Page 136 of Find My Way Down to You

I have to, I remind myself.

In front of me, the narrow passageway is lit by streams of gold light. They cascade through thick leaves overhead. For afew feet, nothing changes. Sculpted shrubs carved into mythical creatures. Vibrant blooms blossom along the ivy.

Around the first turn, a gilded thorn mirror taunts me. I ignore it, navigating until I reach the end of a corridor. Two choices await:

Left or right.

The landscape is identical both ways. The stone floor is clean and level, no footsteps. Not a single indication of what path others chose before me.

Trust your instincts, August.

“Yeah, thanks, Henri,” I mumble.

After a breath, I choose left.

It goes like that for what seems minutes. The passageways shift from short to long. Some have mirrors, others don’t. Flowers burst along the walls in sugary colors: pink amaryllis, orangey hibiscus, lavender aster, yellowy tulips. I alternate between going left, then right.

The light follows me like a gleaming shadow.

Around another corner, I stop. Against the wall is a gilded thorn mirror.

“No.” I spin in a circle. “This can’t be the same spot.”

But I can’t tell. Nothing’s changed. No matter how many steps I’ve walked, it all looks the same—clean and untouched.

Sweat prickles against my forehead. Erratic heartbeats fill my ears, loud as the buzzing. The…voices. I hear them everywhere. Behind me, in front, through the walls.

Quickly, I run past the mirror.

Around every turn, I lose track if I’ve gone left or right. Or right, then left. I pass winged lions and six-headed snakes and men with bull heads. The mirrors’ frames change from leaves to roses to feathers to serpents. I never dare look into their reflections.

My footsteps aren’t heavy enough to hide whatever’s chasing or leading me.

AugustAugustAugust.

Dots swirl in my vision as I cut another corner. A harsh exhale of voices brushes the back of my neck. I look over my shoulder.

Nothing’s there.

My foot catches on something. A loose stone, maybe? I tumble forward, palms braced for the fall. The sting of my hands scraping the floor is not nearly as bad as the impact. Or what I see at the other end of the passage.

It’s a man. But not exactly.

He’s half-hunched over, his feet dragging. Limp dark hair droops into his unfocused eyes. His jaw is cracked open, but the only thing that comes out is a constant buzzing. Clothes hang off his frail body. A dull gray film covers him.

He’s a soul like from the beach. And he’s staggering closer. Hunger fills his every broken step.

Get up, my mind screams.

“G-get up,” I stammer to myself. But I don’t. My bones feel heavy. The only thing that works is my arms. I throw them in front of me as if that might keep me safe.

Nearby, I hear a wisping noise. Through my fingers, I spot movement behind the soul. Vines slither like vipers along the floor.

They coil around the soul’s ankles. He struggles against them. It’s useless. He’s jerked to the ground. In a blink, the vines tug him around a corner, gone.

The noise goes with him.

It takes forever before my breaths calm. For the shivers to fade. I lower my arms, but it’s another mistake.