dust and prints on the floorboards. Outside in the hallway, Elisabeth shifted from foot to foot. She had spent hours exploring the manor. After poking her head into countless unused rooms, their furniture covered in sheets, she had encountered this one tucked away in a corner of the first floor. Nathaniel had been shut up inside it doing some sort of magic all day: occasionally she heard him move about or mutter an incantation. She had waited all afternoon, but he hadn’t once emerged. Her patience was beginning to fade.
A glance down the hall confirmed that the house was as empty as ever. Aside from Silas, who seemed to be out, she hadn’t encountered any servants. She gathered her courage and knocked.
“I thought you weren’t going to be back until supper,” Nathaniel said conversationally. “Well, hurry up and come in. I could use your opinion on . . .” He turned as the door swung open, his expression souring. “Scrivener.”
Elisabeth didn’t answer, too busy staring openmouthed at their surroundings. The door had opened not on a room, but on a forest. Nathaniel stood in the middle of a mossy clearing, the ground dappled by jade-colored shafts of light that speared through the colossal pines. Butterflies as large as dinner plates clustered on the trunks, fanning their iridescent turquoise wings, and liquid notes of birdsong trilled through the air. The forest seemed to go on forever, its depths cloaked in swirling mist that occasionally parted to reveal hints of dark, distant hillsides and splashing white streams.
Elisabeth’s spirits soared as she stepped through the doorway, passing from one world into another. She breathed in the scent of crushed moss and pine sap, and raised a hand to let the green light filter through her fingers.
Nathaniel watched her for a moment, silently. Then his mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Don’t get too excited. None of this is real. See? It’s just an illusion I’m working on for the Royal Ball.”
He waved a hand, and the scenery blurred like a runny watercolor painting turned over onto its side. She blinked, watching the ferns dissolve into wisps of green mist; the butterflies winked out of existence liked popped soap bubbles. Soon the last tree vanished, and instead of a forest, she stood inside the entrance to a study.
But this room was nothing like Ashcroft’s study—nothing like any room she had ever been in before. It was wondrous. There was hardly a path to step through without knocking something over. Papers tumbled from every surface, pinned down here and there by odd bronze and glass instruments. A jeweled globe glittered in one corner on a brass stand, and the articulated skeleton of a large bird hung on wires above Nathaniel’s head. The ceiling tunneled upward five stories, ending in a skylight that admitted bright shafts of sunshine. And on the shelves, winding around and around, reachable only by ladders . . .
Elisabeth lit up. “Grimoires,” she breathed, even more delighted than before.
Nathaniel’s expression grew odd. “You like this place?”
“Of course I do. It has books in it.”
He just stood there, not trying to stop her, so Elisabeth clambered up the nearest ladder. She had spotted a familiar title on the shelf, winking its gilt for attention. When she reached for it, it squirmed free of its neighbors and dropped eagerly into her hand.
“I knew you had to be here somewhere!” she said to the Lexicon. She hadn’t seen it since the ride into Brassbridge. “I can’t believe he stole you.”
The grimoire gave a guilty rustle. She looked over her shoulder at the marvelous, sparkling chaos of the study. From this vantage point she could see emerald flames dancing in the hearth, and overtop it a glass cauldron sending wisps of purple vapor up the chimney. There weren’t any skulls, or severed crow’s feet, or vials of blood. In fact, the study seemed . . . friendly. With a thoughtful frown, she turned back to the Lexicon. “I suppose you’re better off here than with Ashcroft,” she admitted.
“What do you want?” asked Nathaniel behind her. “I assume there’s a reason you’re inflicting yourself upon me.”
She tucked the Lexicon beneath her arm. “I’d like to ask a favor.”
He turned away and began rifling through the papers on his desk, appearing to accomplish nothing in particular aside from creating a bigger mess. “I thought I made myself clear this morning. I’m not going to help you get yourself killed.”