Witching Tree (Alice Gray Book 1)

58

           
I didn't know how much time had passed.

I did know that I was lying face down on a cold marble floor, my limbs folded at odd, uncomfortable angles. Booming throbs resounded in my head making it difficult to straighten out my fuzzy thoughts.

Whatever was in that needle had really done a number on me. All the power that had flowed between the book and the tree was gone. My limbs were light, my body hollow. I'd got so used to the weight of it in my organs, the thickness in my blood, that it seemed that I ought to float.

If only that were the case.

I pushed myself up with stiff arms that ached at the shoulders. My legs buckled the first time that I tested them with my weight. Dragging myself over to a stone pillar, I gingerly hoisted myself up using the solid structure to steady myself. A quick glance around the dark room assured me that I was alone.

This had got to be a trap, right?

But there was no way to tell what the trigger was.

The room was as I remembered it. Cold, grey stone walls covered in grotesque figures, the victims of Jonathan's madness. I walked around the perimeter of the room, inspecting the gargoyles for features that I recognised.

Frozen faces stared down at me, twisted with hate and bitterness. Their bodies, distorted in cruel ways, limbs bent at unnatural, painful looking angles.

These people had been transformed into caricatures, their features exaggerated to monstrous effect. Under other circumstances, they would be comical in an absurd kind of way. But the knowledge that these gargoyles originated from real people made my stomach bubble and churn.

There must have been a hundred at least, and I studied each one, fighting the instinctive recoil that made me want to hide away from my father's madness.

When I was sure that Evan wasn't among them, my breath exhaled in a gust of relief.

I had to hang on to the hope that his transformation wasn't complete, that his mind and body would stop degenerating once I had my pendant back.

It was the only thing keeping me going surrounded by the horrifying evidence of what my power could do.

Jonathan's throne was the centrepiece of the room. It stood tall and proud, its silver hue bright in the beams of sun that shone in at the windows.

The large mirror that violently shattered when I had challenged Jonathan before was whole again now. A show of strength proving the impenetrability of his domain. It was supposed to subdue me.

It didn't.

But it did remind me that nothing could be taken with any certainty here, that I needed to hurry before the rules changed again.

Hesitantly, I approached the steps. A little voice told me it was foolish to go up there. Jonathan didn't like to share power. If he chose this moment to reappear I was done for.

But it was so tempting.

All my doubts vanished as I reached the platform, unable to resist basking in the silent splendour of the throne. Its silver energy enticed, while its stillness negated the risk.

Turning to face the hall, I addressed my courtiers.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, and, um...minions. I am your queen."

I made a sweeping curtsy to my congregation of gargoyles and sat with a decidedly ungraceful thump onto the throne.

A wave of guilt washed away my glee when I looked round the room. Here I was, behaving like a child. And here they were, twisted and deformed by pain and bitterness.

Some queen I would be.

With a sigh, I looked up at the branches that reached out from the top of the throne. Thick silver boughs grew in gnarled offshoots from its base. They gradually divided getting progressively smaller. Delicate sprigs, covered in silver leaves protruded at irregular intervals.

As I gazed at the intricate network of branches, a soft chime sounded as two leaves brushed against one another. Peering up, a glint of red sparkled at me through the abundance of silver leaves obscuring the area.

I glanced around the hall. Only gargoyles stared back at me.

They looked eager.

Weird.

Using the foundation branches, I pulled myself up. At the base of the throne they were thick and sturdy, so it was easy to get a foothold. As I climbed higher, they thinned out. My weight caused them to flex, resulting in little flurries of tinkling from the leaves.

Blood pounding in my ears, I held my body still until the leaves became motionless and the noise stopped.

Hanging on one of the topmost branches was my pendant. The sprig that held it was thin and supple. I braced my body against the branch adjacent to me and strained my arm as far as possible.

No use.

And here it was. The trigger.

There was only one way to get the pendant loose, and it was going to be noisy.

I took the branch with both hands. The silver felt cold and hard beneath my grip. I pushed the heavy sense of foreboding away.

Then I shook.