The Medium: Liminality, #1

By M.R. Graham

It begins with the breaking of a gentle monster.

A medium cannot kill. A medium must not kill. And a medium should never become a vampire.

Lenny played human, kept his head down, never took a life, until Sebastian came. Torn away from his comfortable life, he is plunged into an endless night of manipulation, death, and blood. The only light in the dark is Kim, a young wizard tasked with destroying Sebastian. She is determined to save Lenny from the monster controlling him, but the monster growing inside him will be harder to kill.

Unknown to all, the existence of a vampire medium has sparked a war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: qui est in literis
• Release date: Jan 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386963073

Book preview

Also by M.R. Graham

The Liminality Series

The Medium

The Mora

The Mage

The Martyr (coming soon)

In the Shadow of the Mountains

The Wailing

The Van Helsing Legacy

We Shall Not Sleep

Dark & Hungry Graves (coming soon)

The Adventures of Morrigan Holmes

No Cage for a Crow

The Death of a Swan (coming soon)

Stand-Alones

The Siren

Poetry

Versos, or The Things a Woman Learns on the Banks of the Great River

Papalotes: Songs of Texas

Strange Matters

Table of Contents

Liminality

The End

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

The End

The Beginning

Liminality:

Liminality: (From the Latin līmen, a threshold) The intermediate point of transition between two states or classes. An object or individual in the liminal state may be considered to belong to both classes simultaneously, or to neither. A prolonged liminal state may result in disorientation, alienation, and later inability to integrate into another state or class.

Betweenness.

The End

Sometimes, he still dreams about the girl.

He is always blind in the dreams. Anyway, he thinks he must be blind, because there is no way it could be too dark for him to see. He is blind, but he can hear everything, feel everything, and reality dissolves.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction, then the struggling as he holds her tightly, muffling her screams. He whispers desperate consolation in her ear until the feeble spell of his voice finally takes hold, and she relaxes into his arms, shivering with the sobs that cannot escape.

He tapes her arms and legs, wraps her in his jacket, and sits with her through the night. Her breath freezes on the air, and he can almost hear the chime of those ice-crystal clouds. His skin freezes and cracks. He would bleed, but he has no blood left, and the cold makes him tired, as if he were a reptile. He could almost sleep.

Sebastian is in the dream, too. He jerks the telephone away and lashes out with a burning fist. Broken teeth, jaw, ribs.

Too late, he says. I’m already back. Running to a teenager for help? Really, Hugo? You’re such a goddamn baby.

Sebastian’s hands are hot, and they can be soothing when they want to be. They stroke away the bruises, and he layers his voice with Power, whispering away the pain.

I’m Leonard. I’m n-not Hugo, I’m Leonard. Leonard…

Shh, don’t worry about it. You want the kid, that’s okay. You can have her. My gift. Don’t cry, okay? I hate you when you cry.

She is waiting when they get there.

She gasps when his hand closes over her mouth, and he can feel that tiny suction as he holds her tightly, muffling her screams. His mouth is swollen and full of tears, and his voice is so much weaker than Sebastian’s. He cannot take away her fear, only make her stop twisting to give his ribs a rest.

He sits with her through the night and listens to her hurting, but he can no longer manage to care. Sebastian is in his head, squeezing his heart so tight he can barely feel, whispering his mind into silence. His throat burns with thirst. His veins ache, empty and hollow and screaming with it, but he can’t care. He leaves without speaking to her, even though she begs, even though her faith is shattering into sunbursts on the dusty floor.

He sits in the car and presses himself against the blasting heater. He thought he was blind, but he seems to see deep brown eyes, slightly tilted, smiling, fringed with dark, sooty lashes. He could drown in those eyes, has drowned in them before, just like so many others. Bleak pools full of the drowned, full of bodies. The back of his mind is full of struggling, the clinking of chains. Sebastian is bleeding her. The blood is the life, and so much more. Eventually, she stops fighting.

Tomorrow, he thinks. I’ll do it tomorrow. He won’t bleed her if she’s mine.

But he doesn’t really care.

When he pushes her down the stairs, she has Kate’s voice. Lyonya, she cries, but that never happened, and Kate was a thousand years ago, and she hurt him more than he could ever have hurt her.

