“What, are you afraid of me now?” Noa asked, pleased.
“Well, yes,” Tomas said. “People in the village are saying you can summon ghosts just by whistling, and kill a man by tossing your hair over your shoulder.”
Noa liked the sound of that, but she shook her head. “So far, I only know how to get attacked by ghosts and make weeds jiggle.” She added, “You don’t have to tell anyone that.”
Tomas sighed. He drew back the blanket, revealing another huge cake, lemon-lime again. “I hope I don’t have to tell you how difficult it is to keep my father from guessing who these cakes are for. I’ve tried saying they’re for the king’s dragon, but—” The rest of the sentence was overtaken by a scream as Beauty lunged from the water and snatched up the cake, nearly taking Tomas’s arm with it.
Noa marched up to the water’s edge. “Beauty! You have to stop doing that.”
The sound of gnashing teeth and a horrible snort was her only reply.
“I have another question,” Noa said.
“Mmm. I’m all ears, dear,” replied the serpent’s voice from the darkness. Noa could barely make out her enormous silhouette against the predawn sky. “You’ve earned it. Or, rather, your talented friend has. He outdid himself this time.”
Tomas was blushing. Before they could get into baking techniques, Noa said, “I want to know about death mages. Tell me how they moved through the Beyond.”
“Do I look like a mage?” Beauty spoke around the mouthful of cake, though she covered her mouth politely with her tail. “That’s a question for dear Julian.”
“No,” Noa said. “All the books about death mages were destroyed. Nobody knows what their powers are, or how they use them. But you said you were alive when Evert was turned inside out. That means you were alive when there were still death mages. And I’m willing to bet you know a thing or two about their powers, given how much you love spying on people.”
Beauty let out a low chuckle and crooned, “Clever, clever little Marchena.”
“Well?”
“Perhaps I do know something about death magic. Perhaps I know about other magics, too, lost magics that dear Julian couldn’t even imagine. . . .”
Noa’s interest was piqued. “Like what?”
Beauty blinked slowly. “Is that another question? I don’t see another cake. . . .”
Noa gritted her teeth. “Let’s just stick to death magic, then.”
“I don’t know how the mages moved through Death,” Beauty said. “I know only that they used guides.”
Noa frowned. “What kind of guides?”
“I don’t know. Creatures of some sort who inhabit the Beyond.”
Creatures. Noa swallowed.
“That’s all I need to know. Thank you, Beauty.” She turned and marched back up the beach. Tomas trailed after her.
“What are you going to do?” His voice was panicked. “You’re not going to—to summon a ghost, are you?”
“No,” Noa said. “I’m going to go to them.” She paused under a tree, its leaves like black lace against the stars. It didn’t cast much of a shadow, given the early hour, but there was a slightly darker darkness than everywhere else. And it felt right, somehow. Noa’s fingers itched to catch hold of it and pull.
“Does the king know you’re doing this?” Tomas demanded.
“Not exactly. And you’re not going to tell him. Well, you’ll need to tell him if I don’t come back.”
Tomas’s face was red. He looked torn between shouting and bursting into tears. “Noa, I know you’re a Marchena, and coming up with mad magical plots is probably in your blood or something, but I’m your friend. That’s why you have to listen when I say this is completely—”
“Tomas, trust me, I have a plan,” Noa said. “Look, I’m a magician, all right? I can handle myself. If you could bake Beauty another cake while I’m gone, that would be great. I’ll have more questions for her about the Lost Words when I get back.” Then she picked up the shadow as if it were a rug hiding a trapdoor, and leaped.
Jumping into Death wasn’t as difficult as it should have been. After falling for a few feet, not very quickly, she hit sand with a soft whump.
She tried to smother the cough that rose in her throat. Death looked just as it had when she left it, and it smelled the same, too. She was instantly on the alert, scanning the sandy hills for ghosts. Oddly, she hadn’t encountered any since that night in Julian’s tower, and she didn’t see any now.
Her hands shaking, she reached into her pack and pulled out the fish. She tore it into pieces and scattered it across the sand. She sat down, leaned her back against a broken bit of staircase, and waited.
It was a long wait, and soon she was shivering. She had remembered to put on a sweater under her black cloak, and she was again wearing her heavy boots, but it wasn’t enough. The cold seeped through the fabric like water.
Finally, she saw the otter. It seemed to slither out of a crack in a ruined wall. Otters had always reminded Noa of snakes; they had an oily, undulating grace regardless of whether they were swimming or walking. It nudged the fish with its nose, but didn’t eat.
Noa’s heart thudded. She remembered those strong claws slicing across her leg. This couldn’t be an ordinary otter, despite its appearance—it was in Death, after all. She had intended to use the fish to distract the creature if it attacked her, and here she was luring it to her. Still, she’d made the decision to come here. She wasn’t going back now.
“I command you, Death guardian,” she said in Shiver, “to lead me to the palace of King Xavier in Florean City.”
16
Noa Flatters an Otter
The otter watched her, motionless, its back arched like a wave.
All right, then. Noa reached into her pack and broke off a piece of cake. She tossed it to the otter. It sniffed it, then hesitantly nibbled. Noa gave a
