Darrel dropped onto Willy's balcony just after midnight. Even from this far on the other side of the palace, he could hear the swelling music of the orchestra playing in the Grand Ballroom and courtyard gardens. Though the celebrations had begun two hours before dusk, they showed no signs of slowing. There were more people in attendance when he'd left than when it had all begun.
Despite his best efforts, he had been unable to talk the guard who made the schedules into giving him the day off. Because of the ball, every guard had to be on duty, and for even longer hours than usual. He'd originally been scheduled for a shift starting around dinnertime that stretched late into the early hours of the morning, but after a couple of bribes, he'd managed to trade shifts. It meant he would be stuck on a few overnight shifts, guarding a rather remote area of the palace, but it wasn't anything he hadn't suffered through before.
As he knocked on the door to Willy's rooms, he lifted a prayer that this would be worth it.
Willy answered almost immediately, letting him swiftly inside. "Evening," he greeted warmly, an excited smile lighting up his deep blue eyes. "Good to see you, again."
Darrel looked the Wielder up and down. Willy had changed into an all black ensemble, perfectly outfitted for blending into the shadows. Light leather armor, also black, adorned his chest and forearms. A cloak as dark as night draped from his shoulders and swayed around his feet. As he shut the door, Darrel noticed an array of several knives lined up neatly along Willy's belt, sheathed proudly beside the Ultimate.
Darrel whistled. "You look like you're on your way to assassinate someone."
Willy snorted. "That would go against my oath as Ultimate Wielder."
"I thought you already broke your oath as Ultimate Wielder."
Willy's eyes narrowed.
"No offense," Darrel quickly stated, lifting his hands in surrender.
"Careful," Willy warned. He turned and stalked out of the bedroom, back into the well-lit space of his living area.
Darrel followed cautiously. He hadn't known Willy long - at least, not the human version of him. Aside from the story of how he'd become a butterfly in the first place, he really didn't know him at all. Discovering he could paint had come as a surprise. Seeing his devotion to Justine over Alie had been equally surprising. Maybe he needed to be more careful with what he said.
Willy moved to the center of the room. He'd moved all the furniture out, even rolling up the center rug and propping it in the corner. Only the garden portrait still hung on the wall, looking as vibrant and alive as he remembered.
Darrel gestured to the emptiness of the room. "Changed your mind about the furniture?"
"I didn't want them getting caught up with us when we teleported."
"Has that happened before?"
"It has." Willy shrugged. "My abilities have changed since I shed my wings. I'm still figuring out the details."
Is that what he called his transformation? Deciding not to comment on it, Darrel stepped up beside him. "Should I be nervous?"
A small, mischievous grin crept over Willy's lips. "Should you?"
"No," Darrel quickly decided. "Not concerning you, anyway."
Chuckling, Willy held out his hand. "Ready?"
Darrel clasped it firmly. "Ready."
"Don't let go."
Willy closed his eyes. A moment later, the air around them began to crackle. Tiny specks of gold appeared in the air, magic's response to Willy's call. They brightened to an intensity that made Darrel duck his head and shield his face.
When he blinked them open again, they had left Willy's apartments behind.
The palace bedroom they found themselves in was incredibly spacious. It consisted of one large room, built similarly to a studio apartment, but bigger. A massive four-poster bed with crisp silk sheets and a plush, heavily embroidered coverlet stood proudly at one end. The ornate armoire standing beside it looked big enough to hold a hundred gowns. There was a solid oak table surrounded by six full-sized dining chairs, as well as several lounging couches and plush chairs. The drawn curtains covered three separate windows, each of which stood taller and wider than he could reach. A giant ebony rug detailed with gold swirls and repeating patterns covered the better part of the wood floor, tying everything together.
The room also contained a dressing table, a tall standing mirror, all which stood off in a corner together. A disorganized collection of makeup littered the surface of the dressing table, but other than that, the room looked freshly tidied. It even still smelled of cleaner, as if the maids who tended to it had just left.
Darrel sniffed the air. It took him a moment, but he caught a whiff of Victoria's perfume lingering in the air. He nodded sharply. "This is the place."
"Good." Willy immediately moved toward the armoire. "Let's not stay any longer than we have to. There are sure to be guards posted outside, so make sure to keep any noise you make to a minimum."
Darrel glanced around the room. He didn't know where to start. Even if the place had been freshly cleaned, he was sure that Victoria would notice a bunch of his fingerprints left behind on whatever he searched. She seemed too thorough to miss something being even slightly out of place.
