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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A va stared at the ordinary-looking door, her fingers hovering above the worn brass knob. The air around it seemed to shimmer with possibilities—or maybe that was just her imagination working overtime after everything she’d seen.

“I don’t like this,” Nos said, his mismatched eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“You don’t like anything. Except maybe for Ibin.” Ava rolled her eyes. She glanced at Ibin. “What do you think?”

“One, that we don’t have a choice.” Ibin’s expression was unreadable. “And two, I think that sometimes ordinary doors lead to extraordinary places.”

“Again, that’s not actually helpful.” She really would give a finger for a normal companion. She had to be careful not to say that kind of shit out loud, though—someone would take her up on it.

“I know.” Ibin smiled faintly. “Well, see point one, then. And besides. Doors are meant to be opened.”

Book warmed against Ava’s side, as if agreeing with Ibin. Or maybe it was just reacting to whatever was beyond.

“Right, well.” She sighed. “If there’s another fae trying to eat my eyes, I’m blaming both of you.”

“None of this is our fault.” Nos was back to sounding annoyed.

“And I don’t care. I’m blaming you anyway.” Gripping the knob, Ava turned it slowly. The mechanism clicked with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the strange, echoing darkness the Eyes had left them in.

The door swung open.

Light spilled out—not the golden supernatural light of Book, but ordinary, warm sunshine. Beyond the threshold lay what appeared to be a perfectly normal garden. Flowers bloomed in neat beds. A stone path wound between them. Birds chirped from fruit-laden trees.

It was so mundane, so pleasant, that Ava immediately froze. “Okay. Now this definitely looks like a trap.”

“Obviously,” Nos replied.

“Painfully so,” Ibin agreed.

“At least, for once, we’re all on the same page.” She paused. And snorted. “Book pun.” Ava took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway. “Well. No going back. Might as well get this over with. Hello, trap! Trap people! We’re here!”

The moment her foot touched the garden path, the door behind them slammed shut. When Ava whirled around, it was gone—vanished as if it had never existed.

“That can’t be good,” she said, with what she felt was admirable calm given the circumstances.

“It never is,” Nos said dryly. “But you do get used to it.”

The garden stretched out before them, impossibly beautiful and peaceful. Somewhere in the distance, wind chimes played a gentle melody.

“Right,” Ava said. “First key. Let’s find it and get out of here before something tries to kill us.”

But even as she spoke, a figure appeared on the path ahead—a woman in a flowing white dress, her dark hair falling in waves around a face of impossible beauty.

“Too late,” Nos muttered.

The woman smiled, revealing teeth that were just a fraction too sharp to be human.

“Welcome.” Her voice was like honey. “We’ve been expecting you.” The woman’s smile never wavered as she glided toward them, barely seeming to touch the ground. “You look lost. Few find their way to our garden.”

“We’re not lost.” Well, not exactly, anyway. Ava instinctively clutched Book tighter against her side. “We’re just looking for something.”

“Aren’t we all?” The woman laughed, the sound like tinkling glass. “I am Liriene. And you are the new book bearer.” Her gaze dropped to Ava’s side where Book rested. “My condolences.”

Nos shifted slightly, positioning himself between Ava and the woman. “We seek passage.”

Wow. Was he defending her? No, probably not. Probably just trying to protect Ibin and himself. She was a side-effect.

Liriene’s eyes—a color somewhere between violet and midnight—flicked to Nos, then Ibin. Recognition dawned on her face. “The patchwork man and the war-touched lady. My, my. The garden hasn’t seen such distinguished guests in…centuries, I believe.”

“You know us?” Ibin asked, her voice carefully neutral.

“We see a great deal from here.” Liriene made a graceful gesture toward a path winding deeper into the garden. “Come. The Sisters will want to meet you.”

“Sisters?” Ava glanced at her companions.

Ibin’s face had gone very still. “Oh, no. It’s the Triad.”

“Third time I’m gonna say this. Not as helpful as you’d think. Is that good or bad?” Ava asked under her breath.

“Both.” It was Nos’s turn to be infuriatingly and unhelpfully cryptic. “Always both.”

“I need maybe, one of you, once, just once, to try giving me a straight answer. You might like it.”

“This way,” Liriene called, already moving down the path. “Don’t dawdle. The garden can be a bit temperamental with those who linger.”

As if to emphasize her point, the flowers nearest to them turned their blooms in unison to face the three of them. Ava could have sworn she heard them whispering.

“Lovely! Killer flowers.” Ava added it to her mental list of things she didn’t need to know existed, and followed after Liriene.

