I followed my mother to the car, slumped into the seat beside her, and rested my head on her shoulder in complete surrender, while her fingers gently stroked my hair with a tenderness my heart longed for. I remained lost in thought, my eyes fixed on the window, taking in the fleeting beauty of Edinburgh; a city soothing to the eye despite the mystery and unhappiness that shrouded its walls.
"If I weren't his wife," my mother said in a low voice filled with regret, "I would take you now and return us to our old home... but it's not that simple."
"That would have been the best option for all of us," I replied, my hope fading.
"I know," she sighed heavily, repeating, "but I told you... it's not easy."
I tried to find a way out of this gilded cage: "Yes, it's easy... Didn't you say he didn't have a wedding ceremony, and that all that binds you is a ring? Your divorce won't tarnish the family's prestigious reputation; the media doesn't even know we exist."
She said bitterly, as if talking to herself, "I feel trapped in this marriage... It's true we love each other, but... never mind, forget all that now. As soon as we arrive, you need to go to bed and get some rest."
I nodded silently and went back to watching the streets. When the car stopped at a red light in front of a flower shop, my gaze was fixed on a man standing there. He was short, elderly, with a round face streaked with gray, wearing a heavy coat, and his eyes were fixed directly on mine.
At first, I thought it was just a passing coincidence, or perhaps he was just a lost-minded stranger. But his gaze was sharp, deadly, and fixed precisely on my eyes. Even as the car slowly moved at the changing light, his eyes followed us with a disturbing persistence.
Those glances sent a chilling shiver of fear through me; as if the shocks I'd endured over the past two weeks weren't enough, I was now being pursued by another kind of trauma.
I swung my head back into my mother's lap and closed my eyes tightly, trying to escape those glances and the world at large.
My room..
There was no longing in my heart for this place; neither for my room, nor for this palace whose walls breathed fear. All I truly missed was my computer, my world of paper, and the novel I had abandoned. The nightmarish events in this palace had stolen me from my only hobby, and my ink had dried up for over a month.
I sat in front of the screen, and messages and questions from my readers poured in. I began to answer them with a joy I had long missed, jotting down some narrative notes inspired by my bitter reality, to return to later. I went through the routine of those who have returned from the dead: a warm bath, a light meal, and caring for the skin that had been neglected by its pallor.
Suddenly, the silence of the room was shattered by a knock on the door. I sighed wearily; experience had taught me that behind every knock in this palace lay a new problem.
"Come in!"
The door opened, and the knocker was the last person I expected to see: Custer. He was wearing a baggy tracksuit, and his features were a mixture of shyness and confusion. He stood on the threshold, waiting for a silent permission. I nodded, and he entered, closing the door behind him with an eerie quietness.
I immediately recalled the details of our last meeting, and a wave of embarrassment and nervousness washed over me, causing me to close my eyes for a few seconds.
He broke the silence with a trembling voice: "I'm sorry... for not visiting you these past two weeks."
I replied provocatively, without meeting his gaze: "It's good that you admit your mistake and apologize."
He responded quickly, as if defending himself: "I wasn't in a state to come in the first place. Your mother was preventing everyone from approaching; I tried once, and I ended up with a barrage of insults and a resounding slap across the face."
I barely suppressed a laugh; despite the tragic nature of the situation, imagining my mother unleashing her fury with her sharp tongue and excessive movements was utterly ridiculous.
"I apologize on her behalf," I said with feigned indifference. "But..."
He interrupted me insistently. "No, I'm the one who should apologize."
I sighed wearily. "Stop apologizing. You people really do rehash the same old thing. Just like you did the night we got drunk; apologizing and apologizing. Is that all you're good for besides regret and complaining?"
He took a step closer and said in a low voice, "I have to. I apologize for letting you see that 'transformation' when I drank that liquid. I was stupid. I didn't consider that you're a normal human being and wouldn't accept seeing something supernatural so easily. I was a fool, so please... forget what you saw."
