by Sara Clancy
“Do you need another one?” he asked.
Mihail shook his head, “I’m okay.” He wanted to end the sentence there, knowing exactly what Radu would think of standing on pretense right about now. But years of boarding school etiquette was hard to suppress. So, he added a ‘thank you’.
Radu’s face scrunched up. “Oh, but of course,” he mocked in what Mihail assumed was supposed to be a ‘rich person’ tone. “Any time you need a beating, be sure to ask, I’ll be oh so happy to oblige.”
“Ya didn't have to hit him so hard,” Abe snarled, his fingers clawing at the counter.
“Yeah, I think I did. He was being super creepy.” At this, Radu put one hand on Mihail's shoulder, dropped the jokes, and added softly. “You sure that you’re okay?”
The gargoyles paced before the doors again, moving along the walls as if testing for a weak spot. How long before they find one?
Mihail listened to them for a moment. “I don’t think any of us are.”
Chapter 13
Having no answer as to what they could do next, Mihail resorted to something he could master. He made tea. Abe scrunched up his face when presented with a cup.
“Why is there ginger in my cup?” he asked.
“That’s your first question?” Radu muttered. “We’re going to die and he’s serving beverages.”
Mihail ignored the last comment. “It'll help settle your stomach.”
Knowing how easily Mihail got sick was enough to convince Abe to try it. He nursed the cup, not entirely sold on the taste. But there was a bit of color back in his cheeks when he finished the last drops.
“Great. Now that we’ve had some tea, can we discuss the demons at the door?” Radu snapped, barely containing his anger. The moment the words left his mouth, he switched the subject himself. “Why are you sick, anyway? Is there something you haven’t told me?”
Abe grunted. He stared at the table as he lifted his mug, shaking it slightly in a silent request for more.
“It’s a medium thing,” he replied. “People get sick when they’re around the dead too long. It’s quicker for me.”
He gulped down his next mug with a bitter grimace as if it had been a spoonful of foul tasting medicine. Mihail tried not to take it personally.
“But it’s not terminal,” Radu pressed. While he took care to keep his voice nonchalant, his concern was obvious enough in his eyes. “You're not going to get cancer or anything, are you?”
Abe shook his head and instantly regretted it. “No. But there is the chance I’m gonna puke on one of you.”
“Only one?” Mihail asked with a forced little smile. “Now, that’s just favoritism.”
Abe smirked. The small bubble of normalcy died the moment the gargoyle’s movements echoed up from beneath their feet.
“You remembered to bless the floor, right?” Radu asked in a whisper.
All of them froze in place, fearing that the slightest twitch would let the creatures know where to strike.
“What are they lookin’ for?” Abe mumbled.
Mihail kept his eyes on the dark stone, tracing their path by sound alone.
“Is there a hidden chamber down there?” Radu asked.
“It wouldn't help ‘em. The blessing is solid.”
Mihail's face paled as he tracked the monsters below and found his gaze pulled towards the stove.
“They’re going for the gas line!”
Abe moved with a speed that Mihail hadn't thought him capable of at the moment. They raced for the second exit. It was closer than the one they had entered. The crunch and click of stone against stone followed them, nearly covering a soft but high-pitched hiss that was unmistakably the broken gas line. They found it! The thought screamed inside his skull as he threw himself out into the hallway.
An instant later, fire spewed from the door through which they had fled, and the wall became hurdling chunks. Pressure, heat, and stone struck Mihail's back, knocking him off his feet and slamming him down against the floor. Something hard and heavy collided with his skull and the world turned back. It could only have been for a minute, a few seconds of time, but when Mihail opened his eyes again, he found himself in hell.
Bodies lined the walls. Naked and ghastly. Hundreds. Thousands. Their bodies were twisted, distorted to the point of breaking. Thick, black cords stitched the flesh of one to the next. Tight enough to smother any sight of the walls, leaving the people able to do little more than squirm. Each of the mouths had the same treatment. But their eyes were open. Wide with fear and anguish, they stared at him as they writhed. This is what Abe sees, Mihail thought. Is this what the castle really looks like?
