Dweller on the Threshold (19 page)

Getting a good grip, I bit down on the inside of my cheek to try and stop the urge to faint I could feel hovering at the edge of my mind, and pulled. Pain scrambled my brain but I reached through that rip and managed to get both hands around the top so I could do a sort of chin up and get my head into that opening.

Blythe was clapping and jumping up and down. She sounded far away. So did Phro as she burst into loud laughter. It was the best thing she could have done. Reminded me that I must look a sight squirming in midair through something they couldn’t see.

When both of them went quiet, I barely paid attention. I did, however, notice when someone grabbed my hand and yanked me through the hole to the other side. I hit the ground hard and just lay there, gasping air into lungs that felt singed to the core. I blinked watery eyes, but had already figured out who had pulled me through. I smelled Nikolos’s sharp, masculine scent despite the burning in my nose. I swallowed back a curse.

“You’re an idiot.”

He squatted over me, fury making his eyes look like hard, unforgiving onyx. His nostrils flared.

“My wards could have fried you into a speck of dirt on my floor.”

“They didn’t.”

He shook his head, lips twisting on one side. “I turned this one down when I felt you kick in the back door.”

“Felt that, did you?” My words were slurred. Come to think of it, his face was kind of uh, slurred. I grinned and struggled to get to my feet.

He frowned, then reached down to help, his big hands hot on my arm. I sucked in air and pulled away. I was too scared of what that writhing mass of life around him could do to me in this vulnerable state.

But Nikolos didn’t know that. He growled and pulled me to my feet before shaking me.

“Hey!” I was still moving weird, like I was surrounded by syrup instead of air, so it took forever to pull out the ruby-handled knife that I had
not
put in a drawstring bag—thank you very much. I swished it in front of his face, scowling when he suddenly laughed. Why was he moving around so much? I narrowed my eyes and went to jab him and just kept moving until I hit one of the real walls in his hallway. I did manage to turn at the last minute and not stab it. Instead, I kind of slid down it.

Damn knees felt like Jell-O.

“Beri, you’re magic drunk!” Phro yelled from the other side of the ward. “Why don’t you wait a couple of minutes before you get your ass kicked, eh?”

“I’m doin’ the kicking,” I garbled and closed my eyes for a second. She was bopping around over there and it was making me sick. One of her was enough, but two? “Not drunk either. Just stunned.” I held up my thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Jus’ a little stunned.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and sneered at the handful of spirits crowding her.

I shook my head and started moving unsteadily up the wall, then yelped when Nikolos swept me completely off my feet and carried me down the hall.

“You want to see why I keep that ward so strong?” His hand slid under my butt.

My neck and a few other places went hot. His chest felt solid and so incredibly warm against my cheek. I squirmed. “So you can feel me up? Put me down!” I felt around for my knife and realized I must have dropped it. “I can walk.”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on me. “All you had to do was wait until I was here and then ask me. I would have shown you anything you wanted to see.”

“Anything?” I closed my eyes.
Oh please, please, let me have just thought that
. I opened them to find an answering fire burning in his eyes. I realized he’d been sliding his hand under my ass to get to the door handle, but instead, he turned it palm-up and cupped one cheek.

Yeah, I had most definitely said that aloud. “What about Blythe?” I peeked over his shoulder to find her standing where I’d left her—on the other side of the ward. Her eyes were the size of half dollars.

“She doesn’t need to see this.”

The door opened and I twisted my neck to see into the room, only to find myself suddenly glad he was still carrying me. My legs would have given had I been standing because the first thing I saw was photographic carnage. Image after image of things no one should see. It hit me then. This person carrying me was the one responsible for what was on these walls. Stunned sober, I smashed my fist into his face. Blood flew from his nose as he dropped me.

I hit the floor, harder this time. I jumped to my feet and gathered the energy for a roundhouse, but he merely caught my ankle in midair and flipped me.

Fucking flipped me.

My knees cracked on the hard tile. With all the wind knocked out of me, I gulped, choking to bring in air, but quickly stood. My mind desperately tried to sort the images on the walls around me—to understand why he had them there—and before I could stop it, acid washed up my esophagus. Spotting a gray trashcan in the corner, I lunged and lost my fast-food breakfast. “Oh man,” I gasped, knees wobbly.

“See why I didn’t want the little witch in here?”

His deep voice was right over my head. I should have known he was a killer, shouldn’t have listened to my suddenly-alive and begging female parts and focused instead on the mass of trapped victims around him. Victims that now had faces. People slaughtered like animals.

A cold, wet towel flopped over the back of my exposed neck.

“I didn’t kill these people.”

“You can read minds?”

“No. Reason and deduction, Beri. I warded this part of my shop so animated beings could not pass. I covered the walls with news clippings and photographs of murder victims. But I did not kill these people. Stand up and look again.”

I did. But only because I still planned to kick his ass, grab Blythe and book-it out of there. I needed a couple of minutes to get control of my nervous system. I’d seen a lot of bad things in my investigations. I’d seen things on that last case with Elsa that still crept into my dreams. And nightmares.

Blinking at the wall in front of me, I turned slowly and tried to process the amount of information in this room. And in that process, I flashed on a few familiar faces. Famous mass murderers—serial killers. I saw Ted Bundy’s victims with their long, straight hair and young, pretty faces.
They always seem to like young and pretty.
I saw Hitler and an old drawing of Vlad Dracul.

I put a hand on my stomach. “You have a thing for killers?”

“I have a
thing
for the Dweller.” He stepped around me, his boots loud on the ceramic tile. He opened a mini refrigerator placed under a long folding table, pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to me. From the hall came a loud groan, followed by the sound of wood splintering. He winced. “Your little witch must have heard you cry out. She’s throwing magic at my ward.”

