Death Marked Read online

  A quick slash barely grazed Rohan’s cheek, and he slammed his fist into Altemus’s face with a satisfying crunch.

  Rohan kicked Altemus in the ribs. The old man groaned, but before Rohan could make another move, Altemus had his leg and they were rolling through the sand. There was only one way out—Rohan brought his knee hard into Altemus’s groin, collapsing the old man.

  Rohan grabbed the knife and spun, ready for the attack. This was his chance, but would the portal remain open if he took the old man’s life?

  Regardless, Altemus couldn’t be allowed to live, not after what he’d just done. Not after trying to kill Rohan.

  Just a simple stab to the throat. Rohan willed himself forward, telling himself it would be so easy, painless, like slicing butter. He lifted the knife, but hesitated.

  Altemus pounced and sank his teeth deep into Rohan’s arm. He ripped out a bite of flesh, then slammed his fist into Rohan’s jaw and elbowed him in the temple.

  Rohan staggered back, his vision reeling. But he still had the knife.

  Altemus charged again, but Rohan tripped him, sending him face-first into the sand.

  “It’s over,” Rohan said, knife raised.

  Altemus staggered to his feet, ready to continue the fight. But suddenly, his face changed as the ethereal light dimmed.

  “We’ve missed our window,” Altemus said in horror. He scooted back, his expression filling with hatred. “You made this happen. Why?!”

  Sure enough, the river of light had lost its luster. Slowly, the flames along the edge of the crater were returning. The clouds broke up and dispersed. As Rohan stared at the sky in disbelief, he heard boots in the sand again and he readied himself. But then he turned and saw that Altemus was running away. The old man was several yards off already, disappearing into the desert night.

  In the Door to Hell, the river of light was almost gone. Wisps of light escaped into the air, sparkling and whispering as they slid through the sky with an otherworldly glow. Rohan watched them fade into the horizon, wondering what they were. Then the fires of the Door to Hell were flicked back to normal, as if the ritual had never happened. The heat blasted Rohan again, and it felt even hotter than before.

  Everything had gone wrong. He never should have gotten mixed up with Altemus. He should have suspected him from the beginning.

  Rohan kicked himself for being a grieving idiot. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so desperate, he would have seen through the old man’s plan.

  Maybe there had been a chance to bring Senna back, but that chance was gone. Now he had to get out of Turkmenistan. That much was clear.

  He stumbled back to the camp where they had left the Jeep, his head spinning. If he encountered Altemus again, he’d be ready to fight.

  Memories flittered across his mind—a night with Senna when they’d gone to the ocean and simply lain there in each other’s arms, listening to the waves. A time when they’d gone hiking and she’d pulled him off the path to “enjoy each other’s bodies,” as she’d put it. And the last night he saw her, the night of delusional yelling and crying, the night before she had died.

  His legs gave out and he collapsed. But instead of trying to stand, he closed his eyes, just lying there. The dark sand pressed cold against his face. His will to fight, to carry on, was gone, but he had no other choice. His only hope was to make it to the Jeep, and he pulled himself to his feet and started to stagger through the sands.

  He glanced back to see green light filling the sky and wisps of light dancing across the sands. The wisps resembled human forms, and the sight of them got him running. He pushed himself forward, each step thudding after the next, his mind like mush. Almost there, he told himself, but more than once he tripped, sprawling across the sand, and debated staying there. But no, he wouldn’t go out like that. Not here.

  Drenched in sweat and feeling like his legs would never work again, Rohan stumbled down a dune, and the familiar boxy shape of the Jeep rose into view.

  He jumped in, found the keys where Lev had hidden them under the seat, and peeled off, leaving a cloud of sand behind him.

  Rohan hated himself for not seeing through Altemus sooner, for putting his trust in the man who had been Senna’s doctor. Now his chance of reunion with her was over. Possibly gone forever. Unless he was willing to stoop to the level of Altemus. Could he learn the way of human sacrifice to get what he wanted? What he needed? A shudder ran down his spine and he shook his head. Never. He didn’t believe he could go down that path. Senna would never forgive him.

