He looks back through the door. The space is wider than the wall, easily overlapping the window.
At the bottom of the stairs there is a light.
Broom in hand, Simon descends until he reaches two glowing lanterns flanking an iron grate, like a cage set into the rock.
Simon opens the cage and steps inside. There is a brass lever. He pulls it.
The door slides shut. Simon glances up at a lantern suspended from the ceiling and the cage sinks.
Simon stands bewildered with his broom as they descend and then the cage shudders to a stop. The door opens.
Simon steps into a glowing chamber. There are two pedestals and a large door.
Both pedestals have cups set upon them. Both cups have instructions.
Simon drinks the contents of one, the taste like blueberries and cloves and night air.
The dice in the other he rolls upon the pedestal, watching as they settle and then both pedestals sink into the stone.
The door opens into a large hexagonal room with a pendulum hanging from the c
enter. It glows with dancing light from a number of lamps flanking halls that twist out of sight.
Everywhere there are books.
“May I be of assistance, sir?”
Simon turns to find a man with long white hair standing in a doorway. Somewhere farther off he can hear laughter and faint music.
“What is this place?” Simon asks.
The man looks at Simon and glances down at the broom in his hand.
“If you would come with me, sir,” the man says, beckoning him forward.
“Is this a library?” Simon asks, looking around at the books.
“After a fashion.”
Simon follows the man into a room with a desk stacked with papers and books. Tiny drawers with metal pulls and handwritten plaques line the walls. A cat on the desk looks up as he approaches.
“First visits can be disorienting,” the man says, opening a ledger. He dips a quill in ink. “What door did you enter through?”
“Door?”
The man nods.
“It…it was in a cottage not far from Oxford. Someone left me the key.”
The man had started writing in the ledger but now stops and looks up.
“Are you Jocelyn Keating’s son?” he asks.
“Yes,” Simon answers, a little too enthusiastically. “Did you know her?”
“I was acquainted with her, yes,” the man answers. “I am sorry for your loss,” he adds.
“Was she a witch?” Simon asks, looking at the cat on the desk.