Rosehead

Chapter 12. The Emergency Ballet Escapade

The next hour flew by as Lilith prepared for their adventure: taking things out of her bag, dusting them off, and putting them back in. Ed's map of the garden, a pack of tissues, a journal, a pen, and The Hound of the Baskervilles, a corner still bent on page thirteen. She slung the bag over her shoulder and fixed her beret. It kept her thoughts together, making them work while she danced.

"How do I look?" Lilith spun in front of the mirror, not to make sure that she looked good, but to make sure there were no snags or creases. Her appearance had to be perfect because ballet demanded perfection, which is why Lilith loved it.

"Splendid, as always, madam." Panther yawned. "I thought we were supposed to get steak? About an hour ago?"

Lilith gave him the look.

"Women," he grumbled. "Dogs are where it's at. Take me, for example. I'm ready to go at a moment's notice, no need for excessive frills or thrills or-"

"I don't want to hear it. Who asked for a pink jacket?"

"Not pink. Rosy. Big difference."

"Whatever. Let's get out of here." Lilith patted her bag and marched to the door. "You know what I realized? I haven't had any time to read lately. It's dreadful, really. I should—" She stopped and twisted the doorknob. It was hopelessly and indisputably locked.

"Great."

"What is it, dear Holmes? Has your genius left you in tatters?" Panther scratched his back.

"Go on. Pretend like you remembered." Lilith peeked through the keyhole, studied the knob from the left, then from the right, leaning in so closely her nose touched it. "Why haven't I noticed before?"

"Noticed what?" Panther eyed the knob curiously.

"My dear Watson, surely you do not wish to tell me that you have not deduced a pattern to this mansion's behavior?"

Panther's fur covered his blushing.

Lilith motioned to the room. "It moves. It opens up in the morning and closes off at night, right?"

"And?"

"And." Lilith waited.

Panther looked genuinely puzzled.

"It behaves like a flower. It's a rose. No, it's a rosebush. One giant stone rosebush. Remember the heads?"

"I'm afraid this new concept is rather irrelevant to our current problem. Would you care to explain in more detail how it will help us open the door?" Panther scoffed, but Lilith was already off to test her theory.

She emerged from the bathroom, unceremoniously moved her pet aside, and upended a glass of water on the doorknob.

"Watch," she whispered.

They gaped at the knob. It was carved to resemble a bloom.

Nothing happened.

"Are we supposed to stare at it until we go blind?"

Before Lilith could answer, the knob shifted. It shuddered. It shook. It slowly sucked in every drop of water and began to unravel, petal by petal, turning at the same time. Another second and the door swung open.

They exchanged an astounded glance.

"Wicked! What did I say?" Lilith's heart raced.

"I bow to your genius, dear Holmes." Panther kneeled on his forelegs. "Please accept my apologies for doubting you."

"You're graciously forgiven, dear Watson. Now, please get up. You're embarrassing me."

They peeked out. The corridor was deserted. Servants were off packing roses for delivery. Guests hid from the rain in their rooms, gossiping and waiting for lunch. What else was there to do? Alfred's distaste for technology resulted in zero TVs and one ancient rotary phone that Gustav answered each time it trilled in the vestibule.