Harley Merlin 19: Persie Merlin and the Door to Nowhere by Bella Forrest

Author:Bella Forrest [Forrest, Bella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nightlight Press
Published: 2020-06-11T18:30:00+00:00

Seventeen

Persie

Alone in the South Wing, ducking out of the way of hunters on duty, I stole a glance at my phone from behind a dragon statue. Just one of its enormous, white marble legs was enough to shield me from any prying eyes.

Come on, Genie! My inbox had no new messages, though I’d texted and called my friend a handful of times since leaving my bedroom. Location updates, check-ins, that sort of thing. All I’d gotten in return was a Genie-less home screen and a voicemail recording. Now wasn’t the time for her to go radio silent on me. For all I knew, we could be covering the same ground without realizing, and it irked me that I couldn’t get through to her.

Taking my bag off my shoulders, I double-checked my inventory: three puzzle boxes, two Mason jars, and three little cartons of milk that I’d nabbed from the banquet hall. Something Genie said earlier had struck a curious nerve—I think it had been on bullet-point number two: leave out a cookie, and the creature will come running. But pixies didn’t like cookies, they liked milk. Maybe, just maybe, they’d take the bait. Meanwhile, Genie had two puzzle boxes and three Mason jars. As the magical one in our team, we’d figured she’d have better luck with the Mason jars than I would. And, Genie or no Genie, I planned to do better at catching something tonight.

Putting the bag back on, I waited until the nearest hunters passed by before darting out and sprinting down the hallway full pelt, on high alert for any sign of pixies. I raced past the bedrooms of visiting hunters, more studies, and private libraries for the invited guests to use at their leisure. I poked my head into the libraries, but they sat dark and empty, with no hint of a monster disturbance.

Eventually, having found an emergency stairwell between two studies and running all the way down into what appeared to be a basement, I breathed a much-needed sigh. There didn’t seem to be anyone down here. A long, stark corridor lay ahead, lit with unflattering strip lights that shone a cold blue hue on everything. A musty scent filled my nostrils, suggesting this part of the Institute didn’t get used often. That had to be a promising sign.

Listening for footsteps or wing flutters, I walked along the corridor, leaving footprints in the fine layer of grime that covered the plasticky floor. Black signs were pinned to the doorways that branched off the main hall: “boiler room,” “janitorial staff room,” “storage unit 1,” “storage unit 2,” and so on and so forth. I seemed to have found the utility underbelly of the Institute, which undoubtedly had a multitude of secluded spots for pixies to hide.

I tried some of the door handles, only to find them locked up tight—until I came to a door marked “Refuse.” It swung open with ease, the aroma of stagnant trash overwhelming my senses, sickly and rotten and foul. Pinching

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