Page 2 of Pets in Space 10
Three days later, Harmonia sat in her father’s cluttered workroom on Zelos.
She inhaled deeply, the musty scent of aged paper and leather filling her lungs before she slowly exhaled.
A stream of dust motes, illuminated by shafts of sunlight streaming in through the windows, caught her attention, and she paused to follow their intricate dance.
The comforting aroma of her father’s pipe tobacco and the tangy scent of root-and-berry ink mixed with the unique buzz of ancient magic.
The combination eased her anxiety about the task ahead.
Eirene’s visit had left her eagerly awaiting her assignment, but the intervening days had been filled with a flurry of stressful activity as she reassigned lessons to a frazzled apprentice, packed with nervous energy, and completed one last, desperate search through the dimly lit archives for any hint of unusual disturbances.
Being home again stirred a wave of nostalgia.
The stone walls held so many memories. Warmth flooded her as she remembered the sounds of her siblings echoing through the corridors.
Her littlest sister Wynter’s sweet, childish giggles, Electra and Ladon’s joyous shrieks, and her older brother Castor’s irritated mutterings about Wynter’s stone dragon Pow-pow’s latest rampage still echoed through the stone.
The memories of her family were as vivid as if they were still there.
Harmonia rose with a weary sigh. The weight of the heavy, leather-bound book was a tangible reminder of all the work her father put into his journals. Her lips curved in appreciation as she admired the tome’s gilded spine shining brightly under the lamp.
A frown creased her brow when the tome wouldn’t slide all the way back into its place on the bookshelf.
Reaching along the dusty shelf, she felt the rough wood beneath her fingers as she searched for the problem.
Her breath hitched in her throat, a gasp escaping her lips as she felt the strangely smooth, almost perfectly round indentation.
Pressing her fingers along it, there was a slight click and the front of the bookshelf slid forward. She stepped back and studied the shelf with a frown. Curious, she replaced the tome, pushing it back. When she did, the shelf opened further to reveal a handgrip.
“That’s strange… I don’t remember this being here,” she murmured.
She curled her fingers into the indentation in the wood frame and pushed the bookcase a little farther. The heavy bookcase opened with surprising ease. Behind the shelf was the familiar block walls that made up her home, but it made little sense for there to be a moving bookcase and nothing else.
Intrigued, she lifted her hand, pressed it to the wall, and whispered a soft revealing charm.
The stone pulsed under her hand. A second later, a low, grinding sound echoed around her as part of the wall trembled, the seams glowing faintly with delicate silver runes that slithered like serpents under the surface.
A door revealed itself — smooth obsidian, cool to the touch.
She bit her lip, staring at the door with growing excitement. Who didn’t enjoy discovering a secret room? Her curiosity continued to grow at the thought of her parents having one. She started to mutter an unlocking spell before a sudden, horrifying thought flashed through her mind and she grimaced.
“I really hope there isn’t anything kinky Mom and Dad are trying to hide,” she groaned, wondering if she was going to be able to cleanse her mind if it was some hidden sex room.
“Just do it. If it is, you can always cast a memory eraser spell,” she reasoned. “Unlock the door which is locked,” she ordered.
Nothing happened.
Biting her lower lip, she ran through the most common unlocking spells.
“Unbind the door that is sealed. Let me enter the room from here,” she said.
Again, nothing.
Three more spells also failed. She groaned, leaned forward to rest her head against the cool, smooth stone, and closed her eyes, trying to think. What kind of protection spell would her mom and dad have used?
A snort of amusement slipped from her lips as she remembered an old rhyme that her mother used to hide her clay reserves from Pow-pow who loved clay like it was candy.
“Knock knock let me in. I wish to see the treasure within,” she murmured.
She jerked back, startled by the grinding sound of the thick stone blocks moving as the doorway slowly opened.
A rush of air, charged with the sweet, almost intoxicating perfume of spring flowers and the tang of lightning, washed over her.
The loose strands of her hair stood on end as ancient magic crackled around her, a hot, electric sizzle that smelled like smoldering leaves.
A blast of magic hit her, a searing pressure that sucked the breath from her lungs as it pulled her forward.
She pressed her hand over her pounding heart as she stepped inside.
Awe struck her speechless; her breath caught in her throat, and the world seemed to fade as she stared in wonder.
The chamber opened like a secret world tucked between realms — alive and humming with arcane energy.
