she knew what was happening, strong hands seized her prone form and lifted her into the air. No longer was she in her bedroom. Torches painted a cave-like chamber with bloody shadows, her bed replaced by an altar pockmarked by black splotches.
Dried blood. The altar from her vision.
Her eyes flicked back and forth, her heartbeat quickening. If her vision was right, she was about to be sacrificed. Some of the men who’d grabbed her swayed in evil prayer while the others pinned her down on the altar, the rough stone digging into her back, hinting at the agony to come. She gasped for air as she struggled desperately against her captors. She cried out, begged them to stop. Her pleas were met with soulless indifference. No emotion registered in the cultists’ stoic faces. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of light gleaming along a raised knife.Rhianna’s lips parted, voice rising in a shrill scream as the sacrificial dagger came down on her.
***
Rhianna’s cry for mercy echoed across an abandoned subway platform. She gasped, sucking in a lungful of air. The nightmare had felt so real.
She studied the lone subway car parked on the tracks and immediately recognized the station as the legendary Manchester Line from her vision. Was she experiencing another psychic flash, or had the man in black actually brought her here? Taking in her surroundings more carefully, she decided the second possibility made the most sense. The station had the solid patina of reality.
Gingerly, she took a few steps, leaving footprints behind in the dust-caked floor. To some, the Manchester Line was an urban legend but Rhianna knew better. Many famous men throughout American history had made use of the private subway station. When the Manchester Hotel was built in the 1920s, it had come with its own private subway station and car, to be used by the super-rich who frequented the place. The exclusive station remained active all the way into the seventies, until the fortunes of the Manchester family changed and the hotel was shuttered.
Rhianna would’ve thought the stories to be made up if it hadn’t been for her father. She’d only been a little girl when her dad snuck her into the decaying hotel and whisked her into the secret elevator that led to the abandoned platform. He wanted to prove to her that some myths were true and that the city she called home was filled with secrets. There were hidden worlds out there ready to be explored by those adventurous enough to look past the surface.
Setting foot in the cobwebbed station, though it was a shadow of its former glory, had filled young Rhianna with awe and instilled a healthy respect for the power of history. At the time, she had wondered if this was how the early Egyptologists felt when they first set foot into the pyramids. The forgotten subway station served as a sharp reminder that time stood still for no one, neither rich nor poor.
The station looked exactly the way she remembered it. She recalled the message she’d scrawled in blood across the floor of the medieval exhibit. It had not been a conscious act, more of a form of automatic writing triggered by the images rushing through her mind. Hopefully Artan would be able to decipher the clue.
The ancient subway car parked at the station hummed to life, interrupting her thoughts. Brilliant headlights chased away the shadows, beckoning her to come closer. The sound of the car’s engine felt out of place in the tomblike space.
Rhianna took a hesitant step toward the car. As she drew near, she became convinced that she wasn’t alone any longer. Somebody was watching her—and she had a good idea who it might be.
Anger masked her fear as she spoke. “I’m tired of your games. I don’t know who you are, but you better show yourself.”
“Or what?”
The man in black peeled from the shadows. Rhianna let out a startled cry and jumped back.
“Idle threats don’t impress me. I would have thought
Dried blood. The altar from her vision.
Her eyes flicked back and forth, her heartbeat quickening. If her vision was right, she was about to be sacrificed. Some of the men who’d grabbed her swayed in evil prayer while the others pinned her down on the altar, the rough stone digging into her back, hinting at the agony to come. She gasped for air as she struggled desperately against her captors. She cried out, begged them to stop. Her pleas were met with soulless indifference. No emotion registered in the cultists’ stoic faces. From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of light gleaming along a raised knife.Rhianna’s lips parted, voice rising in a shrill scream as the sacrificial dagger came down on her.
***
Rhianna’s cry for mercy echoed across an abandoned subway platform. She gasped, sucking in a lungful of air. The nightmare had felt so real.
She studied the lone subway car parked on the tracks and immediately recognized the station as the legendary Manchester Line from her vision. Was she experiencing another psychic flash, or had the man in black actually brought her here? Taking in her surroundings more carefully, she decided the second possibility made the most sense. The station had the solid patina of reality.
Gingerly, she took a few steps, leaving footprints behind in the dust-caked floor. To some, the Manchester Line was an urban legend but Rhianna knew better. Many famous men throughout American history had made use of the private subway station. When the Manchester Hotel was built in the 1920s, it had come with its own private subway station and car, to be used by the super-rich who frequented the place. The exclusive station remained active all the way into the seventies, until the fortunes of the Manchester family changed and the hotel was shuttered.
Rhianna would’ve thought the stories to be made up if it hadn’t been for her father. She’d only been a little girl when her dad snuck her into the decaying hotel and whisked her into the secret elevator that led to the abandoned platform. He wanted to prove to her that some myths were true and that the city she called home was filled with secrets. There were hidden worlds out there ready to be explored by those adventurous enough to look past the surface.
Setting foot in the cobwebbed station, though it was a shadow of its former glory, had filled young Rhianna with awe and instilled a healthy respect for the power of history. At the time, she had wondered if this was how the early Egyptologists felt when they first set foot into the pyramids. The forgotten subway station served as a sharp reminder that time stood still for no one, neither rich nor poor.
The station looked exactly the way she remembered it. She recalled the message she’d scrawled in blood across the floor of the medieval exhibit. It had not been a conscious act, more of a form of automatic writing triggered by the images rushing through her mind. Hopefully Artan would be able to decipher the clue.
The ancient subway car parked at the station hummed to life, interrupting her thoughts. Brilliant headlights chased away the shadows, beckoning her to come closer. The sound of the car’s engine felt out of place in the tomblike space.
Rhianna took a hesitant step toward the car. As she drew near, she became convinced that she wasn’t alone any longer. Somebody was watching her—and she had a good idea who it might be.
Anger masked her fear as she spoke. “I’m tired of your games. I don’t know who you are, but you better show yourself.”
“Or what?”
The man in black peeled from the shadows. Rhianna let out a startled cry and jumped back.
“Idle threats don’t impress me. I would have thought
Similar Books
