Page 18 of Ruby & Onyx

Moose! Oh, gods, they left Moose all alone! Without thinking, I blurt out the question, “Can you bring Moose to me?”

The first figure nods and then vanishes from sight.

Did it understand me? If these are, in fact, the beings that have silently lurked in my bedroom every night, then they must recognize the name. A shudder runs down my spine as I think about the things that they’ve seen. Have they observed every second of my miserable life? Am I no more than an actor in their creepy theater?

The figure returns a couple of minutes later with a squirming Moose in his arms. When his eyes find me, he breaks free from the creature’s clutches and springs toward me. I’m so relieved to see him that I don’t shy away as he licks every square inch of my face, tail wagging frantically.

The creature motions for me to sit on a chaise in the corner. I hold my feet firmly in place for a moment to test whether or not my movements are my own. They stay still, relieving me of at least one fear, and then I do as they say. I lower myself into the chaise and sit straight as a board with my hands folded in my lap.

I wait for them to join me, to begin offering some explanation for the chaos, but instead, they exit the room, clicking the lock shut behind them.

The lock.

Oh, no – they locked me in here.

Did they lock me in here?

Am I trapped?

The room feels like it’s closing in on me. It’s shrinking, choking me. The air is too heavy. The space is too dark. I place my head between my knees and try my best to breathe.

Happy thoughts, I need to focus on happy thoughts. Chocolate tarts. Moose’s furry ears. My mother’s smile. Pastel skies…

No, this can’t be happening. I hold Moose tighter, and he nuzzles into me.

It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll get out of here. I’ll find a way.

We will. Me and Moose. We can do it.

Time spirals as I force myself to repeat these words until the panic subsides enough to breathe normally. Every second bends and stretches like it’s a malleable object, making it impossible to know how long I’ve been here.

I need to assess my surroundings, if I have any hope of escaping, but it takes several attempts to look around without returning to that state of panic. But finally, I see it. All of it - the dozens of candles illuminating the room, the dusty books stacked at least ten shelves high, and the bronze ladders stretching from floor to ceiling. Hundreds, no, thousands of books are in here.

I’m in a library. The realization now seems obvious, but it grounds me nonetheless. It’s like uncovering a clue that leads me one step closer to solving the mystery. Now, where is this library? Is it a personal collection? A public library? It’s certainly not Carcera’s library. Unless it belongs to Lord Myles and Lady Lora? She did go on and on about having me in her library…

The only way to find out is to escape.

Is there anything here that I could use? Without any windows, there’s only one way out. And, if I had to guess, I would bet on the fact that those creatures are right outside the door. If they can control my movements, then I stand no chance against them.

I move to pull one of the books from the shelf, looking for something hard and heavy to wield against them. It’s not much of a plan, but what else can I do? A plume of dust spreads as I wiggle the book out of place. It’s sturdy and dense and the title is illegible, but it will do. Then I grab a candlestick, too. Just in case.

Those creatures, my gods. I can’t stop my mind from returning to them. I can’t believe that the red eyes that haunted me for most of my life were cognitive beings. They watched me sleep for over twenty years! That is creepy. That is an invasion of privacy. That is unjust. That is…

The door swings open, slamming into the wall with a bang. My breath hitches as I brace myself for whoever, or whatever, will enter behind the two creatures leading the way.

A finely dressed man and woman stroll in with an ethereal grace unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Have I seen them before? They look so familiar. But no, it couldn’t be.

The woman exudes confidence with her perfect posture and, like the figures now standing on either side of the door, her pale skin emits a soft glow. Her gown is elegant beyond measure, which is somewhat odd given the early hour. It hugs her waist and then blossoms. Flowers made of a shimmering fabric scatter across the skirt, which drags behind her as she walks. The man’s ebony skin glows just the same, and his jaw clenches when his almond eyes land on me. Though he is her opposite, stiff and stoic to her gentle grace, they move in perfect lockstep.

Candle light strikes their golden crowns, and the rubies refract a red glow onto the book shelf.

Then it hits me. Only two can wear ruby crowns.

The King and Queen of Mendacia.

My heart stops.

What am I doing in the same room as them?

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