The air was warm and rich, tinged with the scent of moss, ink, lavender, and faint traces of machine oil.
The domed ceiling glimmered with translucent crystal panels, refracting soft light in rippling hues of violet, sea-glass green, and gold.
Somewhere overhead, faint musical chimes played in slow, melodic loops — delicate notes that seemed to react to her presence.
Magical and technological creations filled the room, each one a symphony of color and motion.
A spiral tower spun slowly at the center, lined with levitating scrolls and rotating crystal disks etched with sigils.
Lush, otherworldly vines curled through the rafters, their blossoms pulsed with bioluminescent nectar that dripped lazily into silver bowls.
The vines turned toward her as she passed, as though curious.
She walked by a wall-mounted structure that pulsed softly with blue light — rows of moving gears and runes dancing across a circular dial. A soft ticking filled the air, rhythmic and calming.
A celestial clock, complete with swirling nebulas, held her entranced for a moment before her attention was pulled away.
She turned a corner and paused before a tank of iridescent glass.
Inside, a miniature storm cloud hovered above an island of velvet moss.
Rain fell in steady rhythm, and a delicate, shimmering creature the size of her hand — part seahorse, part dragonfly — was curled under the cover of a tiny, radiant toadstool, its sides rising and falling with contented sleep.
Magic shimmered around every corner.
But it was the far end of the chamber that truly drew her in.
A curved wall held a semi-circle of paintings, arranged with reverence. An enchanted lantern glowed above them, casting soft golden light on their surfaces. Scrolls, spell books, and objects of power were tucked onto shelves and inside glass cases nearby.
Her gaze settled on the first portrait — a striking young woman with long, curly dark brown hair and clever honey-colored eyes that sparkled with amusement even from the canvas. Her vibrant ruby-red robes shimmered like moonlight on ink.
Beneath the painting, a brass plate read: Selene Stormhold – Grand Witch, 912 AT.
Harmonia stepped closer, entranced. The brushstrokes seemed to breathe.
And then the woman blinked.
Harmonia staggered backward with a gasp, her shoulder brushing a vine that emitted a curious tsk before retreating. The scent of juniper and warmed ink hit her senses like a jolt.
The woman in the painting smiled. “Harmonia! It’s about time you came to visit us,” she said, her voice smooth and amused, echoing with ethereal undertones.
Harmonia’s heart thundered. “You-You’re talking. You-You know who I am? Are you… alive?”
“Yes, dear. We would recognize a Stormhold anywhere. And yes, I’m talking to you. I’m not technically alive, but I’m also not entirely dead,” Selene said, her tone conspiratorial. “Magic, darling. Always more complicated than it looks.”
She raised her hand — inside the painting — and gestured toward the other portraits. “Go on, then. Wake them. They’ve been dreadfully bored.”
Still stunned, Harmonia hesitated, then turned to the other names and murmured each one out loud: “William. Malcolm. Gloria. Sarah. Mavis.”
Each name spoken felt like the turn of a key.
Soft glows illuminated the other paintings. The figures stirred.
“Oh, finally! Thank the Goddesses!” Malcolm drawled, stretching dramatically within his frame. “Another century and I’d have taken up embroidery.”
“Pfft. About time someone got off their broom and opened the door. It’s been forever since Arastan and Lyia have been to visit,” Mavis muttered, adjusting an extravagant purple hat that vibrated with the plush, vivid violet plumage gracing it.
“Nonsense, you buffoons. It’s only been a week,” Gloria snapped, her stern voice like icy wind against velvet. “It is nice to have a new visitor.”
William stepped forward in his painting, regal in a forest green waistcoat with a gold pocket watch glinting at his hip. “And a lovely one at that,” he declared. “The Stormholds have always been a handsome lot.”
Harmonia stared, her voice thick with disbelief. “Why was this room hidden? Why didn’t my parents tell me?”
Selene’s painted eyes softened. “Because what lies in this room is dangerous in the wrong hands… and overwhelming in the right ones. The Stormholds were never ordinary. We dared to blend what others feared: logic, magic, invention, instinct.”
“And we hate rules,” Mavis offered with a grin.
“And the stuffy Mage Council,” Serene added under her breath.
“That’s an understatement,” Sarah giggled.
Malcolm let out a loud, theatrical laugh. “We tried them once — rules, that is — they chafed. The Mage Council on the other hand, we tried their patience far more than once.”