The garden seemed to stretch impossibly in all directions. It was like a dream—and it was astonishingly beautiful. Ava noticed the trees shifted when she wasn’t looking directly at them, rearranging themselves into new patterns. The sky overhead changed colors subtly—not like a normal sunset, but like someone was adjusting the saturation on reality.

After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes— again —the path opened onto a wider area. In the center stood a cottage that looked like it had been plucked straight from a fairy tale—a thatched roof, climbing roses, and windows glowing with warm light.

Surrounding the cottage was something far more mundane—a farm. Neat rows of vegetables stretched in one direction, an orchard in another. Chickens pecked contentedly in a yard. A cow grazed in a small pasture.

“Quaint.” Ava wondered if it was all for show.

Liriene led them toward the cottage door, which opened before they reached it. In the doorway stood three women, arranged in a perfect tableau that made Ava think of old paintings she’d seen in museums.

The youngest couldn’t have been more than twenty, with flowing golden hair and a face of innocent beauty. The second was in her prime—perhaps forty, with auburn hair and an air of confident authority. The third was elderly, her silver hair braided elaborately in a bun, framing a face lined with age but bright with intelligence.

“The maiden, the mother, and the crone,” Ibin whispered.

“So…are they actually goddesses?” Ava studied them curiously.

“No.” Nos looked like an ink blot, dressed in dark colors against a serene, bucolic landscape. “But best not mention that to them.”

“Welcome, travelers,” the three women spoke in perfect unison, their voices blending in a way that sent shivers down Ava’s spine.

“Thank you for the invitation.” Ibin bowed smoothly. “We are honored by your hospitality.”

The youngest woman—the maiden—stepped forward, her movements fluid and graceful. “You must be tired from your journey. Please, come inside.”

Nos hesitated. “We don’t have time for?—”

“There is always time for courtesy,” the middle woman—the mother—interrupted. “And for a proper meal.”

“Besides,” the elderly woman—the crone—added with a knowing smile, “we have something you seek.”

That got Ava’s attention. “You do?”

The crone’s eyes twinkled. “The first key, is it not? To unlock the spider’s cage.”

“How did you—” Ava began.

“We know many things,” all three women said together.

She added it to the list of weird things she’d seen that day.

The cottage interior was larger than it appeared from outside. Cool. A cottage-core supernatural TARDIS. A long wooden table dominated the main room, already set with an array of food that made Ava’s stomach rumble embarrassingly loud.

“Please, sit,” the maiden said, gesturing to the table. “You must be famished.”

Ava glanced at Nos and Ibin. “Is it safe to eat the food?”

“In this case, yes.” Ibin was already plating up various vegetables, cheeses, a quiche, and some bread. “These three observe the old laws of hospitality. Food freely given comes without obligation.”

“Unlike some other fae I’ve met.” Ava sighed. At least these three seemed…not too murderous. Which also, in turn, made her nervous. She’d already been bait-and-switched by the fae no less than twice. Braega and Rig. Three, if she counted Nos and Ibin trying to sell her to Rig.

The three women bustled around them, continuing to put out foods of fresh bread, honey, cheese, and fruits that looked almost comically, impossibly perfect. A rich stew was ladled into bowls, steam rising with a scent that made Ava’s mouth water.

Until she remembered the eyes that Braega had served her.

“Eat,” the mother urged, her voice both warm and commanding with that confident tone of all mothers. “Regain your strength.”

Yeah, all right. Ava didn’t need to be told twice. She fell on the food like she hadn’t eaten in days, which, to be fair, felt accurate. Time was so distorted in the Web that she couldn’t remember when she’d last had a proper meal.

As they ate, the three sisters moved around them with practiced efficiency, refilling cups with a sweet golden drink that tasted like sunshine and honey.

“This is amazing.” She smiled at the nearest of the three. She stopped herself short of thanking them.

The crone smiled, settling into a chair across from Ava. “Nothing satisfies like food grown with one’s own hands.”

“You grow all this?” Ava gestured to the feast.

“We plant the seeds,” the maiden started.

“We tend the garden,” the mother added.

“We harvest what we sow,” the crone finished.

Nos shifted uncomfortably. “We seek the key. The Eyes directed us here.”

“Always in such a hurry, you are. Ever since the pup got its teeth into you, you’ve never been the same,” the crone chuckled, wagging a finger at Nos like he was a boy. “Immortality teaches patience, young man. Or it should. ”

Ibin fought back what looked like a laugh. “I fear circumstances grow urgent.”

The mother nodded solemnly. “The Web trembles. We have felt it.”

“This one has changed things.” The maiden was staring at Ava. “This one rips holes in the threads.”

