Chapter 8

While planning our world, the goddess Time was determined to keep everything in nature uniform. The seasons would never change, every species would look the same, serving their purpose with routine and order. But her sister Luck saw the vibrance in variety. Determined to change her mind, the younger goddess challenged Time to a deceptively simple trial. Luck added her touches to the trees, then she brought her sister into the woods and made it autumn. To win the trial, Time simply had to sort the leaves by color and shape, but as Time did so, she could not deny the beauty in the multiplicity all around her. Order surrendered to her sister, giving Disorder her day.

-A Witch's Guide to the Arcane

Rorick

Dreadful dreams haunted my sun slumber. I was trapped in my coffin again. The scent of thick wet mud filled my nostrils; bitter cold burned my skin. Burrowing earthworms squirmed through the dirt around me, and though I didn't need to breathe, my lungs begged for fresh air.

Then the nightmare was over. Quiet ripped the lid right off my casket and let the heat inside.

Shh, she said, climbing into the coffin with me, replacing the scent of death and mud with oranges and herbs and wildflowers. You made it out. You're not trapped anymore, Rorick. You're safe.

I felt safe because she was with me. There wasn't anything my partner and I couldn't face down together.

I awoke groggy and alone. Rubbing the grit of sleep out of my gaze, I frowned at the ceiling. The bedding still smelled like Quiet, a scent that reminded me of digging my fingers in rich topsoil, watching crushed herbs—green and fragrant—fill the bottom of a stone mortar. In my mind, my hands brushed through wildflowers as a metallic blade sliced into the rind of a ripe orange, and I wished I wasn't alone.

Too tired to move, I kept still under the pile of covers and breathed in her fresh scent, letting it burn all the way down my thirsty throat. Light beetles floated around me, warming the blankets, blinking their blue glow in a disorienting pattern. Something solid poked me in the chest.

A sack of flour? Why the devil was I holding a sack of flour?

And where was my partner—ex-partner? I sniffed at the air. The room smelled like baked bread. Hot coals cooled in the fireplace beside a cast iron pot that hadn't been there before.

I found my clothes neatly folded on the armchair. I left the bed and took a moment to dress myself, combing my hair with my fingers. Quiet had gone to the trouble of setting me to rights while I slumbered, and that did something to my dead heart. That and my dream put an ache in my chest. My nightmares never ended in such a lovely fashion. Surely her nearness had caused that, and gratitude hummed through me.

I didn't want Quiet to be an ex-partner.

I wanted her to be my partner-partner.

Trying to hate her so her anger and rejection would hurt less wasn't working one lick. But I still had absolutely no idea how to fix things between us. Neither of us was very good with people in general. We were both so stubborn, and I had no prior experience of successful relationships to draw from.

And I suspected neither did she.

Movement caught my eye. I followed the path of a line of ants across the wall, then over the door. They spelled a message for me in a blank bit of plaster and lath.

Wear this,their message read. A trail of ants pointed to the desk below their cluster. The desk had been cleared of everything except for a small golden chain, knotted together. I padded over to it. The item was too small to slide onto my wrist, so I pulled it over four of my fingers and wore it snugly across my palm. I could feel the magic on it, weighing against the creases of my hand.

The knot matched the one hanging from the doorknob, probably some sort of clever witch warding. Now that I'd followed directions, the line of ants formed a new message:

At the library.

Trailed by light bugs, I padded to the door. The knob turned, and the ward around my fingers heated. I peeked out into darkness. My keen eyes adjusted quickly. I made my way to the library and found Quiet outside, bathed in blue luminescence from the moth on her shoulder, a halo of lightning beetles above her. She sat facing a strange, round contraption that certainly hadn't been there the night before, her back leaning against the banister beside a small half-eaten loaf of bread.

Scar-weaver spiders made elaborate webs between the banister rungs. The silk glittered in the blue glow. A gaslight flickered nearby.