  He slammed his fist on the dashboard, tears welling up in his eyes and obscuring the road ahead.

  For now, making it back to the hotel in Ashgabat was his priority. He could stay overnight and catch a flight back to the U.S. the next morning. Then it would all be over. After that, well, he’d figure out what to do when the time came.

  Sandy dust and exhaust filled the vehicle, and Rohan’s sweat stung his eyes when he tried to wipe the tears away. He rummaged on the front seat, searching for a cloth, and was about to stop the Jeep when something caught his eye—a flash of light.

  He blinked.

  Again it came. A glimmer of silver crossed his path and he swerved, almost overturning the Jeep. He hit the brake and skidded to a halt. The Jeep still rumbling, Rohan looked back to see what it was.

  Nothing there.

  Peering into the darkness, he thought about getting out to investigate. A tinge of panic took him as he realized what that flash of light could have been. They’d opened a portal. Maybe it was a hallucination, but based on everything he’d just witnessed, it could be so much more.

  He stepped on the gas, pulling back onto the road as fast as the Jeep would accelerate. Then there she was—a silhouette of a woman standing in the road, right in front of him. Her eyes glowed and seemed to penetrate his soul.

  He braked as hard as he could, but it was too late. The leather of the steering wheel gave slightly as he gripped it tightly, preparing for impact. But there was none.

  The lights of the Jeep highlighted an empty desert, no sign of any woman.

  “Forget this,” he told himself as he stomped on the accelerator and prayed he would be able to make it back to the hotel in Ashgabat.

  Chapter 5: The Grand Hotel

  Rohan woke with a start. The desert was gone, replaced by a sumptuous hotel room. Lavish curtains hung over the windows, and paintings of desert landscapes covered the walls.

  He sat up, massaging his temples. Memories of the fight with Altemus returned.

  But where was he? He looked around, slowly remembering. The hotel—he had stayed here before driving to the Door to Hell.

  The night before, he had driven all the way back to Ashgabat, to the hotel. He was in so much pain that he didn’t really remember the trip. He just remembered getting into the Jeep and encountering the spirit on the road. After that, his body must have switched to autopilot.

  He ran his hands along the bed. He had slept on top of the covers, too tired to pull them back. The blankets were plush, and the monogrammed towels that had rested on the bed's edge were now draped down to the floor. Rohan must have kicked them in his sleep.

  He almost laughed at the sight of the arabesque windows and huge king bed. Unnecessary extravagance—but it’s what Altemus had insisted on. The old man was a doctor, living the high life. He had probably been used to these types of hotels.

  A low hum from the air conditioning unit kicked in. Rohan threw his legs over the edge of the bed, pausing to stare at the floor. Glimpses of the river of light danced across his vision like a distant dream.

  He sighed and stood, wondering what was next. He could go back to his home in the U.S.—but where would he go? Surely not the same apartment he had shared with Senna. Did he want to live at all, after breaking his promise?

  A knock at the door, then a voice said, “Room service.”

  Rohan didn’t know if it was safe to answer, so he crept to the door and looked through the peephole. A
Turkmen in a white uniform waited on the other side, smiling.

  “Good morning, sir,” the man said when Rohan opened the door. He wheeled in a cart with several plates covered by metal domes, then bowed and left.

  The sweet and spicy scent of chai tea filled the room. Rohan lifted the metal domes, unveiling eggs and sausage, toast with several spreads of jelly, and half a green melon.

  Rohan sat on the bed, nibbling at the food in silence as he tried not to let his mind wander. He didn't want to think about the expedition.

  The fight was a hopeless one. A warm bite into the sausage and eggs brought him back to the day before he had proposed to Senna. He had made his own sausage and eggs poorly that morning, scraping burnt eggs off the bottom of the pan because he was thinking about all the ways his proposal might go wrong.

