A large mouse sat on the woman’s shoulder, the same lavender color as her hair. Its ears and nose twitched as it stared at me curiously. The man with the wavy auburn hair had a duck standing on the table next to him, the same color as his bright blue pocket square. Every few seconds, the duck peered down at what the man was writing, and tried to bite his feather quill.
When the man addressed me again, I jerked my eyes off the duck with an effort.
“Shadow, you say?” He peered at me through his monocle. “As in,ClotideLa Fey Shadow? The praecurus?”
I didn’t know what that last word meant, but I nodded.
“She was my mother,” I said, a little stiffly.
“Thepraecurus,Clotide La Fey?” the woman clarified.
“Shadow,” I corrected, feeling that my father should be included. “But yes.”
My mother’s maiden name was La Fey, like my aunt. For the same reason, I only gazed back at the woman with the lavender beehive, my stare defiant.
“Well, that explains your age,” the man muttered.
He exchanged meaningful looks with the woman, and her eyebrows rose all the way to her hairline. Then, the woman seemed to realize I was just standing there, and scribbled something on a piece of paper with her quill.
“Inspector Forsooth,” she said, her mouth slightly pursed. She continued to stare at me with her orange-tinted eyes, but now the interest on her face was tinged with the faintest amount of disgust. “Number Thirteen.” She handed the slip of paper to the man next to her, and he made an obscure mark on one side, with red ink.
He held out the piece of paper, his own mouth pursed.
I reached back for it. “But what do I?”
“Inspector… Forsooth,” the man enunciated loudly. “Number… Thirteen.”
He spoke as if he thought I was hard of hearing.
Or, more likely, as if I were extremely slow-witted.
I nodded, once, and took the slip of paper from the man’s fingers.
He jerked his hand away as soon as I gripped it between my thumb and forefinger. I very nearly dropped it as a result, but managed to keep hold of the slip as I stepped back. I still felt off-balance, but relief washed over me when I could move my legs and feet normally.
I stood there another few seconds, the paper gripped in my hand.
Both people behind the table blinked when I still hadn’t left.
“Proceed into the testing chamber,” the man said sharply. He sounded uncomfortable now, like he couldn’t figure out why I was still there, and wasn’t sure how to get rid of me. He aimed his quill sharply to his right. “That way. Walk.”
He motioned again in the same direction.
“Now.” He seemed to have decided a harsher tone was required. “You are the last to arrive. If you are not there when they call you, it is an automatic fail.”
I turned my head, following the direction of his quill.
A curtain covered a tall opening in the wall.
That feeling of liquid falling over my head had grown less shocking in the past few minutes of adjusting to it, but it hadn’t stopped. The faint buzzing in my ears remained distracting, along with the feeling of subtle vibrations all over my skin.
I forced myself to take a step, then another.
I took a third step, then a fourth, and suddenly, I could breathe again.
My legs continued to obey my commands.
Gravity kept my feet firmly on the dark stone floor.