A voice broke into his thoughts. It called his name endlessly, the sound distorted and meaningless to his ringing ears. Still, he lifted his head and glanced around. Long pillars of fire lapped and danced around the room. It was an inferno. And despite all of its fury, it froze. Ice crept up along its length to seal them completely. As if offended by the interference, the ice washed out across the floor to rob the room of every trace of warmth. It was only as the ice touched him, rolling over his back and savaging his coat, did he realize that he had been on fire.
Pain soon followed the discovery and he dropped his head to the floor once more. It was refreshing and calm against his fevered cheek. Am I sick? Even the echo of his thoughts hurt. No, I must be burnt. I wonder how bad it is. He longed to close his eyes and allow his mind to drift. To forget about all of this and retreat into a world of fantasy. But the voice kept calling him, growing insistent. Desperate. Abe? It was a battle to peel his eyes open again. He blinked to clear his vision.
Abe was already on his feet. Standing next to Radu, the pair thrashed violently. It was the flashes of silver that helped him understand what they were doing. The smaller gargoyles he had feared had animated. They swarmed around the men, claws sharp and fangs bared, tearing at every inch they could reach. Blood sunk into their clothes. They couldn't force them back fast enough. Get up. Help them. The orders came into his mind but his body was struggling to obey.
As he lay there, Mihail felt a steady throb play against his skin and rattle deep into his chest. Bracing his hands over the debris-riddled floor, he tried to push up. The pulse continued to throb against his palms. His arms quivered and the skin on his back felt like it was about to split open.
“Mihail!” Abe shouted. “Get the music box! Find the rest of the coven!”
Mihail barely managed to raise his torso off the ground before he dropped. The sudden jolt cleared his mind enough to know that his muscles hadn’t failed. Something had shoved him. Was still on him. The weight drove him harder against the floor and shoved his face into the broken stone and ice. Dust clogged his lungs as he struggled to throw the creatures off of him. A blinding pain radiated out of him as a dozen little feet scrambled over his back, their claws finding the newly formed holes in his jacket to pierce his burned skin. They stampeded over him, tugging and stabbing. Mihail thrashed as best he could, but his face was still pinned to the floor, keeping him blind as to what was attacking him. He couldn’t even tell if he was hitting any of them. All of his efforts failed to bring any relief.
The swarming mass seemed to solidify. Joined in a single purpose, they rushed down to cover his legs. Seizing the opportunity, Mihail flattened his hands against the floor and pushed with every ounce of energy his muscles contained. It wrenched his torso off the floor and he twisted to glance over his shoulder. He caught one short glance of a silver mass writhing over his lower body before it washed out, seeping up his body to enclose his wrists. One violent tug pulled his arms out and dropped him back to the floor.
The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Stunned, he could do little more than thrash, and it wasn’t enough. A thousand hands held him down. Locked him into place. Captured him as effortlessly as chains. Suddenly, he was yanked an inch across the icy floor. It was a short, sharp movement. One that made his stomach lurch and his joints ache, hurling a thou
ght into the forefront of his mind. The silver gargoyles are dragging me!
Panic pulsed thick and hot through his veins. There was nothing else but the desperate certainty that he didn’t want to go wherever they were taking him. He searched wildly for something to hold onto. But the ground offered little, and his gloves slipped over the broken surface. Barely able to look over his shoulder, he tried to kick, to knock the creatures loose.
Their hold was too tight. It was all for nothing.
“Abe!” Stray droplets of blood splattered over the ice as he screamed.
Abe and Radu were offering the silver gargoyles a better fight. Standing back to back, they managed to toss the vast majority of tiny metal monsters across the broken room. But there were always more. A flood of them. An unsurpassable sea that reached from one wall to the other. The silent witnesses squirmed and the gargoyles scampered, their movements combining to make it impossible to tell distance. All Mihail knew was that help was beyond reach.