  The plan was simple. He had booked a magic gig on the west side of town. A kids’ birthday party. Rohan promised the parents a show for free if they let him bring Senna along and work his proposal into the last act. Rohan wowed the kids with a few card tricks and a mentalist gimmick he’d learned from an old man in New Orleans. Senna had sat in the back of the audience, smiling at him softly and clapping with the children, the gold stud in her nose glinting every time she turned her head. When it was time for the last trick, he asked Senna for help. She picked a card, showed it to the audience, and then inserted it back into the deck. When he guessed her card, she gasped at the sight of the ring taped to the opposite side. He bent down on one knee, and she said yes before his knee hit the ground.

  Funny how food could bring back memories so vividly. He missed Senna, missed the old days when they had done everything together. The days before her mental illness revealed itself, before every day was borrowed.

  When he finished eating, he started a warm bath and eased into the soothing water. His bruises swelled, but soon most of the pain subsided.

  He closed his eyes and rested against the porcelain wall of the tub. The lavender scent of the hotel soap took him to another place and time, when he’d held Senna in his arms on a warm summer day in the backyard, among flapping clotheslines of fresh laundry. That had been before she started hearing voices, rambling about the dead walking among the living. If only he’d known back then that Altemus had played some part in all that.

  It didn't matter now. He closed his eyes, considering what he would do next.

  The air in the room shifted, causing the wet hairs on his arm to stand up.

  Someone was with him. A woman. He sensed her—but it was more than that.

  He felt her.

  “Senna?” he asked.

  He opened his eyes to see a woman in the room, iridescent and blurry, her body outlined by a glowing aura. Her skin looked like it had once been caramel-colored. Her long, curly hair flowed about her as if submerged in water.

  Rohan flinched backward. This couldn’t be real.

  He reached for his towel and stood slowly, with every intention of running from the room. The spirit flashed forward, directly in front of him, her wide, frightened eyes staring at him in confusion.

  “Wh-who are you?” he asked as he backed away, exiting the bathtub.

  The spirit opened her mouth, but no words came out. She held her throat, eyes pleading with him, as she tried to speak again. This time she screamed, still with no sound. He watched her mouth working in the silent scream, still in frightened awe, when suddenly, her voice pierced the silence. Rohan fell to his knees, hands over his ears.

  “Sorry,” the spirit said. “I’m so… sorry.”

  Her words didn’t seem directed at him, though. She’d turned from him, as if she was talking to someone else. But there was no one there.

  “I don’t understand,” Rohan said, covering himself with his towel again as he stood. “You’re not Senna. You don’t belong here.”

  “I—I'm Corinne. Where am I? How did I get here?”

  Something must have worked with the ritual the night before. This spirit had escaped, and followed him. The flash of light he’d seen outside of the Jeep had looked like a woman, too. But he’d convinced himself it had been an illusion brought on by fatigue and stress.

  “You have to go back,” he said, trying to sound calm. “Leave me.”

  She stared at him, then spun into the air, scanning the room. “Show me the way out, then.” She floated toward a wall, but flew back, as if repelled by an invisible force. She hovered before him, eyes now wild with frustration.

  He lifted a hand, and reached for her.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping back, but he was too fast. He touched her shoulder, and they watched as his hand went right through her. She stared in horror, then slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. “So this is what it’s like….”

  “What?”

  “To be… a spirit.” She floated over to his bed and sat on the edge.

  Rohan put on a robe, surprised at how calm he now felt. Any other person would have run out of the hotel room screaming by now. But in the last few days, he'd seen worse things than this.

  “I was with my family, I was….” Corinne paused, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to remember something. “No, that’s not right, either. How long was it since…?” She held her head. A soft whimper escaped her silvery lips.

  “Are you okay?” Rohan asked. Though it still felt strange having a conversation with a ghost, he wasn’t sure what else to do.

