I frown at him. “I… opened the snap?”
He ducks down and scoops the weapon up. In his grip, the axe is tiny. “No one can take my axe.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I take a step forward. “I just did.”
“No. You don’t get it. No one can take—”
A loud clank sounds from the guardhouse.
I turn to the tall double doors that make up the front entrance of the castle and watch them part, a slant of light appearing through the crack.
Somewhere in the recess of the gatehouse, a chain rattles as gears turn, pulling the doors open.
There are no guards here. No more monkeys.
It’s just me and the Tinman.
It takes the doors several long seconds to fully open beforethey reveal a dark foyer on the other side. Light from the lanterns flickers against the shadows.
And from the darkness, a voice filters out.
“Bring her.”
The Tinman slides his axe back into its strap and then grips me by the arm again.
“Don’t touch my fucking axe,” he mutters to me.
“Maybe ask me nicely,” I mutter back.
With a grumble, he drags me inside.
And this time, I don’t fight him.
For being made entirely of stone, the inside of the West’s castle is almost unbearably warm.
The Tinman leads me up a wide staircase, then down a hall, then another, before it gives way to a cavernous gallery where an arched opening overlooks the winged monkeys’ roost. Several have taken to the air, circling the castle’s many spires.
The witch stands at that opening, her back to us.
The Tinman leads me forward, stopping us in the middle of the room just beneath a circular wrought-iron chandelier where a hundred white candles are lit, wicks snapping as a breeze kicks in from the balcony.
We wait.
I glance over at the Tinman, looking for any clues as to what we’re expected to do. His hands are clasped behind his back. On the surface, it looks like a formal way to receive the witch, but I think he just wants his hands near his axe. Just in case.
When the witch turns to us, the Tinman straightens his spine and for some reason, I find myself echoing his movements, taking his cues.
Hands clasped in front of me, I stand up straight.
The witch steps out of the shadows of the balcony and into the dancing candlelight.
But her face…
She’s wearing a golden mask, the mouth pulled back in a grin revealing sharp incisors. It’s a replica of a winged monkey.
It’s so unexpected that I gasp in shock.
A hundred questions loom in my mind, but the biggest one is, what is she hiding behind that mask?
