Pocket of Posies, page 4
She passed the iron rod between her hands, growing accustomed to the weight and testing different grips. What’s that going to do against a ghost? a voice in the back of her head accused. Catching a glimpse of her broken nails chased away that momentary sense of foolishness. It’s not just ghosts out there. Having the sturdy weight helped to steel her nerves. She could almost convince herself that she wasn’t defeated yet.
With renewed purpose, she examined the room once again. Her position on the platform allowed her to glimpse a flash of brown behind the hanging sheet of moss and leaves. Weapon at the ready, she ripped into the delicate layer of plant life. It crumbled apart in her hand to expose a patch of wood. A door.
A sudden flash of hope made her giggle. She tore apart the moss with a feral intensity, stopping the moment she had exposed the handle. That was all she needed. Biting her bottom lip, she grabbed the ancient handle and yanked. A rusted creak, a scraping sound, and the door opened. Giving it a hard shove, she leaped back and gripped the candlestick like a baseball bat. The silence was stirred only by her heaving breath. The curtain of moss stirred, rippling in the breeze that crept in from the now open door. In the stillness, she could feel every throb of her heart pulsing through her veins.
Cautiously, she tiptoed forward, her bare feet silent upon the stones. Hooking the tip of the candlestick on the rim of the hole, she gently pulled it to the side. Sunlight spilled into the room. Jezebel pulled back as if it were a snarling beast. Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed forward, shoving herself through the doorway before she could think better of it.
Sunlight blinded her momentarily. Her stomach dropped as her vision settled. Hedges, teeming with clusters of tiny flowers, loomed over a winding path. Sporadic openings in the canopy forced the sunlight into near solid bars. And, just like with the front, there was no way to get around it. Pass through or stay here? The options rolled around in her head as she glanced over her shoulder. Front door or back? Worried that her nerve would break if she retreated into the church again, Jezebel started down the paved pathway.
A gentle breeze coiled through the openings, pushing at the leaves and offering a few gasps of fresh air, a moment of clarity that brought into stark contrast the thick, hovering aroma of flowers. Whether it was the scented oil on her skin or the plants around her, the intense smell was quickly becoming overwhelming. She took to breathing through her mouth as she hurried down the snaking path.
It happened so gradually that she didn’t notice it at first. The walls closed in, narrowing until the reaching leaves almost brushed against her shoulders. The canopy lowered, congealed until it looked like a decorative wrought iron arch instead of anything living. Her bare feet created a whispering patter against the tiles. The only other sound was the whoosh of the breeze through the tightly packed leaves. Twisting her shoulders, she slipped around a tight bend in the path, narrowly avoiding contact with the flowers.
Sunlight washed over her as she straightened. She jerked to a stop. Air rushed from her lungs in a single, bewildered whimper. The pathways continued before her in a straight, seemingly endless line, while the hedges remained, still brimming with a wild spectrum of flowers. Repetitive gouges presented her with multiple alleyways.
“It’s a maze,” she whispered to herself, desperate to hear a human voice break the silence.
Instead of offering relief, it left her feeling cold. Tightening her grip on the candlestick, she didn’t bother to reassure herself with an ever-increasing array of options. Her instincts were screaming and she trusted them fully. I’m a prisoner. She took her first step forward, restlessly readjusting her grip on her only means of protection.
Her muffled footsteps seemed to boom like thunder within the uneasy silence. Picking up the pace, she jogged down the corridor, glancing down the offshoots as she passed. Each one was an exact replica of where she now stood. The flowers, the overgrowth, the pattern of the tiles. It was the same. Slowing her pace, she started to seek out details. An overgrown twig or a tuff of weeds. Something. Anything. Panic ate away at her like acid as she failed over and over. Even the imperfections were the same. I haven’t left the path, she reminded herself as disorientation began to wrap around her. It crushed her. Robbed the air from her lungs. Played tricks on her mind until she felt like she had weaved her way through a dozen halls.
