Chapter Ten #2
No one within seemed to have noticed the cracked-open door, and so Calisa opened it wider until she could see more of the room: all green.
A carpet of plush green. A bed piled high with green pillows and floral blankets.
She opened the door farther. A chair with green velvet upholstery.
A footstool carved with the picture of a pine tree.
A fireplace with a painting of a bouquet above the mantel.
A dresser with a vase of daisies and roses.
It was an adorably floral and (most important) empty guest room, yet the whispers still rolled toward her. Calisa swung the door open wide and stepped inside.
Across the very ordinary, very green guest room was an open closet door.
And what was inside was not ordinary.
Instead of clothes on hangers or even a bare closet, she saw a swirl of colors, like a slick of oil in the sunlight—purple, yellow, and black spiraling within the closet. She thought of the broom closet from her first day here, except this time there was no howling. Only whispers.
What. Is. That?
It was an impossibility.
An inexplicable impossibility.
Tucking the key into her pocket, Calisa walked toward the closet. She stopped. Stared. But it didn’t vanish.
It was undeniably real. And beautiful.
Closer, the whispers tumbled over her as if she’d stepped into a waterfall and they were crashing over her head and shoulders.
The sensible thing would have been to turn around, leave the guest room, and ask Jack about it.
Or better still, Melidor. Or Auntie Zee herself.
But then, of course, she’d have to admit that she’d let herself into the room without permission, in direct violation of both Auntie Zee’s rule and forgivable behavior.
Also, even if she was able to hide that she’d snuck into Melidor’s room, would they even answer her if she asked, or would they freak out because she was asking questions about something she was definitely not supposed to know anything about?
Obviously I’m not going to be sensible.
Calisa plucked one of the daisies out of the vase on the dresser and held it by the stem. She pushed the petals toward the swirling closet opening. It slid into the dark rainbow without any resistance. She counted to five and then pulled it out again.
It looked fine. Still blooming. Gently, she touched one of the petals, and it felt alive and perfect, as soft as a butterfly wing. She returned the flower to its vase, where it was indistinguishable from the others.
Reaching out, Calisa touched the swirling colors of the doorway with the tip of her finger.
It felt like a kiss. Emboldened, she put her whole hand through the swirl and pulled it back.
Completely normal. She turned her hand over and examined it, clenching and unclenching it.
It both looked and felt fine. Whatever the swirl was, it didn’t eat flesh, which was good to know.
Behind her, she heard footsteps on the stairs. She glanced back—she’d left the door to Melidor’s room open. If anyone passed by, they’d see her here, inside a room that wasn’t hers, uninvited and unwelcome.
There was only one choice….
Actually, there were plenty of choices, but only one that she liked. She didn’t think too hard about whether she was using the footsteps as an excuse.
Calisa plunged through the iridescent swirl.
For an instant, she felt as if she were within a kaleidoscope: colors spun around her, streaked in velvety black. Her skin was swaddled in a warm breath, and then it was over and she was blinking into the sunshine.
Except the sun wasn’t right.
A field of flowers unfurled at her feet, and the purple-tinted sun bathed it all, casting deep-purple shadows that felt more like midnight than day. It made the field look bruised.
Unearthly.
The wind felt sharp, as if it held microscopic shards of glass. It bit at her skin. She rubbed her hands over her bare arms, but she didn’t feel any cuts. I shouldn’t be here. She had the overwhelming sense that she didn’t belong.
All around, the whispering rose and fell, and she realized it was coming from the flowers themselves, calling to one another as the breeze blew through their leaves.
She heard a high-pitched sound, half like a giggle and half like a scream.
Prickles chased over Calisa’s skin, and a roselike flower ran past her.
Its roots were like feet, its leaves pumped like arms, and its petals were flattened back as it darted by.
It was the thing making the horrible giggle-like sound. Calisa felt her jaw drop.
A woman with green skin, green hair, and a silvery dress chased after the flower.
She slowed when she saw Calisa.
Calisa froze. She was only a few steps from the closet. She could flee—
“You.” Her voice sounded like a wind chime, bell-like and scattered, but discordant. It hurt Calisa’s ears, and she nearly clapped her hands over them.
