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Dean Book smiled and shook her head. “You must be mistaken, dear. Anton would never…”
Soheila interrupted. “We haven’t much time, Liz. The door has to be opened before the last sunlight is gone.”
“Of course, that’s what I’m trying to arrange,” the dean replied petulantly. And then, turning to me and straightening herself up to practically her former height, she asked, “We’d like you to do the honors this year, Callie. It seems fitting since you have shown a talent for opening therealdoor. This one is merely a symbol, but still…symbols are important.”
“You want me to open the triptych?”
“Yes, please. Or rather the right side. Fiona always opens the left side. I usually open the right side, but I…well, I just don’t feel quite up to it today.”
It was alarming to hear Elizabeth Book admit to such weakness. “Of course,” I said. “It would be an honor.”
I put down my champagne glass on a nearby table and walked over to the right side of the triptych. Fiona Eldritch, in a stunning green silk dress, already stood on the left side, one hand resting on the gilt handle at the center of the door. She was standing just below the figure of the Fairy Queen, a placement that could not have been accidental. I smiled at her, resisting the urge to curtsey, and placed my hand on the right side handle. I felt a bit like Vanna White onWheel of Fortunegesturing toward a prize.
“You look very nice in that color,” Fiona said. “It suits you better than green.”
Little dull to wear the same color all the time, I thought to myself—or at least Ithoughtit was to myself. When I saw Fiona’s lips thin with displeasure I realized that my thoughts weren’t my own in this company. Now I’d pissed off a vampireandthe Fairy Queen. I wondered what other supernatural creature I could get on the wrong side of before the end of the night. I glanced around the room. All the guests had formed a semicircle around the triptych—except for the “night people,”who still hovered in the doorway. They had all put down their champagne glasses and were holding unlit candles instead—the kind used at candlelight vigils, with paper cones attached to keep wax from dripping on their hands. I looked at the expectant faces—intercepting smiles from Casper van der Aart and his boyfriend, Oliver—looking for one face in particular. I hadn’t seen Liam since I’d arrived. And yet he’d told me I would see him here. I was just about to give up when I spotted him in the doorway, edging past the Russian studies professors. Anton Volkov raised an eyebrow at him as he passed and Rea Demisovski licked her lips.
Yikes! I’d have to warn Liam somehow to stay away from them.
Liam, seemingly unfazed by the attention of the nocturnals, took his place in the semicircle, accepting a candle from Oliver. He caught my eye and winked. I blushed and looked away…and caught Fiona Eldritch staring at Liam. While the brunette vampire had looked at Liam as if he’d make an appealing snack, the Fairy Queen was staring at him as if he was the last drop of water in the desert.
“Whoisthat?” Fiona asked without taking her eyes off Liam.
“That’s the new writer-in-residence, Liam Doyle. Funny you haven’t met him. He’s been here two weeks.”
Fiona began to say something but was interrupted by Liz Book calling the room to order.
“Friends and colleagues,” the dean began, her voice as thin as the last ray of sunlight that quivered across the floor. “We mourn today the dying of the sun and remember those who have passed beyond the light.” She paused and gazed around the room. “For who among us has not lost someone to the darkness?” I looked around at the circle of faces and stopped when I reached Liam. Was he thinking of his childhood sweetheart, Jeannie, right now? He was standing with his back to the window, the last red rays of the sun limning his face, throwinghis eyes into shadow so I couldn’t see his expression. “But just as the sun returns, and the days grow longer, so the memories of our absent loved ones remain and we affirm our faith in love by finding new objects of our affection.” Liz looked around the circle until her gaze settled on Diana and she smiled.
“So today we celebrate not the dying of the sun, but its return. We open our hearts to new love just as we open this door.” Liz turned to us and I saw Fiona begin to pull the handle on her side. She could have given me a cue, I thought, tugging on my handle. The triptych panel was heavier than I had imagined and the hinges creaked. I had a terrible image of the panel breaking in my hands. That would be just my luck; I could piss off a whole bunch of supernaturals in one fell swoop.
