Page 41 of The Lies We Conjure
Hegemony Manor is three stories above ground. Our quarters are on the second floor, the same floor as the solarium. It’s obviously residential, with wings mashed together at right angles overlooking the courtyard in the middle. My first inclination is that a library would be on the first floor. Something mixed in next to a formal dining room or a drawing room or parlor.
But then, somewhere between looking up at the cheery blue of the sky painted into the very ceiling, and the realization that the cut and positioning of the veiny marble is part of the whole beautiful picture too, the idea hits me that even if there’s a library on the first floor—and likely there is—that’s not where a very powerful secret witch would keep her very powerful secret witch books.
Not out in the open where just anyone could waltz in and read about the Four Lines and secret master relics and all the ways magic can apparently shoot invisibly from people’s fingers.
Ursula Hegemony would’ve kept that stuff close at hand, especially considering she obviously did not rely on computerized records of any sort.
Which is how we end up back on the third floor.
The faint scent of out-of-season lilac announces Ursula’s floorbefore we finish our approach, the smooth dark planks of the staircase bleeding into a lush herringbone carpet that traps the sounds of our footsteps like secrets.
During our escape attempt, I hadn’t noticed the delicate floral scent, nor its origin: two massive vases set like sentries along the landing wall, stuffed to brimming with the cuttings of lilac. They’re a royal purple, and a little wilted, but fragrant and gorgeous. They frame a massive portrait in an ornate, gilded frame as thick as most windowpanes. It’s not a portrait, but a painting inside. A little plate etched into the frame announces this is the man who founded the manor and likely wrote the clues and hid the relics we’ll be collecting for the next three days.
Shadrack Zebulon Gradefon Hegemony (1832–1910)
His title—High Sorcerer—is missing, probably as a safety precaution. But even without it, even without anything else beyond this placement of honor pointing toward his role in procuring both this land and building this house, it’s clear he’s avery important person,with every word of that phrase italicized within an inch of its life. It’s there in the cut of his jaw, the focus of his eyes, the aristocratic slash of his cheekbones and nose.
“It’s Shadrack the clue scribe,” Wren jokes, dismissing all the manufactured reverence with a tilt of her head. “Or maybe the secret relic Easter Bunny?”
“I know you’re just trying to amuse yourself so you don’t pee your pants out of fear, but please don’t piss off his ghost in the process,” I deadpan.
My sister’s lips twist. “Iamtrying to amuse myself. Which is why I’ll feed the dumbest nicknames I come up with to Hex and watch Evander eviscerate him. I disagree with Winter; sourpuss can be very sexy.”
“I’m going to ignore that.” I haul her to Shadrack’s left. “Let’s go clockwise.”
Every door is locked, none of them are marked, and before we know it, we’re hanging a right, down the hall that we know houses the study. It’s straight ahead on our right, smack in the middle ofthe floor. If the courtyard weren’t a donut hole in the middle of the house, Shadrack’s painting would’ve been on the back side of it.
I mouthstudyat Wren, and point to the pair of doors, still closed.
Duh,my sister mouths back.
She rolls her eyes for good measure before pointedly pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and leaning into the door to eavesdrop.
I scramble to yank her back, but she bats at me and darts away.
No!I mouth and successfully clamp down on her wrist this time, hauling her several steps away from the double doors before lighting into her.
“What are you doing?” I snap, looking back over my shoulder, relieved to see the doors still closed. “They’re going to know you’re there.”
“They are not. I couldn’t hear a thing, which means they couldn’t hear me.”
“That’s like assuming if you shut your eyes, they can’t see you. We don’t know what they’re capable of, and until we know, let’s assume they can hear us, see us, smell us, detect us in ways that normal people can’t—”
“Smell us?They’re witches, not vampires or werewolves. Seriously, like—”
The study doors open a crack, and Auden’s head pops out, brows furrowed. He looks handsomely disheveled, suit coat doffed, the sleeves of his lavender button-up rolled up like a campaign trail politician. He blinks at us. “Can I help you?”
“Oh, um, sorry. We were trying not to bother you,” I blather with a stiff smile, immediately feeling like I’ve used up all my get-out-of-jail-free cards with this grieving boy. I swallow and drop Wren’s wrist. “The library? We don’t remember where it is exactly, but we thought it was this floor?”
“The reading room is off the third-floor landing in the turret. Follow the spiral stairs.”
Wren smacks me on the arm. “Told you.”
Auden nods. “Good luck and good night.”
He vanishes back into the study with a click of a lock.
My face flames as we shuffle back down the hallway. “I sure hope you know where these spiral stairs are after you made it sound like you did because that excuse won’t work twice.”
