Toward my destiny.
Cassie is right, I tried to tell myself. You’re stronger than you think. If this house is a nightmarish hell house, then so what? You’ve survived nightmares for years. The red room, the throne of body parts, you’re used to that. What can this house throw at you that could possibly be worse?
So, with a deep breath, I pushed open the symbol-covered door and entered the bowels of the house, embracing the nightmare.
Chapter Nine
The hallway stretched out in front of me and seemed to go on forever, a gaping, black hole leading me into the abyss. Victorian-style wallpaper embellished the walls on both sides of me, and also ran across the ceiling, a misshaped flower pattern that made me dizzy. The burgundy red carpet was covered in centuries of dust. Old-fashioned light fixtures decorated the walls, illuminating the path in front of me.
One door on each side marked the path, and I swallowed hard. This looked exactly like those haunted house rides that I hated. One of the doors would pop open and a monster would appear—except this time, it would be a real monster, and not a plastic one controlled by a computer.
I took a few hesitant steps. Scared or not, I had to go through with this, find whatever courage I had, and make the best of it.
If the doors had no purpose, then they wouldn’t be in here. They were clearly incorporated in the hallway for a reason.
Still, I was relieved when the first door didn’t burst open, revealing a ghoul or a ghost, or something else that would give me a heart attack. Instead, the door stayed shut until I turned the doorknob and opened it.
Behind it was a gallery filled with paintings. In the eerie, dark-yellow glow of the Victorian lights, each of the paintings looked terribly creepy. On the wall opposite the door hung a large, ancient banner with the words “A shimmer of destiny” embroidered upon it in flowery handwriting.
Balling my hands into fists and trying to control the fear coursing through me, I looked at the paintings in more detail, starting with the one closest to the exit.
The first was a small painting of a familiar scene. My mother and I, eating pizza in front of the TV and watching romcoms. It was our favorite quality-time activity, and we always laughed out loud when one of the characters acted in an over-the-top way, which happened just about once every five minutes. Mom used to say romance was so cliché, and I always agreed, partly because I felt sorry for her considering the way my father had treated her. She hadn’t dated anyone since; she wasn’t even interested in finding love, as far as I knew.
The painting made me miss her. I hoped she was okay, especially after what had happened this morning.
I moved on from this painting to the next. This scene depicted Cassie and I at Joe’s Diner, devouring hamburgers and French fries. Cassie was blessed with a phenomenal metabolism—maybe courtesy to her being a siren—which allowed her to eat whatever she wanted to without gaining an ounce of fat, a quality I certainly envied her for. We were both smiling in the portrait, looking happy.
The next painting, I recognized the moment I noticed its color. I almost turned around right there and then, fleeing from the room, but Cassie’s words resonated in my mind. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.
So, I stood my ground and faced the painting of the red room, with its blood-soaked walls and its throne of flesh and body parts. Whatever magic had created this portrait gallery, it had pulled these pictures from my mind. They were memories, flashes of my life up till now, and whether I liked it or not, the nightmares were part of my life too. They had always been, for as long as I could remember.
I quickly moved on from the red room to the next painting, a bigger one this time. It showed me, Cassie and the guys standing in an enormous, medieval-style ballroom with two-story high ceilings and stained-glass windows. Was this the Academy? It looked enormous.
Okay, so far so good. If this was a shimmer of destiny, then it wasn’t all bad.
I moved on to the next canvas, which showed Alec and I sitting in some kind of library, studying together. So, maybe that meant I was a warlock like him? Or a witch, to use the term for the female equivalent. That I hadn’t manifested any powers yet, perhaps didn’t mean I necessarily didn’t have any. I studied the painting in more detail. Alex was touching the tip of my nose, and I was laughing, and we seemed to be having a good time.
Book closets were lined up against the back wall, which was partially covered by a shadow. I couldn’t really make out what in the painting was casting this shadow, but I wasn’t bothered much by it. The most important thing was that I seemed to be enjoying myself.
Enjoying myself at an Academy for the Wicked… I would’ve never thought it possible.
In the next composition, I was sitting in a classroom next to Christian. He was showing me something in the handbook lying in front of me, his arm touching mine. I thought of the look in his eyes when I had grabbed hold of him back in the diner, and a pleasant shiver coursed through me.
I quickly glanced at the other students depicted on the canvas. I didn’t recognize any of the others, but one student seemed a bit off. Maybe it was a mismatched play of light, but one of them, near the back of the room, seemed completely covered in shadows.
Frowning, I turned to the adjacent painting, which showed Tristan and I having a picnic… in a graveyard of
