The Curse Catcher (The Complex Book 0)

  I take a deep breath, making a decision, then head down one of the hallways.

  What is this place? I wonder, as I pass down first one hallways, then another.

  I know that Lorn has made special accommodations for some of its inhabitants, but my overall impression of this settlement is that it’s a one-size-fits-all, you-get-what-you-get-and-don’t-throw-a-fit kind of place. Everyone’s housing is essentially identical.

  This place doesn’t seem at all in keeping with the rest of the Complex.

  I’m dragged away from my thoughts when I turn down another hallway. Unlike the other corridors I’ve walked down, bits of the plaster walls are scattered across the ground. I walk up to a pile of white dust, toeing it with my boot before my eyes travel to the wall.

  Three large, jagged claw marks mar the wall, as though some creature dragged its hand along it.

  I swallow.

  Farther down the hall, a door lines one of the walls, hanging slightly ajar. I startle at the sight of it.

  Heavens above, please don’t tell me the monster is in there.

  I back away, ready to bolt, but my curiosity makes me hesitate. I pause, listening for breathing. I hear nothing.

  I don’t think the beast is close to me … yet.

  So I creep towards the room. The door itself is a simple motion activated door, but the way it hangs limply by several wires makes me think that it’s been awhile since it’s done its job properly.

  Cautiously, I step inside the room, peering around. There are blankets, dehydrated meals—there’s even a few popular interstellar games.

  What the … ?

  What is a creature doing with board games and—more importantly—dehydrated meals? Doesn’t he eat people? And aside from the few items strewn along the ground, everything is meticulously stacked on the shelves.

  I back out of the room, confused and perhaps a smidge less scared. This is some sick joke.

  Left, right, right—I twist and turn through the maze of passageways. I notice almost immediately that this place has personalized touches. A photo of a galaxy here, a shelf of trinkets there.

  I can’t reconcile these little details with the howling monster I heard earlier.

  Not, at least, until I come across another sign of the creature’s existence.

  I stop at a painting of our home planet, running my hand over the dried brushstrokes. And then my eyes fall to four jagged rips that bisect the painting. Claw marks. It looks as though some great hand slashed through the image in a fit of anger.

  That—now, that is my monster.

  I leave the strange painting and continue on. Soon, I come across more rooms. One that has real scrolls, like we used to have a long, long time ago, and not just a port to download digitalized versions. There are stacks and stacks of them piled one on another, and next to them is a well-worn chair, another relic of some time nearly forgotten. Unfortunately, the chair is smashed inwards, and several of the scrolls have been shredded with those same sharp claws I saw evidence of earlier.

  Another room I pass appears to be some sort of greenhouse. At least, it used to be one before something came in and uprooted the plants and smashed many of the light fixtures.

  Between each room are endless hallways, many of which lead to nowhere. There’s no logic to this place. Why would anyone live in a place like this? It’s essentially a maze …

  I suck in a breath.

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  There is one creature, one Meta, who is more myth than man. One Meta who demands a sacrifice every several years.

  A Meta that some idiot decided to imprison beneath what was supposed to be a peaceful fucking settlement between Metas and Humans.

  I’m not just in a maze, I’m in a labyrinth.

  And the creature who’s hunting me?

  He’s none other than the Minotaur.

  Chapter 4

  I’m trapped inside a labyrinth with the Minotaur.

  A renewed dose of fear floods my system.

  I’m going to die. Everyone who’s given to the creature dies. And all because I forgot to bring my neutralizing vials to one of my jobs.

  I let out a frustrated cry and kick the wall next to me, uncaring that the Minotaur might hear me.

  Pull yourself together, Skylar. Maybe the stories are wrong. And even if they aren’t, maybe you can still outwit this thing.

  I take a deep breath, then force myself to begin moving again. Now I’m on a hunt for weapons.

  All the while, I haven’t heard a single peep from the Minotaur. I know he’s in here somewhere, but he’s chosen to keep himself hidden. Just the thought of him sneaking up on me raises the gooseflesh on my arms.

  Definitely need some sort of weapon.

  My first bit of good luck comes when I happen upon a kitchen. It’s at least three times as big as my own apartment’s cooking space, and it’s outfitted specifically for luxury, the oven, refrigerator, and dishwater all outfitted with the latest AI, so that a person need only to give a command, and the kitchen will see to it. Only, most of the appliances have been smashed in or yanked apart. I doubt the Minotaur’s fancy AI is of much use now.

  In addition to the broken appliances, many of the cabinet doors have been ripped off, and some bags of dehydrated food shredded open and scattered across the kitchen.

  Despite the mess, it doesn’t take me long to find the kitchen knives. I grab two of them and shove them into each of my boots. Another I keep tight in my hand.

  Just as I pull my pants’ sleeve over my shoe, the back of my neck prickles, like someone is watching me.

  I turn around sharply, knife brandished out in front of me. But there’s no one there.

  I sag a little against the countertop, my heart still pounding a mile a minute. My fear is playing tricks on me, imagining things are there that aren’t. Eyeing the far side of the kitchen once more, I slip out and continue on.

