She decided she might as well act as if she knew what she was doing. “Well? Will you be my guide?”
The otter finished the cake. “You’re a weird sort of ghost,” it said.
Noa nearly jumped out of her skin. “You—you talk.”
“You’re surprised.” The otter was speaking Shiver in a quiet voice that sounded a bit like a young boy’s. “Why did you speak to me, if you didn’t think I could understand? You’re not very bright, are you?”
Noa ignored that. “I’m not a ghost, I’m a magician. What are you?”
“What am I? Are you blind as well as thickheaded? I don’t feel like talking to you. But I may change my mind if you give me more of that.” It edged forward, eyeing the cake.
Noa tossed another piece, mainly to stop it—and its claws—from getting any closer. She decided to try a different approach. “I’m sorry I threw a stone at you.”
“You didn’t,” the otter said, munching. “That must have been someone else.”
Noa blinked. “There are more of you?”
“All otters can move in and out of Death,” it said. “It’s a useful place if you want to avoid a shark. Or hide a nice salmon.”
“All otters?” Noa stared at the unremarkable brown creature before her. “You’re saying you’re not some sort of—I don’t know, special otter? You don’t have any powers?”
The otter stared at her. “Are you saying I’m not special?”
“No, no,” Noa said. “I mean, you’re certainly very . . .” She trailed off, for the otter was the most ordinary-looking otter she had ever seen. “Handsome.”
The otter swiped a paw over its face. “Am I?”
It seemed so pleased that Noa hurried on. “Oh, yes. In fact, um, that’s why I thought you had magical powers. I thought maybe you put a spell on yourself.”
The otter preened. “Nope.”
“Are otters the only creatures who know how to get into Death?”
“For the most part,” the otter said. “Cats find their way in sometimes. Ravens . . . crows. But they usually can’t get out again. We’re the only ones clever enough to use the shadow doors.”
Noa’s surprise was fading. She’d often observed that otters were among the slipperiest of creatures, and they seemed equally agile in two worlds, land and sea, while most beings—people included—preferred sticking to one. She didn’t see any reason why they shouldn’t be just as adept at navigating Death.
“How impressive.” Noa was beginning to realize that the otter had a bottomless appetite for compliments. “And you seem like you must be the cleverest of them. So clever that I bet you could find any door in the world. Even one that leads to the palace in Florean City.”
“The palace? That’s easy.” The otter dashed off. Noa had to run to keep up with it, and even then, she would have lost the mercurial creature had it not waited for her to catch up. Eventually, it stopped by a broken stone house. Noa leaned against it, coughing from the smoky air.
“Is that it? We didn’t go very far.”
“Nothing is far here,” the otter said smugly.
Noa examined the shadow that lay beneath the wall. “And this goes to the palace?”
“Somewhere in the palace,” the otter agreed.
“Somewhere?”
“The doors aren’t exact. Sometimes they move.”
“Great,” Noa muttered. She reminded herself that she was lucky to have a guide at all; she would never have been able to find a door to the palace on her own. A thought occurred to her.
“Otter,” she said, her heart thudding, “Can you talk to the ghosts?”
“Sure,” it said. “But we don’t. They’re boring. All they do is mope.”
Noa swallowed. “Could you find someone for me?”
“Who?”
“Queen Tamora,” she said. “I don’t know if she’s here. But could you—could you spread the word that I’m looking for her? Tell the other otters, and any ghosts you see.”
“I like hide-and-seek,” the otter said. “I win almost every time. All right. But she’s probably not here. Most ghosts that come here only stay a little while, then they go somewhere not even otters can find a door to.”
Noa balled her hands to stop them from shaking. She had been afraid of an answer like that. Still, she had to try. She felt that familiar ache, and wished she’d brought Willow.
But that was silly. She was a mage on a serious mission, not a little girl missing her toy. She swallowed her tears and stood up straight. “Would you mind waiting until I get back?”
The otter looked dubious. Noa added, “I mean, I’ve heard that otters are very patient creatures. But if that’s not true—”
“Oh, it is true.” The otter stood up straighter. “We’re more patient than anybody.” Noa gave it the rest of the cake, and it flopped down on its back with the treat balanced on its chest, looking extremely pleased with its situation.
Steeling herself, Noa picked up the shadow, and leaped.
Light flooded her eyes, and her boots hit the ground hard. She stumbled and fell against a marble floor polished to such a sheen it hurt, especially after the darkness of Death.
When she looked up, she choked on a yelp. She was crouched behind a column in the palace throne room. The space was enormous, a glittering sea of white and black marble. And there on a dais beneath a row of windows streaming with pearly dawn light was a golden throne, with two guards standing motionless behind it.
Noa couldn’t move. This had been her home. Her mother had sat on that throne, receiving noble guests and ambassadors. For a moment, Noa could hear her mother’s laughter ringing out through the hall.
“Are you lost?”
Noa spun, and found herself facing a palace guard. The woman had a kind face, and was smiling at Noa.
“Um—” She frantically blinked the tears back, trying to remember the story she had rehearsed. “Yes, sorry. I’m one of the new pages. The palace is so big!”
“That’s all right.” The woman patted her shoulder, clearly assuming Noa was upset about being lost. “It takes
