Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The taxi drops me off between the shop where I first met John and the estate.
I hunch as I walk the remaining distance to the estate boundary wall, where I plan to sneak in.
I can’t seem to stop my shoulders from creeping up towards my ears.
The memory of that shop…the hellhounds, of first meeting John…
will be forever ingrained in my nightmares.
Having it at my unprotected back creeps me out and makes me shiver.
I come to a stop at the boundary wall. I tilt my head as I investigate the glowing new ward. After the angel’s golden magic-show yesterday and the supposed unlocking of my demon powers—if that’s even what the angel did—I’m afraid of what will happen when I touch the ward.
Perhaps he blocked or altered my strange magic. I scratch my head—it’s warm underneath my wool hat. Oh, heck, what happens if my immunity powers no longer work? I bounce from foot to foot. Oh, God, I should have worked out a way to check before I came.
I let out a self-deprecating breath, rub my hands together, and then tentatively stick my right index finger out towards the ward.
I grimace, close my eyes, and wait for a nasty surprise. When nothing happens, I open one eye to see my hand completely immersed in the ward. I want to roll my eyes at my foolishness. Note to self: I have no depth perception with my eyes closed.
My grin fades, and I glance about. I’ve been messing around out here for way too long.
Confirming with a look that the coast is clear, I launch myself at the wall.
Oof. In an ungainly move, I scramble over it.
I wonder, when I gain control of my demon powers, will I become more elegant and prowly?
I can’t see Arlo ever having had to climb over walls.
I grunt when my feet hit the floor, and I land in the middle of a dense, thorny thicket of raspberry bushes. Oh bloody hell. I roll my eyes and raise my face to the sky in exasperation. Give me strength. The bushes tangle my legs and the thorns dig into the fabric of my leggings, biting my skin.
Ow, ow, ow.
I tiptoe away from the clingy plants without damaging myself or the thicket—I only sustain light scratches to my legs and hands. I groan as the old phrase “look before you leap” pops into my head. Trust me to choose the only stretch of wall with thorny bushes.
At least this time I’m somewhat prepared and wearing the right gear. I give myself a mental pat on the back. Today for my mission I settled on dark-green leggings, a heavy dark-green waterproof military-style coat, and a black (itchy) knit hat, all finished with sturdy boots.
There are guards everywhere, so it feels like it takes forever for me to slowly, cautiously sneak my way across the estate grounds to the main house.
The bright sunlight dims and, luckily for me, the weather changes—the clouds roll in, and it starts to rain heavily.
The rain lashes and visibility goes down to almost nothing.
I huddle into my jacket underneath a thick, ornate bush and squint at the guards as they patrol around the house.
I watch as they battle the cold, stinging sideways rain.
I work out their rotation and route; it’s going to be challenging to get past them.
When their shift changes, a few of the guards congregate together and in proper British fashion moan about the weather. I grin and use the handy distraction.
I hustle to the side of the house and the laundry room door.
The lock has always been a bit temperamental.
With a long-practised jiggle, a yank, and a sharp tug, I lift the door up ever so slightly, taking advantage of the loose hinges.
The barely heard snick of the lock as it opens reaches my ears, and I’m in.
I step through the door and close it behind me.
I lean against it, and then I wait. The room is empty.
My heart is beating fast, and my naff human senses are tingling. I hold my breath as I strain my ears for any sign of danger. I count down from thirty in my head. When I feel it’s safe, I take a small fortifying breath and move.
I creep past the empty, silent machines and grab a towel from a folded stack of clean laundry.
I crouch down, grab the handle of the internal door, and open it a tiny crack.
So far, so good. I peek out from the hinge side of the door.
It gives me an unobstructed view of the hallway as well as the library, which is opposite.
As I unfortunately don’t have X-ray vision or a super-sniffer or supersonic hearing, I figure I will have to do things the old-fashioned way.
I will have to wait until I’m a hundred percent sure that the library is empty.
So I sit on the cold tiled floor. I use the towel to blot the drops of rain from my skin and clothing, and to clean my boots.
