Page 23 of The Red Room
I sit up, my legs throbbing in protest. A side effect of running for my fucking life down three to five vacant blocks until I stopped to catch my breath and order a rideshare, not to mention the chaffing on my raw inner thighs. The silver necklace he sent me rattles around my neck until it settles against mycollarbone, glinting off the light pouring in. Maybe Nik gave me this to keep me safe? Safe from him. Protected from whatever the hell he turned into. Werewolves hate silver, at least every film swears by it. And when I held out the necklace in front of me, the thing almost seemed to be afraid of it. But if it's true, why would Nik have it in the first place?
The biggest thing nagging at me is how I didn’t know. Am I really that naïve? There weren’t any signs, not that I’d have the first fucking clue what to look for to tell if the man I’m dating turns into a werewolf when the moon is full. He didn’t smell like an animal. His teeth were damn near perfect and didn’t resemble the jaws of a German shepherd. His breath didn’t stink of flesh, and he certainly didn’t stop at dinner to pick bones out of his gums. And the kiss.God, that kiss.Nik might be a part-time animal, but the kiss was nothing short of a full-time carnivore.
What am I going to do? It’s bad enough he can turn into a wolf, but to make matters worse … he knows where I live.
*
It took a while and a considerable amount of courage for me to dismantle the barricade and leave the safety of my loft. There aren’t any packages waiting for me at my doorstep, nor is there another person in sight save for the handyman carrying a ladder down the hallway, skipping my apartment in dire need of repairs. Not surprising. There is something that stands out to me though. They weren’t here yesterday, and it certainly wasn’t there when I barreled inside last night, panting while my legs threatened to give out. Four distinct lines are carved into my front door, each digging a half inch into the wood. I run my fingers over them, splaying my index and pinky to match the size.It was him.Grabbing the crescent moon on my chain, I squeeze until the sharp edges nearly pierce through my skin. Hewas here. While there might not be a box with an intricately wrapped bow waiting on my doormat, he didn’t leave me empty handed.Claw marks.
Sure, my first instinct is to rush right back inside, lock the dead bolt, throw all the shit I had to step over back in front of it, and never leave my apartment again. Jumping to conclusions? I saw a man become a fucking monster not even ten feet away from me. He had no issue carving up my door like a goddamn calling card, and now, I don’t know that I’ll ever feel safe no matter what I push against the entrance. Sure, it will be a while before the next full moon, but who really knows if the human Nikolai isn’t as terrifying beneath the gentle smile and piercing gold eyes. It was all a lie. He played me from the beginning.
Not tonight I don’t, he had said. It wasn’t just how he said it but the way my insides suddenly took a freefall to the bottom of my stomach. As much as I want to believe I was right about him from the get-go, that the man who made my heart thump at uneven rhythms is dangerous, I feel the heat of his lips from our first kiss. It was unlike any way someone had kissed me before. His mouth perfectly clasping around mine. The electricity using me as a conduit when the two of us became one. How he held me so delicately while dancing to the soft music in his loft. It was … too good to be true.
I pull my hand away, sure to have a few splinters dug into each finger, and give the hallway one last glance before locking my door and marching outside.
*
It’s warmer out today than it’s been all week, a break from the regularly scheduled winter season chill. The sun is high in the cloudless California sky, casting shadows to the streets from buildings tall enough to touch the heavens. I’m thankfulfor the foot traffic, even if it means taking an elbow to the ribs or maneuvering around those too wrapped up in their own little worlds to pay attention to where the hell they’re walking. Annoying, sure. But I’m not alone, and there’s no chance in hell Nik would try something on such a crowded street. No one is that bold. Not even a werewolf.
Standing at the intersection, I stare up at the signal and wait for my turn to cross alongside a dozen or more traveling in the same direction. They’re probably not going to the same shop I am. On second thought, there’s no way in hell they are. Not unless they have some monster of their own leaving threats on their front door.Oddities and Curiosities.No website, and judging by the Facebook page with forty-six followers, I think it’s safe to say business isn’t booming. But it was the only hit I had on every search engine when looking up the supernatural using the near-me function, so maybe they can give me some answers on what the fuck I’m dealing with.So, You Dated A Bloodthirsty Killing Machine,I imagine the retailer handing me a thick leather-bound book while restocking garlic necklaces and silver-tipped wooden stakes.
Holy shit, I am losing it.The lines of reality have certainly crossed streams with that of pure fiction. A werewolf? A fucking werewolf in LA?Get a grip Natalie.Nikolai Vostik dumped you, and for some reason, you decided to rationalize it by believing he was a monster because of how things ended.Sure, I’ve seen his loft before. Of course I was devastated when he left me on the street and demanded I didn’t come back. But last night, it was like I was there. Watching this man become something else entirely. Death in its purest form.
Was it all a dream? Was Nik changing into a wolf some figment of my imagination? I want to say yes, but there’s a small part in my head screaming quite the opposite. The stench of sizzling flesh? Maybe he just finished cooking something.His golden eyes becoming dark black pools, void of anything human? Being a photographer, I see all the time how lighting affects eyes differently. Not really concerning. Dimitri carrying me out to safety? My arms are still sore from how close he held me as he took us to the staircase. Easy enough to explain. Maybe I slept on my arm wrong. The claw marks on my door? Well, the hallwayisnarrow. Someone could’ve scraped it moving furniture. Everything has a very real, very logical explanation. Nik isn’t some predator out to get me. He’s just a rich asshole that lost interest. I’ll probably never see him again.
