11. Chapter 11 #2
“Ah, you’re wondering about the wraiths,” Regent continues valiantly.
“Rumor has it, they’re fallen angels who tumbled from the sky, cursed to forever become demons.
They sought for power against the dragons and the gods, neither of which side would relent, and so commenced the War of the Wraiths.
” He tugs on the spine of a book, and the entire bookshelf creaks and groans, swinging open to reveal a little corridor that leads to a secret entrance.
“Follow me,” he says.
The trap door spits us out into a whimsical greenhouse plucked straight from a fairytale.
Ivy leaves trickle up domed-glass ceilings, and geraniums fill the floor in a tidal wave of color.
My heart is racing too fast to appreciate the beauty of it all, considering how I’m still imagining that portrait back in the study.
Those dark blobs had been so eerie, so unnerving.
Why had no one else responded with goosebumps the way I had?
How is everyone acting so nonchalant after all of this?
The salty-haired butler stops mid-stride down the pebble-laden walkway, near the foot of a marble statue depicting an old woman. There, he places a hand on her ivory arm and admires her ethereal beauty in a moment of silence.
“To end the war, the Mother of Chaos cast the Curse of Love,” he says, pausing to smell the roses, being extra careful not to prick his aging skin on any thorns.
“That deviant little spell is what sent the wraiths to Hell, the dragons to Purgatory, and cursed the new gods into being forced to earn a mortal’s love.
” His smile dwindles into a frown, and he begins tutting under his breath.
“As it so happens, the seventh day of this week marks the deadline.” His eyes fill with dire urgency.
“If the gods do not find love, they will be banished from the realm… forever.”
“Oh dear. What a shame that would be,” I whisper.
“See? I knew that us being summoned here had something to do with that pesky marriage mandate,” Maxine whispers back, twirling her shiny blade around with graceful fluidity. “If the queen is being forced to find love, then everyone else must suffer the consequences.”
“Wonderful.” I release a noncommittal grunt.
“Um, guys,” Lily says, pointing to a propped-open door on the opposite side of the Conservatory, which is partially concealed behind a juniper bush with needle-like thorns and silver foliage. “Regent just left without us.”
We rush to catch up with him, only to step into a courtyard made of glass.
Here, the rain weeps from frosted clouds and crystallizes into fractals of snow, peppering my cheeks and salting the concrete.
Bannisters of icicles flank me on each end, twisting like the interwoven teeth of a beast. Maxine withdraws her dagger again, as though contemplating how she might bleed a little color of life into this place, which doesn’t look like it’s seen a glimpse of real sunlight in weeks.
I step away from her, right into the only sunlight that can withstand this festering cesspool of sludge.
The prismatic beams poke and prod their way through the mist like hot poker sticks.
Regent raises his voice against the bitter wind.
“As you all know, magic cannot be destroyed or created. When something dies, its magic absconds into the Heavens and then trickles over the realm like minced stardust, dispersing uniformly.” He stops before a lucid wishing well and leans over its side, staring down at the yawning chasm below.
I soak in the weeping willows, the phantasmal shadows, and the ambient light that chills me to the bone, suddenly realizing that this courtyard belongs to the God of Dreams. Amidst a cluster of headstones, I become certain this must be a grave mistake.
Regent clears his throat and continues, “Although, there is an exception to the rule. Something in history has proven that post-mortem magic can be rerouted. Please, follow me. This way!” He heads toward an oversized statue of a key sitting a few dozen yards down the moonlit pathway, motioning around with his arms. “The Sentinel Key is a conduit-like object with the ability to siphon magic directly from the deceased and transmit that magic into another living being. It’s an object that has been fought over for centuries. ”
I approach the statue of the key with caution. Beside me, Maxine is flipping her dagger in the air and then catching it by the hilt, each spin causing Bella to jerk away from her.
“The war was coined the War of the Wraiths because the wraiths were desperate to get their claws on the key and use it to break their curse,” Regent says, looking grim. “The dragons and the gods, however, did not want to give it to them. No one did.”
Lily wraps her arms around her body, looking chilled. “Did they ever turn back into angels in the end? The wraiths?”
Regent shakes his head. “No. And I’m not sure they ever will.
It’s rumored that the Sentinel Key lies shattered at the bottom of a lake somewhere, never to be seen again.
” With that, he dips underneath the branch of a cedar tree and calls out, “This path will lead us back through the servant route, which reroutes into the dining hall. Soon, you’ll have a chance to meet the gods that chose you. ”
My skin prickles at the thought, like I’ve been mauled by glass and stabbed by rose thorns. I’ve never been picked in my life for anything.