She was almostfree.
At the top, she took one last look over the snow-clad palace and its gardens. It was pretty in its own way, but a prison all the same. Annelise pivoted to face thewall.
She reached up, but the summit was still just beyond the tips of her fingers. She stretched, but it made nodifference.
She could not reach thetop.
How could thisbe?
The table she had added to the pile came to the height of her hip. How could it not have brought her closer to the top? Annelise stretched again and was forced to confront the illogicaltruth.
She was no closer than she had been on the last try. Howcouldthe top of the wall always be just beyond the reach of herfingertips?
How had the portal opened without akeeper?
Where had the voice that had hailed her originally come from, if there was nokeeper?
And if there was a gatekeeper, where was hehidden?
Sorcery. A djinn’s sorcery. The evidence surrounded her when she cared tolook.
Annelise sat on the table and crossed her arms. She stared at the garden and watched the glittering snowflakes meander out of the sky. Magic was an unsatisfactory explanation. She glanced up and the top of the wall seemed soclose.
Maybe she had misjudged the distance. Maybe one more item would make all the difference in theworld.
Mephistopheles trailed behind her with even less than his previous enthusiasm. He ambled into the foyer as Annelise sought another piece of furniture that would not be too heavy to haul up the side of the growing pile, yet would give her some moreheight.
She decided upon a chair and made to pull it away from the wall. It resisted. Annelise pulled harder, and it slipped free so suddenly that she sprawled on herrump.
That was quiteenough.
“Curse this place!” she cried. “Curse the wolves and curse the gates and curse my husband and curse this ridiculous wall! Curse each and every one, from today through the end oftime!”
Mephistopheles nickered. Annelise looked at the horse just as he lifted his glossy black tail and relieved himself in the middle of the beautifully tiledfoyer.
Annelise could have sworn there was a mischievous glint in his eye. She laughed aloud, forgetting her own anger when the destrier’s gesture so accurately reflected her ownresponse.
Her laughter might have faded, but Mephistopheles snorted. He glanced about, and appeared to be offended by what he found upon the tiles behind himself. He then strode back through the archway to thegarden.
And abandoned his fragrantsouvenir.
The sight of the steaming manure on the inlaid floor, surrounded by tastefully understated opulence—in the wake of her trying day—made Annelise laugh and laugh. Out ofthe blue, she pictured how horrified Enguerrand would be if he werehere.
A tear rolled down Annelise’s cheek as shelaughed.
She imagined Bertrand de Beauvoir’s lips puckering tightly in thedisapproval.
Annelise laughed somemore.
She pictured Bertrand’s mousy wife, desperately anxious to please, scurrying in to remove anything offensive to her husband. Likely that woman would try to cover Mephistopheles’ mess with her embroidery, rather than burden her husband with thesight.
Annelise laughed until her ribshurt
And Tulley? Ah, the overlord would be priceless. She could see the lord’s eyes shooting sparks and his neck turning red as he pointed to the offense with an imperious finger. He would bellow a demand to know who was responsible, setting both servants and tableware toquaking.
Annelise thought of the conspiratorial glint that would light Yves’ eye and soberedimmediately.
Yves was probablydead.
