For the last six months of my internship, I had settled down with my nose to the grindstone so I could work my way up to a stable, higher-paying career. I had been helping in a project to design new sustainable buildings for the nearby community college campus. It was a start, and when I was feeling more positive, I managed to think of it as a stepping stone.

  But to be honest, it was boring as hell, and at this point, I had no idea where I was even stepping to.

  In getting my degree, I had found myself far more interested in old buildings than in new ones. It would’ve felt cliche to say out loud, but sometimes I felt like I had been born in the wrong time, architecturally speaking.

  What it came down to was the simple fact that I thought buildings should be fucking awesome. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that despite humans spending so much time in buildings, their designs went from inspiring to mind-numbingly dull in recent times. To me, things like the faceless, dime-a-dozen campus buildings I was designing were lame as hell. So much of modern architecture was boring and predictable, and it was usually designed to be as cheap and efficient as possible.

  Or sometimes just cheap. Like my shitty, thin-walled, eighth-story apartment in Arizona.

  I liked buildings that had character. And as I looked at the inn around me, I had to admit, this place had a lot. Sure, it was run-down and probably haunted. My architecture professors would have shuddered in horror at the bastardization of styles here, but my mind immediately went to work imagining ways to make this place a cleaner and cooler version of what it already was.

  I was pulled out of my thoughts as I reached the second floor, and I paused to look down the hallway. When I flipped on the light there, I saw there were several rooms branching off from it. Their arched doors were all made of the same old dark oak wood as the others in the house, and all of them were closed. I guessed these might be some of the many guest rooms of the inn.

  I continued upward to find that the third floor was pretty much the same situation, and I was about to head down the hallway and take a look inside the rooms, but then something at the top of the next landing caught my eye, and I paused.

  “Much more interesting,” I murmured to myself.

  The first door visible in the fourth-story hallway was different from any other doors I had seen in this house so far. It was narrower, and it had a slender peaked top with a slight slant to it, instead of the arch I had seen in all the other doorways. It looked like it was made of a different sort of wood, too. It was lighter in color, but its surface was more irregular, almost like it was made from melted tree roots. The door’s handle was huge and ornate, but its gold surface looked ancient and tarnished.

  I glanced down at the keys in my hand, and my eyes found the gold one with a design that looked like twisting tree roots. It kind of matched the strange design of the door.

  Finally, I shrugged and slid the key into the dark keyhole. It fit snugly and then turned with a crisp, low click that somehow seemed to echo in my ears.

  The golden door knob turned easily under my hand before I opened the door.

  Then I groped around for a light switch inside the room and didn’t find one, but thanks to a single narrow window near the ceiling, there was enough light to see by.

  This room was pretty bare compared to the clutter I’d seen in the rest of the inn, and it looked even more old-timey, maybe even vaguely medieval. There was an old four-poster bed in the middle, and on the bedside table was something that looked like an oil lamp. The woven mat on the floor looked like it was made of thick plant segments that reminded me of bamboo.

  I let the door swing shut behind me, and I jumped slightly at the brisk snapping sound it made even though I hadn’t even given it a push.

  My eyes were immediately drawn to an ancient-looking trunk on the other side of the room. It was made of oiled brown wood that was the same color as the wood of the room’s door, and it had the classic shape of a treasure chest, with an arched lid that was closed with a clasp.

  I stared at it with intrigue as I skirted the bed and crossed the room toward the trunk, but I felt slightly apprehensive, too. The trunk was practically big enough to hide a body in. The administrator had told me that the inspectors had given up before they were done checking this place out, too.

  So… What if Professor Wersnop had been up to something more sinister than simple speculative nonsense?

  The trunk’s clasp rattled when I undid it, and the hinges squeaked softly as I opened the lid.

  I let out a breath as it became clear there wasn’t any type of body, living or dead, to be found in the trunk. There was only an old brown rucksack and a weathered-looking scroll of brown paper.

  I was both relieved and slightly disappointed at the two non-shocking items, and I wondered if the inn really did have themed rooms as I reached for the scroll. That would definitely fit with the weird medieval feel in here.

  The paper of the scroll seemed old and weathered, but sturdy. It was crisp and crackly under my fingers as I unrolled it.

  “Whoa,” I muttered.

  It was a map.

  But not a map of anywhere I had seen before. This thing looked like it was straight out of a fantasy book.

  The main focus of the map was a disorganized mass of buildings that I thought was a town. It was full of twisting roads and alleys drawn out with tiny cobblestones on them.

  “Kohvra,” I read softly.

  Other than the neat, careful lines and labels for street and region names, there were also small black stars marking specific places in the town. I held the map slightly closer to my face as I roamed my eyes over their labels. They sounded almost like store names, but all strange, medieval, and mystical: Spellcasters’ Bazaar, Upper North Shadow Market, The Sleeping Mouse Market Fair.

  Then I noticed the only splash of color that existed on the whole map. It was inside a neat box of a building that was labeled “BBBBB&B.”

  “Okay…” I muttered to myself as I wondered what the hell that meant.

