by Unknown
I’d check the apartment anyway. There might be a clue inside, something that would lead me to Frank.
I emerged from hiding and walked toward the door. I was only a few feet away when the door flew open. Jose fell forward, then disappeared headfirst into the apartment. The tool bag fell to the floor, and screwdrivers and nails rolled across the carpet.
Jose began to scream.
***
Jose’s shriek went on for several seconds and then died. The door remained open. I peered from hiding, trying to ascertain what had happened. Frank Kellinger must be inside the apartment. He must’ve pulled the man over the threshold. But where was he? There was no sign of the warlock and no sign of the maintenance worker.
I sensed nothing.
I peered through the walls with my mind, searching above and beneath me, but everything had gone silent. There were no other tenants in the building, no indication of the thoughts I’d heard before. It was as if they’d never existed at all.
I took a step toward the open door.
My footsteps creaked the floorboards underneath the carpet. I maneuvered around the spilled tools, approaching the threshold of the apartment, and peered inside. The room was simple, barely furnished. Straight ahead was a small kitchen, beyond it a living area. An open door to my left led to the bathroom; a second led to a bedroom. On the other side of the apartment, glass doors gave onto a balcony.
In none of those places did I see Frank Kellinger, and in none of those places did I see Jose.
I surveyed the room for bloodstains—some evidence that Jose had been there—but there was nothing. For a moment, I contemplated leaving. I was no longer in control of the situation, and I had no idea of what I was up against. The image of the florin was the only thing that stopped me. I needed to find it. I needed to defeat Kellinger.
I was to be the head of the coven, and I knew it.
I sucked in a breath and stepped through the doorway.
The apartment door swung shut behind me. I startled, but kept my focus straight ahead. On the kitchen countertop were two open beer bottles. The contents were still foaming, as if the beverages had just been opened.
A gust of wind blew through the apartment, and I noticed that the door to the balcony was open. There were two chairs outside.
In one of them was a man.
I halted in my tracks. The man must’ve just appeared; he hadn’t been there before. The man’s back was turned, but I could make out a shock of brown hair, and I instantly knew it was Frank Kellinger.
“Grab the bottles and come on outside,” he called over his shoulder.
I hesitated, trying to read his thoughts, but the room was a dead zone, my mind a cellphone without reception. I retrieved the bottles from the counter and padded across the wooden floor. When I reached the glass door to the balcony, I nudged it open further with my foot, keeping one eye on the man in the chair. I waited for him to attack, but instead he held out his hand.
“I’ll take the Sam Adams.”
I passed him one of the bottles.
“Sit,” he said.
He motioned to the other chair. I eyed him warily, then pulled it several feet away before sitting. The man took a long swig of his beer. When he was done, he propped it on his lap.
“How do you like the view?”
I glanced off the balcony, taking in a host of buildings, lights, and rooftops. Below us, several ships cruised the Chicago River.
“It’s great. But I doubt that’s why you invited me out here.”
He laughed. “Not quite.”
He took another swig of beer. I saw the crease of laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, and I realized he was older than I’d thought.
“I’m tired of this game, Sean. Tired of hiding, tired of waiting for people to come and take what I have. It’s draining. You understand, right?”
I nodded, surprised that he knew my name.
“I knew you’d be here eventually.” Frank set down the beer bottle. “Maybe not you, per se, but someone. You’re one of Levi’s, right?”
I considered lying to him, but at this point, there was no use in masking my intentions. By the sound of it, he knew exactly why I was here.
“Yes,” I said.
“Your powers are impressive. I like that little trick you did on Jose. Is that what you guys do all day in Boston?” He smiled, but I saw a hint of malice in his eyes.
I focused on my hands, trying to conjure fire, but my efforts were useless. It was as if the apartment had become a vacuum, sucking in my abilities. Sensing my frustration, the man chuckled.
“Don’t get so worked up, Sean.”
“Where’s the florin?” I asked, my anger mounting.
“You’re not going to get it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“You want some advice? Go home while you still can.”
The man leaned forward and took another sip of his beer, and it was then that I saw it—a glimmer of gold underneath his collar. The florin was dangling from a chain looped around the man’s neck.
It was right in plain sight.
Before he could stop me, I lunged for it, but I fell face forward onto his empty chair. The man was gone. I jumped to my feet and spun around, checking the balcony, the apartment, the street.
But it was too late. Frank Kellinger had vanished.
***
The door to the balcony began to slide shut on squeaky tracks.
At the same time, the wind began to roar, bellowing through the cracks and crevices of the building, throwing me backward. I took one labored step at a time, trying to reach the door handle. The chairs and table skidded past me, clattering against the railing and cascading over the edge. My hair blew across my face; my skin stretched taut. I threw myself to the ground, trying to resist the force of the wind.
In spite of my efforts, I felt myself slipping toward the railing.
I kept my eyes locked on the door. Although I wasn’t certain of much, I knew this: once it closed, I wouldn’t be getting back in.
