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Alice gulped. Her eyes fixated on the ash tree. She repositioned her hand and placed the other on the tree. She widened her stance.

“I, Alice Primrose, the Neighborhood Witch of Newbury Grove, daughter of Rowena, granddaughter of Beatrice, great-granddaughter of Hazel, and great-great granddaughter of Layla request an audience with the illustrious Oaken King, so I may seek passage within his realm,” she spoke to the tree in a soft yet commanding voice.

The wind picked up. Alice’s eyes darted around the alcove, searching for signs of movement. Her finger tips tightened intothe fissures of the tree bark. The wind swept the thin layer of snow on the ground. The leaves bustled and swirled in the air. Oliver and Carol hugged each other. Esmerelda held firm, her eyes on Alice and the tree.

Small and large mushrooms popped up from the ground one by one. They sprung from the frozen dirt to create a ring surrounding the alcove. They nearly completed the circle when the mushrooms stopped. The mushrooms reversed course, and one by one, they retreated into the ground.

“No. No. NO!” Alice shouted. She pounded her palms against the tree. “We’ve come so far. Please. Please let us pass through.”

As quickly as the mushrooms had appeared, they were gone.

“Please,” Alice pleaded. Tears formed in her eyes. She leaned forward, touching her head to the ash tree trunk. “Please. You’re our only hope.”

“We tried, kiddo,” Ez said as she approached, wrapping her arm around Alice. “It wasn’t meant to be. We’ll have to find another way.”

Alice turned toward Ez. Her eyes welled with tears. Two streaks formed a dripping river as they fell down her cheeks. “I can’t give up now. Not now. Not when we’re this close.”

She pulled out the sprig of holly from her coat pocket. With it in her palm, she slammed it against the ash tree. “I have a peace offering from Nicholas Claus, the Winter King. Will you grant us an audience?”

The wind picked up, but the mushrooms didn’t appear.

“I also come bearing gifts, offerings to the Oaken King,” Alice added.

Still nothing.

Alice leaned her head against the tree. In a low whisper, she said, “Please. All I ask is for an audience. You don’t have to agree to anything. I only need you to listen. Please. I’m desperate.”

Guinevere floated toward the tree. The broomstick touched the end of her broom handle to the old tree. Alice lifted her head, startled by the actions of her companion. The ash handled broomstick held there for a moment and then reared back. The echo of wood against wood rang off the trees in the alcove as it knocked against the ash tree. It did it twice more, each knock echoing through Wildgrove Park.

The wind picked up again. The leaves bustled into the air. The mushrooms sprung up from the ground, completing their circle around the tree and Alice’s mini coven. Max whined and moved as close as possible to the Raskins. They held each other tightly.

“I think you got their attention now,” Ez said, holding tight to her overcoat. “I hope for our sake you’re right on this one.”

A light formed at the base of the tree. It cascaded outward in a ball and engulfed everyone in a blinding white light, transporting them away from the cold, dark December night.

Chapter 17

Talking Through the Looking Glass

Hugo focused on the bronze mask before him, the tormented face haunting him. He breathed deeply in short, rapid bursts. He gritted his teeth to prepare for whatever fate held before him.

“I wanted you to join us. Reuse your abilities over and over. After all, why should I pay for your special gift once when I can get you to use it for free?” Madeline Sinclair taunted Hugo by waving the mask in front of his face. “You wanted to do this the hard way. Why can’t you see there is no other way? If you aren’t willing to do it for me, then I’ll extract it from you. You put on this mask, and I’ll rip it out of you.”

She turned the mask around and positioned it in front of Hugo. She pressed it against his face. The cold bronze burned as it fused with him. Hugo let out an agonizing scream. Every part of his soul burned. The world faded from view. A darkness overtook him. He was slipping into nothingness; only the excruciating pain was left.

“Wait,” Thaddeus said. “Take it off.”

He ripped the mask off Hugo’s face. Hugo’s body went limp, his head falling forward. He writhed in pain, but he was still there. His breath labored.

Madeline snapped to Thaddeus. “I will not suffer such insubordination,” she said as she moved in front of Thaddeus.

“Your highness,” Thaddeus said. “He does not know . . . That is why he still has hope.”

“Know what?” Hugo mustered through shallow, raspy breaths.

Thaddeus glanced at Hugo. “He still thinks it was real. He does not know the truth. He made it all up. It was all in his head. He should face the final trial. He will learn the truth.”

“Made what up?” Hugo asked in a raspy voice. His body was still held by Madeline’s ghouls.