Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and then back at me, shaking his head. “We have no idea. There were bookcases just there.” He gestured to the fire. “We tore them out, as we did everything else during the remodel, and found the stone fireplace and portrait. They’d essentially been walled up.”
“He’s creepy,” Ava said.
“Yes, well…” His shoulder twitched in what could be construed as an unconcerned shrug. “Other than some dust, both the painting and the fireplace were in perfect condition. We tried removing the portrait, but it seems to have been spelled in place. None of us, nor a wicche we keep on retainer, were able to make it budge. So, he’s become a part of the décor.”
Sebastian went back to talking with Ava.
The lights flickered and I looked up at the chandeliers. Unfortunately, no one else did. Shit. Was I the only one seeing this? Staring into the middle distance, I tapped into my necromancy again and found the room was not only filled with vampires but with ghosts as well.
The lights flickered once again and went out, the fire casting the only light in the room. No one was reacting, so it was okay. No reason to panic. A ghostly woman in a long gray dress bustled past me, her hand clamped around the frail wrist of a gaunt old woman in a threadbare nightgown. The old woman grabbed at me. Her curled, arthritic hands clutched my wrist, her ragged nails scratching my skin. Her eyes, a milky white, rolled back in her head as she was yanked on.
It was official. I hated it here.
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, so I turned to the fireplace. It wasn’t the fire that had caught my attention, though. It was the man in the painting above it. Like something out of a nightmare, he turned his head and glared at me. Red lights fired in his black eyes. His lips raised in a snarl as he spat out some kind of Hungarian curse at me.
He gripped the gilded wood framing him and leaned out, reaching for me. His blood-soaked hands dripped on an oblivious Ava and Sebastian, the only ones standing between him and me. I took a step back, heart racing, as every vampire in the room turned to stare at me.
Five
It’s Time to Go
“Darling?” Clive murmured. “Is everything all right?”
Pull it together. They can’t see ghosts and you look like a crazy person. “Of course,” I replied overbrightly. Ignoring the black-eyed creep leering at me from the portrait, I placed my hand on my stomach and added, “It’s been too long since I’ve eaten. I think my system is going into overdrive.” I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Have a good evening. I believe it’s time for me to visit the town and taste the local cuisine.”
Turning to the rest of our group, I said, “It was lovely to meet you all. I wish you a good evening as well. Please, excuse me.” Trying not to appear as though I was hurrying, I plastered a pleasant expression on my face as I made for the door.
Sam?
I’m good. I just need to get out of here, breathe some fresh air, and eat something.
All right. If you need me, just call.
Of course. Good night, love.
Cadmael studied me as I walked past. I could do stoic too and my candy-coating hadn’t been cracked, so he could just wonder. It wasn’t easy to take long strides in stilettos, but I did my best. Once I passed the entry and hit the hall, I paused to unstrap the shoes and carry them in my free hand so I could walk more easily, run if I had to. The sandy-haired vampire was out here somewhere, and it would be easier to use the stilettos as weapons if they were in my hands.
I made it halfway down the hall when the wall sconces flickered.
That same woman in the long gray dress grabs my shoulder and spins me around. She says something, but I don’t understand her. Shaking my arm, she shouts in my face, spittle foaming on her chapped lips.
I say something in Hungarian. Unfortunately, as I don’t speak Hungarian, I have no idea what I said. I try to unsheathe my claws, but nothing happens; my hands remain clasped in front of me because this isn’t me. I’m living someone else’s experience and have no ability to protect myself. I tremble. I’m not sure if it’s her or me, but I assume both of us.
The woman’s expression changes from anger to confusion and then she marches me down the hall two doors. She unlocks it, shoves me in, and then locks it again. Pressing my face to the small square of glass in the door, I watch her walk away.
When I turn, I see a room very like the one that creepy Renfield took us to when we arrived, minus all the cobwebs and mold. It’s small with used-to-be-white walls and stained tile floors. A very thin pad is rolled up on a metal bed frame.
As I walk across the floor to the window, cockroaches scurry out from under the bed and squeeze between the cracked baseboard. I’m trying hard to hold it together, but it’s difficult to reason with abject terror.
I look out the window and see a very different Budapest. All the modern buildings are gone. The town is smaller, the government buildings even grander by comparison?—
The door swings open, bouncing off the wall, as three people burst through the door: two women in gray dresses and one man in a white coat. The women say something to me and I respond, and then each one grabs an arm, dragging me to the bed.
MEGY! I scream it over and over, but nothing changes. I’m trapped in a nineteenth century mental asylum. The women are talking to me again as they strip off my dress and take my shoes.
Shivering in nothing but a slip, they force me onto the bed and then strap my arms and legs down.
Nonononono, I can’t be held down. Please, no.
