by HD Smith
Tiny plumes of dust kicked up in my wake. Seeing my footprints confirmed the curator didn’t travel this way often—if ever. Of course there could be a siren going off in a control room somewhere—“Fall Queen entrance breached” could be blaring over a speaker I had no way to shut down.
I couldn’t waste time worrying about that now. I had to find the blood.
The dead end hallway from my entrance led to a spacious six-sided room. Sunshine streamed in from a skylight high above, illuminating the only item in the hub—a large refrigerator-sized greenhouse-style glass case. The six-sided enclosure in the center of the room mirrored the layout, each side matching up with one of the walls.
Five spokes, six total including my hallway, led out from the center cloister. Three of the five sides were the same as my archway, two of the sides containing wooden doors.
The walls of the room were made of the same Sandstone material, but instead of a dull rustic finish, they were polished to a luxurious shine.
The high ceiling was domed to accommodate the elaborate skylight, which bathed the case in a pleasant warm glow and highlighted the almost impenetrable dust that covered the glass from this angle.
If the other archways led to their own six-sided rooms, I was screwed. I’d get lost in the honeycomb of death before I found anything. I seriously needed a map, or maybe just a faster way to look around. Considering my options, I thought of how easy it had been to slip and explore in the fourth realm.
Closing my eyes, I slipped outside my body.
The center case was covered with wards and symbols, but the rest of the room was clear. I blinked to each archway and peered down the long corridors.
Continuing to explore, I blinked to the end of the hallway to my right—as I expected, another six-sided room, but this hub was empty, with low ceilings, nothing like the domed skylight in the first six-sided hub. I popped in and out of the doors and hallways, finding rooms of gold, paintings, mirrors, and marble statues. Each room had a theme, and more than one looked like an impossibly large warehouse full of junk. I continued on, finding more rooms of endless treasures, jewels, silver, and one with the largest wooden boat I’d ever seen—but no blood.
I stopped when I sensed another person. Stepping through an archway to a part of the museum with a homier feel, I found a suite of rooms. Noise came from an alcove ahead. I blinked there to find a man humming to himself as he painted a very inappropriate portrait of a teenage girl in a skimpy bathing suit. She was surrounded by blue flames—of ice, maybe? Creepy pervert.
The man, who I assumed to be the curator, was dressed in a black bathrobe, ducky pajama bottoms, and green chuck taylors. His half-moon glasses were perched precariously on the end of his thin pointy nose. He was gaunt and pale, with lifeless brown hair so thin it barely covered his head. Not a looker.
I froze when he gasped. Did he sense me?
Looking at his watch, he said, “Oh, I must hurry. I don’t want to be late.”
“Late for what?” I said, without thinking I’d used my persuasive voice.
“My date,” he called out in a sing-song voice, not even realizing I’d asked.
Was he allowed to leave or was someone coming here? Oh, God, Mab would be the only one that could get in—unless he meant Harry or The Boss—yeah, not going to go there. Okay, so he was going out, or one of the big three was on their way. AKA more shit I can do nothing about.
I opened my eyes and returned to my body in the first room. I needed a better strategy for finding the blood. This place was a maze of room after room, with no signage or obvious layout.
Other than this room, all other hubs I’d encountered were empty. No idea if that was important, but it was a place to start.
I considered going back to the curator, try asking him about the blood before he left, although I don’t think he’d answer those questions without getting suspicious. He’d answered the date question, but that wasn’t something important about the museum.
I stepped farther into the room, curious why this hub would be the only one with something in it. The sunshine streaming in from the skylight had dimmed slightly, which was when I noticed the small settee. It was made of mahogany, and covered in a rich red fabric. It was placed directly in front of one side of the glass structure. As I approached I could see that the panel in front of the settee was the only one not covered in dust.
As I came around to get a better look, I wasn’t sure what shocked me more, the lifelike full size doll inside the case, or the fact that it was the spitting image of the teenager the curator had been painting.
The girl inside looked no more than fifteen. She was dressed in a long blue nightgown. Her silk slippers were dotted with sparkling jewels. She wore a white bow in her raven locks, which matched the sash around the empire waist of her gown. Her eyes were a cool honey brown, and they looked so real it was unnerving.
“Pervert,” I said under my breath, as I realized just how clean the settee and this part of the case was. The curator must come down here to gawk at it.
I leaned in to get a better look.
“Just a mannequin,” I said. “As if there’s nothing creepy about that.”
The mannequin blinked her eyes. I jumped back, falling onto the settee.
Oh God, she’s alive!
The raven-haired girl tilted her head, staring at me, brows furrowed, as if she were confused. She glanced around the room, although I wasn’t sure how much she could see through all the dust. Her eyes widened as she traced my dusty footprints.
“Mab?” she mouthed, narrowing her eyes.
Her assumption wasn’t a surprise considering Mab should be the only female capable of entering the museum. I’d seen at least four of Mab’s personas—the latest being the Hampton’s socialite she’d portrayed in The Boss’s office. But I wonder if that meant the girl had actually met Mab or just knew of her. I shook my head, letting her know I wasn’t Mab. Her expression changed to a cross between surprise, confusion, and panic.