Mihail threw himself into his struggle. He gave up on trying to get up and instead tried to crawl away. The gargoyles refused to release him, dragging him back at a steady pace. A fine tremor ran along the floor. Mihail braced himself, heart pounding, mind clouding with fear. The ground shook again, bucking the stones here and there, and bringing a new wave of dust down from the ceiling. A snorting, hollowing clatter raced towards them from the bowels of the house. Mihail turned to look. But before he could lay eyes on what was barreling towards them, his vision was obscured by the ground erupting in spikes and pillars. Like the gates of hell opening, the stone gargoyles were unleashed upon the room.
A scream lodged in his throat when he saw the brazen bull rampaging through. It gouged at the stone gargoyles with its horns, using its considerable weight to beat them back. Fire leaked from its eyes and steam wafted from its metal body. Mihail was transfixed by the sight, barely able to breathe as he watched the fight unfolding.
It all happened in a blur. The stone gargoyles fell back, the silver ones came for him again, and the bull ran for them. Before he could stop them, the miniature creatures had swept him up and the bull's side had snapped open. Mihail could see its inner chamber. His scream finally dislodged from his throat, and the silver gargoyles dragged him inside. The small cavern was filled with boiling, humid air. He burst forward as the hatch started to close. The heat of the metal melted the palms of his gloves until it felt like his hands were boiling.
Shifting and straining, his scrambling feet came in contact with his grandfather's body. It flaked at the slightest pressure. Ashes spread in the air and bones crumbled. The remains clogged his throat like dust. He braced his feet against the far side, his shoulder against the closing hatch. The bull thrashed and bucked as it turned. Through the few inches of space still separating the hatch door from the base, Mihail could see the small gargoyles swarming around the bull. The screech of metal on metal filled his head, growing louder until he almost lost track of Abe and Radu. Amongst their bellows of warning and hisses of pain, Abe repeated his command for Mihail to find the box, the trapped souls. He never put it into words, but Mihail heard it all the same. We’re going to die if you don’t.
Planting his feet against the far side of the bull’s innards, his grandfather’s charred bones cracking as they got in the way, Mihail braced himself for the pain. In one sudden burst, he threw the sum total of his weight against the hatch. The ancient hinges snapped, and as the bull stampeded around a corner, he was tossed free. Hurled into the wall and almost trampled under rampaging hooves.
Momentarily forgotten by the metal creatures, Mihail forced his aching body to sprint. Broken tiles and gravel crunched under the soles of his shoes as he made his way through the labyrinth of distraction. Abe spotted him the moment he reentered the foyer. Tossing one of the gargoyles aside, he roared at Mihail to keep moving. His heart was slamming against his ribs as Abe motioned him to head up to the higher floors. Find Draciana. Get the collection. His blood rushed through his ears as he followed the orders. Took the stairs two at a time. The bull had noticed his escape and was racing back for a second try, the small gargoyles following in its wake, the massive stone creatures swiping at him.
The bodies on the walls squirmed with renewed efforts, ripping their stitches until blood seeped, the droplets of red steaming in the icy air. It ran down the walls in rivers and seeped through the cuts in the stones. He didn’t have time to reach the landing before he was splashing through heated puddles. The smoky breath of the bull was on his back as he threw himself onto the landing. Instantly, the stones bucked under his feet and tossed him to the ground. Protecting his head instead of trying to break his fall, Mihail bashed into the wall. A second later, the horns that would have impaled him drove like daggers into the wall.
Fresh blood gushed from the stones, drenching Mihail instantly. The bull snorted and thrashed as it tried to pull its horns free, but the stones gripped tight. Crawling on his stomach, Mihail slithered free and forced himself to keep moving. He didn’t know where to go. A box that small. A castle this big. He’d never find it. You have to, a voice screamed in the back of his head. They’ll die if you don’t!
His racing heart seemed to come at him from both inside his flesh and outside. At first, he thought it was a trick. An illusion. But as he made his way around the mazelike building, he knew it was real. The walls, the floors, the ceilings; they were all pulsing, bulging, in time with Mihail’s heartbeat. Ghosts lined the hallways. Still. Staring. The spectators from the courtyard had come to watch them die. Mihail threw himself across the threshold of his grandmother’s room and slammed the door shut behind him.