Books sat open and scattered before her. I could pick up a few of the titles at a glance. Conjugating Ancient Verbs, The Magic in the Mythos, Geddarnum at a Glance. Her journal rested in her lap, her long legs folded beneath her, charcoal pencil tucked behind her ear. The book she'd authored was the thickest volume amongst them: A Witch's Guide to the Arcane.

Her braid was a mess, but it suited her. Seated in a heap of reading material, wrinkled skirts, wild hair—it all suited her.

I made my way over, trailed by a friendly swarm of lightning beetles. "What devilishness is the castle up to now?" I asked, peering at the strange wheel.

Quiet jumped. "Blast it all, you scared me to death. If we're stuck here much longer, I'm going to have to put a bell around your neck."

"Sorry," I said, grinning broadly. "Light footsteps aren't something I can control, I'm afraid. Vampire habit."

A spider dropped from the ceiling. It hovered for a moment in my peripheral before descending onto my shoulder. All of Quiet's spiders looked similar to me, small enough to fit in my palm with limber legs and fuzzy black bodies. But this one I recognized. The coarse hairs stood up along its back in a familiar tuft. The spider lifted its foreleg to me. I extended my finger, touching the offered limb gently.

"She's fond of you," Quiet said, and then I remembered that all her spiders were female on account of them eating their mates after copulating. "You should name her. There's a good chance she'll come to aid you when you call on her if you give her a name she likes."

"Hm." I smoothed down the hairs along her back, but they popped upright again. "Anita," I dubbed her, and the spider waved her forelegs at me in response.

Quiet wrinkled her nose. "Anita? Really? Well, all right then."

"Don't listen to her," I told the creature, patting her back. "Anita is a lovely name for a lovely spider. She just wants me to give you a silly witch name like Deliverance or Constant or Grunt."

Quiet sniggered. "Her name is Goose, not Grunt, and you can call the spider whatever you like." She turned her attention to her notes where she'd scrawled broken-down segments of a language along the margins, smudging the letters with the heel of her hand.

I was close enough that Quiet's scent caught in my nose, and I breathed deeply of fresh flowers and orange rinds.

A little too deeply. She glowered up at me.

"Sorry," I said quickly.

That damn bottle of yellow slime was out of her pocket with the speed of some legendary gunslinger. She shot me in the face with a stream of disgusting slug juice well before I could protest.

"Gah," I shouted. The bog mixture smelled sharply like dead leaves and spoiled fish.

"Don't sniff me," she scolded, lips in a threatening twist.

I used my sleeve to wipe my face clean. "You should take it as a bloody compliment. You smell better than death and rot. You're welcome."

"It's not a compliment for a hunter to think you smell tasty," she scolded.

I begged to differ, but not wanting to get shot in the face again like some misbehaving house cat, I changed the subject. Anita didn't seem to mind the smell. She remained perched on my shoulder, pedipalps flickering.

"What is all this?" I asked. The wheeled gadgetry blocking the library doors reminded me of a carnival game, the kind where they attached balloons to pegs and spun the wheel and the player threw darts, trying to burst the balloons to get at the coins inside. But there were only empty pegs with strange scribblings around the edges of the paddles, like a child had gone at them with a fountain pen.

"It's called a Trial of Arising, according to this book here," she said, holding up her copy of Magic in the Mythos. "When you're in a space haunted by multiple spirits, they will often create trials for the living to complete as a way to force them to learn lessons of importance to the specter or for the deceased to provide assistance. Completing them is one of the steps required in a successful exorcism. The trials change depending on the alignment of the essence or spirit creating it. Best I can tell, a neutral being created this one."

"Trial," I said thoughtfully. "Like in the story about the goddesses Order and Disorder and their argument over leaves?"

Quiet smiled up at me. "Exactly like that. Glad you know your mythos."

"You know what would be easier than completing trials?" I said, glowering at the wheel that reminded me uneasily of the Castleway Circus. "Lighting a match and burning all of it to the ground."

