The Haven...chapter 6

“Prison?” my voice inquired numbly,not seeming to come from myself. How could it, when I was frozen,unable to comprehend what had been said?1

Heather looked away primly, her averted eyes passively refusing to answer me. Beside her, Malachi spoke up, the unfathomable look in his strange eyes receding in favor of something slightly more human.2

“I'm sorry, Zoe, but there's no other way to keep you safe without endangering anyone else. This is the only way.”3

My chair scraped against the wooden floors as I stood. Behind me, the sunlight streamed through the windows, casting everyone in warm, golden rays. It turned Miranda's pink hair to a wild fire, and Heather's to candlelight. It revealed Nero's amused expression and the smallest evidence of pity behind Ace's pale, stoic mask. It dusted Malachi's eyelashes, softening his dark, uncertain stare. Without needing to turn around, I could tell it was going to be a beautiful day in New York.4

“So let me get this straight,” I said, shifting subtly.“Somehow, I am a 'powerful' supernatural creature who was attacked by mercenary-vampires two nights ago.”5

Miranda slowly rose, her fingers straightening her airy blue skirt as she nodded, seeming slightly relieved.6

Feeling the electric tension of adrenaline begin flooding through my limbs, I continued; “And these vampires were sent by a group of upper-level demons called the Belial, who seem to be after me for reasons unknown.”7

“Check!” Nero chimed almost gleefully, his green eyes bright.8

“Now you tell me that the Belial have surrounded the Haven, which is a sanctuary for magical beings, and that they're also watching my family. And because of this, I can't contact the people I love, I can't go home, I have to stay in the Haven and let others decide my fate like a child.”9

“That's basically right.” Miranda admitted, traces of unease appearing in her ocean-like eyes.10

“No,” I said. “That's where you're wrong.”11

Swiftly, I darted toward some unfamiliar stairs I had noticed in the kitchen. Unlike the ones I had used to enter it with Miranda, these led down, and before anyone else could stand and move to follow after me I was already flying down the steps.12

“God, she's fast!” Malachi's voice echoed far behind me alongside his quick footsteps, remarking to a few others who hurried along with him. You haven't seen anything yet, I thought,ignoring my heart's guilty lurch and doubling my pace. I had always been fast, agile,but now I had a determined panic and adrenaline on my side. A practically unbeatable combination.13

My plan was simple; When I was little, my grandfather and I had counted the floors of neighboring buildings to calm or amuse me. His hotel, The Sterne, had 23 floors, while the prestigious art museum next door had only 8. All you had to do was count the windows that traced a vertical line up the side of the building. I had seen from the kitchen that the dilapidated brick building next to ours looked to be the same height;both must have13 floors, I had reasoned when I counted on impulse. And earlier, I had surmised that the higher floors were reserved for the Haven's permanent residents, and that main kitchen was part of those quarters. 14

So all I had to do was keep climbing down, until I reached the street. I was confident that I knew the city well enough to lose Malachi and anyone else out in the open, and from there find a taxi or a subway entrance back to the safe, boring world of the Upper East Side. My mother would be ecstatic to have me back, enough that she might forgive me for the loss of one earring, a designer dress, my shoes, and the appearance of Miranda's rebellious clothes. In theory, it would be easy. I just had to push all the people who I had met in this experience out of my heart and out of my mind. That would be the hard part.15

It wasn't until I burst out of the 9th floor stairwell that I realized how wrong I was.16

The floor was a wide open space, and it was filled with people, but not the human type. They were collecting articles of clothing from bins lined against the walls, and assembled in rows clutching plates that automatically filled with food (Nero's work, I assumed). All normal activities, befitting the troubled looks on their faces, but as I sprinted forward the crowd parted for me, and I could see that not all of the residents at the Haven were permanent ones.17

There were men with horns in their curly hair and goat's hooves visible from under their blue jeans; giant humans towering over everyone else in the room, who stared at me as they bent to keep from bashing their heads against the tall ceiling. There were men, women, and teenagers with willowy figures, branches and leaves and roots protruding from their bodies as naturally as my limbs. And more, who filled my heart with their pain and worry and happiness and pride as soon as I glanced at them. By the time I made it across the room to the next stair well I was stumbling from the weight, the fullness in my chest. It was too much. I almost felt as if I would lose myself.18

I forced myself down the next flight of stairs. Was I on the 7th floor or the 6th now? Maybe I should find a window and count again, just in case. Malachi and anyone else was probably stuck in that crowd....I was surely safe.19

There were no windows in the stairwell, only in the main floors. I tripped over the lip of the doorway, and walked over to the closest window I could see. I cleaned away a small circle of grime from the dirty glass and looked across to the neighboring building. I started counting from the floor I was on, moving down.20

One....two....three...god, I was tired. I didn't usually run with what felt like 50 pounds strapped to my chest.....four....if I kept this up, I could probably join NYPD. Ha, ha, Mom would love that.....where was I again?...oh, five.....21

Suddenly, I could hear them closing in on me, feel them too. The three that had followed me from the kitchen were crashing down the stairs, joined by someone else, coming from somewhere behind me. The footsteps sounded different; quiet clicks that projected a stealthy kind of curiosity, instead of the hurried stomps that sounded ever closer.22