“I’m okay!” I yelled just before something metallic squeaked along the floor. This time, I grimaced and quickly turned away from him. Squaring my shoulders, I followed the trail of information starting at the door and moving my way around the room. Scenes of torture, mass murder and cold, sociopath stares—the kind I’d seen up close and personal a few times while helping Elsa—met my gaze. I hurried past the ones of concentration camps, got near the end and realized something.

“It’s a time line,” I murmured.

“It is.”

I bit my lip and turned toward him, getting a good look at the blood that had splashed his white T-shirt and blue jeans. Other than that and the fact his nose was swollen and still bleeding, he looked better than when he’d stormed out of Elsa’s kitchen last night. His black hair was still pulled back from his face, but this time he’d left it in a tail that fanned out over his back when he turned to pull out a chair for me.

This room resembled a police station office with a cheap computer desk, the mini-fridge and a few folding chairs. Uncomfortable looking ones which made little sense after seeing the wealth of comfortable and beautiful chairs in that store.

“The pieces in my store have varied histories. I don’t want them tarnished by the evil in this room.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “And you don’t read minds.”

“Yours is easy.”

I didn’t like that. Not at all. I unscrewed the cap on the water and took a cautious sip, then decided my stomach could handle a little more. “You’ve been following all these killers? For centuries?”

“In a sense. I’ve been following the Dweller.” He pointed toward the chair he’d set out for me, then took it himself when I shook my head no. He held a towel up to his nose.

An apology burned on the tip of my tongue, but I still wasn’t sure about him—not after seeing this room. I looked around, spotting a lot of unfamiliar faces amongst the more infamous ones. “Which one is he?”

“Most of them.” He pointed to another chair. “I really think you should sit.”

Glass crunched somewhere in the front of the store. “Maybe she shouldn’t be alone out there.”

He didn’t say anything, just sniffed cautiously and turned the towel to a clean spot before replacing it against his nose.

I sat on the metal chair, the cold seeping through my jeans. “Okay, no more beating around the bush. No more silences and no more running out of houses in the middle of the night. I’m not leaving here until I get answers.”

He lowered the towel and eyed me for several long seconds. He’d turned the chair so he straddled it, his arms hanging over the back. The jeans had pulled taut over his thighs. Nikolos tossed the towel on the tile and crossed his arms. “Think of the deepest, darkest, most terrifying part of yourself and magnify it by thousands. Imagine the worst sort of evil a person can be—the sort of person who makes history doing these things.” He waved at the walls. “Think about him being born over and over again and that evil gathers as karma, strengthening over lifetimes.”

It wasn’t hard to think of the darkest, most terrifying part of myself. I revisited my experience with that part often, usually right before thanking the gods that Elsa had been passed out cold for nearly all of it. What I’d awakened in myself in that wizard’s basement…what that fire elemental had pulled from me…

Hot shame welled in my chest and I looked away for a moment to pull myself under control. What I had done to that wizard hadn’t looked much different from some of these photos.

Cold water soaked through my jeans. I looked at the bottle in my hand, having forgotten it was there. I’d squeezed it and caused it to overflow. Raising it, I took a long, cold sip and met Nikolos’s eyes. His held concern.

I cleared my throat. “So, you said born over and over. You’re talking about reincarnation. Not too many people believe in it.”

“But you do.”

I nodded. “Having spirit guide connections does have its perks.” I wiped my hand over the wet spot on my jeans. “So this thing you follow, this Dweller—it’s a reincarnated soul?”

“No,” he answered. “It’s not a soul. It’s the gathered karma of all that soul’s incarnations.”

I’d heard of karma, of course. The concept of rewards or punishments in one lifetime because of deeds in a past one. It wasn’t something I’d consciously believed in before. “The Dweller is karma.” I frowned. “Normal, eastern religious kind of karma?”

“What’s happening with this Dweller isn’t normal. A lot of what I’m going to explain is supposition. I’ve had years to follow it—to study. The closest explanation I’ve found was in theosophical writings. Followers believe that karma builds over many lifetimes and becomes a living entity. They’ve written that once a human soul has lived many lives and learned all there is to know—experienced all there is to experience—it is born into its final life here. That person will reach the highest state of enlightenment possible and in order to reach that stage, the person must face his dweller and vanquish it.”

I held up a hand. “Wait. You’re saying this karma takes on a physical form?”

He nodded. “In a sense. But it’s not the physical way you’re imagining. It doesn’t become a body you can touch.” He paused. “Well, this one might. It’s had more time to amass.”

“So I’m looking for a ghost?” Nerves and a faint excitement fluttered in my chest. Maybe there
was
a reason I could see spirits.

Nikolos leaned forward, making the chair creak. Long strands of silky, dark hair slid over his shoulder to spread over the white of his T-shirt. “Beri, this thing is not your run-of-the-mill sort of dweller.”

I clenched my hands into fists on my lap. “I don’t even understand what a run-of-the-mill dweller is, Nikolos. Do you even know why it’s called that?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in that unpracticed smile he had. “The full and proper name of this entity is Dweller on the Threshold. The name actually stuck after it was used in a book of fiction in the eighteen hundreds. The author wanted creepy.”

“Well, he got it.”

“The first time this particular being came into existence was on my home island—now called Crete. We didn’t know what the creature was called. The gods sent me to find what they called a gathering darkness of the soul.”

“Gods? Like Aphrodite?”

“Immortals, yes. Not your goddess, though. The Goddess of Crete was Ariadne. She came to me in a dream and explained that this creature was coming to end the world—that he was a mass of many, many evil lifetimes and he would come to stop his host.”