Page 43 of The Beauty and the Griffin

I wanted to protest, but since we seemed to have an unspoken truce and I was the adult in the room, I stepped through first, every sense on high alert.

A moment passed before I realized what I was seeing: rows of stacked barrels on one side, racks of corked bottles on the other. “It’s a wine cellar,” I whispered.

Win crowded in behind me. “Well, duh.”

I gave her a look. “If you’re ready to take the lead again, be my guest!” I swept my arm in mock invitation.

A flicker of what might pass for shame turned into a scowl. “Right,” she growled. “Let the kid go first and get eaten.”

I couldn’t help it: I burst out laughing. Nerves or sleep-deprivation most likely, but just then the situation struck me as hilarious.

Bad move. Win’s expression darkened. “Seriously? This place is packed full of magic. The Beast could lurk in any corner, ready to leap out and tear us to pieces, and you start cackling like a chicken.”

“Look,” I said, “the important thing is survival. Working as a team will double our individual chances. How about a truce? No more sarcasm or insults, and we work together to survive?” An attack of nervous hiccups made keeping a straight face challenging, but I did my best.

She twisted her face into a grimace but ended up nodding. “Truce.”

Noticing the soft glow of her egg in its sling, I suddenly wanted my egg closer to me—not so much for light as for comfort. Win didn’t say a word when I stopped to remove my backpack, wrap my egg in a spare thermal undershirt, and cradle it close to my heart. Baby girl was asleep, I knew, yet her soft golden glow blended with the silver glimmer of Win’s egg and bolstered our courage as we entered the cavernous cellar.

It was a creepy place, for sure, but I saw no cobwebs or even any dust. A flight of stone steps climbed the far wall, leading to another door reinforced by iron bands and bolts and a heavy lock.

I tried to ignore my sneaking fear that we were locked in, but Winifred lacked a filter. “I guess we can live for a while on wine and beer or whatever’s in those barrels,” she observed. “If we’re sloshed enough, being eaten by the Beast might not hurt so much.”

Rather than dignify this with a response, I jogged up the stairs. None of the bolts were locked, so I tried the latch and nearly fell through when the door swung out, almost as if someone had pulled it from the other side.

By the time I regained my balance, Win was peering around me into a corridor. Down in the wine cellar I’d failed to notice what provided the ambient light—I’d been too focused on getting out. But once inside the Forbidden Palace, I noticed incandescent electric bulbs in the light fixtures. Funny. I would have expected candles or gas lamps. Something more gothic.

As we stepped into the corridor, Winifred breathed a long “Whoa!”

My first impression was of quiet elegance, but a closer look revealed evidence of age and use. The wallpaper was loose, even starting to peel in places. Occasional chips marred the painted wainscoting. The simple tile flooring and woven runners showed minor wear or fading.

The corridor was empty with the kind of emptiness that suggests complete abandonment, and yet . . . I didn’t believe it. After all, the lights were on. If not for the magic charging the very air we breathed, I might have been convinced we were in a museum or maybe a historic estate that was open for public tours during refurbishment. The doors on either side of the corridor were all shut, and I felt no inclination to go poking around even though there were no “Closed to the Public” or “Staff Only” signs.

Win’s pale eyes bulged like glassy marbles, and she gripped my sleeve with both white-knuckled hands. My egg had gone dim, but I knew that it . . .no,she. . . was somehow aware of our circumstances.

“So, what exactly is this Beast you keep talking about?” I muttered.

“Vlad told me it guards the Forbidden Palace grounds.”

“Yes, but what is it?”

She shrugged. “A Beast. You know, big sharp teeth, roars a lot. Eats stupid people who trespass.”

“A bear? A wolf? An ogre? A dragon?”

“How should I know?”

Right. Our next move was apparently up to me, so I led the way. We soon discovered a closed stairway leading upward, climbed it, and exited through a door at the top . . .

My jaw dropped.

Soooo, yes. Forbidden or otherwise, it really was a palace.

We craned our necks to stare in all directions, clutching at each other for moral support. From one end of a wide corridor with arched painted ceilings, we peered into what had to be the grand entry hall.

To our left, beneath the coffered ceiling high above, five wide steps led up to a set of huge double doors in a marble frame. The stained-glass windows framing those doors were dark, so either we’d arrived at night or we’d entered a land of perpetual darkness. Both options seemed plausible.

Everywhere I looked, I saw fabulous artwork—painted portraits in gilded frames, marble statuary, frescoes, and carvings. Each piece of furniture was a treasure, including the ebony grand piano with scenes painted on every flat surface. A huge fireplace, currently unlit, boasted a surround of polished carved wood depicting deer, eagles, unicorns, winged horses, and creatures I couldn’t name. Altogether, it was a glorious sight, and the floor, paved in intricate patterns of highly polished colored stone, doubled the glory by reflecting it like a mirror.

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