Willy flung open the armoire, pushed past the assortment of dresses and robes hanging inside, and ran his hand along the back panel.
Darrel crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're looking for Narnia, you're going to be disappointed."
"I'm looking for false backs," he grunted, pushing himself out of the heap of clothing. "I doubt Tyla and Victoria would keep any of their secrets somewhere that could be accidentally discovered by the cleaning staff. My guess is that they have a safe or alcove hidden somewhere. See if there's any loose boards under the rug."
Darrel winced. "The rug is huge!"
Willy got down on his hands and knees, pushing boards on the bottom of the armoire in an attempt to find a hidden compartment. "I thought you had magic to help you with things like that."
Rolling his eyes, Darrel gripped the edge of the rug. Using magic to help him, he rolled the whole edge back, scanning the wooden panels underneath for any indication that they could be moved.
He found nothing. Not a single board could be lifted.
Willy came up empty in his search of the furniture. They came back together in the center of the room as Darrel unrolled the rug back into place.
"I don't think they're keeping anything in here," Darrel admitted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"If this was meant to be easy, someone else would have discovered it by now." Willy frowned down at the rug, inspecting its patterns with a sweep of his gaze. "Let me try something else."
He bent down, pressing his hand to the fibers. For a moment, golden magic coated his fingers. He ran the glistening specks across the rug, leaving them like a sprinkling of glitter over the surface. Darrel watched patiently, but when nothing happened, he started to fidget.
He was just about to suggest they try something else when the magic suddenly glowed a little brighter.
Willy ran his hand over the spot where the magic glowed, sweeping it in wider and wider circles around the spot. The glow revealed two footprints, facing one of the curtained windows.
Darrel's gut clenched nervously. "What does it mean?"
"I'm not sure. Let's find out." Rising, Willy stepped into place where the magic glowed, placing his boots directly over the footprints.
At first, nothing happened. But then, a whining sort of grind filled the air, making both of them jump and reach for weapons. Thankfully, it didn't come from the door. At least, not the main door. Darrel scanned the room, searching for a false wall that had suddenly opened, but there was nothing.
Until he looked up.
A large stone in the ceiling had slid away, revealing a pitch black tunnel leading into the unknown.
Willy grinned. "I knew there were hidden tunnels in this palace."
Normally, Darrel was all for adventure. But there was something about that tunnel that put him on edge. Maybe after all the time he'd spent in the Labyrinth, he just didn't find tunnels appealing anymore. But he didn't think it was that. "I don't like it."
"You shouldn't. It's guarded by an Evil-powered ward. If you liked it, I'd be worried."
"How do you know it's guarded?"
"I can feel it." He tapped the Ultimate at his side. "This isn't my first experience with Evil, you know."
Darrel said nothing. He knew Willy was an Ultimate Wielder, but it was still hard to see Willy as anything more than the giant pair of wings that always clung to the back of Alie's head like his life depended on it.
That creature had been skittish and fragile. This version of Willy wasn't either of those things. He seemed quite capable of handling himself. Like he hadn't been given the Ultimate, as Alie had. He had the confidence of someone who'd earned it.
Willy held out his hand again. "I'll get us past the ward and into the tunnel," he said, "but stay on your guard. We don't know what we're walking into."
Darrel tried to think of what could be hiding in a tunnel warded by the power of the Evil. Then he tried very hard not to think of what could be hiding there, as his imagination immediately conjured every horrible thing he'd ever faced since coming into the realm. If his mind kept down that path, he'd never go in there.
But Alie still needed him. And in order to get to her, he needed to get information to bribe the Phantom. And in order to get that, he needed to go in the tunnel. Sighing, he slapped his hand onto Willy's and squeezed.
Their transportation lasted less than a second. They left the room behind, appearing instantaneously in the tunnel. It was tight, barely tall enough for him to stand, and only wide enough for them to walk single file. But as Willy imagined a soft glowing light to guide them, a bit of the tension rolled off his shoulders.
It was only a tunnel. He was still in the castle. He had nothing to fear.
Except maybe running into Tyla or Victoria.
The tunnel split off in three directions. "Which one do we follow?"
"The one with the magic," Willy said without hesitation. He lifted his hand again, squeezing his fingers tightly into a fist. When he uncurled his hand, a tiny golden butterfly rested in his palm. It lifted and lowered its wings in greeting.
