Chapter 1.3

The door to Castle Gramarye’s audience chamber opened.

The windowless hall was lit by a chandelier. Upon each candelabrum flickered wax candles. Above them, a painting covered the dome ceiling. A queen dressed in black robes stood upon a crescent moon. Her hands reached towards the evening sky, where rows of golden stars stretched into the heavens.

The woman who walked into the chamber carried a thin novella beneath her arms. She was dressed plainly in a long coat and navy skirt. She stopped beneath the chandelier and took a moment to adjust her glasses.

“No need to pretend you weren’t here first, Fang Fang,” she said.

Eight ivory ionic pillars stood and formed a circle around the center. Another woman, this one in a maroon qipao and silk brocade shoes emerged from the shadow behind the closest column.

“Nothing ever slips past you,” the woman sighed. “No one but the dead is silent enough for Gentiane, the Librarian Egregore. The others are–”

“Behind me. I know,” Gentiane paused. “Sorry. I know you were simply making conversation. Can you prepare your tea, Fang Fang? I’ve missed it.”

“Anything for you, Gentiane,” Fang Fang smiled. “I’ve even learned some new tricks this year. Would you like me to put on some music?”

“Yes, please.”

Gentiane crossed the room and took a spot by one of the pillars. A chair rose from the chamber floor when she moved to sit down. She tossed one leg over another and unfurled her book to her bookmarked page.

She heard the sustained sigh of a violin while a porcelain tea set drifted towards her. A flame born of no kindling waxed below a ceramic pot, then faded when steam began to rise from the spout. Gentiane smelled hints of chrysanthemum spotted with notes of osmanthus.

“A personal touch,” Fang Fang arrived beside the tea set. In her hands, she rolled an orange tuile and set it atop the tea, “for your skin.”

“I’ll ignore that last remark,” Gentiane took her cup. “Thank you.”

“Am I early this time? Am I the dignitary this year receiving Fang Fang’s first–oh. It looks like Gentiane wins again. Of course.”

A suntanned witch entered the chamber. Her short, bushy hair was cast with golden threads. Jeweled bracelets jingled on her wrists. A long, satin cloak flowed behind her heels.

“You don’t even like tea, Khali,” Fang Fang replied.

“You’re right. I just want to see the look on your face,” she grinned, “on the day you have to serve someone other than Gentiane your first brew.”

“I like tea. I’ll have some,” came another new voice.

A young teenager, no older than junior high, stepped into the chamber beside Khali, dressed in ordinary schoolgirl’s clothes. A black cat stood perched on her left shoulder licking its paws.

“Of course, Dahlia,” Fang Fang smiled. “You get to have tea. And what does Maomao want?”

“She ate before coming here. She’ll get fat if you feed her anything else.”

The feline hissed as if protesting, which of course, was silly, because everyone knew cats could not understand human speech.

“That makes four,” Fang Fang counted. “Which means the next one should be…”

The chandelier shifted above them and swayed towards the side where a shadow had landed. Candlelight revealed streaks of silver hair.

“There’s no need to show off, Baba Yaga,” Fang Fang frowned. “You’re not the only one who knows how to phase into the castle.”

The Egregore’s newest member leapt off the chandelier and landed in the center of the room.

“But I’m the only one who’s never tried it yet,” Baba Yaga shrugged. “Now that I know it’s not such a big deal, I won’t do it again.”

Baba Yaga’s eyes scanned the audience chamber for the first time. To her, the chamber seemed… plain. The walls were painted a sickly chrome. The surrounding eight pillars, while elegant in design, were almost the only artifacts aside from that unremarkable painting and…

Who is that, anyway, Baba Yaga though. She gazed at the ceiling again, at the outline of those black robes above when she first materialized inside the castle. She looked away, part embarrassed, part instinct. Something about staring at those bizarre arrangements of stars seemed wrong, Taboo even.

She settled her eyes on Gentiane. The Librarian Egregore sensed Baba Yaga’s eyes and looked up.

“You wanna read?” Gentiane offered the book towards her.

“I’m sorry,” said Lady Baba Yaga. “I only read Russian novels.”

“So?” Khali said. She held up two slips of folded paper. “Did anyone else read Lisa’s letters?”

“Out of an abundance of precaution, I never read anything by her,” Fang Fang chuckled. “I prefer she narrate Stories to me. It’s much safer that way.”

