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Chapter Ten
Iwake to the toll of church bells and the memory of fetid flesh lingering in my nostrils.
I’d like to convince myself that it was all a terrible nightmare, that I’m back in my studio apartment in Chelsea with only Korsakov’s ire to worry about, but I’m lying in a bed that isn’t my own, and my body aches like never before.
I remember …
Annika leading me along secret passageways and steep stairs to the sanctum.
The grisly remains of the high priestess’s mutilated body behind the altar.
That monster with its red eyes and charred flesh, sinking its claws and teeth into my helpless body.
And yet here I am, staring up at a soothing canopy of silks in taupe and robin’s-egg blue.
“How am I not dead?” I croak, asking no one in particular.
“Send word that she is awake,” an unfamiliar voice whispers.
I try shifting my head toward the speaker. A sharp pain radiates through my neck, drawing a hiss from my lips.
“Be careful. You are still healing.” A woman in a white robe trimmed in gold appears by my bedside, concern etched into her forehead. Her outfit reminds me of a nun’s habit, though the gold veil is translucent and airy, her corn silk hair visible beneath.
“How long has it been?” My voice is hoarse.
“Three days.” She offers a weary smile—the first genuine one I’ve seen in what feels like forever. “You must be thirsty. Allow me.” Settling onto the edge of my bed, she slides a gentle hand against my nape and elevates my head. “Drink, but slowly.”
I manage a few sips of water from the silver mug she holds to my lips, my gaze searching her features. Gray touches her temples and weaves through her hair, crow’s-feet crinkle at the corners of her eyes, laugh lines frame her mouth. She’s in her fifties if I had to guess.
Swallowing hurts.
“Thanks,” I say as she slips her hand free. I don’t have the energy to pull myself up. “What happened?”
“You do not remember?” Round, steel-blue eyes search my face.
“That depends. Was the big, scary demon with giant horns real?”
“The daaknar. Yes, it most certainly was real.”
I sigh. Thank God. I thought I’d lost my mind. Though I’m not sure I wouldn’t prefer that to the other reality—that my father’s been right all along, and demons exist. “It killed that woman.”
Deep sorrow carves into her expression. “High Priestess Margrethe succumbed to her injuries, yes.”
She knew her. Well, I suspect. Given her robes, I’m guessing she’s somehow affiliated with the church. A church that idolizes gods with horns protruding from their heads. What fresh hell has Sofie dropped me into?
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
The woman bows her head in acknowledgment.
Sleep tugs at my feeble body, but I have too many questions. “What happened after that thing attacked me?” How did I not suffer the same fate as the high priestess?
“It died. You killed it.”
“What? No … that’s not possible.” I search my foggy memory. It had me in its jaws. I was defenseless against it. “It bit me.”
“Yes, we have not been able to explain it either. To my knowledge, no one has ever survived an attack like that.” Her voice is doubtful, as if she’s still grappling with that truth. “We believe the daaknar tried to feed off you, but your blood harmed it.”
“It fed off me?” My face twists with horror.