“Me?” Calisa squeaked.
“You are from Auntie Zee,” the green woman said. “You look like her.”
Calisa wondered which piece of her looked like her great-aunt. Also, why was this woman chasing a flower? Also, why was a flower running? Also, why was she green and the sun purple and why did it all hurt? Where am I? “I, um…yes? You know Auntie Zee?”
Faster than her eye could follow, the green-skinned woman darted close to Calisa, uncomfortably close.
Her breath filled Calisa’s face, and she smelled of soil and cut grass.
She cocked her head. “You tell that daughter of mine that the time for indulging herself is over. She needs to plant her seedlings.”
“Daughter?” Calisa echoed. Seedlings?
“Melidor!” The woman’s voice ricocheted inside her head, sharp as a shriek.
“I know she’s checked herself in as a guest. ‘To prepare,’ she said.
But she has not returned, and she is not heeding any of our songs, though we have sent them wide to infiltrate both her waking hours and her dreams.” She gestured behind Calisa, and Calisa turned to see the swirling, door-shaped rectangle, the closet door, standing without any kind of support.
“I’ll, um, tell her?” Her head began to pound.
“She cannot hide from her duties. The seasons turn, and she has responsibilities. Pretending they don’t exist will not make them disappear. You tell her that, since she will not listen to us.”
The breeze pricked her skin painfully. It was hard to think, with the whispering flowers and the biting breeze and the bruise-like shadows that looked not quite right and the pain from the throbbing in her head. Every cell in her body felt as if it were screaming that she didn’t belong here.
The green woman, Melidor’s mother, swiveled to face another plant that had uprooted itself and was now running away, giggling in a high-pitched voice. “Root yourself right now! This is not the time for such behavior!” She charged after the running plant, her silvery dress unfurling behind her.
Calisa stared and stared, as if her eyes could drink it all in.
She then stepped backward through the iridescent swirl into the charming but ordinary guest room, with its floral accents and forest vibe, and she breathed. Ordinary air. Ordinary light. She rubbed her arms, feeling the memory of the bite of the wind.
Where was I?
And: Does every room have a closet like this?
She had a theory. It was an absurd theory, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Without letting herself think about what it meant or whether it was possible or even if she should, she spun around and crossed the room.
Sticking her head out of the door to the guest room, Calisa checked both directions—whoever she’d heard on the stairs seemed to have gone. She shut Melidor’s door behind her and locked it.
After less than a second’s hesitation, she used the master key to open the next guest room, number eleven, one she knew was unoccupied.
She slipped inside. Instead of florals everywhere, this room was draped in silks that hung like buntings from the wooden rafters on the ceiling.
The blankets and sheets on the bed were gold, and the headboard and posts of the canopy were painted gold as well.
But her eyes went immediately to the closet door.
Crossing to it, she took a deep breath, then opened it—and she was greeted with another swirling portal. This time, it was black and gold, as if gold paint was being stirred into oil.
Giving herself zero time for freaking out, she stepped through.
It was dark. No, there was light: stars. So many stars! And a moon hung heavy and full, low in the sky over the gray silhouette of distant stone spires.
How did it become night?
In front of her, down a grassy hill, were row after row of tents, lit by torches and lanterns.
It looked to be some kind of nighttime farmers market, with vendors at each tent hawking fabrics and fruits.
The air was full of smells that she didn’t recognize: meats and spices, she guessed, but nothing she could name.
On the hills around the market were dozens of other door-size rectangles of swirling colors.
Calisa stepped backward through her portal into the guest room and daylight and closed the door. Her closet had nothing like this. She thought of the red X painted on her guest room door and wondered if this was what it meant. X for no swirl. No…wherever that was.
Checking the hallway, Calisa emerged from the unoccupied guest room and shut the door behind her. She was shaking, and she felt as if her thoughts were swirling inside her, as mixed up as the colors in the portals—that’s what they had to be, didn’t they? Portals to…somewhere else?
Auntie Zee knows.
So does Jack.
As did every guest staying at the Faraway Inn…. She thought of Kendra apparently stepping out of a supply closet, and how there were never any cars outside.
Exactly how far away are Auntie Zee’s guests from?