  Not so long after I leave the kitchen, I come across a bedroom. The motion sensitive door works here, and it locks from the inside. It’s a perfect place to barricade myself. The mattress is shredded and blankets are strewn about. The walls here have been deeply gouged out, exposing the metal frame beneath it, but aesthetics aside, it’s a good place to set up a home base of sorts.

  And bonus, there’s a bathroom connected to the room.

  All I need now is food. I kick myself for not raiding the kitchen while I was in there.

  Perhaps I should just forget about the food. Now that I found this little room, I don’t really want to explore anymore. But the sensible part of me knows that if I don’t eat, I’ll be too fatigued to face the Minotaur. So, stiffening my spine, I head back out.

  I pass more clawed up walls, trying from memory to wind my way back to the kitchen. Several pieces of artwork lie smashed along the floor. There’s something spooky about a place that appears abandoned when you know it isn’t. I pass the artwork cautiously, my footsteps silent.

  By my best guess, it takes ten minutes to find the kitchen again. And once more, I feel like I’m being watched, even though rationally, I can see with my own two eyes that no one’s in the kitchen but me.

  Shoving down my budding panic, I make my way to the cupboards and begin opening them, one after the next. Shelf after shelf is packed with dehydrated meals.

  As quickly as I can, I clean out the shelves, shoving as many dehydrated meals into my arms as I can. It’s only as I’m crossing the kitchen on my way out that I notice the cookie sitting in the middle of the room on the island’s countertop.

  I halt, a shiver racing down my arms.

  That cookie wasn’t there the first time I entered the kitchen. I’m sure of it.

  And that means that the Minotaur was in here not so long ago.
br />   I race out of there, nearly dropping the food as I do so. I don’t know how I manage to find that bedroom all over again, but I do. As soon as I step inside, I drop the food at my feet and slam the door shut, sliding the lock home.

  Right about then, all my bravery, all my adrenaline, leaves me. I lean my back against the door and slide down to the ground. Cradling my head in my hands, I begin to weep.

  I’m not going to outwit this thing, he’s going to outwit me. How else could he have snuck into the kitchen and left that cookie for me without my ever noticing? He wants me to know he’s right here, watching me, and I’m at his whim.

  I rub my face, then push away from the door, kicking aside all the dinners I brought in here with me. Placing my back against the wall, I grab one of my knives, and then I wait for him.

  Eventually he’s going to come for me, and when he does, I will be ready.

  Chapter 5

  I don’t how many hours I sit with my back against the wall. Long enough for the lights to dim before finally turning off, the Complex’s way of signaling that it’s night.

  At some point exhaustion gets the better of me. I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I wake up sometime later curled in the fetal position, my knife still clutched tightly in my hand.

  I groan, pushing myself up. The lights have already come back on, which means that I slept through an entire night in the Minotaur’s labyrinth … and I survived.

  I get up and fix myself one of the dehydrated meals, using the bathroom sink water to reconstitute it. After I choke the food down, I grab my knife and sit with my back against the wall again, waiting for the monster to find me.

  Fear is a funny thing. My life is at stake here, and yet after who knows how many hours of futilely waiting for a creature to show up that never does, my fear begins to dissipate, I start to grow… impatient.

  I just want this to be over. And I don’t want to die, but sitting here waiting for it to happen doesn’t feel right either. Getting up, I begin to pace.

  The Minotaur hasn’t killed me yet, and by all logic he probably could’ve. I’ve seen proof that he can rip out doors, and the cookie yesterday was evidence that he’d watching me.

  And yet, he hasn’t attacked me.

  Maybe … maybe the Minotaur doesn’t want me dead just yet. I almost laugh at the thought, but I can’t quite shake the possibility.

  I glance at the door again. Clutching my knife tighter, I make my decision and unlock it. A moment later, it slides open.

  Stepping into the hallway, I catch the faint scent of steaming food. Not the nasty concoction I swallowed down last night, but something savory that makes my mouth water. Without thinking, I creep a little closer.

  This is a trap! screams the paranoid part of my mind.

  But a bigger part of me is curious: who’s cooking? Surely it’s not the same monster that has destroyed much of this place? The same ferocious monster that might’ve left me a cookie yesterday.

  A cookie.

  I mean, that’s like the secret to my heart: feed me a cookie and we’ll be friends.

  Slowly I make my way back to the kitchen, my thoughts swinging between curiosity and fear. The fact that I’m hunting down the Minotaur makes me either the stupidest person in the Complex or the bravest.

  Yeah, definitely the stupidest.

  On my way to the kitchen, I pass a broken vase, another smashed cleaning bot, a ripped up photograph of some ancient jungle galaxies away, and a shattered ceiling light. I keep track of each detail. The destruction of this place might actually help me get my bearings.

  The closer I get to the kitchen, the stronger the savory smells get. I tighten my grip on the knife. Just because I’m no longer certain the Minotaur intends to kill me doesn’t mean I trust him. Most of his accommodations are in shambles because of his temper.

