Prospero gestured for Ellie to walk forward into a room that ought to be in a museum. The overfilled space held a Victorian-era sofa and chairs, soft oil lighting, and more tomes than even on Ellie’s bookshelves.
“Come into my parlor, and I will tell you everything I can about our unique dilemma.”
Said the spider to the fly.
9Maggie
Sondre had seemingly vanished in the few minutes it took Maggie to decide to go investigate the castle. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good or bad thing. If he was her captor, shouldn’t she be relieved?
What if he was telling the truth about all of it…?
Maggie was an attorney, though. Attorneys solved puzzles—because, really, that was what a legal case was. A puzzle. So she would approach this in a logical way.
She stood outside her door, seeing no one, hearing nothing. It was, in fact, a castle. Stone walls and floors, vast towering windows, and a chill that permeated everything. Against the walls were wooden benches, reminiscent of church pews.
As Maggie walked through the hallway, her steps sounded unnaturally loud. Too many scary movies had her expecting something heinous to pop out of one of the many doors that looked like hers. She counted twenty rooms. Several doors were closed, but the few that were open looked like her own room—large spaces with elegant furnishings. She debated knocking on a closed door.
“Har du gått deg vill?”
Maggie startled, having not heard the approach of the young man with the heavily accented voice. “I don’t understand.”
“Ah.New.” He nodded, then he tapped his throat and under his ear, staring at her like she ought to understand.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“Fix language.” He tapped his throat and under his ear again.
Maggie stared at him, debating if she ought to echo that gesture as he seemed to want. He didn’tlookdangerous. He had a long thin ponytail that was bound by a series of silver clips every few inches. The hair was only from the crown and back of his head; the sides were shaved smooth. His beard was long and divided into at least three thick braids. Altogether, it gave him the look of a Viking TV show extra—except he was dressed in ragged jeans and a black T-shirt from some band.
He tilted his head and stared at her, as if she were the odd one. Forty-something-year-old attorneys were much more common than Viking-styled men. Then he smiled, and it transformed a handsome man into something near otherworldly.He looks like someone who could be a witch. I do not.The thought struck her as ridiculous. Witches were just people who were subjected to social injustice through history. Magic wasn’t real.
So how do you explain Craig not getting hurt,her Logical Self asked.
“Unnskyld?” he said.
“What?” Maggie asked.
He tapped his throat and then under his ear yet again. Frowning, he carefully said, “To know other languages. Try now.”
Maggie felt absurd, but she mimicked his action.
“Unnskyld,” he said again.
Her expression must have made clear that she still didn’t understand him. He frowned, stepped close, and took her hand in his. Directing her hand, he tapped her throat, the space under one ear, and then the other. “Igjen.”
Maggie heard the word’s translation—again—at the same time as the word “igjen.” So she made the gesture he had demonstrated again.
“Pardon me,” he said, waiting for her to respond. When she nodded, he asked, “Are you lost?”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Are you speaking English now or…?”
“No. I still speak Norwegian. You hear your language; I speak in mine.” He gestured between them as he spoke. “Now we can talk because of magic.”
In that instant, she felt older than old. If this was real, what did that mean? She had already started over as a recently divorced single mom. She’d had to deal with being older than people who outranked her at the firm. She shook her head. Her life wasn’t much, but that was where her son was. The sooner she figured this situation out, the better.
Maggie looked at him. “Are you trying to say you believe this magic stuff?”
“We are using magic right now.” He smiled again, looking like she should recognize him from somewhere. “Come with me. I am exploring the castle. The acoustics are good in these halls. I can sing here.” He closed his eyes and did just that, voice lifting in some sort of song she couldn’t translate. As he did, drums thrummed from somewhere, and other instruments—not all familiar—wound around that thudding beat.
