Page 132 of The Harbinger
Tap.
Inside the echo-chamber hallway, the pattern repeated endlessly. To the right, a solitary door beckoned, while a circuitous walk led to the adjoining hall and stairs. But to the left, a dimly lit corridor stretched out as far as the eye could see, teeming with a labyrinth of rooms.
Tap.
Tap, tap.
My body whipped around, and I squinted my eyes as if they were a compass needle, able to pinpoint the direction of the sound. It was off-center, across the vast expanse of the foyer on the second level.
Thiswasn’ta dream.
I’d been talking to Katya sitting at my vanity. There was no time for me to fall asleep and start sleepwalking.
Right?
I hurried along the walkway to Sacha’s seldom-used bedroom, primarily reserved for dressing.
Tap.
Before the third round of taps began, a shift of darkness moved at the end of the hall. My heart stammered in my chest, skipping beats and pushing against my breastbone. The shadow figured moved up the stairs onto the third level, and all thoughts ceased.
“Katya. This isn’t funny.”
Sacha hadn’t wanted me to go up there for a reason. The question was, why?
With my right foot leading the way, I glanced down at the marble floor. My left foot followed suit, propelling me toward the top of the stairs. In a split second, I found myself staring at a bedroom door, slightly ajar. The ambient light spilling out from within created a stark line across the hallway—the fateful decision made on a whim.
“Hello?”
The wooden door scuffed against my fingertips as I pushed the door open inch by excruciating inch. “Katya?”
A soft swirling cacophony reverberated inside the room, its steady beat almost afraid to stray. With unexpected gentleness, the door swung open, and I stepped toward the hospital bed, where a debilitated woman lay. The machines beeped in time with her steady heart rate, and the wallpaper hung dull and peeling. It was in stark contrast to the vibrant world beyond this room.
The woman appeared to be in her early seventies, with graying hair and skin aged beyond her years by whatever had ravaged her body. A clear cannula delivered pure oxygen to her fragile form.
Stepping back two paces into the hallway, I peered into the abyss but was greeted only by closed doors and the eerie dimness that shrouded everything in sight. I flicked my thumb against my middle finger, my pulse thumping against my neck as my breaths became rapid and shallow.
I closed the door behind me, returned to the woman’s bedside, and stood over her, taking in her sunken features.
What would her skin feel like?
I couldn’t resist the morbid curiosity that twisted my fingers as they hovered over the woman’s bare arm. My fingertips brushed against her, and her hand twitched.
Jerking away, I pressed my hand to my chest like she’d burned me. My branding burned, sending true fire down my arm.
“God dammit,” I whispered.
The woman’s eyes flew open, and I froze, the steady beat of the machines the only sound in the room. Her dried lips moved, and a chill ran down my spine as her words slapped my ears with their Russian cadence.
Her lanky cold fingers latched around my wrist, her voice rose with a scratchy, shaking tone.
My eyes grew wide, my brows hiking up as I pressed a finger to my lips.“Shh…” I looked at the closed door, then back to her. “Shh.Please be quiet.”
She pulled on my wrist, her voice driving higher and higher as I kicked myself. Why did I let curiosity get the better of me?
I easily slipped through her grasp, but the incessant beeping grew louder and faster like a maddening countdown to doom. She grabbed my shirt, pulling my collar down, and rubbing against my wound. I winced, and her eyes grew into big white orbs, her focus on the branding partially exposed.
“Ty zdes’.”