Page 69 of Mostly Shattered

I was five years old, holding a stray puppy that I wanted to keep, but as she said it, I knew she meant me. I’m the one who could die. That one word had become a mantra of sorts, a harsh reminder of my limitations.

I want Costin to tell me I can do it. I want him to tell me that he believes in me.

He doesn’t.

“Can we find a restroom?” I ask. “And maybe a water bottle and a protein bar?”

Not that I’m positive I can keep either of those things down, but I’m stalling.

Costin looks around as if to gauge where we are. “The old subway tunnels are on the way to the labyrinth’s entrance.”

I nod, not knowing the significance.

“Few people dare go down there unless they’re entering the labyrinth. You will be safe waiting there while I find you water. It will be easier to get there if I mesmerize you.”

For the first time in my life, the idea of being mesmerized doesn’t scare me. In fact, the idea of falling into oblivion where I have no control holds great appeal. I nod my head. I’m not sure I could force my legs to make the journey.

Almost instantly, I find myself slipping into that deep vortex inside of Costin. It’s beginning to feel familiar, safe. I want to fall into his dream and never come out.

Chapter

Sixteen

I stare at the tiled wall of an abandoned subway station. I have no idea how far we traveled to get here, but it’s quieter than the marketplace. In fact, it’s too quiet. I’m the only one here. Costin has left me with instructions not to move as he searches for bottled water.

He’s bossy, and it’s annoying, but I listen. Where am I going to wander off to? Following scary-ass tracks into the unknown darkness? For all I know, ghouls live right around the corner.

As a New Yorker, I know about these old subway tunnels. Usually, they are urban legends told drunkenly at bars as modern-day campfire stories about mole people and various scary entities. I never thought I’d find myself in them.

The station is a forgotten relic, sealed up andfrozen in time, deep in the bowels of the city. It’s no wonder supernatural creatures have claimed them. Thick dust blankets the cracked floor, and rust crawls along the edges of metal beams that support the ceiling. It’s a little sad to think some brave builders sacrificed to create such a transportational work of art only to have it bypassed for a new plan.

Unlike the marketplace, the light here comes from old fixtures. I wonder if it’s magic that keeps the bulbs flickering or if some fairy in a toolbelt flies through and replaces them when they burn out. Haunting shadows fall around me and when I close my eyes, I think I hear voices—soft and faint, like ghosts from another century.

My eyes are drawn to faded letters around a spiral pattern in the tile wall. I can only make out part of a word,Mort—. It’s strange that the design is still here. I would have expected a layer of urban hieroglyphs, the graffiti of some tagger marking his territory. It’s untouched by such vandalism. I brush my hand over it, dusting it off in an attempt to read what’s there and shivering at the cold I find. The paint chips against my fingers, and I pull away.

The lights flicker harder than before, and I hope they don’t go out. When Costin doesn’t return, I move to the edge of the platform. I listen to the darkness stretching beyond the tunnel. All is an eerie silence but for the echoingdrip-dripof watersomewhere down the line. A piece of the ceiling falls from above, clanking on the corroded steel rails below.

I hear a faint rumble coming from the dark, and I instantly step away from the platform. A breeze comes toward me, bringing with it the stale air scented of damp concrete, oil, and decay. Yellowed paper somersaults across the floor. The rumbling becomes louder, and I see a soft flash of light. I press my back against the spiral on the wall and hold still as a transparent old train stops at the station. The doors open, but I don’t see anyone getting on or off. It waits as if inviting me to go in.

I don’t. I’m not an idiot. There is no way I’m hopping onboard a ghost train.

Where the hell is Costin?

“I don’t belong here,” I whisper. “What was I thinking? I can’t do this.”

What if Costin doesn’t return?

A long, tense minute later, the train doors close, and it leaves. Its departure appears to stir one of the green butterflies hiding in the tunnel. It comes to hover over my head for several seconds before moving to land on the spiral on the tile wall.

“I know,” I tell the butterfly in annoyance. “I get it. I have to do this alone.”

I’m not sure I trust Costin not to follow me.

Oppressive stillness is only broken by the sound of my feet as I look for a possible escape. A staircaseleads upward into a pile of rubble at the far end of the station platform. I reach for my neck out of old habit, not finding the amulet.

My phone dings, and I jump in fright before scrambling to pull it from my back pocket.

“Anthony,” I whisper, seeing it’s him. I open his text,“He”

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