  I step into the doorway of the kitchen and hold the knife out in front of me, ready to cut the creature down. But there’s no one inside the room.

  Slowly I enter, peering around. The cookie from last night is gone, but in its place is a steaming plate of sausage and eggs, Human food most Metas have developed a taste for.

  Sitting on the stovetop—one of the bits of the kitchen that the Minotaur hasn’t decimated—is a dirty pan and a cooking utensil. Breakfast, it appears, has been homemade. And recently, judging from the steaming food.

  I wander over to the plate. In front of it is a crudely written note: For you.

  I pick up the note. The creature can write?

  The back of my neck prickles, and I sense eyes on me, but when my gaze darts around the room again, I see no one.

  There are so many things about my situation that confuse me. Why the Minotaur is here, why his labyrinth is furnished like a wealthy immortal’s lodgings, and why he appears interested in feeding me.

  My attention returns to the steaming breakfast waiting for me. It could be poisoned. This could be how I die.

  I just don’t think this is how Minotaur would kill his victims. I imagine they’d probably be gored to death by one of his horns … or cut to pieces by his claws. In fact, I don’t think he’s trying to scare me at all. Oddly enough … I think he’s trying to befriend me.

  The pen he used sits next to the paper. Making a split-second decision, I pick it up and scrawl, Thank you, beneath his note.

  Ha! I bet none of his other victims did that on Day Two … they probably kept themselves hidden like normal, sane people.

  Whatever.

  I pick up the fork resting next to the plate.

  Eating this might be certifiably stupid. Alright, it is certifiably stupid. But I’m already stuck in this place, no one’s coming to save me, and I’ve already accepted that I’m no longer going to be a coward.

  So I fork a piece of sausage and begin eating.

  Breakfast didn’t kill me. What a shock.

  Now I’m more curious than ever about the man who cooked it for me.

  Why hasn’t he shown himself? Why has he ripped up his home if he can be this kind? Who is he, and how did he end up here, in an elaborate cage on Lorn?

  These questions run through my head as I begin exploring the Minotaur’s labyrinth later that day. A primal part of me fears running into the creature, but another is perversely excited by the possibility.

  I retrace my steps as best as I can to the entrance of the maze. Then ever so slowly, I systematically start to wander down the corridors, mapping the place in my mind.

  Out on the edges of the maze, the rooms I stumble across are mostly storage facilities, each brimming with supplies. The outer rings of the labyrinth seem to hold the least important rooms. This area is also where the Minotaur’s destruction is minimal.

  The farther into the labyrinth I move, the more important the rooms become. Once again I pass the room full of old books and the pulverized greenhouse. There’s another room full of cartography—and not just maps of the Seldova solar system, maps of our home planet. Some of them are so old they’re hand drawn, the ink time-faded.

  By all appearances, the Minotaur is just as much a relic as the rest of the stuff in these rooms.

  Must be an immortal.

  I move on, making my way inwards. That’s when I pass the bedroom I’m staying in and the kitchen. A dining room and a leisure room—what Humans call a living room—come next.

  I decide not to move farther inwards in the labyrinth. I’m pretty sure that at the heart of the maze I’ll find the Minotaur’s main dwelling. I’m not ready for that just yet.

  So I continue to explore the outer and middle rings of the labyrinth. I pass more new rooms, rooms I have no name for. I’ve never seen a single person with so many. One is a room full of antiques, and another is dedicated to robots—most of which are smashed beyond repair—and anoth
er room dedicated solely to instruments. Here, I pause.

  I run my fingers over the shiny keyboard. A couple of the keys have been ripped out, but other than that, the instrument is still intact. Growing up, my mother, who was also a curse catcher, took a second job as a musician on the spaceship that flew us here. She could sing like an angel, but she preferred to play the keyboard.

  I smile as I remember her playing the instrument in our tiny room, her voice like bells.

  I press on one of the keys, and the crisp trill of D-sharp shatters the memory. The note reverberates through the room, so much louder than I’d anticipated. I snatch my hand away from the keyboard as though it burned me, and quickly back out of the room.

  Several seconds later, I hear it. An agonized roar cuts through the silence, followed by the distant pounding of footfalls.

  I swallow my scream and reach into my boot, grabbing the knife I’ve kept in there. And then, slipping out of the room, I run like hell.

  I’m not scared of the Minotaur, a chant to myself, even as I sprint through the maze of halls back to my room.

  Who am I fooling? I’m still petrified of him, the creature that has destroyed something in almost every room I stumble across. The creature that I can hear chasing me, his clomping footfalls echoing down the halls.

  All of my plans to be brave are gone in an instant. I have one goal, and one goal only: to get back to my makeshift bunker.

  Was it left left right, or right left right? My fear-addled brain can’t remember.

  I wind my way back the way I think I came, using instinct to guide me.

  As it turns out, my instinct is shit.

  I stare up at the dead-end for a second before retracing my steps back to the last hallway I turned down.

  Only, when I make it back to the corridor, the Minotaur is waiting for me.

  My breath catches at the sight of him. A healthy dose of fear floods my system, making me freeze in place.