Just as she was trying to brush her unruly hair into submission, someone knocked on her door, pushing it open without waiting for an answer.
Munroe stood in the doorway. Fiona froze, hairbrush hovering. Munroe wore a delicate, pale blue gown of sheer silk tulle. Her limbs showed through the fabric. Embroidered white leaves snaked around her body, strategically preventing her from revealing anything too scandalous.
She leaned against the doorway and folded her arms, looking Fiona up and down. “That’s what you decided on? Is this some sort of a joke?”
Fiona gripped her brush, ready to hurl it into Munroe’s face. “It’s vintage, actually.”
“What are you dressed as? A paper bag someone left out in the rain?” She tilted her head. “A bag lady! How appropriate.” The peal of laughter was like nails on a chalkboard.
“You’re so funny, Munroe. I can’t wait to join your robotic housewife cult.”
“It’s not a cult,” she snapped. “It’s an ancient religion, and we’ve been protecting people from witchcraft for thousands of years.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t tell a witch from a hole in the ground.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
“What are you even talking about?”
Fiona threw down the brush. She began twisting her hair into tidier curls. “Nothing.”
“You’re not mad that Tobias is my date, are you? But you can’t possibly think he likes you in that way.”
A flicker of amusement warmed Fiona’s face. Poor thing. She doesn’t realize he’s only using her for information. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“I see the way you look at him. Anyone can see it.”
After working her fingers through her curls, her hair was looking better, at least. She rummaged through Mariana’s makeup, pulling out a tube of ruby red lipstick. “Why are you here, Munroe?” She filled in the crown of her lips.
“Sadie and I are going to be doing our hair and makeup soon, and my mom said I had to invite you to join us.”
“No thanks. I’d rather jam a sharpened toothbrush in my eye than listen to Sadie deliberate for two hours about eyeliner.”
“Just as well.” She flicked her hair behind a shoulder. “My mom seems to think you’re something pretty special, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. And I don’t really know if hair and makeup is going to save…” She waved her hand at Fiona’s outfit. “…whatever is going on there. You might want to take another look in the basement.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Thomas
Thomas pulled himself through Eirenaeus’ tunnel on his elbows, his arms aching from breaking through the stone floor in his cell. The air was dry and stale. Stirring up dust, he tried not to cough while he squirmed though the narrow canal. There was no light here, just darkness and claustrophobia.
Jagged pieces of stone jabbed into his back. Couldn’t a brilliant philosopher like Eirenaeus have come up with a better escape route? Not that he wasn’t thankful. He was out of the cell. Maybe he’d suffocate in dirt—maybe even run into the mummified remains of old Eirenaeus while he was in here. But as long as he could stay out of the guards’ sights, he could escape a grisly fate in Lullaby Square.
The passage narrowed, and a rough chunk of stone trapped his shoulder. “Bloody hell,” he choked out. He closed his eyes, suddenly overcome by the feeling that he would remain trapped in this hole. His every breath would deplete the oxygen. Think calming thoughts. Think of gardens and the seaside…
But his mind was still full of sevens. When he was seven, his mother had left him in the car on a trip to the seaside. It was one of her quests. She’d parked by the beach, the air thick with salt. She’d said it would only be a few minutes—one of the angels was coming for her, and she had to greet him by the ocean. The angel would unlock her powers as the gatekeeper.
Thomas had stayed in the car all night, growing cold and thirsty. His stomach had rumbled, and he’d needed a blanket. I was too scared to get out. Every time the reeds rustled in the wind, I crammed further into the footwell. He’d calmed himself by reciting all the names of sea creatures he could remember.
The next morning, his mother had stumbled back, defeated. All she’d said was, “I got the message wrong,” and they’d driven back to London in a stifling silence.
“The gatekeeper,” he croaked. “Is that what I’m doing? A fool’s errand?” No, that’s something different. That one isn’t real. I’m in a magical fortress. The thought that the magical fortress was real was so ridiculous that a laugh escaped him. Of course. The magical fortress is real. His chest shook with laughter, and the rock scratched his shoulder.