Chapter 3
1289 Words
THE WRONG TURN
~ELENA POV~
The blizzard had gotten worse.
It wasn't just snowing anymore; the sky had opened up and decided to erase the city.
The wind blew loudly through the streets of Manhattan, making me feel chilly even in my light dress. The cold hit me quickly, turning my sweat into ice.
I didn't care. I just needed to get away. Away from the Pierre Hotel, away from the scent of pine and betrayal, away from Greg’s terrified face, and away from the weird, exploding lights that I had somehow caused.
‘What is wrong with me?’ I thought, hugging my bare arms around myself as I stumbled down Fifth Avenue.
My teeth were already chattering so hard my jaw ached. ‘Stress. It’s just stress. I have been working eighty-hour weeks for six months. I am hallucinating. I need a vacation. I need sleep.’
I tried to justify the impossible. Lightbulbs blew out all the time. Chandeliers shook when the subway passed underground. It was a coincidence. It had to be.
I was Elena Vance, a woman of sense and rules, not a Carrie White knockoff.
I raised a trembling hand to hail a taxi, but the streets were eerily empty. Usually, this part of the city was a river of yellow cabs, but the storm had chased them all into garages.
The snow was coming down so thick I could barely see five feet in front of me. The streetlights looked like fuzzy yellow circles hanging in a white space.
Shivering violently, the realization hit me hard: I had left my coat in the suite. My cashmere coat, my phone charger, my wallet….everything was back in that room with Greg and the Senator’s daughter.
I looked down at my feet. My toes were already numb in my soaked heels. I was going to freeze to death if I didn't get to the subway station on 59th Street. It was ten blocks away. In this weather, that was a death march.
I took a shortcut.
It was a mistake I would never make in my right mind. I knew the crime rate; I knew the dangers of the city. But I wasn't thinking like a lawyer tonight. I was thinking like a wounded animal seeking a hole to hide in.
I slipped into an alley that ran through the block, hoping to save five minutes on my walk to the station.
The alley was dark, blocked from the streetlights by tall brick walls that loomed over me, hiding the sky. The snow on the ground wasn't clean and white; instead, it was a dull grey, slushy and mixed with bits of city garbage.
I crunched loudly under my heels, the sound echoing off the dumpsters.
I kept my head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. ‘Left, right, left, right. Just get to the subway. Get home. Drink wine. Forget everything.’
Midway through the alley, I stopped.
I didn't hear anything specific. It was the opposite. The wind, which had been screaming just moments ago, had stopped howling.
The quiet in the alley felt strange. It was thick and hard to breathe.
I felt a shiver on the back of my neck, a warning I hadn't felt since I was in foster care. I knew someone was watching me, not just a quick look from a stranger, but a heavy, dangerous stare.
Crunch.
A footstep behind me.
It was heavy, slow, and too near. I turn around, my heart beating against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Three men stood at the entrance of the alley, blocking my way to the street. They were dark shapes against the soft yellow light of the road, making them look like rough shadows.
They did not look like typical muggers. They did not move like them, either.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I noticed they were wearing torn, dirty clothes…parkas with ripped seams and jeans shredded at the thighs…that seemed too small for their bodies.
They were twitching, their limbs jerking in strange, spasm-like movements, as if their skin were too tight for what lay beneath.
“Hey,” I said, my voice trembling but trying to hold onto some trace of my courtroom authority. “I don’t have any cash. I don’t have a phone. Back off.”
They didn't respond to the threat. They didn't even look at my empty hands.
The man in the center took a step forward. He was huge, hunched over as if his spine was bent. He leaned his head back and sniffed the air. He inhaled deeply, a growling, wet sound that made my stomach turn. It sounded like a clogged drain trying to breathe.
“Do you smell that, boys?” he rasped.
His voice sounded rough and harsh, like stones rubbing against each other.
“Sweet,” the one on the left giggled. He was smaller, wiry, scratching at his own neck so hard I could see blood. “Smells like… magic. And blood. And fear.”
“The Carrier,” the center one said. His eyes locked onto mine.
In the darkness, the light from a distant window caught his face. I gasped. His pupils weren't round. They were vertical slits. And they reflected the faint light like a dog’s…or a wolf's.
They glowed a sickly, milky yellow.
“What?” I took a step back. My heel slipped on a patch of black ice, and I flailed, barely catching myself on a dumpster. “What are you talking about?”
“Grab her,” the leader snarled. The command wasn't human; it was a bark wrapped in words.
They didn't run. They lunged.
I had seen street fights before. I knew how fast people moved. But this… this was impossible. They covered the twenty feet between us in a single second, moving with a blurring speed that my brain couldn't process.
One second they were at the end of the alley; the next, they were on me.
I screamed, turning to run, but a hand clamped onto my bare shoulder. It wasn't a hand…it felt like a steel claw. The fingers were impossibly strong, crushing the muscle. The man threw me against the brick wall like I was a rag doll.
The crash knocked the wind out of me. My head cracked against the brick, and stars exploded in my vision. I slid down the wall, gasping for air that wouldn't come.
“Don’t bruise her!” the leader hissed, stepping closer.
The wiry one who had thrown me backed off, whining low in his throat. The leader leaned in, invading my space. He sniffed my neck, his nose wet and cold against my skin.
His breath smelled like raw meat and old blood.
“The King wants her intact,” he grumbled.
‘King? What are they talking about? Is this a gang? A cult?’
Panic finally overrode my shock. I kicked out blindly, my stiletto heel connecting solidly with the leader’s shin. It was a kick that should have broken bone.
He didn't even flinch. He didn't grunt. He just laughed, a low, barking sound that vibrated through the soles of his boots.
“Feisty,” he grinned, pulling his lips back to reveal teeth that looked too sharp, too saw-toothed to fit in a human mouth. Saliva dripped from his gums. “I like feisty.”
He raised a hand. In the cloud, his fingernails looked viscous, black, and curved into points. He raised them high, ready to strike, ready to subdue me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, tears freezing on my cheeks, waiting for the pain. I waited for the end.
Then, the sky fell.
- Writer