Raven, as I decided to call her, put her hands on the glass, eyes wide as if pleading for me to help her. I really had no clue what to do about this, and as I sat on the clean settee and looked at her through the crystal clear glass, I thought of the curator and his painting.
Fuck, was his “date” with her? Creepy Pervert wasn’t a strong enough word for this guy.
I closed my eyes and slipped outside my body. I popped into the case with Raven, momentarily shocked that I sensed her as human.
“Who are you?” I said, hoping she could hear me.
Startled, Raven dropped her hands and whipped her head around to face me. The way her eyes darted around the interior, I knew she couldn’t sense me, but my voice must have come from this direction.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m the one standing out there.”
“Claire Meredith Cooper. I need to be let out of this box.”
“How do you know my name?” I asked, dreading the possible answers.
“Claire Meredith Cooper, you must release me from this box. Now,” Raven demanded.
“Look kid, I don’t mind helping you out, but I’m going to need a little information first.”
She sighed, shoulders drooped. “What do you want to know?”
“Who are you, how you know my name, and if you knew my name why did you question if I were Mab?” I asked.
In a monotone voice as if she’d explained this a hundred times, Raven said, “I have no name. I know your name because I know everything’s name. It’s my curse.”
I’m sure my face went pale. I took another look at her—really looked at her this time. I tried to imagine a teenage version of the five-year-old girl in the museum—the Name Caller, the one that was supposed to be dead, the girl who when discovered would mean four existed in one time and the beginning of the end had begun.
She continued, “I couldn’t sense your name until you entered my prison. I thought maybe Mab had finally decided to drop the old hag look and try
something new.”
Mab was queen of the pretty people. She wasn’t an old hag by anyone’s interpretation, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be defending her. Raven had obviously been left here by Mab—for who knows how long—and Harry and The Boss had no clue. I stared, not really sure how to handle the idea that she was the beginning of the end. But did this girl know her role in the prophecies? Or was she as clueless as I had been last spring?
“Did you hear me?” she asked, as if impatient with my slow response.
“Yes,” I said softly, “I heard you. How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. I only awaken when someone comes to visit. It’s usually Francis. Did he finally die? Are you the new curator? Will you paint pictures of me too?”
“No, no, and hell no.”
“Then release me from this damn box before he comes back.”
“Look, Raven—I’m going to call you Raven, if that’s okay—there’s a bit more going on than you can possibly imagine. I need a few more answers before I can help.”
She stared at me, looking right at my presence as if she could see it. A moment later she blew out a breath. “Fine, call me whatever you want. Now ask your questions.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here because of the Winter Queen,” Raven snarled. “She stole my life, then left me down here to rot. The curator could release me, but he doesn’t. If you have any sort of heart at all you will save me from this madness.”
Mab brought her here instead of killing her—but why? Was Mab trying to control the prophecies? Maybe stop them from being fulfilled? Of course, if I was to believe everything I’d been told, I was supposed to kill Raven before she killed me. Looking at the girl, I didn’t see a killer. She was human. She could sense names, but what could that do really?
“Why did Mab do that? I mean, she’s a total bitch, but why would she trap you?” I asked.
“Mab wishes to use my gift for her own gain.”
I frowned. “How?”
“She wants me bound to her, but a child cannot be bound.”
“Okay, so is she keeping you here until you’re old enough?”
“No, nothing in this place changes. I’ve been days from my sixteenth birthday for years.”
Opening my eyes and returning to my body, I looked at my wrist. If time was standing still, did that mean I had days instead of hours to find the blood? Slipping from my body, I returned to Raven.
“Where did you go?” she asked. “I sensed you leave.”
“I had to check something. It’s not important right now.”
“You came here for something,” Raven said, “I might be able to help. That nutter has told me everything.”
I wasn’t sure I trusted Raven, but maybe she could point me in the right direction.
“I have to find the blood of four royal children. Any clue where I should look?”
“Sector 9-A, room fourteen. That’s where they keep the blood,” she said matter-of-factly, as if she had a map of the place memorized in her head.
“I’ve been to a few of the rooms. Whoever designed this place was crazy—there’s no apparent order to anything. How could you possibly keep them all straight?”
Raven breathed out an annoyed sigh. “I’m awake for about thirty minutes every time he stops by, then I go into some sort of mindless stasis where I’m unconscious but my brain is apparently categorizing everything he said. I’ve had total recall since I woke up here. And aside from the rare visits by the Bitch Queen herself, and now you, that means there has been a lot of time spent with Francis learning every boring thing about this place.”
“Okay—sorry for doubting you. Now, how exactly would I find Sector 9-A?”
“We’re currently in sector eight. You have to cross over to the next hexahedron. Then take the third archway straight through two more hexahedrons. It’s the first door on the right.”
I considered the paths I’d taken earlier. I’d blinked in and out of those pathways but I veered off when I sensed the curator. I’d been so close to finding it before. I had it mapped out in my head now; I knew exactly where to go.
