The Hollow Vow

Sasha blinked. The smile vanished.

"Did you see that?" she asked sharply.

"See what?" Julian moved away from the window, retreating toward the center of the room.

Sasha walked to the glass. She placed a hand against it. It was freezing. The blizzard outside was a wall of white noise, but for a second, she swore she heard something over the wind. A sound like wind chimes. Or grinding teeth.

"Tell me the terms," Sasha said, turning back to him. "The specific terms of the deal."

Julian poured another drink. His hands were shaking so bad the liquor splashed onto the mahogany table. "I was twenty-two. Desperate. I went to the Hollow. It’s covered in graffiti, trash... broken glass. They say a bride committed suicide there in the 1920s on her wedding day. I cut my hand. I dropped blood on the tracks. I said... I said, 'Make me a king, and in ten years, I'll be your husband.'"

"And?"

"And the next day, the algorithm worked. The VC funding came through. I didn't question it. I thought it was coincidence."

"Until?"

"Until the nightmares started a month ago. Dreams of glass. Dreams of suffocating in sand." Julian looked at her. "I thought I could buy my way out. I hired mediums, priests. They all ran away."

"Why didn't you run?"

"Where would I go?" Julian laughed bitterly. "She's in the reflection, Sasha. Every mirror. Every window. She’s watching."

Sasha walked over to him. She took the glass from his hand and set it down. "Listen to me. Fear is a variable. It makes you stupid. We lock this place down. We cover the mirrors. We wait until sunrise. If nothing happens, you pay me double for the therapy session."

"And if something does happen?"

"Then I earn my fee."

Sasha reached into her tactical duffel bag. She pulled out a roll of heavy-duty gaffer tape and a canister of spray paint.

"Start with the bedroom mirrors," she ordered. "Paint them black. I’ll handle the main room."

Julian hesitated, then nodded. He took the paint. For the first time, he looked less like a CEO and more like a man looking for a lifeline.

Sasha moved to the window. She couldn't paint the ninety-story view, but she could lower the automated blinds.

She pressed the panel on the wall. *System Error.*

She pressed it again. *System Error.*

The lights in the penthouse flickered. A low hum, like a tuning fork struck against steel, began to vibrate through the floor.

"Sasha?" Julian called from the hallway.

Sasha drew her weapon. "Stay where you are."

The temperature in the room plummeted. Sasha could see her breath puffing out in white clouds. The condensation on the massive windows began to freeze, forming intricate, jagged patterns.

Not frost.

Letters.

* I DO.*

Sasha raised her gun. "Julian, get behind me."

The sound of shattering glass exploded from the hallway.