The low rumble of a motorcycle vibrates the sidewalk, and as the rider approaches the intersection, they rev the throttle, giving the street corner an obnoxious and ear-splitting startle. Everyone—including me—jerks their attention toward him. Long brown hair breaches the bottom of his helmet, falling over a black leather jacket. There’s something in the air, and it isn’t the exhaust fumes or smoke from the tires, it’s … cedar.
No. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
I shrivel behind the large man in front of me, trying my best to remain unseen. The bike stops three feet from where I’m standing, and then, he revs the engine again.
Nik.He found me. Despite the hundreds of people wandering the busiest blocks of this city, Nik zeroed in on me somehow, and now, it’s as if he wants meto knowhe can find me. That there’s nowhere in LA I can go without him being one frightening step behind. I’m not losing it. Everything I saw in his loft was real. He is a werewolf and judging from how he’s tracked me down …he has my fucking scent.
Some start crossing the street on each side of him, a steady stream maneuvering around the motorcycle. A few of them yell or curse at him as they pass, but I know nothing they say will phase him. This man could rip each of their limbs from the sockets as easily as he removes his socks at the end of along day. Tear through an entire crowded block to get to me if he wants to. But … he doesn’t. No, in the reflective visor of his motorcycle helmet I see me standing idle at the near-vacant corner, my eyes as large as the crossing signal. What in the hell does he want? Is he trying to scare me? Make me run in the other direction because he enjoys the chase? Palms at my sides, sweat begins to build as low as my fingertips and as high as my neck. I can’t run right now even if I wanted to.
When his stoplight shifts to green, he gives one final wrench of the throttle and takes off down the street, racing past the cars until his silhouette is only a small dot, and the hum of his engine is as faint as the smell of him. Nikolai Vostik is a werewolf. An apex predator, and now I know without a doubt … I am the prey.
ELEVEN
Oddities and Curiosities, an unusual name for a business, is even more strange in person. It’s hard to see anything through the dust and cobwebs on the windows besides decorative skulls and black candles on the shelves within view. There isn’t any movement from what I can tell, but an eerie piano crescendo plays loud enough to hear from the sidewalk. A paper sign with shop hours dangles from the front door, and judging by the marker corrections, the times this place is open has dramatically reduced over the years. Bells chime overhead when I open the door, and it’s apparent whatever incense the owner is using to try and mask the mildew odor perforating around the small space, isn’t working.
Only a few of the ceiling lights remain on while the rest are seemingly as dead as the taxidermy animals in a disorganized line behind the counter. A fox, rattlesnake, beaver, and even a peacock all watch me take a cautious step inward. Skeletons and rubber bats dangle from the roof, complementing the spiders made to look like they’re crawling on the fake webbing of the walls. A coffin rests on a stand at the center,propped open to reveal silver trinkets in jars and vampire gag gifts, such as plastic or wax fangs and an assortment of capes. Classic movie monster posters are scattered throughout the room, the majority of them crooked and on the verge of falling off the Victorian wallpaper. At the back of the store next to a small closet is a bookshelf, and areas where a book might’ve been at some point are marked by distinct absence of dust.
“Oh,” a thin, lanky man says with surprise, carrying a box from the closet. While the top of his head is bald, the sides are a long, wiry gray. His glasses are round and thick, giving his dim blue eyes a larger than normal appearance. “Sorry, dear, I didn’t realize I had a customer. Damn hearing aid has been on the fritz for a while now.” He sets the box on the counter and holds his arms out to the sides like a vaudeville performer. “I am Lenny Ostrowich. Welcome to Oddities and Curiosities!”
Okay, so the store name fits perfectly. “I was wondering what kind of information you have—” I pause and clear my throat, feeling utterly ridiculous for what I’m about to say next. “—about werewolves?” He’s either going to laugh in my face or try and sell me some novelty werewolf repellent, either way, regret seeps in that I not only came here, but was spotted by Nik in the process.
“Ah, lycanthrope,” he says in nasally glee. “You came to the right place.”
I exhale the nervous breath I was holding. He doesn’t think I’m some lunatic. No, he waddles to the bookshelf with determination and thumbs through the selection, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his long nose.
“Where did I put that damned book?” the man says to himself, guiding his finger along each spine. “Eureka!” After bringing it to the counter, his arthritic hands shaking the entire way, he flips it open toward the middle. “The mark of the beast.”
I step forward, inspecting the page alongside him. There’s a drawn image of a werewolf on the right next to the text, less like theWolfmanposter staring down at us and more resembling what I watched Nik transform into. Body completely covered in fur. Long, lethal claws. Sharp fangs protruding from wide jowls. He didn’t become some canine or a cheap Hollywood depiction. Nik became the creature in this picture, and had he not been chained up, there’s no telling what would’ve happened.
“This legend has been told for a hundred years,” Lenny says and drags his finger on the text written in some strange language. “Give or take, dear. My Russian isn’t quite what it used to be.” He chuckles and I laugh on impulse, still unable to focus on anything but the image and the words I can’t quite make out.
“See this?” he asks and points to a paragraph in what could only be described as ancient runes. The letters aren’t quite letters, and if I stare at them long enough it might make me throw up everything I’ve held in all day. I shake my head and pinch my mouth tight.No, Lenny. No idea what your weird symbols mean. All I know is there is SOMETHING out there trying to make me a goddamn appetizer.