“And you need the first key,” the crone concluded, her gaze also fixed on Ava. “To open or to melt the locks shut, that remains the question.”

Ava met the old woman’s gaze. “You said you have it.”

“That I do, young one. That I do.” The crone reached into a pocket of her apron and withdrew something that glittered in the soft light of the cottage.

It was a shard of mirror—about the size of Ava’s palm, jagged along one edge but polished smooth along the others. As she looked at it, she could see her own reflection, but…different. Older. Wiser. With that tattoo from Book’s illustration fully formed down her arm.

“It’s too small.” Ava tilted her head. “It won’t fit.”

The crone smiled knowingly. “It will be just fine.”

“I’m…going to just assume you’re…not going to just give it to me. And this comes with some kind of price tag.” Ava sighed. “Serrik mentioned some kind of trial.”

The three sisters exchanged glances.

“Nothing is given freely.” The mother began.

“There must always be an exchange,” the maiden added.

“Balance,” the crone concluded. “I will give you this shard, but I require something in return.”

Ava shut her eyes. It was going to be something terrible. “Like what?”

The crone leaned forward, her ancient eyes suddenly sharp as blades. “Memories.”

“Memories?”

“A fair trade, in balance.” The crone held up the shard of mirror. “The mirror shows truth and possibilities. I collect memories—memories are lies and certainties—spent moments. If you wish for one, I require the other.”

Nos stiffened beside Ava. “That is a dangerous price.”

“All meaningful prices are dangerous,” the mother replied calmly.

“What do you mean, exactly, by ‘you require’ the other? What are you going to actually take from me?” Ava frowned. This was where things were going to get sticky. “How many memories? Which one? How damaging is this going to be to me? Do I get a say in which one it is? Or how big it is?”

“You are learning quickly, little one. Good.” The crone smiled, revealing teeth that were surprisingly white and even for an elderly woman. “I would reach into your mind and select a memory. Any memory. It would become mine to keep and experience.”

“Any memory?” Ava repeated. “You mean I don’t get to choose which one?”

“That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” The crone folded her hands in her lap. “Memories freely given are rarely the valuable ones.”

Ava hesitated. The idea of someone rummaging through her mind, taking whatever they wanted—it felt intrusive. Violating. But what choice did she have? They needed the key.

“Maybe we should look elsewhere,” Ibin suggested, clearly seeing Ava’s discomfort. “Maybe there’s another way?”

“There is nowhere else,” the maiden said softly, almost sounding sympathetic. “Not for this key. And there are three locks with three keys, one to each.”

“It’s your decision.” Nos actually looked worried about her. “But consider carefully. There will be no going back.”

Ava looked down at Book, then at the mirror shard in the crone’s withered hand. She thought about Serrik, about the fae, about the impossible choice before her. Help commit genocide or remain trapped until she befell a curse and died some terrible, long drawn-out death.

Or find a third way, as Book had suggested, and kill Serrik.

No matter what, the way forward…was with that damn key.

“If I agree,” she said slowly, “you take one memory. Just one. And then you give me the shard.”

“Precisely,” the crone agreed.

She took a deep breath. “Fine. I agree.”

The crone’s smile widened. “Excellent.”

She extended her withered hand across the table. Ava hesitated, then reached out and took it.

The moment their fingers touched, Ava felt it—a presence in her mind.

Cold.

Alien. Ancient.

It moved through her thoughts like fog seeping under a door, touching everything, leaving nothing undisturbed.

She gasped as memories began to flicker rapidly through her consciousness. Childhood birthdays. Her first kiss. High school graduation. The day she got her first job. The death of her grandmother. Her first broken heart.

The death of her mother.

The presence wasn’t gentle. It rummaged through her memories like someone searching through a box of old photographs, discarding some, lingering on others.

Then, it focused on her mother.

The memory of her mother.

All of it.

“Wait,” Ava whispered, suddenly afraid. “No. No, I thought you meant a moment—not—I didn’t realize?—”

“It is too late.” The crone’s voice was distant and strange. “The exchange has already begun.”

The presence dug deeper, past the surface memories, down into the core of who she was. Things she’d forgotten. Things she’d tried to forget. Secrets. Regrets. Hopes. Dreams.

All pulling at the strings of every ounce of the memory of her mother.

Ava tried to pull her hand away, but the crone’s grip was iron. Beside her, she was dimly aware of Nos and Ibin rising to their feet, protesting, but the maiden and mother had moved to restrain them.

“Just one memory,” the crone whispered, her eyes now completely black. “Of one person.”

“No—” She gasped. “Not that. Please not her. Anything but her.”

The crone smiled.

And began to pull.