When he runs, the girl is probably dead. Sebastian’s voice is gone, and his skull echoes emptily.

Sometimes, he still dreams about the girl, but when he wakes, the world is white, and his bones are ice, and his name has bled away with the last of his strength. They call it permafrost for a reason, and his hands are bound up in dirt that does not sing and cannot heal. The ghosts here are pale and ancient. They speak in tongues he does not know.

And freedom is bitter.

Chapter One

Lenny never could decide whether he and Mara were a thing. Sometimes he thought they were, and sometimes they definitely weren’t, and sometimes it was just completely impossible to say what they were. He knew he loved her and she loved him back, but he was never sure whether either of them was ever in love.

He did know she was exactly the right shape. She fit perfectly under his arm, up against his side, like they were puzzle pieces. They matched.

It was two in the morning, or maybe later. Lenny lounged on one end of the couch, and Mara was where she fit, there beside him. His mouth still tasted like cheap wine, the kind that leaves a sweater on your tongue. It had been hours since the real television stopped and the endless commercials started. The light from the screen caught on two glasses, two bottles on the table. It lit Mara’s face. She had fallen asleep.

He let her stay there. Neither of them had anywhere to be in the morning. A night on the couch wouldn’t hurt her.

Saturday came too early. He could still taste the wine, even worse the next day. Mara had slid down from his chest to his thigh. He was okay with that. She was warm.

He slid her off as carefully as he could, replacing himself with a rolled-up blanket, and shuffled off to make coffee. After a couple of cups, he could start to function.

Mara stumbled in after him when the coffee maker started to growl. Her hair stuck up on one side, and a red fan-shape of creases crossed her cheek. Her eyes were puffy.

Morning? she mumbled.

Yeah. Sorry to say, it is.

No school.

Nope. ‘S Saturday.

Good. That’s good. She went around him and pulled two mugs from the cabinet, set them on the counter and grabbed milk from the refrigerator. The calendar stopped her.

Your conference is next weekend?

Yeah.

You packed?

Nah. G-gotta do laundry first.

The milk carton clunked down, and one of Mara’s arms went around Lenny’s waist. Her chin fit perfectly into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Bring me a tee shirt.

M’kay.

Just then, he was pretty sure they were a thing.

The week went past like a greased cat. He re-administered a test and launched various objects across the football field with a catapult his students built and didn’t get a moment’s peace before Thursday afternoon.

He and Mara got home around five thirty. They were both dead beat, but teachers never have the option of kicking back. He had to go through one more time and make sure he had everything he was going to need. Mara disappeared into her half of the duplex for an hour and then wandered back with a bowl of spaghetti. She symbolically offered him some, and as always, he declined.

You know, she said, I heard some of the kids talking. At least one of them is pretty sure the reason you never eat is because you’re actually a robot, and you go home and plug in at night to recharge.

She snickered. Lenny didn’t. He was too busy looking for one more pair of socks.

Yep. I c-can shoot lasers out of my eyes, t-too.

She laughed harder.

Got everything? she asked, wiping a red smear of sauce off the tip of her nose.

Working on that.

Clothes for three days? Aspirin, notebook, pens… Reading material for the bus? Or knitting stuff?

He wasn’t about to take knitting stuff on the bus. The last thing he needed was to make friends with yet another elderly lady or accidentally poke someone in the arm with a needle. It was tempting to go off to Austin and come back with one more sweater for Mara, but the logistics were just difficult.

He held up a small stack of battered paperbacks he’d snagged from the library’s too-old-to-keep box.

Bunny?

She was teasing, and he knew it, but he still shifted uncomfortably. The bunny in question was an antique toy, made of white wool, with a faded letter K stitched onto its chest in once-red silk. It sat on his bed during the day and sometimes at night, too. He didn’t sleep with a stuffed animal, he always insisted; he just liked the smell of it.

You c-can take care of the bunny while I’m gone.

Looks like you’re set, then.

Well… I hope so.

She snorted and pressed her cheek against his back, being careful not to get spaghetti sauce on him.

It’s weird, she said, thinking about you being gone for a weekend. Who am I gonna pester?

