Phantasma: A dark fantasy romance (Wicked Games Book 1)

LIMBO

It was unnervingly silent aside from the high-pitched ringing in her ears when she exited the portal. Her eyes burned as she scanned the too-bright, stone corridor. Not a single other soul was around.

She tried to take a step forward and stumbled. A disorienting sensation rolled through her body, and she barely caught her balance against the opposite wall before she face-planted into the smooth, cement ground. A silent gasp fell from her lips, and she snatched her hands away from the stone in front of her, curling them into her chest. She couldn’t feel the wall. She couldn’t feel anything. Not a single one of her senses was working except for her sight.

Racking her brain, she tried to remember what the clue had said.

… A daunting maze… No touch to guide… Beware the beast…

Ugh. There hadn’t been enough time for her to remember every detail, but so far, the bit about having no touch to guide was certainly accurate. She wondered what Circle of Hell this was supposed to be emulating.

All her mother’s lessons on the Nine Circles of Hell began flooding back to her. Ruled by the King of the Devils, Hell and its Circles existed on the Other Side as a kingdom for all different types of paranormal beings. The immortal classifications of paranormal beings were able to access the Nine Circles whenever they desired, sharing the territories with the souls of the dead. The best perk she got as one of the mortal classifications of paranormal beings was a longer than average life span, here, on earth before crossing over to the Other Side.

Ophelia might have preferred Hell at this point.

Despite what some mortals believed, Hell was not meant to be a punishment for humans who lived sinfully before they died. Human morality was much too diverse and fickle to base an entire afterlife on after all. Rather, those who were punished in Hell were often punished for their crimes against humanity or the fabric of the universe. The second major Kingdom on the Other Side was Heaven—home to all the classifications of Ephemeral beings. And despite what human lore loved to suggest, the beings that belonged to Heaven were no more good or bad than the ones of Hell. It just so happened Hell had been bestowed the task of punishing malicious mortal souls and Heaven the task of rewarding the ones who died with exceptional valor.

Ephemeral beings and their powers, however, were a subject her mother had never really expanded on. Which was just as well considering Ophelia thought she might find beings such as Angels and Seraphim, and the territories they ruled, rather dull in comparison. But there was certainly nothing dull about tales of the Nine Circles.

Those punished in the Circle of Violence were ripped limb from limb at the start of each day only to find themselves mended by the next dawn for the torture to begin again. Those punished in the Circle of Greed had to watch everything, and everyone, they coveted melt in a pit of boiling lava. Those punished in the Circle of Gluttony were forced to run without stopping—for eternity. Those punished in the Circle of Limbo…

That was it.

This was Phantasma’s version of Limbo. Complete sensory deprivation.

She wondered which Circle her mother had chosen to reside in on the Other Side.

You’re never going to make it out, the insidious voice in her head whispered. You’ll die if you don’t find your way out of here in exactly five minutes.

“Stop,” she tried to shout at the voice, but there was no sound. She reached toward the wall again, to tap her finger against it and neutralize the intrusive countdown her mind was trying to impose on her. But the comforting compulsion that usually overrode the inane tasks the voice ordered her to do didn’t have the same effect when she couldn’t feel it.

She felt the panic begin to creep in.

You’re fine. There is no time limit. You just have to breathe.

She cautiously started forward, her steps a little wobbly as she got used to the inability to feel. Making her way down the long, narrow corridor, she eventually found an opening in the stone. There was another long corridor on the other side of the opening, which forked into two. The maze had begun.

She chose left. Picking up her pace, she made a few more turns before she realized she had gone in a giant circle. She was entirely disoriented and wanted to curl up on the ground and sob.

This is maddening. This is Hell.

And then it got worse.

The light around her dimmed, and dread bloomed inside of her. They were going to slowly lose their only remaining sense.

She needed a plan.

I need a way to mark the paths I’ve already taken.

She looked down at her hands. Her magic had to be useful for something. Concentrating on the tips of her fingers, she waited for the telltale sparks of her magic to ignite. Small, fizzling flares of light began to expel sporadically in every direction, and a sense of relief shot through her. She reached out to the wall and used the sparks to scorch the word start into the stone. Then she began.

Every time there was a split in her path, she marked her first chosen direction with a charred “X” and in the time it took to get through almost eleven unique passages, the light had dimmed twice more.

