The man in the white coat leans over the bed, studying me. He has thinning dark hair, a trim mustache, and intense eyes. Expression mildly disgusted, he gazes at me as though I’m a bug to dissect. Beneath assessment, though, there is a kind of glee that terrifies me. He has a new test subject, and his brain is racing with the possibilities.
The women move back, and he smiles down at me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but I was standing in the hall again, my room key in my trembling hand. Chanting megy, megy, megy in my head, I changed my grip on the shoes and then fumbled the key, dropping it on the carpet. The back of my neck prickled. I was being watched.
Scooping it up, I unlocked the door and bolted inside. As I slammed the door shut, I saw a dark-haired vamp with a thick mustache at the far end of the hall, watching me. Pressing my head against the back of the closed and locked door, I let out a deep breath, praying the ghosts were done with me for the night.
Too tired and hungry to fight them off, I needed out of this place now. I peeled off the dress, secured the jewelry, and changed into jeans, a t-shirt, and running shoes. I grabbed my little crossbody bag, stuffing my phone, wallet, and key inside.
Rattled, I almost left without protection. Finvarra, the fae king, still wanted me dead. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him, so I’d brought my axe to Budapest with me. I’d won it when I bested his dwarf assassin. I put on the leather straps, securing the axe like a backpack, before donning a light jacket over the top. With my hair down, no one would notice.
I did my best to brace myself for whatever was out there and opened the door. The vamp was gone. I closed the door, checked to make sure it locked, and then followed the directions Clive had mumbled this morning. He hadn’t told me how to get back in, but I was strangely okay with being barred from this place.
When I got to the main hall, I turned left, away from the entry area and meeting rooms. After twenty yards or so, the carpet stopped and there were no more dim wall sconces. The floor was the cracked tile of the asylum that had almost been white a hundred years ago. The walls carried the filth of decades of disuse, black splotches of mold growing rampant. The remodel clearly hadn’t made it this far.
A framed black and white photograph hung on the wall. I almost walked past it, but something about it made me stop. An older version of the man who had just leered down at me while I was strapped to a bed now stood on what looked like the steps of this building when it had been new. He wore a white coat and a stern expression. Head tilted, he smiled manically. Behind him in the photo, blood dripped from the windows, spattering his white coat.
Stumbling back, I hit the opposite wall, staring at the photograph. The blood red was gone. It was once more a grainy black and white photo featuring a stern-looking man in a white coat standing in front of the asylum.
Not wanting to turn my back on it, I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure it hadn’t started bleeding again. At the end of the hall, I found a dented metal door. Concerned as to what had put the dents in it, I paused, trying to decide if this really was the best way out. Stomach growling, I decided Clive wouldn’t have sent me into danger and if this turned out to be a horrible mistake, I could call him for an extraction.
I had to yank hard, but the door finally gave way on a screech. It was pitch-black and the smell of cold, wet earth was overwhelming. I pulled out my phone and hit the flashlight. Okay. Stairs down, to what must have been an underground tunnel from the asylum to town. I let the door close on another metallic screech and headed down. This was probably one of the ways they’d moved patients in and out of the facility.
It had been common, from what I’d read, to have girls and women committed when they didn’t behave the way their fathers and husbands deemed appropriate. Not because they were mentally ill, but because they weren’t as biddable as the men would have preferred. This tunnel was probably how they’d been secreted in.
The lower tunnel was narrower than the one above, and unfinished. There were timber crossbeams at intervals to stave off cave-ins, but as I was stepping over large chunks of dirt, they hadn’t been entirely successful. I was never using this exit again. There had to be a better way in and out. This route was probably Sebastian’s FU to having a werewolf stay in the Guild.
The screech of the heavy door at the top of the stairs brought me up short. Who was following me? I thought of the sandy-haired vampire in the meeting room and then of the mustachioed one I’d seen lurking in the hall outside our room.
Searching my mind, I found his cold green blip descending the stairs. I tried to figure out who it was, but he was too powerful. I couldn’t easily slip into his mind, and he was coming up behind me. Turning, I used my flashlight, but he was too far back. I saw eyes glowing, but nothing more.
Time to run. Not wanting to trip on clots of dirt, I kept the flashlight trained on the ground and sprinted. Were vampires faster than me? Mostly yes, but not by much. Of course, that was when I’d been in top form. Ten yards in, my thigh began to twinge. Damn it! Maybe a quarter of a mile later, my limp more pronounced, I hit the steps going up. Leg aching, I dragged open another rusting door and rushed down a short corridor, leading to yet another door.
Behind this one, though, I heard the low murmur of voices. I checked my mind and found the vampire climbing the stairs. Blowing out a breath, I opened the door a crack and saw a darkened passage. Slipping through, I glanced up and down a short hall. The walls were spray-painted in words and symbols I didn’t recognize. The lock clicked as the door closed behind me.
I brushed off my clothes and straightened my hair as I limped toward the noise. Turning a second corner, I bumped into a man in an apron. He said something to me in Hungarian, seeming concerned as to where I’d come from.
“English?” I asked.
He looked irritated and then said, “Why are you here?”
“Sorry. I was trying to find the restrooms.” At his blank gaze, I clarified, “Toilets.”
He nodded and pointed me in the opposite direction. I thanked him and then arrowed across the bar in the direction he’d pointed. I didn’t want to wander around Budapest looking like what I was, an asylum escapee.
Staring at my reflection a moment, I decided I didn’t look crazy, just scared. I searched for the vamp again and felt him passing by the restroom door. Tensed, waiting for the attack, I sensed him moving farther away into town. Maybe he hadn’t been following me after all. Perhaps I’d instead made a fool out of myself for his entertainment, and he was just heading into the city. I’d messed up my leg for nothing. Idiot.
I went back out and took a moment to look around the bar. It was a ruin bar. I’d heard of them. Some enterprising people in Budapest had taken derelict buildings, empty lots, and warehouses, with crumbling walls, collapsing roofs, and graffiti, and turned them into bars. They hung fairy lights, added some plants, and brought in mismatched furniture from street sales. Add some alcohol and voilà! A bar.
I checked the sign as I left The Bloody Ruin Asylum & Taproom. It closed at three. Granted, I had no idea how to get back into the tunnel, but I could call for directions, or better yet, a different route. It was late, but I was hoping someone was still serving food.
I was on the Buda side of Budapest, which was hillier. There used to be two separate towns, Buda on one side of the Danube River and Pest on the other. In 1850, the cities had been merged into Budapest.
There weren’t many shops and restaurants on the Buda side and those that were had already closed. Now what? I walked farther, passing a wooded area, and finally saw the Danube, a wide black expanse snaking between streetlights on either bank.
My leg hurt but my best chance for food was the other side of the river, so I limped to the nearest bridge and crossed. The Pest side was flatter, with a huge downtown retail area. I wanted to return during the day so I could sightsee properly. Right now, I was just looking for open restaurants. Most closed at eleven or midnight. I found one that closed at one, but they’d stopped preparing food at eleven. It was just the bar that was open.
The host took pity on me and pointed down the road at another restaurant. The sign on that one said they were open until two, so I held out hope.
