Chapter 28
The Golden Key
I crossed the landing back to my room. It was now completely dark in the corridor, and I guessed either Martha or Grayson had turned out the lights downstairs.
Out of all the inventions I’d discovered in Virginia, having light whenever you wanted was my favorite.
I’d even thought of bringing it back with me to Zorya, imagining how amazed my papa would be when I showed him that he didn’t need to use candles.
But I quickly realized it was too complex, when Lisa explained all the lights in Virginia were connected by wires to a power station.
And that to build one, I would need turbines and engines, and the best I could do was to bring back a flashlight.
When we talked about it, she’d started crying, so I didn’t press the matter any further.
Lisa often got upset when we spoke about my return to Zorya.
As I was about to enter my room, something jingled in my pocket, and I remembered the key to the bedroom.
Lisa was right. Something was off, and it wasn’t just the deal I’d made.
Why would these rooms lock from the outside?
Were we being held captive in Martha’s home and we didn’t know it?
Lisa’s key still stuck out of the keyhole to her bedroom, and I took it out, stuffing it, along with mine, into my pocket.
My fingers felt the feather, and I took it out.
It lit up the space around me, and I walked into my room.
I placed the feather on the bed and thought about my situation.
I no longer felt tired; my heart beat fast as I ran my hand over the feather, examining it.
Every time I looked at it, I noticed something new.
Now I saw that each tiny hair on it was a different, unique shade of red.
The hairs blended together, shimmering from light red to almost pink to a deep burgundy.
One wish, I thought. One wish. The feather would grant me one wish.
If I asked to stay in Virginia with Lisa, it would help me.
If I asked to return to Zorya and go back to my life there, it would help me.
But then I would lose my chance to get the Firebird for Baba Yaga.
And then I’d break my promise to the powerful old witch.
I needed the feather to capture the bird.
Without it, there was no chance. And no matter how treacherous and frightening the Mistress appeared, I knew Baba Yaga was a thousand times worse.
That old hag would stop at nothing. Martha was right—I needed to get back to Baba Yaga and return the bird to her, and only then could I think about the rest of my life.
The cuckoo clock on the wall struck three.
It was time to go to bed. I was about to put the feather back into my pocket when I heard a faint noise coming from the wall behind me.
I walked up to it and noticed a folding screen that stood against the wall.
The screen was green, just like the rest of the room, and was decorated with hummingbirds sitting on tree branches.
I pulled it away from the wall and saw it was covering a fireplace that looked as if it had not been used in a long time.
It didn’t smell like a regular fireplace, either, and I reached to touch the logs, only to realize they weren’t wooden.
The logs had been made of a material I’d never seen before.
I would ask Lisa what it was in the morning, I decided.
Virginia was full of strange inventions, but this one was definitely the most useless.
Why would anyone need a fake fireplace? I was about to place the screen back in its place and go to sleep, but then I noticed a keyhole right on the side of the fireplace. There was no key.
Without giving it much thought, I reached into my pocket, fumbling for the two keys I’d taken out of the keyholes earlier, and stuck one of them into the keyhole.
It didn’t fit. I placed it back into my pocket and reached for the second one.
This one fit perfectly, and I turned it counterclockwise, nudging it gently.
As it turned, I saw that the key, just like the keyhole, was now golden. It wasn’t the same key I’d taken out of the keyhole to the room, for that one had been brass colored. I felt my hands shake with excitement. The key made a full turn and clicked into place.
I heard a loud screech as the fireplace lifted, revealing a small wooden door. It was low to the ground and just big enough for me to squeeze into. Opening the door, I entered, bending nearly in half, and found myself in a room full of treasure.
Everything sparkled. The walls had been carved out of malachite, the beautiful green stone from the Ural Mountains. There were jewelry boxes of various sizes, also carved out of malachite and bursting with unimaginable riches.
These were precious stones I’d heard about from Arina.
She loved stones and told me about every single one.