He zipped up his suitcase and set it by the door, shoved his notebooks and novels into his backpack, zipped that, and flopped down onto the edge of the bed to stress about the trip in the morning.

They got up early on Friday. At that time of year, they were always up before dawn, but he had somewhere to be, and Mara was his ride. He struggled into khakis, a sweater, and a windbreaker, and tossed his suitcase and backpack into the rear seat of Mara’s Datsun. He waited while she slapped on makeup and shoved her hair into a straining scrunchie.

He handed her coffee in a vacuum mug and climbed into the car, sitting quietly while she peeled out of the driveway. He could handle early mornings, but until she’d finished her first cup, Mara was only one bad joke away from homicide. She chugged most of it at the first light they hit.

Abilene wasn’t a big place, and the streets were dead empty before daylight. There was only one other car in the parking lot at the bus station, an orange sports car sprawled across three parking spaces. Mara screeched into a space on the far end and had jumped out of the car almost before the keys were out of the ignition. Lenny pulled himself out more slowly while she fished around in the back for his suitcase and backpack.

I am so sleeping through lunch today, she growled. Ugh. And study hall. Do you think they’ll rat on me?

He shrugged and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Mara’s breath steamed in the freezing air. His didn’t, and he prayed she didn’t notice. But then, she never had before. He was already losing feeling in his fingers.

She smiled. Have a good trip, Len.

He shifted his backpack and picked up his suitcase.

And Mara bowled him into the side of the Datsun, pressed her hips against his, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him hard. Compared to the air, her lips were boiling hot. It’s strange what people remember from moments like that. Lenny remembered that she stepped on his foot and that she was the only person he’d ever known who put honey in her coffee.

When she stepped back, she looked almost confused.

Hm, she said. I’m going to have to keep thinking about that.

Then she slammed back into the driver’s seat, started up, and drove away, leaving him choking on exhaust and unexpected signals.

He didn’t remember much about waiting for the bus. He must have sat there for the hour or so before it came. He must have gotten on, picked a seat, stowed his stuff. Mostly, he remembered thinking.

He had thought about Mara before, about being with her. He’d only been in love once, and he knew whatever he felt for Mara didn’t feel like that, but it had been too many years since Kate, and he did wonder sometimes whether it was time to let her go. But mourning had become a part of him, like a bad habit, and though the agony was past, the habit stuck around. He knew he couldn’t fall in love again if he was still in love with a ghost.

He cycled through the old standbys.

They were friends. He didn’t want to risk that.

They were colleagues. He didn’t want to risk that, either.

He loved her, and he was pretty sure she loved him back, but there was no way for him to say whether he could ever be in love with her. Kate was still in the way.

Mara was beautiful. He had always thought so, but he’d never been and would never be attracted to her. He couldn’t be, not in that way. It wasn’t in his nature.

And that brought him to the last point. His nature.

No one had ever stared at him in horror and breathlessly demanded to know what he was. It never happened like that. He hated having that conversation, though, so he usually made sure it took place over a cup of coffee and tried not to stutter too badly.

So, some of my quirks aren’t actually neuroses. It’s not that I don’t eat in public because I can’t stand being watched; I actually don’t eat at all. I guess I could, but it makes me sick. Not going near the river? Yeah, I don’t really like running water, but even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to cross it. Playing catch-and-release with the spiders? You would, too, if you could feel them die…

He muttered it under his breath and grimaced. Words were not his forte.

The full answer to that question had two parts, and while neither was particularly complicated, the two came together to make something tricky.

Most people were usually looking for the fact that he was dead. More specifically, undead. That had never bothered him, but it bothered other people, sometimes a lot, so most of the time he let people assume he was a walking pile of tics and phobias. Mara didn’t mind. That was one of the reasons he loved her.

The second part, the tricky part, was that he was a medium. He saw ghosts, but it was more than that. The clue was in the word itself. A medium was something—someone—in the middle, between. Between two worlds, between alive and dead. Even when he was alive, part of him had been dead, and once his body died, he was—paradoxically—still alive. It made sense to him, but it was impossible to articulate, so he usually explained what he was able to do and left it at that. His superpowers, he said, though only with irony. When they needed it, he could help ghosts to cross over. When they needed it, he had no choice.

