Le Chateau was a ghost town as we climbed the pretty cobbled streets, past silent stone houses and boarded-up windows. If I had to guess, I would say that the greater part of the property had been uninhabited for more than just Weston’s generation. Paint was peeling in most places, and a few tiled roofs had cracked or cratered; one house seemed to be full of debris, and the front door was missing completely. Despite the fact that the houses were falling apart, the road was obviously well-maintained, with neat shrubbery sprinkling multicolored petals onto the edges of the cobblestones, and tall lampposts lighting the way. We passed through an arch with yet another guard standing by, and seemed to enter a different part of Le Chateau, where the houses were not so run-down, but still clearly unused. It seemed that there were several layers to the city, which made sense when I thought about Weston saying that Materialists over the years had added to the original structure. Each layer was wrapped by a strong, stone wall, cutting into what seemed to be a man-made hill—for the surrounding terrain was completely flat. A gate marked the spot on the winding road where another layer began, and I was hanging out my window by the time we finally arrived at the top, where only a single, multi-tiered mansion remained, with the giant spired tower right in the middle of it.
Arnold parked in an open Romanesque gallery, which seemed to be reserved as a parking space, as it had only leaves upon the ground. Bordering colonnades supported a giant, vaulted ceiling with open circles cut into each point to allow the moonlight to spill in. The air blew right through, catching my hair as I stepped out of the car and walked alongside the columns to where I thought the entrance to the mansion was. Weston followed close behind and Arnold stayed with the Audi. I passed two heavy stone urns that were currently being strangled by tumbling vines boasting blood-red flowers, and then I was through a doorway and inside a hallway of some kind. I had to stop, then, because I simply couldn’t continue without acknowledging the miracle of architecture that sat before me. The hallway was so wide an army could have passed through it… but considering the other gothic defence fortifications that I had spotted on the drive up, that wasn’t entirely surprising.
The ceiling captured me first, since the eye was naturally drawn up thanks to the pointed window skeletons lining the walls—it was almost as though they were demanding you to look up and acknowledge the masterpiece that hovered above you. I didn’t know what kind of material it was made of, but the patterns carved into the roof caused it to resemble the underside of a leaf; with intricate, spindly veins running between almost translucent, gold-painted tones. The delicate designs sat inside heavier impressions, which curved and pointed and arched with the ceiling until I was almost dizzy with it all. I turned away when Weston cleared his throat, and then I trailed slowly after the man as he chose the hallway leading to the left: it split off from us at a ninety-degree angle, probably walking around the entire outside of the place. The floor beneath me was smooth and ancient-looking, white marble interspersed with granite, polished to an impressive sheen. The windows boasted both stained glass and normal, rippled glass, but the windows were all in the same arched shape, with three large vertical panes of glass below several smaller, decorative panes.
Weston’s dress shoes made a sound against the ground that was both sharp and muted at once, and my chameleon sneakers made no sound at all as the rubber soles brushed against the smooth stone. We walked for a long time, and I almost wished that there was some kind of medieval elevator to take us to where we needed to go, though I suspected that had more to do with my headache. Eventually, we stopped at one of the sliding, stained-glass doors that dotted the giant hallway, and Weston pulled them open, revealing an indoor courtyard.
I gasped, spilling into the room before him and moving to touch each of the exotic plants. I ran my finger through the elaborate fountain, peered at the gargoyle currently spitting a slow stream of water, and tested out at least two of the white stone benches before Weston was on the move again. He started up a large marble staircase with balustrades polished to a blinding sheen, and I reluctantly followed him. The courtyard had been lit by dim lanterns, but as we passed up the staircase and back ‘inside,’ it grew darker. Weston fiddled for a moment in the dark and then light snapped into existence, too bright after the magic of below. He dimmed the lights after seeing my wince, which was oddly thoughtful. I followed him to the nearest wall, where he pressed a button to call… an elevator? Really?
Sure enough, the wall slid aside to reveal an elevator car and I walked on auto-pilot, delivering myself into the space as Weston pressed the button for the fifth floor. When we exited, I had to wait for Weston to switch on more lights, and I found myself in a sitting room that actually managed to look lived-in.
“Most of the livable wings are on this floor,” Weston explained to me, sounding tired himself. He kept sneaking glances at my collar, too. Probably wondering if it was going to make his pretty castle go boom. “I didn’t actually have time to ask the servants to ready any of the other wings, but three of the residences have been maintained in my sons’ absences. The closest is Cabe’s, it’s the first door in that corridor over there. Jack should be here soon, and we’ll get that… collar dealt with.”
I nodded, twisting my hands awkwardly. “You never answered my question before. I really don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here. You’ve managed to get to me before the Klovoda, you’ve managed to get me away from Gerald—where is he, by the way? He’s not going to appear while I’m staying here, is he?”
“No,” Weston answered solemnly, “he’s dead.”
I paused, confusion worsening my headache until I was forced to take a seat in one of the armchairs in lieu of collapsing. “He died once before.”