Then I recalled reading the spell for opening in the spellbook. Perhaps it would help the door to open more smoothly.
“Ianuam sprengja!”I said under my breath.
The panel was suddenly light in my hands. It swung open of its own volition, so swiftly that I was flattened between the panel and the wall. I heard a gasp from the room which I thought might be for my safety, but when I extricated myself I saw that no one was looking at me. They were looking at the painting…When I turned to the place on the wall where the painting had been, I found myself looking through a window at another world. Deep green meadows starred with tiny flowers rolled down to a crystal blue lake surrounded by mountains that faded from indigo to violet to the palest rose and lavender. I stepped forward and instead of dissipating, the illusion deepened. I was at the edge of a dark wood, branches arching far over my head, looking out through the trees to the green meadows and the lake beyond. The scene blurred and I realized my eyes were full of tears. A faint buzzing filled my ears, like a million voices whispering or a swarm of flying insects beating their wings together. They grew as they came closer, swelling to almost human size—andalmosthuman features. A host of diaphanous glowing figures swarmed around me, their sharpnoses sniffing at me, their pointed ears twitching. The buzzing grew louder—the same buzzing I’d heard when I’d fallen asleep in the library…then I recognized them. They were the horde I’d traveled with in my dreams.My companions.
Our doorkeeper!Their high-pitched voices echoed as they stirred excitedly around me. Those who had wings flexed them now and swooped in the air above my head, their wings brushing my face.
You’ve come back to us!They cried in unison.You’ve come to let us in!
But already they were fading, just as they had faded in my dream. I reached out to touch one—a young girl with a heart-shaped face and skin mottled like a fawn’s—and my hand went right through her. Another face took her place, emerging out of the dark like a skull bobbing up out of black water.
“How did you do that?” With the man’s voice, the illusion faded. The lights resolved into candles held by my colleagues; the painting was a bucolic landscape framed by two panels painted to look like trees, their branches meeting over the center of the middle panel. The pale, skeletal man was Anton Volkov, his thin, angular face and ash blond hair turned to white by the candle he held.
“I don’t know,” I said, stepping closer to the now lifeless painting—and away from the daunting presence of the Russian studies professor. “I think I may have said an opening spell.”
“A spell alone couldn’t open the door.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and stepped closer so only I would hear him. It was like standing next to a block of ice. Waves of cold emanated from him. “But neither could a doorkeeper open a door where there was no door. This triptych is only a symbol of the real door and yet you were able to open the door to Faerie right here. It was only open for a moment, but I suspect that the real door, the one in the forest, is open now and will remain so until New Year’s Eve. You seem to”—he inclined his head towardmy neck and sniffed delicately—“combine the qualities of fairy and witch.”
“I don’t know about that.” I glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching us. What had the rest of the party made of that momentary opening of the door? But if anyone else had seen what Anton Volkov and I had, they weren’t letting on. Most people had been drawn to the buffet, where food and more champagne had been put out. I saw Frank Delmarco talking to Soheila and Liz, Brock and Dory, who were among several townspeople included in the gathering, standing side by side eating mini quiches and gazing at the painting, and, finally, Liam still standing in front of the darkening window talking to a tall woman.
“I’ve been wanting to speak to you,” Professor Volkov said. “I heard you came by my office but left without leaving any message.”
“You weren’t there,” I said, wondering who could have told him I’d been there. The building had seemed deserted. “And I know how busy everyone is during finals week. But yes, I did want to talk to you about Nicky Ballard. Dean Book told me you’ve identified two witches who might have been responsible for the curse. Have you been able to locate their descendants?”
“No, I haven’t had a chance to check the registry in the city. This type of research must be conducted with great sensitivity. If any of their descendants thought their ancestors were being accused of misconduct they could become…angry.”
“But Nicky will turn eighteen in May.”