The walls shook. Bits of wood flecked off the ceiling vaults and rained down around us. Quiet grabbed for the banister behind her, but the quake never reached beyond a rumble and the walls stilled a moment later. I rolled my eyes, annoyed by the castle's tantrum.

Quiet released the banister and cleared her throat. "Now that you've gotten that out of your system, let me show you how this trial works. Go on and spin the wheel for us." She waved me in closer.

I squinted at her, then at the mysterious wheel. "I'd rather not."

"This wasn't made by the darkness. It's something different. There are many, many essences in this castle. This one isn't trying to murder us. It's trying to teach us something. It may even be trying to help us."

"It hasn't hurt you, certainly. But what if it doesn't like vampires?"

Quiet coughed a laugh. "Then we'll have learned something new about it, and that's helpful too."

I raised a brow at her puckishly. "I'm an experiment now, am I?"

"I've touched the trial numerous times. Nothing frightful will happen to you, but if you're feeling chicken-hearted, then I'll just do it for you." She started to rise.

I took her bait, shooing her back down onto her hindquarters. Then I craned my neck to peer at Anita. "Shall we do it?" I asked her playfully.

She bobbed at me. I had no idea if the flexing of her little legs was in the affirmative or not. I hadn't been expecting an answer at all. The exchange made Quiet laugh. The rich, husky sound of her mirth was a rare thing I hadn't been privy to in ages. Her face glowed and her storm cloud eyes glinted with good cheer.

I got lost in that mirth. It was several moments before I remembered I was supposed to be doing something else.

Steeling myself, I spun the wheel. Music sounded from behind it, a brass band playing at a fast, upbeat tempo. And then I understood what she was talking about. The scribblings weren't scribblings at all when the wheel moved at speed. They blurred together, forming a strand of visible letters.

Apparently, Anita did not approve of the music. She sprung from my shoulder to add new webbing to the banister with the other spiders.

"It's Geddarnum, an ancient ged language," Quiet explained, shouting over the circus music.

"Did you translate it?" I called back.

She held up her journal, her work written out tidily along the bottom of the page: And they saved all the children. Whistle, whistle, my story is out.

The wheel slowed and the music faded.

"I haven't puzzled through its meaning yet," she explained, "but I've checked the translation several times. I'm certain that's what it says. I'm about to run it through a few word ciphers to search for a code hidden inside the letters. See that compartment there?" She freed the charcoal pencil from behind her ear and used it to point at the square in the center of the wheel. "I think that might open to reveal a ‘prize' once I solve it, hence the game-like set up. My assistant seems to think we need whatever is in there to get out of the castle."

The glowing moth on her shoulder fluttered his wings.

"Whistle, whistle," I repeated excitedly, stroking my chin, "like the children's poem?" I loved puzzles.

"Well, yes, but I doubt the answer is that simple, given how complex the magic to create this wheel in the first place must be. I'm going to start with a polygram cipher first and then—"

I whistled the popular little tune over her plotting, a sharp three-note melody that ended the children's rhyme. The compartment popped open, and small copper coins poured out of it. The wheel dropped off the wall to roll down the hall. I sidestepped out of its way just as it vanished into an ethereal mist. I'd have been surprised by all that if the castle hadn't put us through the wringer the night before. There just wasn't any more shock left in my body to feel.

Quiet scowled at the open box hanging from the library door. "But . . ." she sputtered.

I patted the top of her head sympathetically. "You did all the hard work translating it. Well done you. Impressive, that brain of yours is. So impressive it gets right in the way sometimes."

"But the ciphers," she said, pouting. "I was going to get to use math."

"Chin up," I said, voice wobbling. "I'm sure this horrid castle will throw many more complicated tricks and traps and trials at us before we're through."

Her frown faltered, lips quirking. "It had better."

I reached inside the compartment left by the strange carnival game, and after brushing out more of the copper coins, I found a silver ring inside. Balancing the surprisingly heavy band in my palm, I held the signet ring out for examination. Etched in the round face was a crescent moon, our coven symbol. Inside the moon were the initials JR.