It was the only room that he knew to be spiritually protected. He could only hope that it would still stand. Sucking down deep breaths, Mihail ransacked the room, sure that the door would crash open at any moment. He ripped apart every inch, but there was nothing there. The small box he remembered Draciana trapping a soul inside wasn’t anywhere to be found. Gripping one of the bed posts wasn’t enough to keep him upright as his legs crumbled. He sunk to the floor, his soaked clothes creating a puddle of blood around him. It hadn’t cooled. For the first time since he had stepped across the threshold, Mihail was actually warm.
The room pulsed around him with the strength to lift him off the ground. A red tinge filled the air. The whoosh of blood and the solid pump of a heartbeat rang in his ears. In time with his own, but not his. A strange sensation hovered around the edges of his mind. Inside him. Like the thoughts what weren’t his own. A fine tremble ran through his hands as he pressed them against the shifting floor. To press his ear against the stones was to submerge himself in the pool of blood. But it didn’t faze him. No more than it would if it were his own blood. A heartbeat. He heard it loud and clear. The castle’s alive.
Chapter 14
A soft knock brought into stark contrast just how silent the rest of the house had become. There was no longer the clash and crush of stone. The bull no longer paced outside the door and too much distance divided him from the foyer to hear the others. There was nothing else he could do. So he lurched to his feet and rushed for the wall where the knocking had originated from. He tapped back. The knock came again, insistent this time, keeping its pace until he was able to locate the hidden door. Too consumed by the need to know, he didn’t hesitate to hurl the door open and peer into the dark hallway.
A small boy stood before him. The edges of his body smeared into the shadows around it, making him drift out more as a phantom than anything made of flesh. The whites of his eyes drifted out like smoke, and still Mihail felt his penetrating gaze.
“You’re the little Russian boy.” Mihail didn’t know how he knew. But it was something that he understood with absolute certainty. “Abe’s friend. I’m his friend, too.”
The boy nodded, and for one brief moment, Mihail was sure that the boy understood. So when the child lifted his hand, he took it without hesitation, and followed him into the abyss. Mihail had suspected th
e boy’s hand to feel like mist or ice or a combination of the two. But it didn’t. It felt real.
Earthquakes tossed them against the walls. Even the boy couldn’t stand against the tremors. Rubble and blood broke free of the ceiling with each jolt. On instinct, Mihail tugged the boy closer, hunching over the tiny frame to shield it as best he could from the heavier stones. Only after the shakes had subsided and the heartbeat of the castle had claimed them again, that Mihail remembered the boy was dead. The stones couldn’t hurt him.
Light suddenly engulfed them. The glow burned his eyes and left him momentarily blind. In his stupor, he felt the boy’s grip tighten and his body squeeze against his leg. A few quick blinks and the room came into view. The candlelight looked miniscule compared to the pain it had brought. But the soft glow was enough to see by. Enough to illuminate the spirits that filled the room. Twisted, mangled souls. Drenched with fear, rage, and pain. Mihail felt it all pulsating from them. Crashing down upon him like waves. The Russian boy pushed at Mihail’s leg, trying to force him back into the hallway. Spirits flickered into the space between them and the opening. And, just like that, they were trapped.
It was the way the boy clutched at his leg that scared Mihail the most. There was something here he truly feared. Mihail reached down and pulled the child into his arms, holding him back just as tightly, trying to shield him, but failing as the monsters approached them from all sides. Fear, raw and unbridled, churned in the pit of his stomach as gasping, clawed hand reached for them. Then the castle shuddered, strong enough to crack the walls and break chunks off of the ceiling.
Mihail saw it on their faces. The terror.
“If this castle falls, what happens to all of you?” Mihail asked. Their reactions proved his suspicions that at least some of them could understand English. The rest seemed to catch his meaning well enough, so he pressed on, “Will you go to hell? Or will it be some kind of oblivion?”