The tsar kept them at his palace, locked and safely hidden away, not for a mere mortal to see.
But now I saw them with my very own eyes.
Sparkling emeralds, rubies, and sapphires piled high.
Moonstones forming a pyramid, with a shimmering rainbow glow on their milky-white surface.
Light blue, yellow, orange, and pink topaz.
Necklaces, bracelets, chokers, rings, and earrings.
And then I noticed dark-gray, almost black, spinel.
The stones were in a silver box, and there must have been hundreds of them, in all shapes and sizes.
Arina had told me that spinel had special powers and gave its owner courage and strength.
It could protect its owner from harm. I ran my hand over the pile of stones.
I could really use one, just one, to help me in my quest for the Firebird, I thought.
She’ll never know if I just take one, I told myself as I stuffed my hand deeper into the pile of precious stones, feeling them with my fingers.
They were cool to the touch and sparkled in the faint light of the room.
There were so many of them that I could barely get my hand to reach the bottom of the box. All of them, spinels.
“It doesn’t look like much, but if you look at it in the light, it sparkles like no other stone.
” I could hear Arina’s voice in my head.
Her face would take on a dreamy expression when she told me this.
“I only saw it once, but I always remembered the occasion. The tsar rode through our village with his court, and he was wearing a spinel stone ring on his pinky. There were other jewels, but the spinel is what stood out.”
Just one. These are powerful stones, and it would take just one to help me. I’m going to confront Baba Yaga soon—I need all the help I can get.
I pulled out my hand as the stones made a clinking sound.
But I shouldn’t be stealing. This is wrong.
I’d never stolen anything in all of my life.
The Fabergé egg didn’t count, because it belonged to Lisa.
Thieves were the lowest kind of person, my nurse had told me.
In Zorya, they were punished severely by the tsar himself and sent to his prison.
And if you ever went to the tsar’s prison, you were never to be seen again.
It was a dungeon surrounded by a moat, and no one ever escaped from it.
The guards protecting the prison were the most vicious of men.
But what if I just borrowed one? The idea crossed my mind. It wouldn’t be stealing if I took it and returned it later.
I reached into the pile of spinels again.
They felt so comforting, so reassuring. As if on their own accord, my fingers grabbed one stone and pulled it out of the bunch.
I brought it closer to my face and examined it.
Its surface was smooth, and it had been cut in the shape of a hexagon.
Though it looked almost black, as the light reflected from its side, there were sparks of dark gray with silver undertones.
I was certain this stone would protect me from harm and be a powerful amulet.
I hesitated for another short moment, then stuffed the spinel into my pocket.
I didn’t know how much time I’d spent in the secret room, but I made haste.
Backing out of the space, I exited, firmly closing the door behind me, then turned the key clockwise.
It clicked, and the secret door disappeared, as the fireplace with the logs popped into view.
I took out the key, and the moment it was no longer in the keyhole, it lost its golden luster and turned into brass.
I slid the green screen with the hummingbirds back into its original place, examined it to make sure it didn’t look like it had been touched, and plopped onto the bed, preparing to go to sleep.
As I lay down in bed, the cuckoo clock struck three times.
It was three in the morning. Again. Cold sweat covered my forehead.
This is impossible. My adventure into the secret room had to have taken at least half an hour, what with the opening and closing of the fireplace and then the time I’d spent looking at the stones.
Maybe the clock is broken. I got out of bed and walked up to it.
Its hands, shaped like two arrows, were moving, making a barely perceptible ticking sound.
I reached for the round spinel and felt it with my fingers, and it was as if it were burning my fingers.
I was a thief.
I stole the stone from the Mistress herself.
I was the lowest kind of person. I sat back down on the bed, then tried to fall asleep.
But just as I closed my eyes, the image of the tsar’s prison popped into my mind.
The moat with the most frightening creatures floating in it, guarding the dungeon where the inmates were kept. I was just like them. A lowly thief.