It was tricky because he also felt death. He felt terrible for saying that some deaths hurt him less than others, but it was true. It was easiest to handle little things, like when someone stepped on an ant. Murder hurt like he was the one dying. A medium can’t kill, so a medium who ended up as a vampire was just a joke. He had never wanted to kill, but sometimes he wished he could’ve been dangerous. Danger was impressive; Lenny wasn’t.

Mara wasn’t the kind to freak out, though. He knew her well enough that he wasn’t worried about frightening her. More likely, she would call him a liar, and he’d have to prove himself.

They kicked him off the bus in Austin in time to prevent him from having a nervous attack. He forced his brain out of high gear long enough to call a cab and check in at the hotel and had just enough time to dump his stuff on the bed, change clothes, and run to the ballroom for the first-night mixer.

There are more male science teachers than other kinds of teachers, but the hall was still a swimming pool of estrogen. Lenny huddled in the corner with the shyer members of his sex and stressed about Mara.

Teachers’ conferences were draining. He didn’t like sleeping in a strange place, trying to make small talk with a lot of people he didn’t know, with every third one of them offering him unwanted advice to help with his stutter. He’d done speech therapy. Tea didn’t help. Talking with a mouthful of marbles didn’t help. Repeating lines from movies didn’t help. He didn’t like listening to them complain about work and about their colleagues. Teachers are wonderful people, on the whole, but put a bunch of them in a room together, and they turn into a bunch of chickens, squawking and pecking each other to death. That was probably true of any profession, though.

He sat quietly and pretended to pay attention while he played out scenes with Mara in his head. The words had to be just right, and he would need to know them beforehand, or else he would ramble, and she would never understand.

Suddenly, he realized that the applause was a little more heartfelt than it had been, and the speakers were blasting Texas, Our Texas, and everyone stood, and then it was over. A few people hurried to find friends they had made. Some exchanged business cards or telephone numbers. Most made for the doors. Lenny sat still waited for the tide to pass him by, then rode out on the back end of the wave. It deposited him at the hotel bar, which seemed like as good a destination as any. Such a long weekend deserved a beer. He already knew he would be sleeping for most of the bus ride back home, so a tiny hangover wouldn’t hurt anything.

He unpinned his name tag and stuck it in his pocket, shuffled into the smoky room, and went to get himself a drink.

Chapter Two

The man seemed nice at first. At least, comparatively. Lenny was aware of him as soon as he walked in, pulled like a compass needle by a subtle attraction that left him both disoriented and disconcerted. It wasn’t something he felt often in Abilene, but there would be others in a larger city like Austin. The man snagged the barstool next to Lenny’s and shoved his glass across the counter, asking for One more, please. Lenny sipped his drink and silently prepared his polite apologies.

You’re new around here. The man didn’t make it a question, but his voice rose at the end.

Only for the w-weekend. I’m leaving t-t-tomorrow. Lenny hoped the man would understand that he wasn’t trying to trespass on his territory, wasn’t poaching. A glance through the smoky light showed him an enormous shoulder, and beyond that a head of close-cropped black hair. He couldn’t see much of the face, except that it was smooth, angular. There was a sense of something familiar as well, though Lenny couldn’t place it. Another man stood a couple of steps away, pale and washed-out, staring across the bar. He faded in and out like the smoke on the air. A ghost. Lenny tore his eyes away and back to his solid companion.

Oh, shame. Thought I might’ve finally had a neighbor. There was a pause. Wanna go do something anyway? I could show you my side of Austin.

Lenny knew exactly what the man had in mind and tried not to show his nerves. No, thanks. I’m g-going to want a full night’s sleep. Still haven’t p-packed or anything. It was a true excuse, at least. Even if that had been his idea of fun, he really did have other things to do. The man caught on and didn’t press.

Where are you going back to?

Lenny finished off his drink, making the ice in the bottom rattle against the glass. Abilene. I’m Lenny, by the way.

Sebastian. And I’m from —he gestured vaguely with his beer— over there. A couple of blocks down. If you’re interested.

It occurred to Lenny at that point that he might have miscalculated. It sounded like he was being hit on. It was uncomfortable, even if it was theoretically flattering. L-look, I’m sorry, but I really, really h-have to—

No, that’s fine. I get it. You have to pack. Sebastian’s voice was disappointed, lonely.

