Page 44 of The Beauty and the Griffin

It was far too much to take in all at once. A glance at Winifred told me she felt much the same: her eyes were squeezed shut.

“So, we’ve found the Forbidden Palace,” I remarked, trying to lighten the mood. “I wonder if anyone’s home?” My voice was lost in the cavernous space.

“Don’t,” Win growled through clenched teeth. “Keep quiet. If the Beast hears us, we’re dead.”

I shook my head, looking around. “There’s no sign of any rampaging beast here. Maybe it only roams the palace grounds? Or maybe it’s a story invented to discourage trespassers.” I paused, frowning. “Why is this amazing palace empty? What if we’ve stumbled into some wealthy noble’s home on the far side of the mountains? The lights could be motion-sensored, or however they do that.”

Winifred snorted. “We didn’t walkthatfar, and nobles don’t live in these mountains anymore. I wonder . . .” Her scowl fading, she looked around with sudden interest. “What if—” She broke off. “Naw, that’s stupid.”

“What? What’s stupid?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing. Sometimes I get dumb ideas. This has to be the Forbidden Palace, so we’ve got to find a place to hide.”

I shook my head again. “First things first. We need something besides snack foods to eat and drink. Then . . . well, I don’t know about you, but I need sleep. Real sleep.” I noticed light falling through an archway in the far wall, bright enough that the lamps in the Great Hall seemed dimmer than before. Yet I couldn’t quite make out anything in the room beyond that opening.

Winifred’s grasp on my arm tightened like a vise. “Now what?”

“Something wants us to go that way.” I kept my voice steady, but she could probably feel my pulse racing. “So, let’s not. I didn’t see a kitchen when we were downstairs, but there must be one. Come on.” I turned back toward the service stair just a few steps behind us, dragging Winifred with me.

The corridor, which had lit up when we first entered, was now dark. Our eggs’ soft glow revealed a small watercolor landscape hanging where the door to the service stair had been not five minutes earlier.

Winifred moaned, her breathing ragged.

I was barely keeping it together.

Slowly I steered us back toward the Great Hall, which was now so dark that I couldn’t see as far as the piano. Only the light from that room beyond the archway remained. With our backs against the wall, we slid from the smaller hall into the immense space, clutching our bundled eggs and hyperventilating.

Which accomplished exactly nothing.

Gradually, our terror faded. Nothing threatened us. That beckoning light might lead us into a doom straight out of a horror flick . . . or it might be only a light. Although I sensed oodles of magic around us, none of it felt particularly evil. In fact . . . No. With a little growl, I shoved all flights of fancy into the back of my mind. We couldn’t stand there in suspended animation forever.

“It’s eat or be eaten,” I stated, setting my jaw. “I’m going to check out that room.” I took a step.

“You’re crazy,” Winifred muttered. While following me.

“Makes two of us,” I retorted in the same tone.

She snorted, and I almost smiled. We were a matched set of hapless idiots, for certain.

The hall seemed even vaster when it was all around us. The fireplace carvings were nearly life size, I realized as our direct path brought us near the hearth. The stone floor amplified our every footstep, and I felt as if the eyes of every portrait in the infinite darkness above followed us with scorn. Our pace had increased to speed-walking by the time we passed beneath the arch.

Just inside, I stopped short. Winifred crashed into me, and I stumbled forward. We stood on a hardwood floor painted in lovely swirling designs. Before us waited a table set for at least a dozen. The profusion of gold and silver beneath glittering chandeliers dazzled my eyes, but even more compelling were the delicious aromas wafting from somewhere.

“Oh!” Win’s voice sounded pained. “I want a hot sandwich and chips. But anything we eat here is bound to be enchanted.”

“Right about now, I don’t care,” I admitted, pulling out one of the side chairs. “We’re being treated like guests, and if whatever I’m offered sends me into a hundred-year sleep or turns me to stone, at least I won’t be a starved zombie anymore.” I settled into the seat, set my backpack at my feet, and tucked my griffin egg into it. I scarcely flinched when a linen serviette spread itself over my lap and a carafe poured wine into one of the crystal goblets at my place. The lid lifted from a silver tureen, and an equally ornate ladle dipped steaming soup into a bowl, which then floated over to land before me. I glanced around uncertainly. “Thank you.”

I sensed . . . approval.

Quite the opposite opinion emanated from Win, who seated herself beside me with her egg in its sling on her lap. Nevertheless, when a sandwich stuffed with paper-thin slices of meat and dripping with melted cheese appeared on her plate, and beside it, a basket piled high with hot saltedpomfritz, her eyes went wide.

“Now, that is service,” I observed. “You got exactly what you asked for.”

Her scowl returned. “What about malt vinegar?”

A sparkling cruet of brown liquid appeared beside the basket.

Win’s jaw went slack.

---