"Well done, moth," I said to the creature perched on my partner's shoulder, and I slid the signet onto my finger. It fit much better than the charm below it did. "My uncle's ring isn't just an heirloom. It's also a key. There are doors in this castle that won't open without it."

Quiet's gray eyes narrowed at me. "Why are you in such a cheery mood? I hardly recognize you without all your grousing and brooding."

Lowering to the floor beside her, I helped her gather her books into a neat pile. "I slept very well last night, actually. Best sleep I've had in ages. I don't feel like brooding at all."

Quiet's cheeks turned two shades of crimson. She was putting so much effort into avoiding my gaze, I nearly didn't have the heart to poke at her about it.

Nearly.

"If I offered you all the augs in my wallet," I said, "would you tell me why your skin just turned that delightful blood-rich color?" A loose strand of raven hair broke free from her braid. To better watch her blush, I brushed it out of her face.

She pulled away from my reach. "Not for all the augs in Purgatory," she retorted, staring intensely at her copy of The Magic in the Mythos before she slid the book into her pocket and out of sight.

"Did something happen last night?" I pressed. She squirmed in a manner that was twice as delightful as the rosy flush on her skin, and my smile doubled in size. "Did I do something untoward in the bed we shared?"

"What a silly question. You were practically unconscious," she said hurriedly, her voice pitching high. Quiet fought to shove her copy of A Witch's Guide to the Arcane into her skirts next. It didn't quite fit. Flustered, she trapped her bottom lip in her teeth.

Her response was a classic non-denial. It turned my grin wolfish, stretching my cheeks, putting my fangs on display. "Then did you do something untoward in the bed we shared?"

That did it. That got her eyes back on me.

Her jaw dropped. Color crawled up to her hairline and flowed down her throat, covering every drop of golden skin not hidden beneath her blouse. "Of course not," she spluttered. "I would never."

"Of course not," I repeated in the air of a man capable of being perfectly reasonable—a farce. Teasing Quiet was nearly as delicious as her smell. "Hm. Then did you want to do something untoward?"

Quiet dropped the book in her hands. It fell open with a clatter. She scrambled to pick it up. "Don't be ridiculous. What's gotten into you?" She shoved the rest of her belongings into her hat, then slapped it back over her head, hiding her eyes beneath the wide brim.

"I don't know," I said chuckling. "How could I? You won't tell me what you did to me last night."

"I didn't . . ." Her words trailed away, as telling as the shades of red staining her skin. She rubbed a hand over her brow, smoothing the furrow there. "Ugh, I just knew you'd be insufferable about this."

"Because something did happen. Ha! Caught you," I said victoriously. Climbing to my feet, I offered her my hand.

She pointedly ignored the gesture, rising on her own. "Can we please focus on the case now? I have six more days to solve this mess before my coven is ruined, and here you are making jokes and applauding yourself."

"Fair enough." I bowed my head in acquiescence but felt no remorse. "You're right. I can probably be more helpful."

"Thank you," she breathed. "Now that you're focused, we'll start by looking in the library for the faces of Penance and Alex. My assistant can't seem to find them." She chewed on her cheek. "I think that might be my fault. As much as I want to find Penance, I'm also dreading it quite a bit, and the spell favors what I want most of all."

"That's understandable," I told her. "I hope you aren't beating yourself up over that." To prove my new commitment to helpfulness, I held the library door open for her.

"After we finish searching the library for their faces, we'll try a room that ring of yours unlocks," she said with all the ruthless competence I was accustomed to.

"Ah, your bossing takes me back," I taunted. "Just like good old times."

She hurried inside, as though getting away from me would spare her from further torment.

It most certainly wouldn't. Torment was the only way I knew how to tell her she was tolerable to me, a good and clever partner.

The familiar smell of vellum and beeswax and musty pages was a welcome change from the scent of rot that permeated the halls. Flickering gaslights dimly lit the wide room. Shelves stuffed to bursting with priceless volumes of old tomes and rare biographies stood shoulder to shoulder in neat rows of varnished bookcases.