I can make it through about five corridors per round of light, she noted. At this rate there’s probably about ten more degrees of dimming before I’ll be walking in the dark…

At the next opening, she saw one of her “X”s marked on the left. She pivoted to the right this time and⁠—

—the wall at the end of the corridor was moving toward her.

Another line from Zel’s clue came back to her.

… navigate true or be crushed inside…

Fuck.

She spurred herself into action. Slipping through the next break in the stone, a few yards before the moving wall could reach her, she hoped to be in the clear, but what she found in the new hallway made her breath hitch in her chest. The walls in this corridor were moving as well. Which meant that if she didn’t make it to the opening before they closed it off, she would be trapped.

She yanked up her skirts and rushed down the corridor. By the time she was halfway to the next opening, the moving wall was within inches of the gap’s threshold, and she knew she had to push herself harder if she was going to reach it in time. Her breathing became labored, despite the fact that she couldn’t feel the burning she was sure should have been igniting in her lungs. By the time she made it to the exit, the shifting wall was already halfway across it, causing her to wedge herself through the tight space and shimmy herself out the other side.

She hunched forward, dropping her hands to her knees to catch her breath. She knew she must be sweating, but she couldn’t feel it. All she could feel was the pressure in her chest as her body begged for more oxygen, and the heaviness in her legs and thighs. When she finally straightened herself up, she stepped forward⁠—

—but something snapped her back against the wall. Her damned skirts were caught.

She tried to scream in frustration, but no sound came out. Pressure pricked at the corners of her eyes, but if tears were sliding down her cheeks, she couldn’t tell. She grabbed a fistful of her skirts and tugged sharply, causing the material to rip away with a jagged edge. When she’d spend her afternoons in Grimm Manor daydreaming about the sort of danger that could make her heart race, it had definitely not been anything like this.

A quick glance around the new corridor determined nothing was moving. For now. She continued her exploration, delving deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, her only measure of time the dimming light. Every time she entered a new corridor, the length of her walk grew shorter and shorter—she was getting closer to the center.

The light dimmed just as she marked another wall and started to the left, but it was immediately clear that it was the wrong way. The far left wall began to slide forward, just as before, and she pivoted on her heels and sprinted in the opposite direction. As if in reaction, she caught the wall beginning to slide toward her faster out of her peripherals. Chasing her.

Damn it.

There was another moving wall ahead, and this time the exit looked to be out of reach. She sprinted as fast as her feet would carry her, the wall behind her staying on her heels.

A shot of fear speared through her as she reached the mouth of the exit, the wall behind her only inches from pressing into her back. When the one in front of her began to close in as well, she twisted her body to shuffle herself sideways, through the tightening gap.

In her mind, the Shadow Voice laughed. The notion of that laugh nearly tripped her up as she squeezed herself the rest of the way out into the next corridor, just before the two walls slammed together.

The anxiousness beginning to bubble up in her stomach should’ve come from the fact that she had just very nearly been crushed like an insect. Instead, it was the idea that the voice in her head had just chuckled at the prospect of her demise making her buzz with fear.

The Shadow Voice had always spoken to her, of course, but never had it been… this. Never had it taunted her or actively wished for her to be in pain. It had always been rather matter-of-fact in giving her the daily asinine tasks she had always been compelled to obey. As if it really didn’t have a choice but to make her rush home in the dark within an arbitrary time limit, or knock on her headboard exactly nine times before she went to sleep in order to keep her family safe. And now it was laughing at her.

What’s wrong, little Necromancer? it purred. Can’t handle the real me?

Ophelia clenched her fists at her sides and shoved the voice away. She looked around, assessing the newest corridor, and was shocked to find that it wasn’t another empty passage at all. She had finally reached the center of the labyrinth.

Her victory, however, was short-lived. Because in the heart of the maze, slept an enormous beast.

A Hellhound.

She recognized the monstrous beast from one of her mother’s books on the creatures of Hell in Grimm Manor’s library. The hound’s leathery skin was white as snow, its talons and teeth a shiny ebony. The beasts had been created to guard coveted artifacts by the King of the Devils himself. They were vicious, with venomous bites, but they remained asleep as long as the item they were guarding stayed untouched.

