiny, delicate details, and threw it at window. Nothing happened but the muted echo of a thud.
I destroyed everything I could get my hands on. I ripped the curtains and sheets off the canopy bed. I tipped over furniture and tried smashing a mirror, to no avail. Nothing would break.
Exhausted, I collapsed to the floor, stunned, tears dripping from my chin.
Hello, I heard a voice whisper.
Oh God, not again. The small hairs along my arm moved, sending shivers over my skin like a lover’s cool breath. I sat utterly still, listening. Watching.
Hello. Another icy breath crawled over me, this time prickling goose bumps over every inch of my arms and chest.
I scrambled to find it, the voice. It came from everywhere at once, deep in my head and along the shell of my ear, from the top of the dark ceiling to the shadowy corners of the room. It clawed at the walls, windows, the blankets on the bed, in every drawer in the dresser, but no one was there.
“Hello,” I called back, waiting wide-eyed for an answer. “Who are you? Where are you?”
Tension coiled through my neck, stabbing pain through my jaw.
Are you an upsider? The voice whispered against my skin.
The air grew colder. The shadows darker. Blood rushed through my veins with terrifying urgency, shuttering my heart.
“Up-upsider?” I croaked.
A deep chuckle, vibrating like jagged fingers crawling over my skin.
You must be, I hear your heart beating.
“And yours doesn’t?”
No. This is the city of the dead. People who stay here, their hearts stopped beating long ago.
“So,” I laughed hysterically, “I’m dead, and this is, what, Hell?”
No, I hear your heart beating. You’re an upsider, like I said. You were lured here by a ferryman?
Freaking Madden.
“I came here to find out who murdered my grandmother.”
“Who’s your grandmother?” The voice became louder, filling up the room.
“Adelaide Delacroix.”
There were no other questions—no other answers—no othe
r.
Gradually, I glided my hands along the walls as I circled the room.
There was nothing. Nobody else was here with me.
I stopped at the window and pressed against the cold glass, trying to look out. There was nothing but a white mist swirling with snow.
“How is it possible? How can it be cold outside? We’re in Louisiana.”
“It’s always winter here,” the voice echoed softly.
“Can you get me out of here?”
“Before dawn, I can unlock your door.”
“Will you show me how to get back to the upside?”
Another chuckle.
This was insanity. This was utter bullshit. “Show yourself!”
A dark figure stepped out from the corner of the room, a room I had just searched entirely and found empty. My chest exploded with tingling heat, and my mind raced with questions and horror until the moment he stepped into the light from the darkness. The mere sight of him caused me to choke out a sob. Just the sight of him, beautiful, unearthly elegance stepping forward—no—transforming from the darkness—had me believing in fairy tales and the supernatural again.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks and eyes, looking at him through wet lashes.
He just materialized out of nothing. Out of nowhere. No. No, he came straight out of the shadows.
My gaze locked onto his face. His skin was pale and radiant. His eyes were pools of glassy black onyx. Otherworldly, like everyone else here.
“Who are you?” I stammered, backing away. “How did you come out of nowhere?”
“Can I touch you?” he asked, shifting closer to me, one hand reaching up to touch my face.
As his fingertips hovered over my skin, I felt the static and anticipation. I felt wanton and crazy. His eyes held mine, and I was breathless, unmovable, locked in his gaze.
A deer caught in headlights.
I leaned back slowly. My body was heavy and sluggish. He was too close to me—so close, I could see the ashy texture of his skin—and the iciness radiating from his body, like he’d just come in from the cold.
I lost my voice. I couldn’t tell him to stop, to get away. My body was on some sort of autopilot—hijacked of all sense and control. My mouth opened to protest, but nothing but a cloud of my breath puffed out. I shivered violently.
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