Sunlight shone in upon her eyelids, waking her. Yawning, she flung an arm across her eyes in an attempt to block it, turning on her side. Amazing how comfortable this damn pallet can be sometimes, and this pillow's so soft...
Realizing that they didn't even have pillows at the orphanage, she sat straight up in bed, gazing about with wide eyes. For a moment she was disoriented; then the events of the previous day came rushing back.
Oh yeah. Branwyn dumped me out on my ass, I fell asleep, and I'm stuck in a castle with some crazy guy who wants me to help him. And I had myself almost convinced this place was magic, too.
Yawning, she stretched, reveling in the comfortable bed for a little before she awoke. Yeah, sure. Magic my ass. The damn candles probably had motion sensors or some crap, and God only knows what's responsible for the rest of it. It sure as hell ain't magic, though. They can do anything with computers these days.
Hopping out of bed, she turned, looking for her dress, which she knew she had simply abandoned on the floor the night before.
It wasn't there.
Blinking, she shook herself. Okay, Meg, get a grip on yourself. You know someone takes care of the place, obviously; there isn't so much as a speck of dust anywhere in here. They came in and took your dress while you were sleeping, and you didn't hear 'em 'cause you were sleepin' like a log.
And maybe, whoever they are, they'll be nice enough to fix the tear. Cheered somewhat by that thought, she went to the closet. She could have worn one of the beautiful dresses in the wardrobe; then again, who knew if they would even fit her, and assuming she was going to face down the owner of the household today, she didn't want to feel silly, wearing some stupid Halloween costume.
Taking a pair of her own black Jordache flares and a purple ribbed T-shirt from the closet, she stripped hastily in the center of her room, pulling on the new clothes. She left the nightgown on the floor by habit, not even consciously thinking about it.
Strolling to the door, she placed her hand on the doorknob and was about to walk outside when the booming voice from last night surprised her again. "Greetings, Ms. Dale," he said, sounding rather uncertain.
Blinking, she walked back to the chair and let herself crumple into it, wishing her heart would stop pounding with fright. "Um, hi," she said, pleased to hear that no sign of her scare showed in her voice. "Listen, whoever you are, I don't know who you are, or what you want, or anything, but I'd really like it if you'd let me go."
"I already told you, you may go at any time you wish."
She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, I guess I'll have to take your word on that. But who the hell are ya, anyway?"
"I already told you, I am called Jason Taylor--"
"Yeah, yeah," she interrupted. "I know that. But do you own this house, or what? And who are you? Are you a lawyer, or a reclusive writer, or some millionaire who likes living out in the middle of nowhere, or--"
"Yes, Ms. Dale, I do own this house," he informed her, interrupting her this time. "And I am not a lawyer, or a reclusive writer, or anything else you listed. I am..." She distinctly heard a sigh. "Let us just say that I am something of a recluse."
She rolled her eyes at yet another unsatisfactory answer. "Okay, fine. Where the hell are you? 'Cause I know you're not in here with me, but--hey, and speaking of which, where the hell's the hidden speaker? I know there's gotta be one somewhere, 'cause how else can I hear ya?"
"Whatever a 'hidden speaker' might be, I assure you, there is not one in your rooms. And where I am and how you can hear me need not matter right now. Now, if you are done asking impertinent questions--"
"Hey, I ain't done yet," she interrupted rudely, ignoring both the odd feeling of speaking to empty air, and the hint of a temper that lay beneath the man's last comment. "And if you think I'm being 'impertinent' now, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Why do you want me here? And why me?"
"You were the only one I could bring," he said, this time sounding weary rather than angry. Despite her annoyance, her curiosity was beginning to spark; she could almost feel that there had to be an interesting story to whoever the hell the man might be, and how he ended up owning a castle out in the middle of nowhere.
"As for why I want you here, I already told you, consider yourself an honored guest," he continued, as if that would explain everything.
She snorted, climbing to her feet. "How can I be an 'honored guest' if I just happened to find this place, got myself locked inside, and only spent the night because I didn't have anywhere else to go?"