Ophelia crept around the Hellhound, giving it as wide a berth as she could, but as she was about to get a glimpse of whatever it was guarding, two other contestants came crashing into the maze’s clearing: Luci’s cousin, Cade, and someone whose name she thought was Buford. Or Beau. Or Bradley. Whatever his name was, he barely spared her a glance as they gaped at the demonic creature sprawled before them. Cade waved to his friend to follow after him and Ophelia nearly choked on her shock as they took off straight toward the beast.

“Don’t!” she tried to shout, but of course they couldn’t hear her. She had a feeling that even if they could, they wouldn’t listen.

They made their way toward its flank, and she finally caught a glimpse of what the monster was guarding. A gilded trap door.

She froze.

It was the exit. That’s what the hound was guarding. And whoever went through first would get out unscathed.

But the rest of them would have to deal with the woken beast.

She gaped in horror at the realization. Cade and his friend were going to escape, leaving the rest of them to be devoured. She jolted into motion, but it was too late. Cade had already reached the door and unceremoniously yanked it open. The hound woke in an instant.

A bursting pain shot through Ophelia’s ears as her senses came roaring back. Her knees buckled and she tumbled to the ground, hands clamped over her ears. A flash of light shot across her vision as the two men stepped through the door and shut it behind them.

With no other beings around, the beast locked its eyes onto her.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

The Hellhound lunged.

Ophelia lurched to her feet and headed back for the twisted bowels of the labyrinth, the Hellhound pursuing. She didn’t have time to mark her path this time, only running faster than she ever had in her life and hoping she didn’t turn into any dead ends. She dashed through the white stone corridors, feeling the rancid, hot breath of the monstrous creature thicken the air as it gained on her. The pounding of its paws shook the floor beneath her feet.

She gritted her teeth. This was those bastards’ fault. Not that their selfishness should have surprised her. Desperate times, desperate measures, sure, but she would have at least waited for everyone who’d shown up to reach the exit before she went through it and woke the beast. The minor interaction she’d had with Cade had already left a bitter taste in her mouth, and when she saw him again, she was going to chew him up and spit him out for this.

“Assholes,” she hissed as she hooked a right and⁠—

—crashed right into another body. Spots flashed across her vision at the impact.

She couldn’t remember this contestant’s name. He was about Genevieve’s age, scrawny with light brown skin and hazel eyes. She pushed off of him and regained her balance, opening her mouth to tell him to run, but the Hellhound rounding the corner did that for her.

“Holy—” the boy’s eyes widened, but she didn’t bother to stay and hear the rest of his sentence. He scrambled after her, clamoring to stay on her heels.

“Do you remember which direction you came from?” she shouted, her words ragged with effort.

“Left! Up ahead!” he answered, his own voice labored. “But it’s blocked now!”

She nodded and hooked a right when they approached the next opening, hoping it might loop back around to the large clearing where they’d be able to make a break for the exit without the hound guarding it. The beast was gaining traction, and her new companion was slowing down.

Ophelia glanced over her shoulder with gritted teeth. “Faster!” she ordered.

His face was a mask of pain as he tried to push himself on—at some point during the sprint he had pissed himself—and she saw the moment the exhaustion took over his limbs. The Hellhound was getting too close. There was no way he was going to make it. She thought for a moment that maybe she should keep running anyway, that if the hound was distracted, it would be easier for her to get away.

The locket at her throat warmed. As if it was admonishing her.

Damn it.

Ophelia skidded to a stop and spun. Summoning every ounce of magic she had stored in her core, she pulled and pulled until she felt its heat slither through her veins, her limbs, to her hands. Then she released it all in a flurry of blue sparks right at the Hellhound’s face.

The action lacked finesse—and aim—but it worked well enough. The beast let out a peeling whine as her magic hit its eyes, and Ophelia grabbed the boy’s shirt and dragged him after her. They twisted down the corridors, having to backtrack a few times, but it seemed she had bought them just enough time to make those few mistakes. Then finally, the clearing came into view.

“Thank the Angels.” The boy began to weep as they broke into the center of the maze once again, the gilded door just a few more yards away.

Relief washed over Ophelia’s body when they reached the golden exit. Twisting its knob, she heaved the door open, and the boy didn’t hesitate to jump through. Behind her, in the maze, she heard a blood-curdling scream and the echoes of bones snapping like twigs. The hound must have already recovered from her magic. She swallowed thickly, a knot of regret twisting in her stomach, and leaped through the door, letting it slam shut behind her.