Page 46 of Wicked Curses
What is going on?
The question screamed through her mind as she listened and searched for any movement, but nothing stirred. With a trembling hand, she felt for the candle on her nightstand and found the matches beside it.
It took four tries, but she finally got the match to ignite; a small flame sputtered to life at the end. Any attempt at steadying her hand failed as she brought the fire to the wick. When the candle caught, the light in the room grew brighter but didn’t chase away the shadows in the room’s corners.
Gulping, Sahira lifted the candle and, with a confidence she didn’t feel, carried it around the room while she inspected it. There was nothing there.Nothing.
She stopped and turned in a small circle in the center of the room.
Did I imagine it?
It was possible as, now that her adrenaline rush was wearing off, the effects of the alcohol came roaring back to the forefront. Her head pounded with renewed intensity, and her legs quaked as her parched throat begged for water.
She could have been having a nightmare and thought she was awake. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d dreamed she was awake when she wasn’t.
But it had beensoreal. She could still feel fingers ofsomethingbrushing her flesh.
Resting a hand against her throat, she searched for any sign something was there, but nothing was. Lifting the candle, she carried it to the mirror to study her reflection. She was paler than normal with shadows under her eyes, but nothing unusual stared back at her.
“What the…?”
She turned to search the room again. Nothing moved, but as much as she wanted to believe she’d dreamed the whole thing or was still drunk and imagining things, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it had beenreal.
Yet she remained alone.
Sahira carried the candle back to her bed and plopped onto it. She was exhausted, and more sleep would probably help her headache, but as she lay back, she knew it would be impossible to sleep again.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
Sahira spentthe next two days in more of a fog than when she first arrived. She focused on work, read two more books, and barely saw Zeth, Radagast, or Orin as she trudged through her days.
Whenever she walked into the pub, Fred would land on her shoulder and start singing, but though she sang a few lines with him, she didn’t jump into the whole song again. He didn’t mind as he kissed her on the cheek, called her “toots,” and flitted away.
She tried not to think about the symbols, compass, or anything else about this place as she focused on the books. Last night, she’d finally added her story to the first book. Even if she planned to escape this place, her story should be there so others would know she’d made it to freedom and have hope.
Sahira had no idea how they would learn of her escape, but she’d somehow ensure they did. She kept her story short and sweet, less than one page. It was all that was required to say what she had to say.
Like all the others before her, she left a small space after her name. The ones who had something written in that space had it done in a different hand than the one telling their story.
The sentences in those spaces were only one or two lines conveying how that immortal died and where they were buried. She suspected they did this so, if the immortals somehow figured out how to escape, the loved ones of the dead could return to claim their remains.
Life here was beginning to fall into a rhythm of work and reading. She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing, but having a purpose helped to get her out of bed every morning.
She waited for something more to happen in her room, but the nights remained calm. The more time passed, the more she believed she’d dreamed the whole thing.
Another two nights went by before she was pulled from sleep by the certainty that something was in her room again. Sahira lay there with her eyes closed as she inhaled and exhaled.
She had no idea what woke her, but the hair on her nape rose as that certainty grew in the pit of her stomach. Every one of her instincts screamed something was wrong.
Something else was in the room with her, and it wasn’t good. She felt it creeping closer as it came for her.
She had to react, but she didn’t know how to get away from whatever this was. Then the floor creaked to her right and from behind her back.
There was something behind her. Something she couldn’t see as it crept closer. And this time, there was no alcohol clouding her judgment and making her question her sanity.
Whatever was in her room was real, and it wasn’t any good.Nothinggood crept around someone’s room at night.
After first encountering this thing, she’d stashed her dagger under her pillow. With slow, cautious movements, she slid her hand beneath it, wrapped her fingers around the hilt, and pulled it free.