  I was so absorbed in my contemplation of the map that it took a few moments for the sound of voices to register in my brain.

  I hurriedly straightened up from my bent position and stared at the gnarled wooden door with confusion.

  “No fucking way,” I swore under my breath.

  This place was completely abandoned. I had just seen it for myself when I walked across half the building, and there had been nothing but silent, dusty corners.

  The sound I heard now was unmistakable, though. It was a steady buzz of animated human conversation.

  I paused as my mind raced to figure out what the hell this meant. Had I developed some obscure form of tinnitus? Did I drink enough water today? Was I going insane?

  My frown deepened, and I remembered what the administrator had said about the appraisers not finishing their jobs here. Could someone have snuck into the inn? Squatters? Burglars?

  This sure as hell didn’t seem like a high-crime area to me. But then again, if someone were to target a place in this neighborhood, I guessed there was a high chance they’d pick the ancient, crumbling old inn that looked like it would be easier to break into.

  But… Why would a whole crowd of people break into the abandoned inn?

  My mind strayed to the other possibility: This shit really was haunted.

  I took a step toward the door, but then stopped to consider for a moment.

  I looked around and scoured the room for something I could use as a weapon, on the off chance that I hadn’t gone absolutely bonkers, but it was almost completely empty. I guessed I could smash someone over the head with the oil lamp, but it didn’t seem like the best weapon. Other than that, my options pretty much consisted of rolling the floor-mat up and smacking someone over the head with it.

  Whether I was about to deal with a crowd of unbelievably chatty burglars or a bunch of ghosts having a banquet in the inn’s dining room, shattering a clay lamp over their heads didn’t seem like the most effective strategy. Neither did swatting them with the mat like a cartoon dog with a rolled-up newspaper.

  With slight desperation, I turned back to the still-open trunk and reached inside to shift the rucksack aside so I could see if there was anything underneath.

  There wasn’t, but the rucksack felt a little heavier than it should have, and there was a faint clunking noise as something inside dragged across the wooden bottom of the chest.

  I quickly lifted the rucksack out, unbuttoned the leather flap, and looked inside.

  My eyes widened slightly as I caught sight of what looked like a dagger.

  I pulled it out with mounting disbelief, and I wrapped my fingers tightly around the leather-wrapped hilt to slowly free it from its stiff leather scabbard. It slid out easily with a small, soft rush. The sound wasn’t like the ringing swoosh you hear in fantasy movies when the heroes draw their weapons, but it still sent a small thrill through me.

  And so did the sight of the light playing off the blade.

  It was a plain weapon with a rough, leather-wrapped hilt, but as I traced a finger over the blade, it felt entirely real, and entirely sharp.

  My inner nerd may have done a little dance in the back of my mind.

  I had done some fencing with swords in my historical European martial arts training club back at college, and although it certainly never got me any dates, I’d had a fucking blast in that club. There was something innately awesome about wielding a bladed weapon with actual precision. So few people could do that kind of shit these days, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been tempted to make it a major lifestyle thing at the time. But for obvious reasons, I didn’t carry a sword around with me throughout my college days.

  Then again, if I ended up keeping this place, it was exactly the kind of house I could probably get away with being an absolute weirdo in.

  Daggers weren’t what I had the most experience with in those practice sessions, but I knew enough that the weapon was reassuring in my hand as I walked slowly toward the door.

  This was a drafty, ancient inn. I knew that the odds made it more likely that I was imagining things. Or maybe there was some type of hallucinogenic mold growing in the walls here. But it still felt good to carry something sharp and deadly in my hand as I approached the door.

  I paused with my hand on the golden handle.

  A chill ran up my spine as I once again wondered if this place was haunted.

  Then I remembered I was a grown-ass man in the twenty-first century, and I rolled the tension from my shoulders.

  “Focus, Sam,” I breathed.

  Despite the shock of this inn apparently being mine, I wasn’t about to be chased out of it by these voices.

  No matter how many of them there were.

  Still, my palms were slick all of a sudden, and I wiped them on my dark jeans before I held the dagger tightly in my hand again and opened the door just wide enough to poke my head out.

  I froze in place and stared wildly around at the hallway as I tried to figure out what was different about it.

  Then I realized it was absolutely everything.

  Well, the odd-looking door I had just come through was the same. But that was about it.

  Unlike before, the hallway’s floor was now made of the same light-brown, gnarled wood as the door. It had the same slightly melted-looking appearance, but it still had plenty of knots and bumps in it. I knelt down to run a finger over the surface.

  Yep. It felt one hundred percent real.

  “Alright,” I breathed. “So, maybe I just didn’t notice the wood befo…”

  I trailed off as I took in the sight of a carpet of woven plants that stretched down the whole hallway. It was like a longer version of the one I had seen in the room I just walked out of, but it looked greener and fresher.

  Then I stepped out into the hall, and my foot crunched down on the mat. Just like the mat in the room, the sound it made was sharp and crisp. But with this mat a jelly-like liquid immediately leaked out where the stalks had broken, and an aroma like lavender filled the air.

