“Right.”
“Which tells me,” continued the bird, “that this is a job—or something along the same lines. Who knows, maybe they’re going to offer you one of those stiff seats at court.”
I laughed. “Right. Like that’s ever going to happen. The Beaumont witches never had a seat in that court and never will. We’re not... court material,” I added, knowing we Beaumont witches hated to follow rules and regulations. We preferred to break them.
“You never know,” commented the bird.
“I do,” I said, though the smile I felt on my face was a welcomed distraction from the mountain of stress I had been feeling a few minutes ago. I felt marginally better with Poe by my side.
After a three-minute walk, we came to a two-story building with a large metal door that looked like it belonged in the medieval ages, which was really out of place here in New York city. I could still read the faded, weatherworn sign above the door: OAK PARK THEATER.
Glass display windows flanked the entrance door on either side, reflecting the moonlight like silvery mirrors. There was nothing in the windows now, just black curtains. The stone facade was dark and eroded from years of exposure to polluted air and acid rain. It had that old theater feel to it, but it had clearly been a graceful and luxurious theater, once upon a time.
I stood for a moment, my legs seemingly cemented to the walkway and not wanting to move.
“We could make a run for it,” said the raven after a moment.
“You know I can’t.” I shook my head. “You know as well as I do what will happen if I don’t make that appointment.” Like boiling me alive in their cauldron. I’d heard the rumors.
“Just as obeying the court could have lethal consequences,” came Poe’s breath, rubbing against my cheek.
My heart pounded in my ears, and my skin broke into a sweat. “I don’t have a choice,” I replied, as I took another step forward.
My skin pricked with ribbons of dark magic. It was everywhere—coming off the walls, the door, the roof. The entire building was heavily sealed and warded. The smell of sulfur intruded but then vanished.
My gaze went to the doorknocker, an iron-cast gargoyle’s head complete with large ears, horns, a squished bat-like nose, glaring eyes and a mouth filled with canines that looked like they belonged to a Great Dane large enough to fit your hand. An iron ring hung from its open mouth. The face was carved in the likes of pain, its mouth appearing fixed in a silent scream. But the proportions were off, the mouth too wide, the forehead too high, the eyes warped.
It was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen.
There was nothing remarkably witch-like or remotely interesting to look at. It was just... warped and grotesque and ghoulish.
“This looks more like something you’d see in the Netherworld,” I commented. “Like something the demons would carve.”
“Even demons have a better understanding of art. This is ... just wrong.” The bird gave a huff and said, “So, what happens now? Do we knock?”
My gaze went to the thing’s mouth, to its very large teeth. “Feed the gargoyle with a drop of your blood,” I said, recalling the instructions from the note. Damn. That was creepy.
“Excuse you?” said Poe.
My mind raced as fast as my heart. “It was written on the note.” I drew a nervous breath and held it, stifling a shiver. “The building’s heavily protected with wards. You can’t just walk in.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a small Swiss Army pocket knife, the one I used to cut herbs from my garden.
“You can’t pick a lock with that,” said the bird.
“It’s not for the knocker. It’s for me,” I said and sliced a small cut on my left finger. A fat drop of blood seeped from the cut like a gleaming red pearl. Before it trickled down my finger, I moved my hand towards the knocker and squeezed my finger so the thick drop of blood fell inside the gargoyle’s mouth and splatted on its tongue.
Dark witches. Only they would come up with something so disturbing.
“Now what?” moaned the bird. “I’m not seeing anything.”
I stepped back and waited. “Just wait,” I said, my nerves making me shake.
Energy hummed in the air, my hair lifting and floating around my shoulders as dark magic glided over me, whispering of power and domination. Damn. Those were some powerful wards.
My pulse quickened. “I’m feeling something.”
Poe shifted his weight. “Like what? Indigestion?”
“Halt, mortal! Halt, intruder upon the gates of the secret court of the dark witches!” boomed the doorknocker in an ancient voice like the grinding of rocks. Its mouth moved and worked in a disturbingly human way. I watched transfixed as the face shifted, not smoothly like a human face, but jerky and erratic as parts of the iron came together to form expressions.
I smiled. A human would have passed out at the sight of a talking gargoyle doorknocker. I thought it was awesome. I loved being a witch.
“Great, it speaks,” grumbled Poe.
“Of course I speak, you insolent genus corvus,” barked the doorknocker, its voice a slightly higher pitch and sending waves of goose bumps over my skin.
This was a whole new level of weird.
“Can you just shut up and open the door, already,” commented Poe. “We’re going to be late.”
The gargoyle’s eyes moved up to Poe, and his face screwed up in a contemptuous frown. “Only a dark witch can enter. The non-magical are not permitted.”
“He is magical,” I interjected, a small feeling of panic twisting in my gut. I didn’t want to enter without Poe. If something were to happen to me, I needed him to go tell my grandfather. “He’s my familiar. We share our magic. We’re magically connected. He goes where I go.”
The doorknocker made a face. If it had arms, it would have crossed them over its chest. “I’m afraid that is not possible,” it said in a matter-of-fact tone. “As I said, the non-magical cannot enter,” it added, just as a wind howled down the street, sounding a lot like a big fat no. “I didn’t make the rules, but we all must abide by them.”
“Like hell I am.” An awful feeling of dread settled in me, and my gut clenched. I frowned, my pulse spiking. This doorknocker was starting to irritate me.
“It’s okay, Sam,” said Poe. “I’ll wait for you here—”
“No.” Tension pulled through me. My voice rose as I took a calming breath. “He’s coming with me,” I told the doorknocker. “Or you’ll have to explain to the dark witch court why I wasn’t allowed entry after they specifically asked for me. I don’t think they’ll be pleased with you. Is that what you want?” I wasn’t exactly sure how a witch could harm a freaking iron doorknocker, but it was worth a shot. Perhaps they would melt him.
Its face cracked in an attempt of a frown but came out looking like a grimace. “I’m a doorknocker. I have no wants. I’m a magical being created for the simple purpose of guarding this door and letting only the magical step through. Your blood is the key.” His eyes flicked to Poe. “I’m sorry, but familiars are not on the list of magical beings. He simply cannot pass.”
Anger slowly burned in my gut. “Fine. Then I’m leaving.” I turned to leave and took three steps—