Escape to Witch City

by E. Latimer

  Emma leapt forward, fitting her fingertips into the rusted metal bolt beside Maddie’s, forcing the stiff lock back as metal bit into her skin.

  They shot through the door one after the other. Emma was last, and she held her breath, trying to close the door behind her as quietly and quickly as possible. If they got lucky, McCraw would run right past the platform without realizing they’d gone through the door.

  There were stairs just beyond the door, leading up into the darkness. Eliza was already running up them, with Maddie and Edgar close behind. Emma followed. There was a stitch in her side, but she ignored it and pressed on.

  The staircase was lit by more lanterns set into the stone walls, and the light made the shadows flicker and jump. Emma’s heart raced every time she glanced back over her shoulder, expecting the witch hunters to appear. After a few minutes of rapid climbing, she didn’t think she’d be able to get away if someone did show up to give chase, she was breathing so hard.

  Eliza was still in the lead. “Come on, hurry. They’re going to realize we unbolted the door any minute now. We’ve got to get a head start.”

  Emma wanted to point out that they did in fact have a head start, but she was far too winded. At last the stairs came to an end, and the door at the top led them into a bright, open hallway with checkered floors and a high glass ceiling that looked out at the clouds.

  She staggered to a halt, surprised to find herself so suddenly surrounded by luxury. There were potted ferns draped over black iron stands on both sides of the hallway, and thick wax candles in gold wall sconces. There was even a stone fountain set into the wall across from them, where water trickled out of the open jaw of a roaring lion.

  Along the walls a variety of gold and velvet furniture was arranged, chaise lounges and chairs with poufy, tasseled cushions, and just beyond that, a pair of open doors led out onto a small balcony.

  Just under the tall windows that lined the corridor, a silver tea set was arranged on a cherrywood cart, and on it was a single fine china teacup, steam still curling from the lip, and a spread of sandwiches and scones.

  Emma looked around, startled. “Where on earth are we?”

  “Well, that’s lovely,” Eliza said waspishly. “Hang the witches and then walk straight up for lunch.”

  Maddie snorted at this, but Emma noticed Edgar had gone sheet white and seemed to be frozen. His eyes were the only things moving, and they were huge, darting this way and that as he took in the hallway.

  “What?” She felt a sense of creeping alarm at his shocked expression. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “This is the palace,” Edgar whispered.

  “What?” Her stomach dropped, and she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to stop the frantic fluttering of her nerves.

  “We’re in the palace. In my mother’s quarters.” Edgar’s voice was shaky. “This is where her rooms are.” As he was speaking, he finally began to move, turning quickly on his heel. “We have to get out of here.”

  Emma hurried after him, and the others followed. The thought of running into her aunt was enough to light a fire under her. All those times her aunt had boasted about taking her kingdom back. She remembered the queen’s sneering face, the glitter in her eyes when she’d talked about ending the reign of the witches.

  Hanging the witches.

  The black rope hanging from the platform. Had those been…?

  But no, she couldn’t think about that, not right now.

  They hurried down the lavish hallway, which only seemed to get wider. The candle sconces were soon replaced by a number of oil portraits, all stern-faced royals in collars and ruffles. Most of them looked as though they’d been sucking lemons.

  They passed a noticeable gap in the portraits, a blank space on the wall, and Emma knew without thinking that it was the stretch of years that the witches had been in power, when the royal family had nearly been wiped out, the Black family legacy almost obliterated.

  They had reached the end of the hallway now, and a closed door with a series of iron locks.

  Edgar seemed to know the way, and after they had drawn back all the deadbolts, he led them down another, narrower hallway.

  They were no longer in the queen’s quarters. This was evidenced by the fact that the lights on either side of the hallway were now glass hurricane lamps, and the wallpaper was a smooth olive color, completely devoid of any flowers whatsoever. The portraits on the walls had changed too. There were a few bursts of angry-looking generals here and there, and several grave older women with squashed faces in tall collars, but no royalty.

  She knew this place. It was the quarters for visiting nobles, a place where diplomats and distant relations of the royals stayed when they came to visit.

  Her mother occasionally dropped by this wing, if she thought whomever was visiting was someone worth sucking up to, and Emma often found herself dragged along on these trips. She knew where they were now. Just down the way was a staircase that led to a number of long, winding passages, and the servant’s quarters beyond.

  If they could get there, they might be able to slip out the back entrance before anyone saw them.

  “Keep going.” Emma quickened her pace. The hurricane lamps flickered as they hurried past, sending shadows scurrying across the walls.

  All of them were antsy, heads whipping this way and that at every noise. There was a strange, quick moment where they passed a dessert cart that someone had pushed to one side of the hallway, and Emma found herself whisking a handful of almond scones into her sash, operating completely on muscle memory, until Edgar hissed at her and swatted her arm.

  “What are you doing? Keep going!”

  They had paused at a branch in the hallway, and in the second of silence after Edgar’s admonishment they all heard the muffled thump of footsteps up ahead. Emma froze, heart stopping in her chest, but Eliza beckoned to her, snatching at the front of her dress, yanking her around to face a large cupboard, one cleverly painted to blend in with the wall.