  Okay, there was no way in hell that had been here in the hallway before. I would’ve remembered the sight, sound, and smell of it.

  I blinked a few times, drew a deep breath, and decided to double-check how sound my mind was at the moment.

  I thought back on the first half of this day, how busy it had been, and the fact that I hadn’t eaten yet. I had woken up late enough that I had to rush to catch my flight. Then, after the plane ride, I had decided against stopping for food so I wouldn’t have to haul ass driving the rest of the way here in the rental car.

  What if I was having some kind of hunger-induced hallucination?

  That was better than full-on insanity.

  I gave my head a brisk shake to clear it and rubbed my temples.

  “Well…” I sighed and pushed my racing thoughts away so I could boil my next step down to the most basic logic. “Can’t stand here all day.”

  I needed to head downstairs.

  If there really were people who had broken into the inn, I was determined to keep the element of surprise, so I took light, soft steps down the hall. As I started down the stairs, I pushed away the glaringly obvious fact that these definitely weren’t the same stairs I had come up just a few minutes ago.

  After all, that seemed crazy, and I wasn’t crazy. Was I?

  Instead of freaking out, I focused on watching for any more knots or bumps in the wood below my feet. I clutched the dagger tightly in my hand as I headed slowly downstairs, and I tested each step with my weight first to avoid the creakiest parts. The voices downstairs were getting steadily louder as I approached, and I eased off on the sneaking a bit as I realized the scuff of my footsteps was completely drowned out by the babbling.

  My stomach lurched slightly as I got to the lowest landing of the stairs, and a door came into view.

  In a place where before, there had only been a curtain.

  “What the fuck…” I breathed.

  I remembered that curtain clearly. It had looked like a tapestry with swirling purple designs and pearl beads on it.

  But now it was gone, and it sounded like I was standing just feet away from a room packed full of boisterous people. I was sure I could see movement through the tiny gaps in the door’s planks, and the sound made its way clearly through them, too. There were so many voices that the buzz of conversation still sounded almost wordless to me, even up close. I could hear the occasional shout of laughter raised over the other voices, or sometimes even the odd collective whoop of mirth, like something hilarious had just happened. But other than that, it was an overwhelming, wordless babbling.

  I stared at the wooden door facing me and forced myself to breathe steadily. Then I let out a slow, measured sigh.

  Crowds were definitely not my thing, and this crowd in particular was getting on my last nerve, mostly because it had to be either a hallucination, the world’s fifty worst breakers-and-enterers, or something that really was… what was the word the administrator had used for my old professor’s interests?

  “Supernatural,” I muttered under my breath. I shook my head again, and then I steeled myself. “Well, here goes nothing.”

  I reached out, gripped the door’s wooden handle, and pulled it open just enough to peek through.

  As much as I had tried to brace myself for anything, what I saw on the other side of the door made my mouth fall open in shock.

  Chapter 2

  The room I was looking into was definitely not the parlor-like lobby of the inn I had just inherited.

  Instead of steady LED light bulbs, this room was lit by the flickering glow of a thousand candles packed onto every visible surface. The ceiling was a lot lower, and now it was made of the same unfamiliar, light-brown, gnarled wood as the floor below.

  There were about a hundred more differences I could have noted, like the fact that there were a bunch of small round tables and chairs clustered throughout the room, and that there was a long wooden bar stretching across one wall that most definitely hadn’t been there before.

  But the most noticeable thing by far was that the room was packed full of people.

  Considering I had heard their voices all the way from up on the fourth floor, maybe seeing the people with my own eyes shouldn’t have felt like it sent a shock wave through my body.

  But it did, and more shock waves continued to rock me as I took in each new detail of the scene in front of me.

  The most unbelievable and yet glaringly obvious part was that only about half these people were human.

  The others were what I might still refer to as “people,” but only if I were talking about a fantasy novel or a movie. They ranged from not-quite-human to holy-shit-what-the-fuck-is-that.

  Among them were beings I would have called orcs at first glance, but when I looked more closely, I saw that their skin was tough and gnarled like tree bark. Some had jagged slashes in their knotty surface, and it looked like the skin there was affected by tree rot or being slowly eaten by termites. A few of these orc-like creatures even had mushrooms and moss growing in various places on their bodies, although there wasn’t a single leaf visible on any of them.

  As I watched with my mouth open, one of them pounded on the bar’s surface with his fist. Each strike made the wooden plates and mugs on the bar rattle, and the woman sitting next to the orc hissed loudly at him as some of her drink slopped out of its mug.

  The tree bark-skinned orc ignored her completely, and he continued his relentless fist pounding until a frazzled-looking boy from behind the bar hurried up and handed him a pitcher of ale.

  The orc belched loudly in thanks. Then he reached up, plucked a fat white mushroom off the back of his neck, and tossed it down on the counter the same way someone might toss down some money after ordering a drink.

  The boy who had served the orc his drink looked no more than twelve, and his head was barely tall enough to be visible over the bar. At the sight of the mushroom, he got a look of dismay and slight disgust on his tan-skinned face, but he picked it up without comment and tucked it away somewhere.

 

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