All the while, I continue to squint through the gap in the door.
I silently wait.
Well, sort of silently. My panting breaths are so loud in the small room.
It seems almost impossible to control them with the adrenaline flooding through me, which makes my heart pound like a herd of galloping horses.
I do my best to control my breathing, but when I try to quieten it, my chest burns with the lack of oxygen.
I attempt to breathe through my nose, but the damn thing squeaks on my exhalation.
I roll my eyes. Mouth breathing seems to be quieter.
Every time I contemplate what will happen if I’m caught, my galloping heart skips a beat, and I have to force the thought away. If it wasn’t imperative that I access the demon’s hidden books, I wouldn’t be doing this. I’m so nervous, my stomach hurts.
My patience wins. Not thirty minutes later, the library door swings open and two witches exit. “I thought the library would have better texts,” one of them moans. She has fluffy white hair—similar to the seeds of a dandelion before you make a wish.
“Oh, I don’t know, Diana. The first editions are incredible.”
“Yes, but what about all the references? Surely a first-level demon would have a better reference section…” They continue their conversation down the hallway and disappear around the bend.
Conveniently they have left the door open, and based on what I can see from my position on the floor, the library looks empty.
I spring into action. I throw the dirty towel into an empty machine, slip out of the laundry room, and scamper across the hallway. Once in the library, I gently close the library door.
Without intending to, I take a deep breath. The library still smells the same as I remembered. It worried me that Arlo’s death might have left an imprint in the very fabric of the room, spoiled it somehow. But it doesn’t feel any different.
I guess I carry the wounds of that day within me.
I fix my eyes and ignore the area where he died. I don’t look to see if they have erased the circle, or if the floor has been cleaned and repaired. I can’t. Not even to show my respect. Heart thumping, I hurry across the room, my gaze firmly locked on the back shelves.
Instead of heading for a dusty dark corner, where any normal person would stash a hidden room, I aim for the centre of the solid oak shelves. It is the most prominent area of the library. Who would be mad enough to put the entrance door to a secret room in such a place? A demon would.
I place one hand on the most notable square of wood, above Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and my other above and slightly to the left on another panel. I push.
Nothing happens.
I duck, cringe, and adjust my hands. I bet the two witches only went for a quick break, and depending on how fast they can drink their tea, they could be back at any second.
Oh, God…I feel myself shake. I’m panicking.
If I get caught…I swallow down my nervousness, move my left hand an inch, and again push.
Oh, thank God. The relief when the panel clicks and the shelves swing forward towards me to reveal the hidden doorway.
I open it enough to give myself sufficient room to squeeze inside.
The nasty, crackling ward appears as soon as I pass through—it has killed trespassers in the past. I ignore it and gently pull the whole shelving securely back into place with a clunk.
Once the door securely closes, I hit the old-fashioned light switch and the secret space is flooded with light.
Whoa, that was scary. I take a deep breath in, roll my tense shoulders, and jiggle my arms to loosen them. I then remove my wet jacket, stuff my hat in the pocket, and place it on the hook beside the door. My leggings are a little damp, but they shouldn’t affect the environment in the room.
This secret place is…was…Arlo’s pride and joy.
What seems like unending shelves adorn the walls—they are as beautiful as the library’s on the other side of the door, containing not only books but potions, magical weapons, and trinkets.
Arlo stored everything of value in here, stuff that he didn’t want anyone else to see.
I look about with nostalgia. The hours I’ve spent in this room…I shake my head. How on earth do I choose what to take? To remove everything from here would be impossible. I let out a sad sigh. It’s such a waste. To have permanent access to these priceless treasures would set me up for life.
I’ve been in here hundreds of times, always while the demon was present. Growing up, this was my playroom. This is the first time I’ve ever been in here alone.
I drift towards his desk, and my fingers trail across it. My eyes drink in its beautiful wood and the well-worn leather chair.
Sorrow hits me in the chest when I acknowledge that he will never sit here again.