"Being locked inside was but a temporary measure, to assure you stayed here long enough to hear me out," he assured. "If you find the door or the gate, you will find they will open quite easily. But if you don't have anywhere else to go, why not stay here for now?"
She winced, realizing that her big mouth had betrayed her. "Okay, fine. You're right. I don't have anywhere else to go, and I don't really have a good reason not to stay here. I think you're crazy, and I had better be able to leave if and when I want to, but as long as you don't try to rape me or some shit, I guess I can play along with this crap for now. So I'm an 'honored guest,' huh? Well, I want some breakfast."
"Certainly. Do you prefer to eat in your rooms, or in the dining hall?"
She hadn't seen any sign of a dining hall; then again, she hadn't explored the whole castle. "In my rooms, please. I have no clue where the dining hall might be."
"Very well. If there is anything else you require, simply say it aloud and it shall be brought to you."
She had no reason to think he was gone, but she felt with an odd surety that even if she were to say something now, he wouldn't hear her.
Shaking her head, she lay back, considering that last. Simply say it aloud and it shall be brought to me. Yeah, right. Wonder if he's some Wiccan dude, like Branwyn, doin' spells to make sure I get me breakfast?
Then she laughed. If he is, it'll never get to me, that's for sure. Naw, some servant or somethin'll come in any minute now, with a tray of food. Seems like the style of this place, don't it?
You know, I wonder what would happen if I tried saying something I wanted aloud. Not like it would really work, but you never know, and it can't hurt to try. The worst that'll happen is I'll feel really stupid when nothing happens.
Something deep inside her wanted to believe in magic, wanted to believe that if she said something aloud that something would actually happen. That part of her made her sit up, clear her throat, and say, the sound oddly loud in the silence, "My hairbrush, please."
For a moment, nothing happened. Just when she was about to laugh at her own stupidity, her hairbrush silently lifted of its own volition from the dresser, floating over to hover in front of her.
She stared. And stared. The brush wiggled, as if becoming impatient. Automatically, she put out a hand. The brush dropped into it, leaving her staring at it in bewilderment.
The door opened all by itself, and a silver tray came floating in. It stopped right in front of her as she put down the brush, rising to her feet. She walked all around it; nothing. She waved her hands all around the top, bottom, and to the sides, inspecting for strings.
There was absolutely nothing to hold the tray in the air, yet there it was.
Gulping, she took it, and sat back on the bed. "Thank you," she said to the air, feeling as if whatever it was deserved a response.
Shaking her head, she picked up her brush, working it through her tangled hair without conscious thought. How in the hell does it do that? There's no strings, nothing! There's absolutely no way that thing could be floating through the air--but yet it was. It makes no sense, no sense at all, not unless you believe in magic, like in fairy tales or Wiccan crap, and I'm not that gullible.
At last deciding to accept it without an explanation for now, she examined the contents of the tray. Amazingly enough, it contained a bowl of surprisingly modern cereal--Kix, with a spoon waiting expectantly. Next to it lay a smaller plate containing four slices of bacon, another plate with two scrambled eggs, and a tall glass, filled almost to the brim with orange juice.
She stared. Doors opening by themselves, candles lighting themselves, my dream bedroom, my dream clothes, things floating in the air, and now my favorite breakfast. This is nuts. This is very nuts.
It was then that another explanation occurred to her. Maybe I'm the one that's nuts. Yeah, that's it, maybe I ended up on the streets or something and I went insane, and this is a dream or some such. Yeah, that explains it.
Shaking her head, she shrugged and decided to do her determined best to ignore the oddity of it all. Either she was insane, or it all made sense, somehow. She could figure out which one later. Taking a deep breath, she began to eat.
Not only was the meal her favorite, it was quite filling, much more than she was used to at the orphanage. By the time she was done, she had cleaned her plate of every last crumb, her glass empty down to the last drop, and she felt like she was going to burst. Blinking, she wondered what to do with the empty tray.
"Um," she said, holding it up to the empty air. "Could you...take this, or something?"
The tray lifted by itself, floating mysteriously over to the still-open door. The door closed behind it, leaving her staring.