Lenny felt for him, but hardly enough to agree to a hookup, or whatever it was Sebastian wanted. He knew what loneliness was like, though. He knew what it was to be surrounded by people who had no idea, who couldn’t share his experience, and he knew that if Sebastian was a killer, it was only because he couldn’t help himself.

They talked. Sebastian was from Spain. He’d been in Austin for a couple of decades, and Mexico City before that. He was making a living in hypnotherapy, making desperate people stop smoking.

I’m good at it, he said. He winked, in case he hadn’t been understood.

I bet. Me, I’ve never been g-good at that. I’m in town for the conference. Texas Science T-t-t-t-teachers’ Association. It’s a good job, steady, if you lay low. Anyway, hitting the seminar c-came with a little bonus, so I figured…

Sebastian tipped his head to one side and nodded thoughtfully. You know, I could help you with that stutter. I do traditional, too. No tricks.

And there it was.

Lenny must have made a face, because Sebastian laughed and threw his hands up in a peace gesture, sliding back from the table they had taken. His laugh was contagious. Lenny had to grin.

Or not! Sorry, just, y’know, it’s what I do. Gotta be good at something, right?

It’s okay. Sorry, I’ve just g-gotten more advice than I ever wanted in the p-past three d-d-days. So you help people? That’s a little… unusual. There was no way to make that sound inoffensive, but Lenny figured he would understand. It was unusual. He tried to quell the stutter, but it didn’t work.

Sebastian shrugged. Like I said, gotta be good at something. I do what I’m good at. It pays the bills, anyway. Well, some of them. Keeps me busy, too. You don’t know how boring it can get, with nothing to do. Anyway, it’s my thing.

He leaned forward, propped his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his fists, looking at Lenny curiously.

What’s yours?

My…?

Your thing. There’s something different about you. It’s magnetic.

Lenny remembered when it had almost sounded like Sebastian was trying to invite him back to his place. He tried hard to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound harsh and wouldn’t encourage him, either.

Um, science t-teacher? Physics? Um… magnets, I mean? Heh? Get it? Science?

Sebastian smirked, shook his head, and rolled his eyes. His eyes were brown, dark mahogany. I’m serious. I felt it as soon as you walked in here.

Lenny didn’t like having that conversation, either, the one where he explained that connection he had with dead things and how it wasn’t as cool as it sounded. No one had ever described it as magnetic, before, but it was the same thing that had brought Kate to him all those years ago, and it seemed to kick in the most when the dead person really, really needed help. Another thing about being a medium—he had to help when he could. He didn’t have any choice. But there wasn’t much he could do about loneliness.

Lenny shook his head, and Sebastian sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest. His arms were huge. So was his chest.

You mean you don’t know? he asked. There was an edge in his voice. Not fear, exactly, but nerves. He didn’t understand.

But there was no way Lenny was having that conversation in a crowded hotel bar with a stranger, even a stranger who needed help, so he smiled and shrugged.

Sebastian shrugged back, enormous shoulders rising once, and he grabbed his glass and stood up. He was big sitting, but he was even bigger standing.

Refill? he asked. On me.

Thank you?

Lenny watched him retreat back to the bar, and he thought about leaving quietly. He hurt for Sebastian and his loneliness, he really did. But that strange thing the Spaniard felt and couldn’t understand… Lenny felt it too, when he tried to think around his two beers and a whiskey.

The problem was that Lenny felt it from the other end of things. Sebastian was isolated, sinking, in desperate need of a hand to pull him back up; that was just a fact. He was also stained. Lenny could feel the faint echoes of every death he’d caused, and in his whole life, he had never been in a room with someone who felt like that. Most vampires killed like animals—for food, for self-defense, for territory. Lenny didn’t like that, but he could deal with it. He didn’t have another option but to deal with it. No one could call animals evil for killing things. Maybe Sebastian had his reasons. Maybe he’d had a lot of bad luck. Maybe it was cathartic, his way of dealing with his problems. Lenny doubted it, though. It was too much for an animal. Sebastian killed like a madman.

