Page 77 of Magic and Matrimony

The door closes behind me, and I slowly spin in a circle. It’s literally a large closet with white walls and nothing else in it. Not a bucket or a hanger on the wall. I turn back toward the door, but it’s gone. My heart kicks up in my chest. I run my hand over the wall, where just moments before, there was a door, but it’s smooth plaster now.

“Hello?” I cry out, trying to keep the fear from my voice. Is this like an escape room and the challenge is to figure out hidden clues to let myself out?

“Hi.”

I spin around, hand clutching my chest to make sure my heart doesn't beat out of it. My eyes dart around the room. Before, where there had been a small closet with plain white walls, is now a cozy library with a fire snapping warmly in a fireplace. Dark bookshelves wrap around the walls, and overstuffed chairs are situated in front of the fire. There’s a warm glow to the room. It reminds me of the library at Ambrose’s house.

An overly loud throat clearing snags my attention. Sitting in one of the chairs, clutching her dragon-headed cane, is Fitz.

“Hmm, this is much nicer than the peaceful place your uncle imagined.” Fitz shudders.

“What?”

She waves her cane in a circle, nearly smacking into me. “The room. It’s from your imagination.”

I gather my bearings, putting together pieces of what she’s saying. This room is magicked to transform, and I’ve created this out of my thoughts. I wonder what Tucker’s room was like.

No, I don’t want to know.

“Sit down. You’re getting my anxiety up standing over me like that.” Fitz whips her long white braid over her shoulder and settles back into the chair.

I round the other chair and sink down into it. If this wasn’t a challenge, I’d be tempted to grab a book off one of the shelves, snuggle in to read, and maybe take a nap.

“Are you helping with the challenge?”

“No, I’m here for my mental health. What do you think?” Fitz chastises. She fiddles with the head of her cane, like she’s petting the dragon. I hardly ever see her where she isn't creating a spell or punishing someone in some way. It’s unsettling.

“Did you join the coven?” Fitz and Morty are the only two witches in town who were never part of a coven. Maybe now that the Tenebris and Lumen covens have combined into one they’ll join.

“I don’t play well with others. So, no. But I do enjoy interrogating people.”

“Is that what this is?” Is the final challenge getting Fitz’s approval? Because if that’s the case, then I don’t think anyone will pass.

She shrugs. “It could be.”

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Fitz is staring at me, and I’m not bold enough to stare right back at her. She probably has some Medusa power anyway, and I’d turn to stone if I looked too long. Instead, I gaze at the flickering flames. Whatever this magic is, it’s incredible. I feel the heat of the fire. The softness of the chair’s fabric beneath my fingers. The room even smells faintly like Ambrose.

Fitz grunts, stomps her cane against the ground, and stands up with a loud groan. “That’s it for me, then.”

“Wait, what?” I turn in my chair. “Where are you going? You said you had questions for me.”

“No, that’s what you assumed.” Fitz smiles at me, a twinkle in her eye that’s far too mischievous. I blink and she’s disappeared.

Spinning in my seat, I scan the room. Fitz is gone, but so is the door. I’m trapped in this room, alone. The fire snaps cheerfully in the fireplace. Flopping back into my chair, I close my eyes. I rub between my brows, feeling a headache from exhaustion begin to pound behind my eyes.

“You look stressed.”

My eyes snap open to the sight of a young woman sitting in Fitz’s recently vacated spot. She’s young, probably fourteen or fifteen. She reminds me a lot of Penelope, Josephine’s little sister. Except her hair is flaming red, just like mine. That’s where our similarities end. She doesn’t look like I did at that age. She’s not meek or shy. She stares me straight in the eyes with a soft smile on her face.

“What?” I blink away the fog and shake my head.

“It’s been a long day, huh?” the young woman asks.

I look around the room again, trying to figure where she came from. “Where did Fitz go? Who are you?”

The young woman shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s magic,” she replies, as if that’s a sufficient answer.

She stares at me, and I wonder if I’m supposed to ask her questions. If I ask her to help me get out of here, will she? Does she even know how?

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