Shaking herself, she remembered her decision to accept it all for now, no matter how odd, and stood. Dusting bacon crumbs from her jeans, she walked to the door, pulling it open.
Mr. Taylor hadn't said she could explore the castle freely, but he had said she was an honored guest, and surely that meant she could. Besides which, if she was going to be staying here, she had to know her way around; she couldn't be getting lost all the time.
So, she began to explore. The large double doors at the end of the hallway were still locked, but considering that was probably Jason Taylor's suite, and he apparently wished to be secretive about himself, she could see why. The rest of the rooms revealed numerous other guest suites, each decorated in a different fashion, with entirely different furniture and color schemes.
See? It's just a coincidence that yours is your dream bedroom, she told herself firmly. You just happened to pick one that fit you perfectly, that's all. You could have picked any of these others, after all.
Trotting back down the red-carpeted stairs, she looked about the large 'main room,' as she was beginning to think of it, and looked at the iron staircase dubiously. "Is that thing safe?" she asked aloud, frowning.
In response, a tiny ball of golden light appeared, flying to the iron staircase and hovering just above where she would have to take her first step. "I'll take that as a yes," she muttered, and followed.
The thing stayed a step ahead of her the entire way, lighting her path. The staircase was mostly safe; there were a couple of rusty steps she had decided to step over, but nothing more dangerous than that. Once at the top of the staircase, the golden light abandoned her; she didn't have to worry for long, though, since candles lit themselves all the way along the long hallway, revealing more doors--three on either side--and another staircase at the end, this staircase much more like the red-carpeted one downstairs than the iron thing she had just attempted.
Shaking her head, she began to look into doors, peeking inside rooms nosily. The first two, adjacent to each other, were more guest rooms. She opened the next door on her left, expecting another guest room, only to be surprised by finding it to be a storage closet of sorts.
To be fair, it might have been an actual room one day, but everything in it had fallen into great disrepair. Venturing inside carefully, she managed to find room to put her feet as she looked about curiously. Hunting through the stuff with unabashed nosiness, most of what she found was junk--a complete tea set made of china, and a portrait of an exceedingly handsome young man with long black hair. She found several old books, intimidatingly large and dusty, with such odd things imprinted as titles such as, "Ye Olde Booke of Magick," and "How to Catch a Unicorn."
Shaking her head, she left, closing the door behind her. The door adjacent to it proved to be an actual closet, this one in much better condition, with God only knew how many useless knick-knacks on the shelves. She didn't pry further there, instead opting for the next set of doors.
The one on the left was locked, but the one on the right opened easily, revealing a small, enclosed room, holding a small table with something atop it akin to a crystal ball. The table was surrounded by chairs, and the room held nothing else, not even a window.
Wonder if Miss Cleo used to live here? Grinning, she started up the stairs, wondering where this set might lead.
Instead of to another hallway, this set twisted steeply up to the left, ending in a single door. Shrugging, she pushed it open, to find herself in the attic.
It was filled with junk, even more so than the other room had been. Everything in it was useless, either deteriorated with age or otherwise broken, tattered, or shredded. Another door lay open on the other side of the attic, sunlight spilling in, but she didn't even try to negotiate through the junk.
The rest of the house provided even more wonders. It was every bit as large as it had looked from the outside; the doors in the main hallway led to corridors with more doors, with a staircase at the end that led to another corridor, that led to a room with more stairs and doors. It was just a good thing most of the rooms were useless to her; otherwise, she would have needed a map to get around the place.
The first place she noted was the dining room, which, coincidentally enough, was the first room on the right when one came from the main room. There were no more corridors or stairs to ascend here; the door led straight into the room, almost was large as the main room. A single long table occupied most of it, surrounded by chairs, all of them, naturally, empty. Large windows took up all the space on the wall, letting a generous amount of sunlight spill in.
Seeing it, Meg was doubly glad she'd opted to eat in her rooms. She wouldn't have felt right, eating at such a fancy table all by herself, and would have been even more uncomfortable had the elusive Mr. Taylor opted to join her.
