12

Amelia opened her eyes, and fell right back to sleep. Over and over, this pattern repeated. Sometimes warm sun rays skimmed her face. At other times, impenetrable darkness blocked her view. Once, there was a woman in a chambermaid’s uniform cleaning off dust from the table. She’d approached Amelia and leaned over her.

Angel! An angel came to take me away, she’d thought.

Hours, or maybe days after that, the angel still hadn’t taken her because she’d woken up to quench her thirst and found herself in the purple bathroom again. Then she’d dozed off once more.

“Amelia…”

Someone was speaking her name. Maybe the angel was back?

Or… Am I dying?

“You will not die today.”

But I want to…

“No, you do not. Open your eyes.”

No.

“Amelia…”

What do you want from me?

“I want you to be unafraid.”

I’m not afraid. I’m sick.

“You are not.”

Are you in my head?

“Yes and no.”

Yeah, I’m absolutely not insane.

“I owe you an apology. I did not warn Mikhail that you were not ready.”

What?

“My body has not been in great shape lately. I forget a lot.”

Who are you?

“I have not introduced myself, have I? They call me the Oracle.”

You’re what Mikhail was talking about?

“I am. The Oracle.”

Is that kind of like the Pope?

“It is much more. I am the Oracle of the entire world.”

Amelia laughed in her sleep. Or was she crying? Was she asleep?

“Did I say something funny?”

How are you in my head?

“Telepathically.”

Yeah, that explains it all…

“You think you are going insane?”

Aren’t I?

“No. It is time to open your eyes.”

I don’t want to.

“You are sleeping in a pool of your own vomit.”

You’re lying.

“Stop acting like a child.”

And what am I supposed to do instead?

“Pull yourself together.”

Amelia woke up to the sound of clinking dishes. She heard steps approaching but was too exhausted to open her eyelids or care.

She remembered her stomach turning and fainting. Her fingers traced up and down her body, even though she’d already checked for wounds and claw marks. Those bullets had felt real, and so had the lethal claws of the woman that had cut through flesh as if it were mere paper. The agony had been unbearable, but it wasn’t her flesh that had taken the hits.

It was his.

A door opened and closed; a key turned in a lock. Whoever had been here, was already gone.

Thunder struck and startled her. Outside, the rain was pouring, hitting against the windows, whispering secrets.

‘Patience, little seeker. Sometimes you just need to sit back and observe quietly.’

A sudden anger rose inside her. She couldn’t break. After all, none of her grandmother’s stories had starred a warrior who’d given up.

But I’m no warrior. I’m a wreck deceiving herself that everything’s fine by following a strict routine of running and working, running and working…

It was ridiculous that she had to be kidnapped in order to realise that she had been fooling herself. She hadn’t overcome the loss of her family. She wasn’t that devoted to medicine. She wasn’t even a strict runner. She had just needed a routine to distract her from her thoughts.

Pull yourself together.

She opened her eyes and sat up in bed. Her stomach growled at the sight of a bowl of fruits on the coffee table, next to a plate of croissants and orange juice. Someone had laid out a clean set of clothes and new sneakers on the couch. She frowned at her own clothes. Her shirt had specks of vomit on it and the jeans had a stain right on the crotch that she was hoping wasn’t what she thought it was.

Getting to her feet, she headed for the fresh clothes. There was a note on them that said, For Amelia. She hesitated. Did putting on these clothes mean she was accepting her fate? Officially becoming a prisoner here? On the other hand, Mikhail Korovin probably didn’t give a damn about what she did or did not accept.

Amelia grabbed the garments and rushed to the bathroom. After locking the door handle, she got out of her dirty clothes. Leaving her underwear on – in case someone was watching – she hopped under the hot shower and quickly washed herself. The clean clothes came with new underwear which she swapped for her own. The pants and T-shirt fit her well, but the shoes were a size too big. When she returned to the room, her eyes latched on the croissants.

If she wanted to survive, she had to find a way out of this place. And for that, she needed strength. Food. It was a good enough reason for her to gobble up one of the French pastries.

As she was chewing, she thought about Mikhail and the beast he had turned into. It somehow reminded her of a story that her grandmother had told her over twenty years ago. The curse of the wolf. It was a legend about a man named Ivan, who lived in her grandmother’s hamlet when she was a little girl. Ivan resided in a house at the edge of the village, where civilisation ended, and the forest began.

Ivan lived a solitary life, rarely went into the village, and never spoke a word to anyone. Some people thought he was deaf, but the elders knew his true story. One day, a young wolf emerged from the forest and into Ivan’s yard. He grabbed his rifle and shot the wolf dead. It wasn’t, however, time for the wolf’s spirit to pass, so when his soul left the rotting corpse, it needed to find a new body. It chose Ivan’s and thus possessed him. Since then, the man had to live with the curse of the wolf – he was still a man, but every full moon, he would obey the wolf inside him. Some claimed they’d seen Ivan’s body enlarge and coat itself in fur, his teeth elongate, and his eyes turn yellow. Others swore they’d heard howling coming from his house.

What goes around comes around , Amelia’s grandmother often used to say when recounting this story. Had this man never ended another creature’s life, the curse wouldn’t have tortured him for eternity.

Amelia had always thought that the old woman loved this story because of its message, but now she was wondering if it was more than just a legend. Could people really be possessed by animal spirits that caused them to transform into monsters? Her brain rejected the possibility, and so did science. And yet…

Manticore. The word popped up in her head.