“Stop,” she commanded herself. Sucking in a deep breath, she clutched the candlestick to her chest. “There has to be an exit. So, think. Be logical.”
Her mind went blank. Puffing out her cheeks she nodded.
“Okay. Not my strong suit. So, what would Anna do?”
An idea instantly popped into her head. Rushing to the nearest opening, she dropped to her knees and pounded the candlestick into the center tile. Struck repeatedly until a hair-thin faction splintered the stone. Having a marker was strangely satisfying. It gave her the confidence she needed to stray from her original path. Mark each turn. Jezebel imagined Annabel’s monotone speaking the words. It made her smile. If you can’t get out, you’ll at least know how to get back to your starting point. Suddenly, the walls of the church were a colossal comfort. A gentle reminder that she wouldn’t have to spend a night within the labyrinth.
She pushed herself into a run, racing past the array of openings to the end of the corridor. It didn’t surprise her at this point to reach the T-intersection and find herself halfway along an identical hallway. Pausing only long enough to smash a stone, she turned to her right and broke into a sprint. It was hard to keep faith in her plan as she travelled through the unchanging world. Every so often, she checked above, searching for some kind of landmark. The town’s at the base of a mountain, she reasoned. A perfect way to orientate herself. There was never anything but the blue sky and drifting crows.
Jezebel forced her weary body to keep up the pace, her skin overheating under the oil and her muscles shaking with fatigue. Eventually, the need to rest overwhelmed her. She sat down next to her newest broken tile, slumped forward to rest her chest against her thighs, and pressed her forehead to the unrelenting ground. The uncomfortable position helped her convince herself that she would only stay a moment. Just until I catch my breath.
A sudden crash made her jump. She was on her feet in a second, her candlestick held high, turning in quick circles to study each entry point. The sound continued, slow and steady, drifting from everywhere at once. Tightening her grip until her knuckles threatened to pop, Jezebel shuffled to the side. The first step was the hardest. Then, set upon her course of action, she fell into a jog, slowing cautiously as she neared the closest intersection. The sound cut off, returning the labyrinth to its uneasy silence. Dread twisted like a knife in her chest when she saw the broken stone.
I didn’t come this way. I didn’t loop around. Holding the candlestick high, she skittishly glanced behind, seeking out the marker she had just made. The length of the maze stretched out for miles, marked with dozens of openings on each side. Every one of them had a broken tile before it. Her heart lurched into her throat, choking her as she checked the expanse of corridor that lay ahead. Identical pathways, each marked with broken tiles.
Get away! It was the only thought in her mind and her body responded. Her bare feet slapped against the stones, fire crackled through her legs, her lungs clogged with the heady perfume of the flowers. Alleyways whipped past her peripheral vision, both sides in unison.
The world moved faster, rushing around her with a speed her body wasn’t capable of, turning the repeating corridors into a single flickering image in the corner of her eyes. She felt the strain of her muscles, the wind pushing past her skin, her feet hitting stone. She knew she was moving. But it didn’t look like it anymore. The world strobed, pulsing shadows and sunlight, but the image remained the same. The end of the corridor never coming closer. The branching pathways always at her side. As if she were running in place.
Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears with renewed strength when she first saw it. A dirty white mass on either side of her. It started small, barely a mound, but it grew between the flashes of her vision. A little larger each time. A head. Neck. Shoulders. The figures jerked and staggered, wrapped tight in blood stained shrouds. Torso. Arms locked tight across their chests. Hips. They lifted from the earth. Lurched towards her. Jezebel couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t tear her eyes away from the fixed point on the horizon she couldn’t reach.
Pools of blood swelled under the sheets that covered the writhing bodies, staining it in splotches as they neared, the bright crimson mixing with a black tar. They drew nearer. Close enough that she could see their mouths gaping under the fine material. Hear their gargled death rattles. Smell the sickly-sweet stench of rotting flesh. The wrapped corpses filled her peripheral vision. She pushed herself to run faster, but it only drew them closer. Their gasped cries filled her ears. Jezebel didn’t have the air in her lungs to scream. She swung the candlestick with everything she had.