I glanced over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of the Chicago skyline. The drop from the sixtieth floor was about six hundred feet—enough to kill me several times over.
The balcony door continued to glide shut, one inch at a time, as if in slow motion. My body hugged the railing. I pushed off it with my feet and clawed the ground with my fingernails, trying to find a handhold. The door was only five feet away, but at that moment, it might as well have been a mile away.
After several minutes’ struggle, I finally found purchase, and I used my elbows to scoot forward, crawling like a soldier in a trench. The wind increased in intensity, threatening to rip me backward.
After a few more seconds, I reached the doorway, and I grabbed hold of the door and wrenched it open just before it closed. I squeezed through the opening and collapsed on the floor. I turned and slid the door closed. The wind howled impatiently against the glass, rattling the panes like a wraith.
I surveyed the apartment, my breath coming in short gasps. Without my powers, my entire body felt weak and unnatural. At the same time, I knew this was just the beginning. If Kellinger wanted me dead, he would’ve killed me already.
He must have something else in store.
I put out the mental feelers, searching for his presence, but the building was still graveyard silent, and my powers were still gone. The room was like a vortex, and I’d been lured into its grasp.
The lights were on in the apartment, but I had the sudden feeling of darkness. I spun around and stared out the glass.
All the lights in Chicago had gone out, and the buildings were nothing more than shadows. I raced back to the door and peered outside. I could still make out several boats on the water, but they were dark and lifeless.
The wind had ceased.
I walked into the center of the living area. In the room were two chairs, a table, and a flat-screen television. The walls were bare. I furrowed my brow, certain I’d seen pict
ures or decorations earlier. Now there was nothing.
I treaded into the kitchen area, checking cabinets and counters, but there was nothing to find. Even the bottle caps from our beers had vanished. I tested the door to the apartment, certain that it would be locked. To my surprise, it opened.
I was about to enter the hallway when I stopped. I’d neglected to check the bedroom. I paused, torn between my quest and my growing unease. After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped back inside.
The bedroom was located off the right wall. The door was open. I stalked to the doorway, afraid to break the silence. Inside was a small mattress, a nightstand, and a bureau. Several pictures rested on top of the bureau.
I walked in and inspected them, and immediately my hands started to shake.
The pictures were all of me: a photograph of me getting into my car in Boston, an image of me at a rest area on I-90, a shot of me entering the towers.
He’d been in my head. Probably since I’d entered the building.
Without warning, the images shimmered and faded, leaving only empty frames. I noticed something lying on the floor on the other side of the bed, and I stepped around the bed to get a better look. Jose’s battered body was lying on the area rug, his head imploded like a squished grape.
I darted from the bedroom and out the apartment door.
***
The hallway looked the same as before: yellow walls and gray carpet.
The tools were gone.
I fled from the apartment, wishing I had a weapon. Without my natural abilities, I felt naked and exposed. The doors along the corridor were shut. I listened for noise as I ran past them, but could hear only the echo of my shoes as they pounded the corridor. Even if I were to open a door, I was sure there’d be no one inside.
Things had changed since I’d entered. The building had changed.
I ran through the curved hallway, retracing my steps. There should’ve been a handful of apartments before I reached the access corridor, then the elevators. I kept my eyes on the rounded wall to my right, waiting for an opening. I should’ve been close to the elevators.
Close to escape.
As much as I wanted the florin, I needed to regroup. Kellinger was more powerful than I’d imagined. On top of that, I’d lost the element of surprise, if I’d ever had it at all.
I watched the center of the hallway, waiting for the corridor to appear. But it didn’t. I realized I’d been running for almost a minute—far longer than I’d walked previously. But there was no break in the wall. The closed apartment doors went on forever, appearing and reappearing before me.
There was no exit. No sign of the open apartment I’d just left. All of the doors in front of me were closed.
I was panting. I paused and tried the nearest apartment door, but it was locked. I jiggled the handle from side to side, but it wouldn’t budge. My anger rose, and I grabbed hold of it with two hands, tugging with all my strength.
The doorknob came off in my hand. I dropped it like a hot stone, and it clattered to the floor and rolled away. I stared at it for a moment, then banged on the door with a closed fist, screaming for the occupant to open it up.
I heard a laugh inside. It sounded like a woman’s.
“Open up!” I screamed
The woman laughed harder; the door remained closed. I raced to the next door, but the doorknob fell off before I could touch it. I heard the same laughter from inside. I darted to the next door, then the next, but the doorknobs popped off like corks from a bottle, ricocheting off the opposite wall of the hallway.
The laughter was everywhere now: in the corridor, in the apartments, in my head. I gritted my teeth and clenched my hands over my ears, trying to stop the noise, but it only grew louder.
I rammed the next door with my shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge. What was formerly wood now felt more like metal, and my body throbbed from the impact. I tried kicking it, but the door remained steadfast.
“Kellinger!”
I careened through the hallway, hands clasped over my ears, yelling for the warlock to appear. My voice sounded winded and weak, and I cursed myself for being so careless. I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have approached him so soon.
