Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

XIV - Wraiths

14 – Wraiths

The Sinclair mansion was huge. I wished I had two extra pairs of eyes just so I could see all the details.

The corridors—dimly lit by bowling pin-shaped lamps made of mother of pearls—turned left and right like a maze. Dozens of wooden doors lined the hallway, each with a different design carved on them. Some doors were wide enough to fit a fire truck. Some were normal-sized. A few were just large enough to let a five year-old in.

Mei treaded gracefully ahead of me, our silent footfalls echoing eerily against the dark granite walls. I was about to ask her about the doors when we arrived into a brightly lit drawing room.

Like the rest of the mansion, the walls were made of dark, polished slabs of marbles. There were no decorations except for four renaissance oil paintings of noble-looking men and women at the rear of the spacious room. To my left was an old-fashioned brick fireplace where two grandfather chairs made of heavy dark wood and purple velvet-swathed cushions were situated. A magnificent crimson crystal chandelier hung from the ribbed, arched ceiling, illuminating the spacious room with a slightly ruddy hue.

In the center of the room was a set of bronze-framed cushioned chairs. Amyr sat there lazily, his feet propped on the solid black marble center table in front of him.

"Here she comes," he turned to Mei and me, a grin spreading across his strong face.

Standing in front of the tall glass windows was Archie—the silver-haired man who apparently was not Vincent's real Dad. He pushed the curtains with a gloved hand as if to check if someone was spying on us from the yard before giving me a slight nod, barely turning his head to my direction. His clothing and appearance reminded me of Alfred in The Batman animated series.

Vincent, like Rosario, was nowhere to be found.

Mei flopped beside Amyr, letting out a sigh. Before I could even follow her, I heard a low ominous growl from behind me. I pivoted, jumping back in panic. Then I saw him.

"Aramis, meet Byron Flynn," said Amyr from the sofa, sounding nonchalant.

It was a huge dog. And by huge, I mean not your average three hundred-pounder mutt. Byron Flynn had pointed ears, narrow slightly elongated snout and shaggy chestnut-colored fur except for the tip of his tail which was white. His tail was like a tree-feet feather duster. All in all, he looked like a fox—slender, sinewy and lithe—but the size of a full-grown Saint Bernard. Maybe even bigger.

Byron Flynn regarded me with big menacing amber eyes as he crouched low, baring a set of sharp canine teeth almost as big as paring knives. He advanced cautiously toward me, a deep rumble coming from his throat.

I wanted to run but it was as if my feet were superglued onto the carpeted floor.

"Relax," Amyr muttered from behind me. "He's just... getting to know you."

I froze, my breath hacking in my throat. I didn't know you had to get to know the food before you eat it. Surely, with the size of those choppers, Byron Flynn could easily gobble up my head and snap my body into two. As easy as cutting butter. If I was really lucky, maybe he would save my lower half for lunch.

Carefully, Byron Flynn sniffed the air and raised his head until his cold, clammy nose touched my chin.

I winced and let out a tiny "Eeep!"

And just when I thought he was over sniffing me, he let out an earsplitting bark that made my whole body tremble. The dog's breath smelled suspiciously of tuna fish.

Stumbling back, I glanced at Amyr and Mei who didn't seem to mind that I would be dog food in two seconds. "I think he doesn't like me," I muttered shakily.