Raven turned her head and looked back toward the archway behind her. “The curator’s coming,” she said. “You must let me out now so I can distract him, or you must hide.”
The curator’s rooms were several hubs away. It would take him time to walk here. I blinked my presence back to his rooms, but unfortunately he wasn’t there. I popped back to the case.
“Where did she go this time?” Raven said under her breath.
“Sorry, I’m back. He isn’t in his room. How do I get you out?” Hiding wasn’t really an option, and if the girl could keep him distracted long enough, I’d have time to find the blood.
Her face lit up. “There’s a panel on the wall over there.” She pointed toward a cluster of bricks near the first door. “There’s a key inside. It will open the cage.”
I opened my eyes and returned to my body. I stood from the settee and moved to the bricks at the wall. I looked back when I didn’t see anything obvious. Raven mimicked swiping her hand in front of the wall.
I passed my hand over the cluster of bricks. A sharp pinprick hit my palm and a small panel opened. A speck of blood seeped from the small prick on my palm. I rubbed my hand to sooth it. Inside the alcove was a very unassuming silver skeleton key. It was tarnished as if it hadn’t been touched in years.
I returned to the glass case with the key. Holding it up, I showed it to Raven. She pointed down at the base of the glass enclosure, but I didn’t see a keyhole. I slipped my presence back into the case.
“What is she waiting for?” Raven muttered, then jumped as if my presence startled her.
“I don’t know how to open the case.”
“The keyhole will appear when you approach it with the key. It’s down along the bottom. It will open the panel in front of me. The first quarter turn unlocks the wards, the second quarter turn unlocks the case.”
She looked back toward the archway.
“I don’t sense him yet,” I said.
She relaxed a fraction. “Good, but you must hurry, because he’ll be here soon. He’s never late.”
“How do I avoid the curator once you’re out?”
“You can’t avoid him, but I’ll stop him.”
“How?”
“I give you my word that I won’t kill him.”
She said it as if that was all I’d want to know. Was this a mistake? Was this Raven really the little girl from my dreams? Was I about to start the beginning of the end? Or was it all a load of bullshit and she had no clue what fate had possibly planned for her? I’d only decided she was the Name Caller because of her gift. She might not have anything to do with the prophecies. Could I seriously leave this child trapped here in this glass prison because she might be a contender?
“I hope you wouldn’t even try to kill him.”
“Of course not,” she said quickly. “I’m not going to try and kill him, but have you seen those pictures? He’s obsessed with me. Only fear of Mab keeps him from letting me out of the cage. I’d have pushed him harder to disobey her, but where would I have gone? Now you’re here. You can help me. Save me from them. I’ll distract him while you get the blood.”
How could this girl be the one from my dreams? She’d been locked in this cage for years.
“Hurry, he won’t be late,” she persisted.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said, opening my eyes. I crouched at the base of the panel. Just as she said, the keyhole appeared as I brought the key near. I slid the key into the lock. I paused to look at her. She wasn’t looking at me. She was focused on the lock—freedom. I turned the key a quarter turn. I could sense her now through the glass as the wards dropped.
Neither of us had been watching the door.
“Stop!” the curator yelled from the archway.
I looked up just as he entered. He was dressed in long, white wizard’s robes and carried what I
assumed was the painting now wrapped in brown paper and tied with a pink bow. It dropped to the floor as he threw his will at me.
I didn’t have time to block his attack. The impact tossed me across the room, but not before my hand jerked, twisting the key the final turn and unlocking the case.
I struggled to my feet as he prepared to launch another attack.
“Francis Warren Michaels. Stop.” I sensed the power of Raven’s words as she released them.
The curator’s eyes went black and he froze where he stood, totally controlled by her words.
“Shit,” I said as she turned her cold eyes—now gleaming with power—on me.
“Claire Meredith Cooper. Kill the curator.”
“Fuck. Me. You are the Name Caller,” I accused.
Her mouth pressed into a hard line. Her hands balled into fists. “Claire Meredith Cooper, kill—”
“I’m not killing anyone.”
I glanced at the curator. Her power wasn’t some simple persuasion. She had what appeared to be total control of him. So why hadn’t it worked on me?
“Fine.” She turned to the curator. “Kill her.”
Chapter 21
The curator’s empty black eyes focused on me. Fire formed in his palm. I leapt out of its way just as he threw it at me.
“What are you doing?” I screamed at Raven.
“Surviving,” she said.
“I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
She laughed, a laugh that sounded much older than her fifteen years. “You know who I am. You know what’s at stake.”
“You’re going to play their game? After what Mab did to you?”
I ducked as another fireball whizzed passed me. That one was close enough to singe my dress.
Raven skipped toward my hallway, then spun back around, a wide grin on her face. “Oh my...it’s better than I’d hoped. You brought me a gift.” She clapped her hands as if she were a child at Christmas. “I get Thanos Marcus Xavier, son of Mab, back!”
Crap. She can sense that Thanos is out there. “Sorry to disappoint, but he’s mine,” I said, moving too late and getting clipped by one of the curator’s fireballs.