I'd spent a great deal of time hiding out in this library when I lived here. It looked much the same as it did then. Alex wasn't much of a reader. My favorite books remained in a neat pile beside a leather wingback chair and a box of cigars, like I'd left them there yesterday.

I thumbed through the stack. "My first detective novels. I found these here just before my 40th birthday."

Quiet moved in beside me. "I remember those old things. You can get them for a quarter-aug now just about anywhere."

"I like to think of my set as a gift from my uncle. This was his library first. While I recuperated here, I was desperate for something interesting to read. I started with the most worn-out books I could find. I figured that was as grand a recommendation as anything else."

"Apparently His Grace chose well."

"He did." Vampirism is a lot to get used to, especially after one has been buried alive and took a long while to dig their way out. These books saved me. I tapped on the novel that topped the stack titled: The Mystery of the Shrew. "This one was easily the best, but my uncle wrote notes in the margins and gave the final puzzle away."

"The villain," she teased.

"I won't ever forgive him for that," I said, feigning heartbreak with a dramatic cluck of my tongue.

The library was much the same. Same books. Same plush furniture. But with one significant change: it was now quite haunted.

The air cooled, and the gaslights flickered audibly. A specter dressed in oversized, yellow trousers with multicolored suspenders appeared between the shelves. His hair was a vibrant purple. He honked his painted red nose at us and then vanished.

"Oh no," Quiet groaned, "not a dratted clown. Hang me now."

I chortled. "You're not one of those silly people who are afraid of clowns, are you?" The circus certainly made me uneasy, but clowns were so ridiculous I actually found them quite funny. They were a vast improvement on the typical specter with all their death-tolling and weeping.

She buried her face in her hands. "Ugh, just make it go away, please."

"Quiet, they're harmless. They're like children. We'll just give him what he wants, and he'll be off. Just like that. You'll see."

She moaned her distress, louder this time.

The clown leaned out from behind a bookcase. His purple hair flopped atop his head like it had a mind of its own. He waved bulbous gloved fingers at me.

I waved back. "Where's your inner child?" I said to her. "Try to look at him through her eyes, and you'll see. Clowns are fun."

"My ‘inner child' is just as leery of them as I am," Quiet grumbled. "Clowns were always getting into everything at the Home for Foundlings. They'd take my things and move stuff about. They're disruptive and disorderly, and I find their painted faces completely off-putting."

"It helps if you relax around them. Try putting away just a pinch of that ruthless competence of yours, just for a few minutes, and have fun for a change."

She frowned at me.

"I'll show you how to handle a clown," I told her, crossing to the nearest table. I claimed one of the wooden chairs. "Would you like to have tea with me?" I said to the specter.

He vanished, then appeared before me in a flash, hands pressed delightedly on either side of his painted face. The clown snapped his fingers, and a tiny tea set similar to one a child would pretend with materialized on the table. The crockery was painted with pink flowers and so small I couldn't fit a finger through my teacup. I had to pinch the handle to lift it.

I sipped tepid water to the delight of my ghostly guest.

"Come and have tea with us . . . Quiet?" I looked for her when she didn't respond.

"Damn it all," she hissed. She was holding out her hands, fingers shaking. They were noticeably smaller. Her arms went next, shortening inside the sleeves of her blouse before my eyes. "He's shrinking me!"

"Are you doing that?" I demanded of the clown.

The clown honked his nose and did a small jig, knocking his knees together in his puffy yellow trousers. I took all of that to mean yes.

"Of course he is," Quiet squeaked, her voice higher than before. "Ugh, you just had to say that nonsense about my inner child right in front of him, didn't you? Look what you've gone and made him do!"

I smiled at her sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm sure whatever he's cast on you, it won't hurt and it'll wear off as soon as we're rid of him."

But then the knotted charm around my fingers grew. It slid over my thumb and right down my wrist. I studied my hands, realizing belatedly that the ward hadn't grown at all. My hands were shrinking.

The clown was turning us both into children.