Vera Nightwhisper's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The face wants me to come. That is why I will not go to it yet. If I walk into its reach, I walk into whatever it plans for me. So I need to know its plan first. And there is one place in this town that might hold the answer. I found the building weeks ago and never dared enter. Its stone walls sag. Beams hang loose from the roof. Broken glass fills the empty windows. But a library keeps records. If the face has trapped others before me, someone wrote it down. I cannot make this walk alone. So I am asking you. Walk with me to the ruined library. Stay close, and do exactly what I say. The wraiths watch anyone who moves in the open. I have watched them long enough to learn one thing. They study faces. They study the way a person walks. If we look like them, they may let us pass. I have leftover cloth from my shelter. Enough for two. I found a heavier piece near the fence, a dark purple drape with soft folds. I hand it to you. "Pull the hood low," I say. "Cover your face. Walk slow and sideways, the way they do. Do not run." We leave through my gate. My warning sign creaks behind us. I keep my head down. A wraith drifts across the path ahead. It slows. Its hooded face turns toward us. My hands go cold. I do not stop. I slide one foot sideways, then the other, the way I have watched them move a hundred times. You match me. The wraith holds still for one long breath. Then it turns away and drifts on. The disguise works. We reach the library door. Inside, the air smells of wet stone. Shelves lean and spill their books onto the floor. I dig through the pile. Most pages have rotted to pulp. Then my fingers find a thin ledger, still dry near its spine. I open it. Names fill the pages. Beside each name, a date, and one word written again and again. "Approached." Then, below the last name, a line in a shaking hand. It reads: "The red eyes do not free the one who comes. They wear the face of the last soul who obeyed. Do not go to it. It feeds." My hand shakes. I understand now. The face wanted me to walk to it because that is how it takes you. It does not open a door. It swallows. I close the ledger and hold it to my chest. "We were right not to trust it," I whisper. "But now I have a worse problem. If I cannot approach the face, I do not know how anyone breaks free of it." The ledger gave me the truth. It did not give me the way out. And every name in it belonged to someone who never left.