But no matter who they were, no matter what this new presence was, I was in trouble. Desperately, I looked around for somewhere to hide. Unlike the 9th floor, which seemed to be dedicated to feeding and clothing the supernatural,this one looked like a dormitory. It was a long, thin hallway with a creaking wooden floor and mismatched doors. The walls looked nicer than the rest of the Haven, simply because there were no holes in the neatly painted blue-gray plaster. Frantically, I tried one of the knobs. Locked.23

I could feel how close they were now, about to burst through the stairwell, to see if I was there. And those clicking footsteps were practically right behind me. Panicked, I looked around and saw a door I hadn't noticed before. I would notice in the future that it was made from a beautiful dark wood and decorated with elegant lines and carvings. Later, it would remind me of something stolen from a beautiful, traditional old house. But at the moment, I couldn't care less how aesthetic it appeared. All I wanted was for it to be unlocked.24

Darting over, I quickly turned the tasteful silver knob. Miraculously, it turned, and I slid into the room, locking it just as I heard the others swing the stairwell door open.25

“She's not here either!” Miranda wailed tiredly. I held my breath, keeping my body taut,still, and quiet against the door.26

Malachi sighed. “Damn. Well, check the doors at least. They should be locked, but you never know....Are you feeling alright, Ace?”27

I knew he wasn't, that there would be sweat dripping down his pale forehead, and that it was all he could do to keep from falling from the constant but intensified pain. But he felt as if he deserved it, that it was his penance. But for what, I couldn't guess.28

“I am fine.” Ace said in his lightly accented voice. “But I am thinking that we should go into the street. We will be able to find her best there.”29

Malachi agreed and moved toward the door, but Miranda spoke up angrily. “See,this is what you get for telling her like that!If I wasn't ready to collapse I might even say I didn't blame her!”30

He laughed, quiet and short. “So I should have tied her down or something and then told her?”31

“No, you should have used something I like to call 'tact'!” Miranda retorted. “Step one is not to let Heather get a word in!”32

Malachi was silent. Miranda made an angry noise and stomped over to the stairwell. “I don't get what you see in her!” She said, sounding just like the sister she claimed to be.33

“That's not fair!”He called after her, as the door slammed. He sighed again. “Come on, Ace.”34

Their footsteps echoed, picking up speed and bringing them farther away from me. Finally, I exhaled, sliding to my knees and leaning my forehead against the dark wood of my sanctuary.35

I was as good as cornered. If they were waiting for me on the street, there was no way I could see of getting out of this place. I couldn't try to go down and slip past them-that would simply be playing into their hands. But it looked to be my only option.36

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to hate them, all of them. But it was too late for that. I already liked them too much. After only a few hours, Miranda seemed to be a better friend than Kate had ever been, and Ace was intriguing despite his near-constant. And Malachi was Malachi; captivating, beautiful, and strange. 37

Heather and Nero were another story. One definitely didn't like me, and the other couldn't be trusted. And then there was Cassandra, my roommate, who seemed a little less than stable. I was stuck with all of them, the good, the bad, and the crazy.38

But, then again....................39

What if I could climb out of a window or something? It was the 6th or so floor, but that was undoubtedly better than the 13th.The fall would be shorter, at least. And the move would be unexpected, making it easier to escape.40

I stood up, wincing as my muscles protested, feeling the sweat on my skin. If it had been any other situation, I would have taken it slower during the run so I could go farther. But I guessed it wasn't every day that you were chased, supposedly for your own good. 41

I took a deep,self-soothing breath, and turned around. Immediately, I gasped.42

It was, without doubt, the most beautiful and intimidating room I had ever seen. Many windows illuminated the vast space, revealing walls painted the calming green of a koi pond. But the color was hidden by tall, wide built in bookshelves. Even more stood freely,stuffed with volumes and covering an ancient and gorgeous Oriental rug. I moved through them, wordlessly comparing this library with my modest collection at home. It was staggering,intellectual, and wonderfully so.43

Through the bookshelves, I could hear the sounds of an old-fashioned typewriter; the tapping of the keys, the ding of the bell as the machine reached the end of a line, even the groans of the typer as he made a mistake. I held my breath and froze. Was it yet another magical person, who would fill me with the plagues of their life?44

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, I told myself. Maybe this person would understand, would want to help. But even if they didn't, it wasn't as it were a choice for me to just stand here, or sneak around like a thief. The guy was definitely going to notice if I tried to slip out of his window.45

Slowly, I walked toward the typewriter, breathing deeply. Inhale, exhale. You don't know that anything bad will happen. The tapping, the dings grew closer, and I made my way around the last row of bookshelves.46

I had reached the wall opposite from the door, and also the one most different from the other three. It was painted the same koi-pond green, but instead of being obscured by books, it was covered with artifacts; ancient paintings, tools, and weapons, to name but a few. I had never seen most of the objects outside of a museum, if at all.A comfortable-looking, worn leather sofa leaned carefully against the chaos.47

Amidst the strange collage, there was a desk, with the noisy typewriter perched on it, as well as several books and a dozen sheets of paper. There seemed to be something, no larger than a grasshopper, jumping from key to key....48

I gasped again, and dived toward the desk, landing on my knees beside the unused chair.49

I could see a teenage boy, with perfect clarity; he looked Asian, with neatly combed black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a neat suit, perfectly matching the idea of a stereotypical college professor.50

And he was no larger than the size of my index finger.51

The tiny boy looked up from his arduous task, and smiled politely. “Ah,” he said, “it's the girl with the sky-colored eyes.”52