“It’s cool,” he called out. “Clance?”
A miniature man appeared. No larger than a baby, but fully shaped and wizened. He wore a stylish pin-striped suit and fedora, like a tiny gangster, and Maggie could swear he winked at her.
“What did you do this time?” The little man snapped his fingers at the door, and the metal vine and leaves retracted. “This’un will be getting himself killed at the rate he tests the locks.”
“Oh, was that locked, Clancy?” Dan widened his eyes as if surprised.
“You know it was.” Clancy shook his head. “Go on with you. That man is already at the pub, so mind yourselves there. After tonight, there’ll be all the rules and whatnots. And don’t be telling the headmaster that I unlocked the door again, you hear?”
“You’re the best, Clance.” Dan tugged the giant door, which barely budged. “A little help?”
Axell pulled the door open, as Dan eyed the Norwegian’s biceps ina way that made Maggie suspect Dan’s true agenda had been met. The two young men were clearly interested in one another, and only Maggie’s desire to figure out how to escape had her willing to tromp along with them.
Outside the castle were several steps and at their base was a path. It was lined with stones that had long since sunken into the ground, making it resemble an uneven sidewalk that stretched from the castle—where the path was easily six feet across in a V-shaped mouth—to a more reasonable four-foot-wide path that undulated down a hill toward a valley where lights from shops winked like an invitation. To the left and right were thick woods. There were paths into them, worn by footsteps, but the whole of the forest was overgrown like no one had ever entered there.
“I feel like Red Riding Hood,” Maggie muttered.
“Axell could be the huntsman to keep us safe,” Dan piped up cheerily. “I’m not suited for a heroic role.”
Axell draped an arm over Dan’s bony shoulders. “You would be the wolf.”
Maggie rolled her eyes as she stepped in front of them. Maybe they were supposed to stay in the castle because there was something lurking in the woods. Maybe they were in danger, but so was her son. The first step to getting home was to get the lay of the land, so whatever was out there would have to deal with one angry mama if it popped out of the woods.
She snatched up a stick, thick enough to work like a baseball bat if she needed. Not her first choice for a weapon, but it’d do in a pinch. She walked a little faster as they cut through the woods, listening for sounds and scanning for movement.
Behind her, Dan and Axell spoke softly. About twenty minutes passed, and the woods gave way to barren fields and a meadow, and then the town began abruptly. She glanced back at the hilltop where the giant castle stood with its towers jutting into cloudy blue-gray skies.
As they walked, Maggie noted several smaller towers speared up out of the village, one with a decided tilt as if it had been constructed bychildren with blocks. If it were any taller, she suspected it would snap in half from the pressure of that tilt.
Here at the edge of the town, the streets were reminiscent of medieval streets, cobblestone or something, that would keep the mud somewhat under control. Not the sort of smooth paved sidewalks she was used to.
Wooden store signs announced a milliner, a shoe shop, a bakery, and a market. In the distance, she could see a bank, another bakery, and a shop labeled “bootie-tique.”Underwear maybe?She wasn’t sure, but she had little interest in staying in this Brigadoon knockoff to find out.
“Mead and wine this way.” Axell stepped around her. Apparently, he had a goal. “When I was on tour in the band’s early years, I played medieval festivals. Much more authentic, but this is good.”
“He was famous, you know,” Dan whispered. “Toured the world with his band.”
Maggie nodded. She had zero interest in fame or tours or even mead—although a glass of wine didn’t sound half bad. She followed the guys to a building labeledTHE TAVERN OF NO REPUTE.
Inside, she came to a full stop at the wall of sound and heat. From outside, it hadn’t sounded like it was busy. Inside was another matter altogether. The bar was reminiscent of any number of European taverns—dark by design, brick and stone walls that dampened the room and muffled the sound, and exposed rough-hewn beams that looked like they might crack at any moment. A crackling fire and raucous patrons added a sort of timelessness to the moment.
On the bar itself, people appeared to be rolling what looked like badgers.Why are there badgers?She looked around. This was weirder than the castle and the language thing.
“Wherearewe?” Maggie asked no one in particular.
“The tavern,” a familiar voice said to her left. “Although I thought you’d be exploring the castle.”
Maggie looked over her shoulder to see Sondre. He held out a stone mug of some sort of amber-hued liquid. She accepted it and took a long drink. She held his gaze. “I’m not apologizing.”
He laughed.
“Magic might be real, but I’m not apologizing.” She took another drink. “Seriously, what the fuck is going on? I’m in the wrong world and supposed to go to community college for witches? I did collegeandlaw school already.”
He bodily blocked her from the rest of the bar. “Why do I get the feeling that you are going to be a problem, Margaret?”
“You’re an excellent judge of character?”
Sondre shook his head. “I allowed three students to end up in a bar the night before classes started.”
