Rowan → Ethan Nakamura ✔

Red Room

When the shadows released them, they left a chilling film over her skin. Rowan shivered as the dark peeled back, revealing that they were in Jim's apartment again, standing between the sofa and the coffee table.

Billie slapped a hand to her mouth. "I think I'm going to throw up." She said, words muffled.

"The bathroom is just over there," Jim said, unperturbed by their sudden appearance. He was sitting in an old armchair, sipping tea from a bronze cup with 3 legs.

Will's face was now a slight shade of green. The back of Rowan's neck felt clammy. Nico was the only one who was unaffected.

He grabbed the red cups that were still on the table. The teapot was still steaming from its spout. Nico handed each of his companions a cup.

"It'll either help you keep it down or throw up. Both are good."

Will and Billie downed their cups like a shot. Meanwhile, Rowan clenched her jaw. "I'm fine."

"How did you find the museum?" Jim said, as if he were asking about a quick holiday trip. "I've forgotten when I last visited."

"It was cool," Will said sincerely. "There were a bunch of instruments I wanted to try and play."

"The alarm was triggered." Rowan said, unfastening her backpack. "They'll think it's a mistake. Billie made a decoy."

She handed the fan to Jim. Flecks of gold lit up within his pupils, brown-black turned to honey. He examined it with a smile of pure joy. Rowan was mildly amused by how Jim looked at the fan like it was a long-lost sibling.

"My darling," Jim crooned. He stroked a reverent hand across its feathers. "The Lotus Prince didn't destroy you after all."

The title struck a strange chord within Rowan. The Lotus Prince. She had come across the name before – read, heard...whatever.

Nico frowned. "Who?"

He got no answer. Jim was too preoccupied with his fan – golden dust weaved in between its feathers, twisting around its stalk. The dust formed a shape symmetrical to the undamaged feathers on the other side of the fan. It solidified, and the fan was whole again, dulled colors flaking off to reveal gold.

With a small flick of Jim's wrist, the fan waved, and a disproportionately powerful gust of wind shook the curtains at the window. Jim laughed, springing to his feet. Rowan noticed that some of the smile lines around his eyes had gone.

"Let's get to work, shall we?"

He walked, back straight and hobble cured, into a deceivingly short corridor leading away from the living room. The quartet did the same. There was one room on both the left and the right, both obscured by identical red curtains. Jim entered the one on the left.

Rowan pushed apart the curtains. Red light painted the room a haunting ruby, its source unknown. An empty single bed with white, ironed sheets lay in the middle. Four white candles framed it, one on each side.

"We're not tired," Will said, confused. "Uh, thank you, though."

Jim chuckled. "The bed is not for you. It is for the boy."

"Empty beds attract ghosts," Billie informed them. It was more than what Rowan thought she knew. "Chinese superstition."

"Superstitions are always born from some form of truth," Jim said wisely.

"It smells like the Underworld." Nico said gravely. "How many people have you brought back?"

"From the brink of death, a dozen or so," Jim replied. "From death itself, a handful. Now, what is his name?"