I looked at him in silence. Did Caster think I was still that innocent, ignorant girl? Didn't he realize that I had confronted the biggest monster in their own backyard, and that I now knew the secret of that accursed liquid and the role each of them played?
I wondered to myself: Is continuing to play the fool my last line of defense? Everyone thinks I'm oblivious, except for Stacker and Detective Adam.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, feigning ignorance. "I thought it was all a bad dream. Why are you bringing it up now?"
He seemed suddenly relieved. "Yes," he said eagerly. "Yes, you're right. It was just a dream. Let's drop this subject completely and forget what you saw. I know you're wondering, but it was just a magic trick I learned when I was little. That's all."
I looked at him coldly and said, "The problem isn't that frightening 'transformation' I saw from you. I suspected from the start that you were a bunch of sorcerers... the real problem is that kiss, and your nonsense talk about love."
His face was clearly visible in his hands, confusion etched on his features. "I was under some kind of spell... actually, we've been getting our share of punishment from Grandma for the past two weeks because I got out of control. Please, don't pay any attention to what I said then."
"None of that matters to me anymore," I said, my despair barely concealed. "All I'm thinking about is escaping this palace as soon as possible."
He replied in a preachy tone, "You shouldn't have broken the rules in the first place."
My voice rose in anger. "And you call this a normal life? How am I supposed to live in a palace this terrifying and enormous, and live by rules I don't understand?"
"I understand how you feel, but we were in the same boat."
"You know what? It's my fault... because I let my mother marry your father and get caught up in this mess of your lives."
Suddenly, Caster knelt beside my bed and took my hand in his, his voice sincere. "Trust me, it won't happen again... just try, please, not to break any more rules."
I was silent for a moment, then asked him, my gaze fixed on his eyes, "Tell me... what's the story with that library?"
He answered evasively, "Nothing."
"You call the destruction of my body 'nothing'?"
"It must have been a passing thief."
"Caster," I snapped. "Why do you keep treating me like a fool?"
He sighed, clearly annoyed. "On your first day here, I wanted to tell you the whole story while I was explaining the rules. Do you remember what you told me then? 'Get to the point.'"
A pang of regret shot through me. It was my first mistake in this palace, the fruit of my arrogance and my hatred for everything around me. I had rejected information that could have saved me, and now I was paying the price.
"I remember," I said quietly. "Now, never mind. Tell me the story of that library."
I asked him, feigning ignorance of the monster lurking there, but my curiosity was gnawing at me to understand the secret of its existence. He began to explain, avoiding the name "Joseph" as if he were speaking of an unknown ghost: "That library belonged to a member of the family... he built and designed it. The first and second wings contain medical and scientific books, but the third..."
He paused briefly before continuing, "It contained books written in his own hand... they weren't ordinary works, but texts containing mysterious incantations."
"Incantations? This confirms my suspicions that you practice magic."
"No one here possesses that talent but him... he died a long time ago, but the legend says..."
I interrupted him with a faint smile: "A legend... or a reality you live?"
He continued seriously, "The legend says he still visits the library at night... we deduced this when we noticed new books appearing on the shelves, written in his own handwriting."
I asked him sarcastically, "And can you borrow a book from it and read it?"
He responded with a bitter laugh: "Borrowing a book? You must be joking! If a single book leaves that library, its owner will surely be slaughtered. That's why the rules were made; no one is allowed in at night so you don't run into that 'person,' and no one is allowed in Wing 3 during the day so you don't get tempted to steal a book, only to have it come back and kill you when it returns."
"Who is this person? And how can he come back dead?"
"I don't know more than that, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you... As for his identity, it's not important."
I exploded at him: "Not important? He smashed my face and broke my neck, and you still say it's not important? Don't I have the right to know who this monster is?"
He grabbed my shoulder and said in a chillingly calm voice: "Knowing his identity and delving deeper into his story will only make things more dangerous... Just promise me you won't go back there. He... he does other things in that library that no one knows about."
I immediately remembered the lake of blood in which I was drowning, and his severed hand that I saw on the ground. I no longer had any doubt that what he was doing there went beyond the limits of writing and talismans.