Page 71 of Corrupt Shadows

TWENTY-NINE

Evie

Clouds like blots of ink shroud the sky into a thick fog of gray and black, pelts of rain splashing around us. Lorcan pulls in a drag of his cigarette, and it takes me everything not to wrestle it from his fingers.

I slide my gaze from him to the mansion, my jaw slacking as I peer beyond its tall walls to the grounds beyond, surrounded by fir trees. The weathered, gray-bricked building stands nestled against the forest, as if nature has embraced it as her own. Ivy is woven through the bricks, sprawling its leaves over the buttresses of the large building.

Long, pointed arches reach toward the stormy sky, their spires disappearing into the thick fog hanging over the manor. Rainwater trickles from the open mouths of gargoyle statues built into the stone.

Thick raindrops hammer against the stone-mullioned windows, and I follow Lorcan through the wrought-iron gates. Gravel, twigs, and dirt crunch underfoot until we reach the doors, passing a crumbling fountain filled with green water and floating moss. What was once beautiful has slowly succumbed to decay.

Straight lines dominate the manor, enhancing the Gothic architecture. My heart skips a beat as we walk underneath the entryway. Iron bars point down over the double, arched wooden doors in warning. A heavy knocker, chiseled to appear as a serpent, stares at me as if it was once alive, now turned to stone.

I swallow thickly, and the doors open. Lorcan steps inside, leaving wet boot prints against the dark-wood boards. With a deep inhale, I step inside, breathing in the freshly polished wood and smoky incense.

My eyes are drawn to the ribbed-vault ceiling and exposed beams. I cough, spluttering, when dust hits the back of my throat, and the sound bounces and echoes off the walls.

Filtering the gray light, heavy silver-and-black drapes hang over the glass with stone frames inlaid into the window. I glide my fingers along an aged half-moon table with ornate designs covering the glossy top. On it, a gold candelabra holds three white candles, the wicks blackened. I take a moment to look around the foyer and eye a velvet-covered window seat and black cushions. On the ledge in front of it, dried floral arrangements sit in a glass vase. It’s the perfect reading spot.

Rain slashes against the building, beating the walls and glass. Thunder rumbles above, but the building is a fortress, giving the illusion of impenetrability.

Lorcan strides toward the grand staircase, and I follow, my footsteps muffled by the ornate, patterned rug finished in a dusky blue. I watch after him, and light flickers from the dark-metal chandelier hanging from a beam. The ornate wallpaper of the walls behind him, with vaulted and spiraled designs, is washed with yellow-and-orange hues from candlelit wall sconces.

I pause when I spot a tapestry woven in grays, deep purples, and silver, the threads depicting ancient scenes, where humans hold onto tall, demonic figures, their faces warped.

Lorcan spots me looking and tilts his head, admiring the art. “I miss home.”

My nose scrunches. Purple flames lick the humans, and I realize it’s illustrating Hell. “Yeah.” I transfix on the designs, but the closer I look, the more disturbing it gets. I climb the steps behind him, my shoes hitting the marble, flecked with silver and purple. “It’s beautiful,” I mumble aloud, not to anyone in particular.

Lorcan pauses, then keeps striding upward, until we reach a long walkway above the entirety of the entrance. I grab the banister and peer over the edge, hyperaware that if he pushed me from here, I’d definitely die. Can I even die in the Shadow Realm?

“Enough, witch,” he says, pulling my attention to his back as he makes his way to a door. “Stop thinking about your death.”

“Stop listening to my thoughts then,” I snap, my skin crawling as nicotine and benzo withdrawals begin. I flex my fingers, curling them inward to my palms and digging the tips into my skin. Worries for Gomez overwhelm my thoughts, but I have to believe he’s okay.

He’s my familiar, so I’d have felt if he died, but no pain or heartache has penetrated my body yet. Then there’s Rosa. She would be arriving to the apartment in the morning to collect Gomez. What will she find?

“They’re fine,” Lorcan snaps, and I scowl at the back of his head. “Gomez got free.”

“How the fuck would you know that?”

He doesn’t answer, and I shake my head.

“We have to find a way back.”

He turns on his heel, the mask blocking his expression, but the blackness swirling with the pastel green in his eyes is enough to tell me I’m pushing him too far. I may like walking on the darker side, but I’m not suicidal. “Listen, witch,” he spits, the veins bulging from his fists. “The only way out is to fix that mirror. Unfortunately…” He closes the distance between us. “That means I need you to actually use your powers to do something about it. It’s your family’s mirror, and it was made from your blood.” He grabs my wrist, his thumb pressing against my artery.

My stomach dips and everything inside tells me to run.

Before I can answer, Lorcan sweeps me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, knocking the air from my lungs.

“What the… Put me down.” I punch his shoulder, but he doesn’t flinch. My fingers throb, but I refuse to show that hitting his body caused me pain.

He shushes me, and I grind my teeth.

“What?” I whisper as his eyes darken, and a muscle feathers in his jaw.

His grip on me tightens. “Ezra,” he says with a hiss, baring his teeth.

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