Chapter Seventeen: The Witch’s Chamber

Carlos fell backward into the room, still bewildered by the situation. He felt a soft pressure on his shoulder, as if a pair of gentle, delicate hands had rested there. Swallowing nervously, he turned his head. To his astonishment, a slender, pale hand was indeed reaching toward him from behind.

Carlos froze, afraid to move, and tentatively asked, “Who’s there?”

Sure enough, a voice answered from behind him—a girl’s voice, remarkably distinct, clear yet tinged with the hint of a sob, as though she were both excited and about to cry.

Carlos, his mind muddled, couldn’t quite catch what she said at first. It sounded like, “It’s him… it’s really him…!”

A surge of curiosity overcame him. Instinctively, he turned to look over his shoulder. What he saw left him momentarily stunned: half-crouched behind him was a young girl, perhaps ten or so, dressed in a pale blue lilac dress, her features strikingly delicate and charming.

The moment their eyes met, they both stared at each other in a long, silent exchange. Carlos was struck by a sense of inexplicable familiarity, though he was certain he had never met this girl before and wondered if he was imagining things.

Still, she was human, and Carlos felt a measure of relief. Perhaps she was Dubuy’s granddaughter?

He noticed the girl’s large, expressive eyes, brimming with a complex tangle of joy and sorrow as she gazed at him without the slightest shyness. Carlos suddenly felt his face flush under her steady scrutiny and quickly averted his eyes, pushing himself up from the floor to stand.

Trying to mask his awkwardness, Carlos cleared his throat and asked, “Hello, are you the teacher’s granddaughter?”

As he spoke, he surreptitiously took stock of the witch’s chamber. The room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn over a large window even though it was daytime. Three candles burned with a crackling sound on a wall sconce, their flickering light making him feel a little dizzy.

Beneath the sconce stood a vanity table, scattered with combs and jewelry beside a round bronze mirror. Opposite the vanity was a large bed, draped in white gauzy canopies like something out of a princess’s bedroom. Against the inner wall beside the bed stood a square teak wardrobe, its bulk creating a secluded private corner at the back of the room.

Carlos’s gaze quickly swept over the furnishings.

At that moment, the girl’s voice sounded, as soft and melodious as a choir of angels. “My name is Ivywen. And you?”

“Carlos Stevenson,” he replied with a polite, gentle smile.

When Carlos looked at her again, he noticed the girl wore her hair in twin ponytails, her pale blue dress enhancing her youthful, doll-like charm. In this remote border town, Carlos swore he had never seen a girl with such flawless, unblemished skin. She seemed utterly untarnished by the world.

He was lost in thought for a brief moment, but then snapped back to himself, for he had caught sight of something unusual: on her exposed shoulder, just above the collarbone, was a faint tattoo—a reversed number seven, the mark of a witch.

Carlos stiffened, a chord of alarm tightening in his mind. Could it be? Was this little girl actually a witch? Was this room a trap set by witches to capture or perhaps even assassinate him?

The thought made him inexplicably tense, and he took a step back, retreating to the threshold of the room. He began to consider whether he should make a dash for it, run downstairs, and seek help from Teacher Dubuy.

He barely had time to think further when a strong hand seized him by the collar from behind.

Before Carlos could react, he was yanked backward by a powerful grip, literally dragged out of the room and back into the hallway on the second floor.

He turned and exclaimed in shock, “Dubuy—no, teacher!”

At some point, Old Dubuy had appeared at the doorway. He now held Carlos by the collar, his face thunderous, as black as the bottom of a pot.

“Who told you to go into the witch’s chamber?”

Gone was his earlier drunkenness; Dubuy was now alert, his gaze sharp with anger, though the reek of alcohol still clung to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I thought it was the young lady’s bedroom,” Carlos stammered, at a loss to explain himself.

Dubuy shot him a glare, shut the door to the witch’s chamber, and said gruffly, “Young lady? Are you blind or illiterate? Didn’t you see the nameplate on the door?”

Carlos was completely baffled. He asked carefully, “Teacher, what do you mean?”

Dubuy’s white beard bristled with indignation. “What do I mean? The witch’s chamber. There’s a human witch locked in there. You just fell under her glamour magic.”

“What?” Carlos jumped, finding it hard to believe.

“Teacher, we just exchanged names. Nothing else happened. Besides, who would have thought you had a little witch living here!”

Dubuy released his collar, frowning and speaking coolly, “Didn’t I say? She’s imprisoned, not living here.”

Carlos eyed the closed door, then glanced at Dubuy’s stern face. Are you kidding me? You call that imprisoned? The door was clearly locked from the inside. Is the girl locking herself up?

Dubuy could see Carlos’s skepticism but didn’t bother to explain further. He simply fixed him with a stern glare and barked, “In any case, you’re never to enter the witch’s chamber again.”

“What if she opens the door and lets me in?” Carlos ventured.

Dubuy roared, “Then refuse her!”

The old man’s shout was so loud and close that Carlos’s eardrums rang. He nodded obediently, like a pecking chick.

Suddenly recalling the strange events in the beast chamber earlier, Carlos recounted his terrifying experience to the old man.

Dubuy, apparently in no mood for pleasantries, snorted, “Boy, are you illiterate? The nameplate says ‘Beast Chamber.’ Of course there’s a beast inside.”

At this, Carlos bristled with indignation. If you write ‘Beast Chamber,’ am I really supposed to believe there’s a monster inside? What if you label a door ‘Dragon’s Den’—do you actually have a dragon in there? If you call something the ‘Elf Room’ or ‘Orc Room,’ would there really be elves and orcs?

The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. If the first two rooms really did hold a witch and a mutated beast as their nameplates claimed, then the remaining rooms…

It didn’t seem impossible, after all.

Carlos’s heart skipped a beat. This couldn’t be, could it?

Dubuy’s face was cold. “The other rooms are just what their nameplates say. Including the storage room.”

At that, Carlos was shocked and angry. Was the old man calling him ‘storage’ by implication? Forgetting all about student-teacher decorum, he flushed red with indignation and demanded, “Then why give me the key—are you trying to get me killed?”

Dubuy seemed unfazed by the outburst. Instead, he gave a sinister chuckle.

“If you want to be my student, don’t act like you’ve never seen anything. Don’t embarrass yourself. Besides, since you’ll be living under the same roof, it’s only right to introduce you to the house.”