I should’ve—
The arched doorway appeared. I stared at it for a second, convinced I was hallucinating. But it looked the same as the one I’d gone through before. I staggered down the hall, my throat hoarse from yelling, my body sore.
I paused at the threshold and stared into the newfound corridor. The elevator was on the right, the same as it was before. I sucked in a breath and walked through the doorway.
The laughter had faded, and I realized I was able to think again. My mind churned, trying to think of a way out. But I came to no resolution.
At this point, plans were meaningless. My only goal was to escape.
I’d taken only two steps when the elevator car dinged. I froze and backed up against the wall, my heart pounding like a fist in my chest. Was it Frank Kellinger? Was it someone else? I balled my hands, ready to fight my way out if needed.
The doors slid open. The car was empty.
I examined the inside, but found nothing unusual. At the same time, I was painfully aware that Kellinger must have sent it, and I could only guess at his intentions. I glanced back into the hallway. Nothing else had shifted or changed. My options were limited. I could either remain on the sixtieth floor, stuck in this man’s twisted mirage, or I could take the elevator in front of me.
I sucked in a breath and stepped into the car, listening to the doors close with a whoosh.
***
The buttons on the elevator were all intact, but only one was lit up: the button for the observation deck.
I tapped the others, but they remained stuck in place, as if they’d been glued on for decoration. I glanced up at the camera. For a split second, I imagined a security guard sitting somewhere behind it, watching me from some hidden screen. But I doubted that was the case. If anyone was watching, it was Kellinger.
The elevator creaked and swayed. Then it stopped.
I was trapped in his illusion. A prisoner in the building he controlled.
I clenched my fists, hit with another wave of anger. The thought of the man manipulating my every action had me furious. At the same time, I had no recourse. No way to fight back.
I was in his domain, on his turf, and all I could do was play by his rules.
“Show yourself, you fucking coward!” I screamed at the camera. The lens stared at me, unmoving. I punched the glass, but the pane remained intact. My knuckles burned from the effort, and I shook out my fingers.
“Well, that was stupid,” a voice said.
I spun, looking wildly around the car, but there was no one in sight.
“Where are you?”
“In my apartment,” Kellinger replied. “Where are you?”
“Fuck you, you piece of shit. Why don’t you come out and face me?”
The camera swiveled behind the glass. I turned away from it, hiding my face from the man. It was a childish act of rebellion, but at that moment, his view of me was the only thing I could control.
“I offered you my hospitality, and you tried to steal from me in return. How’s that supposed to make me feel?”
“You knew what I wanted from the moment I got here.”
“I gave you a way out. It’s not my fault you didn’t take it.”
“When I get ahold of you, I’m going to—”
“Do what? I could’ve left you in that hallway forever, Sean. Do you know that?”
“Why’d you let me out? So you can fuck with me some more?”
“Maybe I’m going to escort you out of the building.”
“The exit is down, not up, asshole.”
As if on cue, the elevator started to ascend.
I dug my fingernails into my palm. It was obvious he was trying to provoke a reaction, and I was giving him exactly what he wanted. I forced myself to stay quiet. In
stead of interacting with him, I concentrated on the hum of the elevator, watching the numbers climb.
The car stopped on the top level; the doors parted. I hesitated before stepping through.
The night was colder than I remembered.
I studied my surroundings. The observation deck was several hundred feet wide, spanning the circumference of the building. The edges were guarded with a five-foot-high metal railing.
Chicago sprawled out in front of me, but it was far from the same city I’d seen driving in. This one was dark and vacant, similar to what I’d seen in Kellinger’s apartment. There were no signs of lights or movement. The susurration of traffic and pedestrians had vanished, replaced by the howling of the wind.
I’d emerged from a pillar in the center of the deck. I glanced behind me, taking it in. The structure looked like the core of some nuclear reactor, a tower within a tower. There was no one around me. The rooftop was empty.
Then all of a sudden, it wasn’t.
A ring of people appeared around the edge of the railing. All of them were staring at me, pointing and laughing like spectators at a football game. I recognized some of the faces as the people I’d passed on the street below, the tenants I’d passed on the elevator. It was as if Kellinger had pulled the images from my mind, creating an audience from my memories. I wondered if the people had ever existed at all.
Behind me, the elevator doors closed.
I stood at the center of the deck like an Olympian waiting for a whistle, a gladiator awaiting his cue. A burst of light illuminated the sky above me, and the entire audience swiveled to face it, murmuring in unison.
Kellinger appeared in front of me.
He was standing a hundred feet away, halfway between the building’s edge and me. He looked the same as the man I saw in the apartment, but unlike the man in the apartment, this man was real.
I knew, because I could sense him.
My powers had returned. I looked down at my hands and noticed that my palms glowed with fire. After hours without them, I had regained my abilities. I wrinkled my brow, confused. Kellinger stared at me from across the observation deck. The crowd cheered.
He reached inside his shirt, revealing the florin around his neck.