  “Quick, get inside!”

  The four of them jammed in and shut the door behind them. Emma found herself squished between Eliza and Maddie, with Edgar right behind her, his bony knees poking into her back. She was sitting on a pile of very soft, perfumed cloth.

  They were, Emma realized, currently in the royal linen closet, sitting on some of the most expensive towels in all of England.

  Her mother would be completely horrified.

  The thought was strangely amusing, and she had to stuff her fist into her mouth to keep from laughing. She tried to imagine Lady Isolde Black yanking open the door and spotting her daughter curled up on the linen.

  Of course, if that happened, her mother might turn her in.

  The urge to laugh dissolved as quickly as it had come.

  In that moment of quiet in the linen closet, the image she’d been carrying with her since the train platform began to truly sink in. Four black nooses. That’s what had been hanging from the wooden archway downstairs. Four thistle nooses—for Emma and the others—hidden underneath the palace.

  Had they been there all this time? Had Emma lived her entire life, walking these halls, stealing scones from carts and books from the library, never knowing that witches had been hanging just a few hundred feet beneath the floor?

  And what about Isolde? Had her mother known?

  She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have sent Emma off to be tested if she had known.

  Her jaw ached, she was clenching it so hard, and her pulse picked up, jack-hammering in her ears. She felt ill.

  The others were similarly silent, and nobody moved, though they were wedged uncomfortably against one another. Emma wondered if they were all thinking about the same things.

  Footsteps thumped past their cupboard, and they all stiffened. The sound faded after a moment, and when she was sure whoever had been wa
lking past was gone, Eliza hissed at Edgar under her breath.

  “Get your elbow out of my ear.”

  “Well, I don’t want it in there either. There’s no room!”

  “Shut up, the both of you.” Maddie shifted beside Emma, poking her painfully in the side. “What’s that smell?”

  Emma could smell it almost as soon as Maddie mentioned it, a faint smoky scent. “Is something…Eliza, are you smoking?”

  “Don’t you dare catch fire right now.” Edgar’s voice was threatening. “I mean it.”

  “I really don’t like small spaces,” Eliza whispered. “I can’t help it.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Edgar whispered, “ ‘Of writing many books there is no end; / And I who have written much in prose and verse / For others’ uses, will write now for mine—’ ”

  “What the devil are you doing?” Eliza croaked, and Edgar shifted again, making Emma grunt as something dug into her back.

  “I’m distracting you.”

  “Well stop. It’s dreadful.”

  “It’s Elizabeth Barrett Browning.” Edgar sounded affronted. “How dare you—”

  He broke off suddenly as another shuffle of footsteps reached them. A voice drifted through the door, hushed but still loud enough for Emma to make out the words. “…felt the whole palace tremble? Her Majesty just flew out of her suites.”

  Another voice replied, lower this time, and Emma only caught the last few words. “…going to do?”

  “The Throne Room, I expect,” the other woman said. “She’s going to be on the war path now. Heavens, do you realize there are witches on the loose in the palace? It’s a bit thrilling, isn’t it? We should get to the Great Hall in case we miss something.”

  “How silly you are, Abigail!” The second voice was louder now. “You ought to be terrified, not pleased. Look, I’m shaking.”

  Abigail and her friend must have walked away down the hall, because their voices grew more and more distant. Emma was about to say they should get out and make a break for it when she heard it—the steady thumping of a heartbeat, distant enough to make her realize it didn’t belong to any of her companions.

  There was no anger to shove down this time, like she normally did, and she couldn’t simply do the same thing with the fear clutching at her chest. It wasn’t the same.

  The noise continued, the steady thump, thump, thump of someone larger than them, someone coming this way very fast.

  The sound of footsteps echoed outside in the hall.

  The heartbeat in her ears was thunderous now. The person, whoever it was, was close.

  She knew she shouldn’t use her power. All magic was evil. But for once, it might also be helpful, and if she gave some beefy soldier a bit of a heart palpitation, he’d probably be fine, right? And far less inclined to chase after them.

  She was still thinking this over when she heard the swishing of heavy skirts over stone. There was a slight pause, and then someone on the other side of the door said firmly, “That’s a very noisy linen closet, children. You’re hardly fooling anyone. Now, come out at once.”

  Emma stiffened, unsure of what to do. On either side, she could feel the others were frozen as well. No one moved.

  A moment later, the door was yanked open, and she found herself staring up at a tall, severe-looking woman. She had dark skin, which contrasted with the frilly cream-colored dress she wore, and her black curls were a cloud around her slender face.

  She frowned at the girls, the cameo pin at her throat glittering in the lamplight.

  “Of course, that idiot girl just dropped you off here on your own.” Her voice was slightly haughty and richly accented, and she seemed to be half talking to herself in her annoyance. “Everything’s gone completely belly-up, hasn’t it? Come along quickly. It’s only a matter of time before the soldiers search this place. They’re only waiting to clear it with the queen because I threw a fit and whacked one of them with my parasol. Come out from there.”