“You, fresh blood!” Khali stared at Lady Baba Yaga. “She mentioned you in her letter. What’s she planning?”

“She wishes to tell a Story,” Baba Yaga said. “But she did not divulge any details to me. She only asked for my Permission.”

“She didn’t request any of our Permissions?” Dahlia asked, nervously. “Miss Everest rarely tells a Story without asking us first. She hates it when we intervene…”

“Maybe she thinks this one will be too good to interrupt,” Fang Fang crossed her arms. “Or maybe…”

“I don’t like it,” Khali growled. “She’s up to something. She’s always been up to something. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been telling her Story this whole time. You couldn’t tell. Her reality bending magic is near untraceable.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” came a theatrical bellow.

A woman dressed like a witch strutted in. The necessity of this statement seemed questionable as, were it not obvious by now, the audience chamber of Castle Gramarye served as a gathering place for the world’s premier witches.

But Lisa Everest’s attire should be especially noted, as she was the only attendee among the Egregore who dared to dress like a witch in its popular imagination, a tall pointy hat, a deep violet dress that exposed her shoulders and collar bone, long curled blond hair, porcelain doll hands, and lace up boots. Lisa Everest even carried with her a wooden staff, though she evidently had no use for it.

The only items that felt perhaps out of place were the shopping bags hanging over her right arm.

“Better to be up to something than nothing, Khali,” Lisa beamed. “I’m sorry for being late, everyone. The President wanted to host a farewell party before sending me on my way. I’ve got you all presents. Should I start handing them out?”

“No,” Gentiane rose from her chair and set her book aside. “Now that you’re here, we should begin to prepare for our descent.”

“Agreed,” Fang Fang nodded. “We’ve made a last minute change of plans. We should ensure that our arrival goes smoothly.”

“Fine,” Lisa sighed. She tapped the air in front of her, and a small fissure in spacetime unfasted like a ziploc bag. She tossed the shopping bags inside. “Remind me to hand you all your gifts later, then.”

“Then,” Fang Fang said, “I suppose the first order of business then is…”

She turned to Baba Yaga.

“What is this year’s Question?” she asked.

“That is for me to know,” Baba Yaga replied. “You will know the Question once we’ve descended.”

“It’s customary for the newest Egregore to share their first few Questions,” Gentiane said. “Privacy is reserved for your seniors.”

“Then I suggest you abandon your customs,” Baba Yaga snorted. “Nothing about this year’s Question will be customary, after all.”

“Well isn’t that foreboding,” Gentiane murmured.

“Lady Baba Yaga, Khali helps to calculate the theoretical imaginarium required of each Question,” Fang Fang explained. “If we don’t know what the Question is…”

“The imaginarium will be enough,” Baba Yaga shrugged. “I am here, after all.”

“Let her keep her secrets,” Khali scoffed. “It’s her funeral.”

“I like that the little one is keeping secrets,” Lisa grinned. “It’s been a while since an Egregore intended to question the Mysteries without our collective Permission. It’s exciting. Khali’s was so boring. Like really? You used your ascension to solve a Millennium Problem? Did you really need the money or something?”

“I use magic for the public good,” Khali snarled. “What about you? What’s this Story of yours about?”

“Did you not read my letters? It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“With you, everything always is.”

“Don’t worry, my dear sister,” Lisa grinned. “Besides, if I were serious, you wouldn’t know if you were in a Story or not.”

“Enough,” Fang Fang snapped. “If Baba Yaga does not wish to divulge her Question, then that renders much of our remaining preparations pointless. That being said, there is still the matter of our final Egregore…”

All eyes fell upon the end of the audience chamber. An alabaster throne, simple and undecorated, sat there past the eight other pillars.

“This year too, huh?” Lisa sighed. “Another tea party, another year where our dear missing Egregore will not grace us with her presence.”

“Maybe that’s the little one’s question,” Gentiane suggested.

The members of Egregore Seven left the audience chamber. All save for Baba Yaga, who kept her eyes trained on the throne.

When Lisa Everest looked back at her, there was a peculiar emotion in Baba Yaga’s eyes that Lisa could not place, a mistiness that suggested the witch’s stare masked a second pair of eyes.

As a storyteller, Lisa fashioned herself an intelligent reader of people, and for whatever reason, she felt a distinct premonition that the second pair of eyes hiding beneath Baba Yaga’s gaze was not fixed on the throne, but on her.