But madmen need help, sometimes, too. Lenny sat still and waited for him to come back, hoping he didn’t look as on edge as he was starting to feel. He may not have been exactly the standard model, but he was also not human. He and Sebastian were kindred. At least, in theory.

Sebastian set a glass in front of Lenny and sat back down. His expression was calm again, faintly smiling. He shot back half of his drink.

You ever been to Amarillo?

C-couple of times.

You know Tony and Edith?

Lenny took a sip of his drink and shook his head. Not well. I went through all the channels when I moved to T-texas. Met them once, then. They sent me a welcome b-basket.

No? Well, they don’t like me much. He grinned. You know anybody I might know? We gotta have some friends in common.

The tone of that question struck Lenny as a bit off, but he shook his head again. It’s just me in Abilene. I don’t t-travel much.

Oh… His expression went blank, but then he raised an eyebrow. That’s got to be boring. Who’s your progenitor?

Lenny hated that word. It was a gross word, one that would describe an amoeba better than it described a person. But there had never been enough vampires to make an impact on language evolution, and humans have never needed a better word for that concept.

Kate Charles. She’s been g-g-gone a while. He took a sip, then knocked the rest of it back. This felt like an interrogation, but he had no idea what Sebastian was getting at.

Sebastian made a face. Doesn’t ring a bell. Guess you don’t get out much, huh?

I g-get out. I just like it when it’s t-t-time to go home.

Sebastian leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the table, and Lenny looked up to find him well inside his personal space, the other man’s gaze fixed steadily on his face. His fingertips were numb.

Come on, Sebastian coaxed. His voice was low and slick. It vibrated too fast for Lenny to catch hold of his words. What’s your deal? This is mine, so you know. I told you I was good at it.

Nothing, he insisted, but what came out of his mouth was Medium. Sebastian’s eyes were stunning, figuratively and literally. Lenny felt frightened. Then he stopped feeling anything.

Dead medium. That’s a new one. Sebastian smiled, pressing steepled fingers against his lips.

The sound of his voice was enthralling. It had so many layers, so many other voices inside, making Lenny feel tiny. He knew what was happening, in a remote, detached way, and he tried to stop listening, to look away. But Sebastian was good at it, and the first thing the good ones do is make you want to listen, make you want to get lost and listen.

Bet you could show me some fun tricks, huh? I’ve never had a medium, before. And just you in Abilene, all alone… No one to miss you.

Chapter Three

The stairwell smelled like marijuana, stale urine, and old blood. Lenny had taught students from this kind of neighborhood. Hard-eyed children who wore loose pants to hide the knives they brought to school and long sleeves to hide the bruises they got at home. There are poor neighborhoods, and then there are bad ones. This was a bad one. He could smell it rising up out of the stained concrete floors. The air there had gone dark and sour long before a murderer like Sebastian moved in.

Ghosts filled the walls, so many ghosts, and some of them were Sebastian’s fault. A few of them reached out, but Lenny couldn’t stop for them. He kept following the enormous back drifting down the hallway in front of him, even though he wasn’t sure why. Sebastian’s steps were silent. Lenny’s shuffled. It didn’t matter, because there was no one near to hear them. The doors were closed and bolted.

Then they were inside an apartment, and that door was closed and bolted, too. Sebastian locked it. Three deadbolts. Two chains. Lenny’s mind wandered. He wondered whether this could possibly be where Sebastian saw his clients. It didn’t look like a professional’s office. It barely looked like an apartment. There was a couch and a chair and a table with a few tattered paperbacks—all Westerns, oddly enough—eight-tracks, and a half-full coffee mug, white cream coagulated on the surface. That was the extent of the furniture. The kitchen off the main room looked like it had been converted into storage.

Somewhere on the next floor up a boom box was spewing profanity.

A huge hand closed over his shoulder and steered him toward the chair. The wood creaked when the backs of his thighs hit it, and something popped inside his head. He could remember the stairs and the hall, but before that… nothing. There was a gaping hole between the hotel bar and this tenement complex. He couldn’t even recall what the outside of the building looked like. They had been sitting at the table, finishing a last drink, and then… nothing. Nothing until this place.

The overheads flickered on, highlighting horrible green wallpaper, peeling around the baseboards. Sebastian crossed in front of him and sat on the end