  Emma was the first to obey, perhaps because she was used to this type of attitude. The woman reminded her a little of her mother, with her haughty way of speaking and her sour expression.

  Edgar had been staring up at the woman in astonishment, but he finally seemed to collect himself enough to speak. “Y-you’re the ambassador to Irvingland…”

  Instantly, Emma remembered a few verses of a little rhyme the tutor had taught her to remember the countries.

  Irvingland. Compliant neighbor to the south, good for oranges, not much else.

  It seemed rather rude, in retrospect.

  “Yes, yes, your compliant little neighbor to the south. That’s what she thinks, anyways. More importantly, I am your way out. Follow me.” The woman waved a hand at them. “I’ll take you to my quarters and we’ll get you out from there.”

  Before any of them could move, the woman turned and began to stride purposefully down the hallway. Emma just stood there staring in shock, and Eliza and Edgar did the same. Only Maddie had followed her immediately, and now she turned around and waved a hand at them, brows raised.

  “Well, come on. She’s going to help us!”

  Emma wasn’t entirely sure why the ambassador would do that, or that she trusted her, but she hurried after Maddie all the same. Even over the rushing of blood in her ears, she could hear the thud of footsteps from overhead. Soldiers, like the ambassador had said. They were getting closer.

  The Noise was impossibly loud now, filling the space between her own heartbeats, making her feel breathless. The more nervous she became, the louder the sound of the older woman’s heart.

  Alarmed, she shoved the Noise back behind the door, picturing the locks clicking into place as she banished the power. She wasn’t sure if she could trust the ambassador, but that didn’t mean she wanted to do something horrible to the woman.

  At last the sound of the pulse faded, and Emma let out a relieved breath.

  The woman stopped at a door in the center of the hall. She fished a silver key out of her glove, still ignoring the children as she slipped it into the lock.

  Beside the door hung another large, glossy poster, and Emma suddenly had a sour taste in her mouth.

  The queen looked like she did in every picture, her red mouth curled slightly up at the corners. But the picture felt different now. That knowing in her eyes—the one Emma had always thought made her look like she had a secret—now had a horrifying new meaning. All she could think about when she looked at the picture was the huge underground cavern beneath their feet. The black nooses waiting for them.

  She forced herself to ignore the poster. When the key clicked in the lock, the woman held the door open and waited as they stepped inside. “I’ve already called up the doorway,” she said. “It’s all ready to go.”

  Emma was about to ask what she was talking about, but the sight of the room stopped the words before they could leave her mouth.

  The ceiling, far over their heads, was made entirely of glass, and through it, they could see the towers and peaks of the palace against a blue sky. It was humid inside, and smelled faintly of flowers and damp soil. There were plants covering every inch of the space, ivy trailing tendrils around wooden lattices, and rows of ferns lining the stone walls. Bursts of color decorated the greenery here and there, flowers in vibrant reds and pinks.

  The air inside was distinctly different than in the rest of the palace—cleaner, Emma thought—and the whole place was filled with the sound of trickling water coming from a large, multi-level stone fountain in the center of the room.

  “Chop-chop. Quickly, children.” The ambassador clapped her hands, startling them. “I trust your contact has prepped you for this, though clearly something went dreadfully wrong straight afterward, what with the remodeling of the palace and all.”

  “Contact?” Emma stared at her, frowning, her mind working franti
cally. None of this made any sense. What on earth was this woman talking about? And why were they all crowded around a fountain in the middle of a bunch of plants? “I’m sorry, but…what’s going on here?”

  The woman threw up her hands, exasperated. “For heaven’s sake! You mean to tell me she wasn’t actually with you? What happened?” When they stared at her blankly she grumbled under her breath, darting a look at the door before turning back to them. “The train was supposed to make one stop, at which one of our allies would sneak on. To brief you on the escape plan.”

  “There were no stops,” Eliza said darkly. “Just the one we made happen when we crashed the train. So yes, safe to say this escape plan didn’t go off as planned.”

  “Escape plan?” Edgar stood up straighter, his face lighting up. “Does that mean we’re getting out of here?”

  “If nothing else goes wrong, yes,” the ambassador said peevishly.

  Eliza was staring around the room, eyes wide. “I didn’t know there was another coven in London besides mine. How many do you have?”

  “We’re not a coven,” the ambassador said primly. “At least, not exactly.”

  “Who’s organized this, then?” Eliza said. “Who’s rescuing us?”

  For one mad, ridiculous moment, Emma hoped the ambassador might say it was her mother, but the woman only shook her head and glanced over them, still frowning. “I would think that should be obvious, child. The same woman those blasted witch hunters have been searching for: Lenore Black.”

  Emma snapped upright.

  A hundred questions crowded the tip of her tongue, but before she could ask any of them, a heavy thump came from overhead, making all of them jump.

  The ambassador’s gaze flicked up at the ceiling and then back to Emma and the others, and now her face was white and pinched. “Oh bollocks, you were supposed to have all this explained to you on the train ride over. We haven’t got time.” She stared at them intently. “Listen to me carefully. I can’t go with you; I can only send you on your way. You’ve got to get to Witch City.”