Whipping through the ghost without resistance, the bar struck the hedge wall, crashing through the foliage. A thousand flowers burst, spewing their petals into the air with the ferocity of a blizzard. Jezebel charged through the shifting, blinding cloud. Her feet tripped together, her momentum keeping her from recovering. She toppled hard onto the stone path and the world stopped.
Flinging herself onto her back, Jezebel brought the candlestick up, brandishing it like a sword. Bleached petals toppled through the air, flipping and swaying in lazy patterns as they drifted down to land upon her fevered skin. Through the crash, she caught glimpses of the maze. The ghosts were gone. She was alone. Panting hard, she scrambled to her feet, whipping back and forth. Nothing was there. Just the falling petals and the looming walls around her.
Shaking violently, she couldn’t bring herself to lower the rod of iron. Couldn’t believe that they were truly gone. They seemed to linger in the corners of her eyes. She’d leap and spin around to confront them, only to find empty air. A scream shattered the silence, a tortured shriek that made Jezebel’s stomach lurch.
“Anna!”
Silence crushed down against her ears, strong enough to leave them ringing. But she knew what she had heard. Knew her sister’s voice as readily as her own.
“Anna! Where are you?!”
No response met her ears, but something drew her eyes. Black smoke. It coiled like a serpent above the tips of the hedges. A thick column that the wind struggled to disperse.
“Anna,” she whimpered.
The pain that sliced along her body was forgotten as she started to move, trying to judge the distance, to forge a path to the smoke’s point of origin. Drugged. Anointed. Left alone in a labyrinth. Annabel’s rational tone rang in Jezebel’s head, bringing with it an icy dagger that slashed at her insides.
That doesn’t sound like a prisoner. It sounds like a human sacrifice.
Chapter 5
Annabel couldn’t stop whimpering. Being submerged in the fountain water didn’t do much. Her flesh continued to roast. Each involuntary twitch of her fingers was agonizing. Sparks raced across her seared flesh as new blisters grew. She could feel them swell and burst. The only blessing was the layer of moss that bobbed on the surface of the water. It spared her from having to see it.
Henry sat kneeling behind her, long arms reaching around to hold her trembling arms steady. His chest, tight against her back, was all that kept her upright. He talked to her. A low steady stream of praise and empty promises. She had long since stopped listening to the words, but the tone of his voice was comforting. The cadence of it. Reliable and calm. She couldn’t say how long they stayed like that. The pain never seemed to ease.
“I need a hospital,” she sobbed.
“I know, Anna,” Henry said. “We’ll get you there. But for now, keep your hands in the water. That’s it. Just breathe. You’re doing great.”
They lingered. He didn’t leave her. Didn’t so much as shift into a more comfortable position. Just kept talking, his voice as gentle as his grip, radiating calmness, kindness, and patience.
“You should be a doctor,” her voice crackled around the words.
“Nah, I’m all thumbs,” he whispered. “But if you ever need help with your taxes, let me know. I know student loans can be a nightmare.”
A bitter truth slipped through her quivering lips, “Might not be a problem anymore.”
“We’re getting out of here, Anna. Don’t doubt it.”
“Even if we do, they might need surgery.” Tears welled in her eyes, brought forth by pain, misery, and terror. “And skin grafts. There might be lasting nerve damage.”
“That won’t stop you from being a doctor,” he assured.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. It ended in a gasp as her hands twitched. “I want to be a surgeon.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t think about that,” he said. “Let’s focus on what we can do. What we need to do.”
Her stomach lurched. “Jez.”
“Hey, we’re already making progress. We now know for sure she’s not here. If she were, she would have come running when you screamed.”
Focus on the problem and think it through. It was bitter-sweet to hear the voice of her professor so clearly within her ears. Still, Annabel clung to the advice and drew it tight around her.
