Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“And what about Eero and Noora?” I ask.
Death walks around me and I feel his gaze as he stares down at me. I don’t want to meet his eyes. I hate knowing he can see me but I can’t see him. “You’ve mentioned them before…”
I don’t want to tell Death anything else, give him any more information, but if he knows something about them, I need to know it too. “It’s a long story, but they’re also shamans and my father’s business partners who faked his death when they found out he came here, and then lured me over to Finland with a fake funeral. When I discovered it was all a lie and my father was gone, they tried to kill me. I only escaped because of Rasmus.”
A pause. “I see…” he muses. “Eero, you say? What did he look like?”
“Like my dad,” I say. “I don’t know if all shamans look the same, but they do. Except he looked meaner and his eyes were dark. Noora, she’s blonde and short and round. Mid-sixties, maybe, for both of them.”
“I’m not sure who they are,” Death says after a moment, though I can’t tell if he’s keeping something from me or not. “But it’s not my business, and it’s no longer any of yours. You see, Hanna, it doesn’t really matter what happens to your father after this, because you won’t know about it. You will be here for the rest of your life.”
He pauses and I swear he grins. “You will never see your father again.”
Chapter 11
The Little Mermaid
I wake up in a bed.
There’s a brief moment when I think I’m in my room at home. The way the light is coming in on my face feels similar to how mornings hit when my alarm goes off at seven-thirty. My bedroom is—was—north-facing and it faces a McMansion, as our neighborhood not-so-affectionately calls them, so the light is always subdued and filtered, even at the height of summer. Jenny’s bedroom faces east, so she gets the sun waking her up every morning, which is nice in theory, but I like the fact that I can sleep in if I want to.
I open my eyes but instead of seeing my popcorn ceiling—which I’m sure is full of asbestos—and the remnants of glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars left behind by renters past, I see a burgundy velvet canopy strung across black-lacquered bed posts.
I slowly push myself up on my elbows, my fight or flight instincts assuming the position. I’m in a very large, long room that looks like a Gothic combination of Victorian and Medieval. There are tall, arched windows beside the bed which look out onto…well, maybe there’s usually a view but there’s nothing but mist at the moment, providing just enough morning light to illuminate the space. It would be dark even with direct sunlight streaming in, since the walls are charcoal gray in color with subtle gold designs, and though there are melted candles affixed every few feet, none of them are currently lit.
The floor is a dark wood, a change from all the black marble I’d seen so far, with lush Turkish-style carpets strewn about. In one corner of the room is an iron partition, hinting at a large claw-foot tub behind it. At the corner closest to me is a wardrobe made of gleaming burgundy that matches the canopy and drapes, with a vanity desk and large silver mirror above it, the kind of mirror I’d be afraid to look into. And at another corner is a black velvet chaise lounge with a pile of old books bound in cracked leather, what looks like an iPad placed on top of them, and a very large, long aquarium. In the dim light I can’t tell if it has water or anything in it, but my attention immediately goes back to the iPad. Surely it just looks like one, right?
I lift the heavy covers to get out of bed and investigate but pause in horror when I look down at myself. I’m not in my jeans and sweater, as gross and uncomfortable as they were. Instead, I’m in a black, gauzy nightgown with buttons down the middle and ruffles at the sleeves.
“Oh my god,” I say out loud, my voice sounding hollow in the cavernous room. Someone dressed me? Was it Death? Was it me? My memories from last night are blank. I remember my father—oh god, Papa—and then I remember Death leading me to this room but everything else just blurs after that. Did that white centipede go up my nose too?
I press my fingers along the side of my nose, as if to find it there, then carefully swing my legs over the side of the bed. My body is sore as hell from my aching muscles but when I examine my legs and arms there are no bruises, and though my bra and underwear have been removed, I don’t particularly feel like my body has been violated.