“We are fine. We’re just in a different area,” Gwyneth shouts. “We’ll be back shortly.” I snort, and she shrugs. “What? I didn’t put a time on it, so they can’t get angry.”
“Daphne, walk back toward the sound of my voice,” Nash calls out.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you, so I can’t walk back to the sound of your voice, on account of me now being deaf.”
Gwyneth squeezes the bridge of her nose. “Don’t help me,” she mutters.
“She can definitely hear us,” Hart growls. “Daphne, come back right this instant, or I will punish you.”
“Threatening me with a good time won’t work. If I could actually hear you.”
“How did we end up with the one girl in the realm that can find disaster in a damn library?” Hart grumbles.
“Where do you suppose this leads?” I ask Gwyneth, ignoring Hart.
“I have no idea, but we have to find out.”
She feels it too? The tugging in my gut that makes it impossible to turn around?
The dark passage opens into another library, this one infinitely larger. “Oh goodie, another library,” I grumble as I squint into the vast room. This is nothing like the library we left, though. Towering staircases lead to other levels, while vines and flowers sprawl across every surface, the scent of honeysuckle perfuming the air. Moonlight shimmers through an enormous stained-glass window depicting a scene with two men. One carries a quill and a book, the other a ball of magic in his palm. I’ve never seen them before in any of the books I’ve opened.
“This is no ordinary library,” Gwyneth mutters, her eyes widening.
“What gave it away?” I ask as a book flutters past my face like a bird. It whispers secrets as it slides onto a shelf, shoving two more off the end. They circle around us, flapping and swirling.
“Welcome, Stone sisters,” a voice booms.
I spin, Gwyneth at my back, as we try to find the source of the voice. The books don’t seem concerned, but can we trust them?
“Don’t search for me. I am everywhere and nowhere.”
“Oh great, we’ve got ourselves a riddler,” I grumble.
“Who are you?” Gwyneth asks. Probably a wise question.
“I am the All Knowing.”
“Is that hyphenated, or your first and last name?”
“What?” he rumbles.
“Like I am Daphne Stone, but there’s that woman in town who is called Briar-Rose. Both are her first names.” And I’m babbling.
“Daphne, stop,” Gwyneth whispers. Fine.
“My name is the All Knowing,” he repeats.
Okay, he’s said that twice. Either that’s his name, or he thinks highly of himself. “Is that because you know all?”
“Precisely.”
“Like what type of sausage meat they will serve at morning meal tomorrow?”
“Oh, my Idols,” Gwyneth grumbles.
“No, not that,” the voice snaps.
“Then you shouldn’t go around calling yourself the All Knowing, knowing full well that you don’t know everything.”