That was what Mikhail called himself. He wasn’t an animal, though he bore animal characteristics. He was a beast with a giant muscular body covered in golden-brown fur that was a shade darker around the head and neck, like a mane. The black claws of his paws were as sharp as the spiked tip of the tail. And those two wings protruding from the middle of his back? Gods , she had never seen anything like it…

Then she recalled the wolf in the hospital ward and the man chasing him. The little boy, Dave – the thought of him all alone in this hellhole made her insides twist again. But what could she do for him, if she couldn’t even help herself?

She had to get out of there.

***

Her first opportunity came an hour later.

The lock clicked, and the door opened. A young woman in a chambermaid’s uniform strode in with a cup of coffee on a tray. She had beautiful features, a lean figure and an elegant gait. Amelia observed her as if hypnotised.

“Who are you?” Amelia asked, but the woman kept her eyes glued to the floor and proceeded as if she hadn’t heard a thing. “Please, talk to me.”

The maid was just a few inches away from the couch where Amelia was sitting. She bent over and placed the tray on the coffee table.

“Talk to me!”

Nothing on the chambermaid’s pretty features suggested that she noticed another’s presence in the room.

Amelia’s heart raced. One. The woman turned graciously to the door. Two, three…

Amelia’s palms started sweating. She rushed to her feet. Four, five. She caught up to the chambermaid. Six . Gathering all her strength, she pushed the maid to the ground and sprinted for the door. Seven, eight, nine … A strange hissing noise filled the air behind her. In the blink of an eye, the woman was in front of her, blocking her way out.

She hissed again, giving Amelia the chance to take in her sharp and shiny canines, and stormed off. A short click followed on the other side of the door.

It was over but Amelia was sure she would lose her mind if she didn’t say it.

“Ten!” She screamed and bumped at the door. “Ten, for fuck’s sake! Ten! Ten!”

***

Over the next few days, the same chambermaid would take turns with another one to bring Amelia food and clothes. Soon, she realised there was no point in picking a fight with them. Communicating with them was not an option either, since they ignored everything she said, yelled or whispered to them.

Today, the sun was shining over the green trees on its way west. In another time and place, Amelia would have appreciated the view… But unlike previous days, Amelia’s heart weighed heavier than usual. She ran a finger over the new clothes the chambermaid had brought today – black tights and a wide shirt. Beige underwear was folded next to them.

Three days! She’d been locked into this cursed room for three days, with no human interaction and no explanation of what was coming. Mikhail hadn’t returned. Neither had the voice in her head.

But not all days were like that. Sometimes, a flame of hope would burn in her heart, promising her that she would escape this place and go back to her boring life. And when she did, she would not let days pass her by anymore. She would not bury herself in work and a safe routine, all to avoid living because she was too afraid to. Being locked between four walls in the middle of nowhere with monsters for guards had shown her the parallels with her own life. And it was up to her, as it always had been, to change that. It might have taken being kidnapped for the realisation to sink in, but now that it had, the image of that new life was enough to keep her going.

If only she could talk to Mikhail Korovin again. Let him turn into whatever the fuck he wanted – a lion, a wolf, fucking Godzilla. This time, she would be ready for anything. And she would negotiate her escape.

What if he’s not open to negotiations? The thought caused her to slump her shoulders and dampened her enthusiasm.

More days turned into more nights, sunsets into more sunrises, and nothing ever changed. She continued to be alone.

Then, one day, after hours of being afraid to fall asleep, she fainted on the couch, and the second dream came.

The sun’s light burst through the window and lighted Mikhail’s face while he was sleeping in a small bed.

Suddenly, he woke with a start. He needed a few moments to remember what had happened. Panic and fear poured over him, merging with the physical pain he was starting to feel. He made a pitiful attempt to raise his head, but the anguish was too strong. He groaned in sheer misery.

“Take it easy,” said a white-bearded wrinkled man. He was smoking his pipe at the far end of the room. “Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d make it. Very severe wounds… deep ones. It was the Turks, right? Remember my words, son, one day we’ll slay them all!”

“Where… am I?” Mikhail rasped.

“The Sakar Mountain! In the home of old Vasil. I found you in the bushes… Honestly, young man, I thought you were a goner, but my granddaughter – she wants to be a healer – said you were alive. I threw you in my cart and brought you here. She took out the bullets – twenty-seven! Washed your wounds, and the four cuts across your chest, and said you’d probably die, but we thought we might as well take care of you. It’s only human. We’re not like the Turks, eh? But you, young man, are a miracle! Your wounds started healing. They’re gone now. Didn’t even leave a mark. Except for those four nasty ones to the chest. It was the zaptiyes, right? Horrible thing. You’ll have grave scars, but at least you’re alive!”

Mikhail tried to lift himself again.

“I”—he coughed—“have to go.”

“What do you mean, go? You haven’t recovered yet! You… you’re not from around here, are you?” The man’s calm demeanour changed, and he started eyeing him with suspicion.

“My mother”—another coughing fit interrupted him—“was Bulgarian.”

Amelia opened her eyes. The same nausea as before roiled through her, but even as she rushed to the bathroom, she couldn’t get Mikhail’s features out of her mind. Once more, she’d been in his mind – been him – in the dream, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Kneeling before the toilet bowl, she thought of the grief and sorrow etched on his face, and how he’d seemed… broken. Very unlike the man she was used to.

And as much as she despised him for kidnapping her, his ability to overcome adversity left her in awe, and she couldn’t help but admire him.