“Marcus doesn’t know where she is,” Annabel said. “He would have gotten her if he did. I vaguely remember him freaking out.”
For the first time, Henry sounded awkward. “Yeah, pretty much.”
She searched her memories. Even now, it was near impossible to think through the blistering pain. You can’t even stop whimpering.
“What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Henry said quickly. “It’s just ... he might keep an eye on us now. Also, I think he’s pretty scared you’re going to sue him. Admittedly, we probably should. This tour has been criminally negligent.”
Swallowing thickly, Annabel pried her eyes open, scanning for anything that could help distract her. The easy relaxed state was gone. Everyone was tense. Scared. Either blatantly staring at them or deliberately looking anywhere else. All of them obsessively rubbed at their limbs and faces.
“They’re scared,” she mumbled. It clicked a moment later. They don’t know if they’re going to have a similar chemical reaction. “This hasn’t happened before, has it?”
Henry’s reply was tense. “Marcus insists that it hasn’t.”
“What! Why did it happen to me? What’s different?”
Straining to think consumed her concentration, leaving her completely startled by the hand that slipped into her vision. Henry caught the limb in a crushing grip before it could touch her shoulder.
“Easy there, big guy. I just wanted to check on her.” Egil’s Swedish accent caught Annabel off guard.
She jerked in Henry’s grip, twisting around to watch the blonde man settle down upon the rim of the fountain, all easy smiles and slight amusement. It was almost as if he had forgotten that Henry had a death grip on his arm. How did he survive? She had been certain he had died trapped within the town walls.
“Don’t touch her,” Henry said, both a warning and a threat.
“Okay,” Egil said calmly. “I saw what you did to Marcus. I’m not going to push you.”
Henry squirmed as Egil continued on, praising Henry’s right hook.
“You hit him?” Annabel asked.
Cringing, Henry hung his head low. “I couldn’t get you to the water while he was clutching you like that. He wouldn’t let go. You were screaming so loud.”
Annabel searched her blurred memories. She vaguely remembered strong hands and a sharp crack. There had been too much smoke and pain to tell.
“I’m not a violent guy,” Henry finished.
“Still haven’t let go of my arm,” Egil noted.
All shame fled Henry’s features as he leveled a murderous glare at the blonde man. “Just walk away Egil.”
Egil’s brow furrowed. “You might want to get off your moral high ground, Henry. I saved her life. She would have been choked out on the beach if I hadn’t helped her.”
For one brief second, Annabel forgot about her hands. Her brain was too busy remembering the shipwreck. The desperate people clambering to her, demanding help, refusing to believe that they would be okay. That others needed her more. She couldn’t recall what had happened to the man who had tried to choke her. The moment Egil had dislodged him, she had returned to performing CPR.
“And the Plague Doctors would have found you if I didn’t shove you into a closet,” Henry countered, his sharp words dragging Annabel from her thoughts.
“I’m starting to get offended,” Egil said, his voice dropping into a growl. “I don’t go around hurting woman.”
“She wouldn’t have been injured to begin with if it weren’t for you.”
“She stuck her hands in hot water. How is that my fault?”
Henry huffed in disbelief. “She didn’t have time to take care of her burns because you were trying to set the house on fire. To burn us alive.”
“That’s not what happened,” Egil dismissed.
Henry’s grip tightened. “I was there. You tried to kill us.”
“I wasn’t there,” Egil countered. “My sister ran off and I followed her. You remember her, Anna. You pushed her off of my dad to perform CPR on him.”
Annabel tried not to flinch at the reminder. Her failure to save Egil’s father. The man had died on the beach, and Egil had dealt with his grief by taking control. His sister didn’t share that trait. Since Annabel’s focus had been on the dying, she couldn’t even say what had happened to Egil’s sister. Did she even get out of the town with is? Annabel pushed it all aside to refocus on the conversation.