  “Yes, just… it hurts to try to remember. As if slivers of the memories are there, but other parts are just beyond my reach.”

  “Do you remember coming here?” he asked, sitting beside her on the bed. He noticed that her form on the mattress did not shift at all from his weight as he sat down.

  “No, I don’t belong here.” She looked at him with frightened eyes. “But I have to go back.”

  “Back? Back to where?”

  “The desert, where you found me,” she said. “Where you set me free.”

  He stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry.

  “You did set me free, didn’t you?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t me.” He stood, turning from her. “It was an old man… Altemus. And he’s dangerous. All of this, it’s way too, dangerous. I can’t go back.”

  Corinne stared at him, eyes burning with fury. “So I’m stuck here because you’re a coward?”

  “I almost died!”

  “Then why was the gate opened?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You’re just going to walk away, then?” she asked, furious. “The seal between the two worlds has been broken! Things will never be the same.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

  The spirit stood and put her hands on her hips. “You can’t run away from this.”

  “Enough!” Rohan turned and started packing what little he had into his backpack. He put on a t-shirt and loose jeans.

  “Where are you going?” she asked,

  “As far from here as possible."

  He reached for the door, but felt a shiver of energy course through him. He glanced at her, wondering what she was doing, but then the feeling faded. He slung his bag over his shoulder.

  “Listen,” Rohan said. “The act that brought you here required death, a blood sacrifice. I can only imagine the same would be necessary to get you back to wherever you’ve come from, and I’m not doing it.”

  She stared at him with her wide, sad eyes.

  “You think I wanted this?” He kicked the wall in his fury. “Senna was never supposed to leave me. NEVER! And now, after I failed to save her and then failed again to bring her back, after I came so close, you want me to go through it all again? Hell no!”

  He stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him. In the hallway, the lights flickered overhead and silver energy flowed through the air. The tingling feeling started again, then grew stronger… and stronger. He had to stop and lean against the wall as a searing wave of energy struck him.

  He spun and shouted, “For t
he love of God, stop this!”

  She had followed him out of the room, looking concerned. With a step toward him, she reached out to touch his arm.

  “Don’t,” he said. He reached to push her away, but instead his hands went through her again as her silvery form caught him in its energy. They began spiraling around each other, and the silvery light grew brighter.

  Along the hallway, doors opened, then slammed shut again as people screamed.

  Rohan looked down and saw flames shooting from his fingertips, setting the hotel’s floral wallpaper on fire.

  “Make it stop!” he shouted. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m not!” she called out, and then she fell to the floor. She pushed herself up and looked around in horror as the flames licked the ceiling. “What’ve you done?”

  “How…?”

  But there was no time to think. The hotel guests poured out of their rooms and ran down the hallway in a mad rush to escape the flames. A few stopped to snap photos of Rohan with their phones before dashing away.

  Corinne appeared in front of him. “You want to survive? Bring this to an end? Then we have to get out of here, now.”

  Rohan shook his head. "No. I'm not going to be a part of this."

  He ran, merging with the crowd of foreigners like himself, not stopping until he was out of the hotel.

  Once he was clear, Rohan stopped to look back. The great gray building, old and majestic, with its slick stone veneer and arabesque circular windows, was hopelessly on fire. Gray smoke billowed in the sky above the hotel, and sirens filled the air. Soon, fire trucks pulled up and the crews went to work, but Rohan could tell the building was lost.

  “You did this,” Corinne said. She had caught up with him. “Do you see why we can’t just run from this? Why it has to be set right?”

  He licked his lips and prepared an argument, but he knew she was right.

  Below, police talked to a group of hotel guests. They spoke frantically, and then pointed to where Rohan was standing.

  His eyes widened. "Crap!"

  He tried to slip into an alley, but it was too late. A fleet of police cars swarmed the sidewalk and officers jumped out, pointing their guns at him. They were shouting, but none of it made any sense. Hands held out to show he was unarmed, he lowered himself to his knees.