The next interesting thing she encountered was the gardens, second door on the left in the main hallway. Mr. Taylor's home had all sorts of gardens, with every sort of flower imaginable. The flowers were all in bloom, bees buzzing happily about it, despite the fact that it was the middle of autumn. Shaking her head, she merely walked along, ignoring the incongruity; it certainly wasn't the first odd thing about this place, nor the oddest.
There were all sorts of gardens; the first a garden dedicated to flowers, the next obviously a kitchen garden, with various sorts of fruits, vegetables, and herbs growing. One was devoted entirely to roses, an entire bush for each possible color of rose. One was a greenhouse, with several fountains and bird feeders lying all around, the feeders obviously much visited; another obviously a pleasure garden, filled with nooks and crannies for private trysts. The final one she came across was designed to look like a forest, despite the fact that it was entirely enclosed by glass, like another greenhouse.
Done exploring the rest of the house, she had gone into the last door on the right, and found herself stopping just inside the door and gaping in amazement.
She had at last found the library, and was in awe at the sheer number of books. Every single space in the library was devoted to a bookshelf, with the minor omission of a small section in the center where a small wooden table and two velvet-cushioned chairs sat for the sake of comfortable reading. Every bookcase was filled with books, and stretched to the bottom of the balcony on the second floor--and the second floor was pretty high in the air. A staircase sat in the very back, squeezed in between two bookcases, leading to the second floor. The second floor was pretty much just a balcony that ran around the edges of the first floor, but it made good use of the space, with still more full bookcases in every space available.
I have died and gone to heaven.
Breathing in deep and savoring the smell of books, old, new, and somewhere in-between, she began to move among the shelves as if in a trance. Non-fiction--they had everything from Webster's, to books on equitation, to books on how to create realistic characters in novels. Meg even found some rather eccentric books she wouldn't have considered non-fiction, such as The Witch's Guide to Fey Folk.
Then again, Branwyn would probably consider it properly placed. Shaking her head, she moved to the fiction section, and was again awed, surprised, and delighted by the large selection. They have everything from the classics to Nancy Drew to some of my favorite fantasy novels! This is too much! You could find anything you wanted here!
She ended up plucking a large selection from the shelves and toting the huge pile back to her room, barely able to see over the books she had piled up to her nose. Somehow managing to climb the stairs and open her door without killing herself, she dumped them on her bed with a sigh of relief, then beamed. I could stay here forever if I wanted to, the thought occurred to her, and she frowned, somewhat worried by the thought...
Oh, snap out of it. The guy has a huge library, so naturally you want to stay, and you're so freaked out by his floating trays and whatnot that you're thinking there must be some supernatural reason behind it all. Shut up, calm down, and read your books.
Shaking her head, she moved the books from her bed to the floor, not even noticing that her casually discarded nightgown was gone. Pulling out a book from the stack--a novel by one of her favorite authors that she'd wanted to read for some time--she opened it and began to read.
Jason Taylor watched the girl unobtrusively, surveying her in his mirror. She dressed quite oddly, that was for sure, and talked even more oddly; she had an atrocious accent, one he couldn't manage to place, although it sounded familiar.
He had been watching her for a while now, watching as she explored the castle. Though she had examined all the other rooms in the house nosily, when she had found his work room and private suites locked, she had continued without seeming too put-out. He had enjoyed watching her in the library; the girl obviously loved books every bit as much as he did.
Or at least as much as I did, before the curse...
Reminded, he felt his throat tighten. Before the curse had come upon him, he had spent almost all of his time reading, and had managed to collect quite a large library, over time. Afterwards, his claws had made him unable to read without tearing the pages, and that was perhaps what he missed the most. He had continued to collect books, adding on to his library faithfully, but the curse still hadn't been broken, and he was fairly sure now that he would never be able to read them.
At least she can enjoy my library, even if I can't.
Sighing, he rose, stretching. The sleeves of his robe fell back as he did, revealing the fur and claws that were only a part of the curse. Wincing, he let his arms drop, the folds of his robe concealing them again.
The girl was in her rooms, reading. He could make his way to his rooms without being interrupted.
With another sigh, he rose from his chair.