"You smell that?" Willy asked it, lifting it close to his face. "That lingering trail of powerful magic? Follow it. Show me where it goes."
The butterfly fluttered, then took to the air, flitting down a path on a phantom breeze down the center tunnel.
Darrel shook his head. "I will never get used to you Wielders talking to bugs like that."
Willy snorted. "All living things have a voice. You just have to train your ear to listen."
They followed the butterfly for a long time. Maybe it was only minutes, but it seemed closer to over an hour. It wound them through a maze of tunnels leading to who knew where, at first ascending, and then descending, deeper and deeper and deeper until Darrel was sure they had left the palace somewhere far behind.
Willy pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. "We're getting close," he warned, reaching for the Ultimate. "The pull of the dark is stronger."
Darrel reached for his own blades, drawing them swiftly. His heart beat heavier in his chest. His palms began to sweat, but he refused to back down. Whatever lay ahead, he could take it.
The butterfly turned one last corner.
The corridor that opened up before them spanned much wider than before. He could actually stand beside Willy, instead of being forced to trail behind him. He looked nervously in both directions, searching for any signs that they'd been discovered.
The tunnel remained blessedly empty.
The butterfly stopped in front of an unmarked door. It looked rather unimportant, like it was the entry to a supply closet. The wood slats that formed it had begun to rot in places, eroding away with age.
As Darrel looked at it, he felt a shadow pass over him. He shuddered at the chill that spiked down his spine. There was something very wrong about that door. He took a step back, afraid to even touch it.
Willy reached for the butterfly. Even it refused to touch the door, choosing instead to hover in front of it, flapping furiously. It landed in Willy's hand with a plop, as if relieved to finally find somewhere to rest. Then it disappeared in a blink and a dusting of magic that glistened across Willy's palm.
Darrel tightened his grip on his blades. "There's something wrong about this place."
"I feel it, too," Willy said. His voice had deepened considerably, like he'd summoned a part of himself that he hadn't needed in a long time. His jaw flexed as he drew the Ultimate. "I just hope it isn't what I think it is."
"What do you think it is?"
Willy didn't answer. Instead he reached for the door's knob.
Darrel grabbed his arm. "Is it warded?"
"Even if it is, I can't teleport into this room," he explained. "Whatever's inside won't let me. It's the door or we turn back."
Darrel swallowed. "Open it."
He wasn't sure what he expected. For sparks to shoot out of the knob? For a rush of Evil to come flooding out to drown them? For Tyla herself to burst forth, wielding dark power more powerfully than her father?
The door gave a bone-chilling creak as it opened inward. The room beyond was small. It was made even smaller by walls lined in bookshelves, desks pushed together in the center of the room, and stacks of chests and boxes littered everywhere. Darrel waited for something to jump out at him, but as Willy's little light floated to the center of the room, he found no danger at all.
Willy stepped inside first. He made sure to prop the door open with a box he found just inside, pushing it into the frame with his foot. "Don't touch anything," he warned as he carefully made his way through the mess.
Darrel cautiously followed, deciding to pass the opposite direction around the center desks so he could scan the other shelves. He spotted a massive assortment of stuff: glass bottles filled with strange colored liquids; trinkets like lockets and music boxes and jewelry; and of course, rows and rows of books. The room seemed about to burst from all of its junk. But as Darrel looked it over, he began to wonder if that's all it was: junk.
"Is this someone's secret closet?"
"It's definitely been made to look that way," Willy muttered, his gaze sweeping the shelves on his side of the room. "But I don't think so."
"Because of that weird feeling we got about this place while we were in the hall?"
"Exactly," Willy nodded. He turned to the desks that stood in the room's center, examining the random things that covered it. "Even if we don't find anything, we shouldn't stay for long."
Darrel's shoulders tensed. They'd come all this way. He wouldn't leave with nothing. He couldn't afford to. Even if he had no idea what he was looking for, he wouldn't go back until he'd found it.
Without warning, Willy cursed.
Darrel spun around, lifting his swords high. His frantic gaze swept back and forth, prepared for a fight. "What? What is it?"
Willy stood over the desk, leaning over a haphazardly discarded book that looked like it was about to fall apart. Its pages were yellowed and curling. The handwritten words on the page had all but faded, nearly illegible thanks to the passing of time. It looked completely harmless.
But Willy's face had paled so much, the dying book had more color. "What I'd feared," he whispered, his voice cracking. "A spell book of the Dark Arts."