“Breaking into Castle Ides won’t be easy,” the witch warned. “It looks like a regular ten-story building, but in reality, this same building exists in ten different cities at the same time, a type of portal. The only way to access the upper floors is here”—?she pointed to a rectangular chamber on the map sketched on Cricket’s arm—?“through the building’s elevator. Each floor leads to a different city. Rio de Janeiro is the sixth floor. New York is the second. Tokyo is the third. The elevator—”
“Coffee!” Viggo carried in a tray holding a pot of coffee that smelled like burned sugar, nearly stumbling on the paintings on the floor. He poured Anouk a cup. She took a sniff and grimaced.
“The elevator,” Mada Zola continued, “is guarded by the Royals’ proxies, called the Marble Ladies. You’ll need to present your invitation to them at the front desk.”
Viggo reached into his pocket and took out an elegant paper invitation, wiggling his eyebrows enticingly at Anouk. She pushed the coffee away.
“The Royals inhabit the penthouse floors,” Mada Zola explained. “Once you get there, you’ll be closely watched. Guests are escorted at all times by lesser Royals, which will make it difficult for you to get to the spell library. And Beau is correct—?the floor plan of the penthouse is set to change every hour, on the hour.” She turned to Cricket. “You’ll have to keep a close eye on the timing to unders
tand how the rooms rotate.”
As Mada Zola explained the rotation schedule to Cricket, Viggo sank onto the divan next to Anouk and begged, “Give me a pistol, mon amour. Out of all of us, I’m the only one who can use it.”
She eased a few inches away from him. “No pistols. You might be able to use it, but magic in Castle Ides is highly concentrated. There’s no telling what bringing technology into that place might do.”
Cricket finished writing out the map on her arm and announced, “So, then, while Viggo is distracting the Royals, I break into the spell library and steal the beastie spell. That’s it? Easy.”
“I’m afraid not,” the witch said. “The spell library doesn’t contain books but tens of thousands of bound folios holding the spells. It would take days to search through them all.”
“They must be cataloged somehow,” Anouk said.
“Yes, by magic. And they can be located only by magic.” She went to the bookcase and took out a glass jar with something small and spindly inside: a captive dragonfly. “I don’t normally use insects—?that’s dirty Goblin magic—?but they have their uses. The Royals use enchanted fireflies to locate the spells, but this will do the job just as well. With the proper whisper, it will lead you to the correct folio.”
Cricket reached for the jar, but Mada Zola held it back.
“My darling Cricket, even as a cat, you were prone to recklessness. That might serve you for more action-oriented spells, but this one requires a quiet disposition. Anouk, you must perform the spell. I’ll write it out for you. It isn’t easy, but I have faith in you.”
Anouk carefully tucked the jar in her pocket.
“So all that’s left,” Cricket said, “is figuring out how to sneak past Prince Rennar’s own penthouse apartments and into the library without having escorts. Any ideas?”
The cat clock was ticking. They needed to leave soon, let Beau drive like the wind, make up for some precious lost hours. Anouk paced, stepping around the paintings like puzzle pieces, looking at the haunted faces staring back, the beautiful ballroom filled with dancing Royals and musicians to play for them and—?
“Servants.”
“What was that?” asked Mada Zola.
Anouk picked up the heavy painting of the ball. “Look—?these figures in the background, dressed in black. They’re servants, aren’t they? And servants don’t have escorts. No one bothers to notice the maids. Even in the painting, they’re just sketched-in figures. That’s how we get from the elevator to the spell library and back—?disguised as servants.” She turned to Viggo and Hunter Black. “And once we steal the spell, I’ll signal to you two that it’s time to go. I’ll bring a tray of tea to the salon. Lavender tea if everything is good, bergamot if there’s trouble.”
“We’ll need maid uniforms,” Cricket said.
Anouk peered closer at the maids in the painting. Each wore a plain black dress, a white apron, and a lace veil covering half her face. The painting didn’t show the detail of the specific buttons or hems or shoes, but she guessed that Royals never looked closely at the staff. They wouldn’t notice small missing details.
The bed sheets, Anouk thought. Those are white. And the curtains are dark velvet.
“Do you have needle and thread, Petra?”
Petra gave a laugh. “Do I look like I do needlepoint?” But then she thought. “We have gardening wire.”
“That’ll do. We’ll have to take down these curtains.”
“They’re purple, not black.”
“A little magic will change that. Besides, no one will be looking at us. They’ll be too busy looking at Viggo being . . . Viggo.” She waved in his general direction; he was adjusting his ridiculous slouchy hat in a mirror.
She turned to Beau. “And you’ll need to stay outside in the car and keep it running in case we need to get out of there quickly.”
“Impossible, cabbage. I’m going with you.”