The teeth dropped to the ground, the metal squeaking. It almost sounded like a whimper.
“Oh, now you want to come?” said Azalea.
The teeth hopped around madly.
“Oh…very well. But you have to behave.” Azalea scooped them up into her pocket, and hesitated. She knew that all she would find was, perhaps, old furniture and books, but…still. Casting a glance back at the beds, and seeing the bedsheets stirring, Azalea threw hesitations aside, took a deep breath, and stepped into the glowing, glimmering silver.
It felt as though she had stepped into a silver waterfall, ice cold, washing over her head and shoulders. An inside-of-a-teapot smell suffocated her. Another step, and Azalea inhaled a breath of fresh air. Shivering, she shook away the tendrils of twinkling light and rubbed her arms.
She stood on a small wooden landing, about the size of the fireplace. In front of her, stairs curved downward. Azalea swallowed, pressed her hand against the brick wall, and began to descend. The rickety wood creaked underneath her bare feet, and darkness enveloped her. Her hands shook as she felt her way about. She wished she had brought the lamp.
A hard, scuffing sound shattered the silence. Azalea cried out.
“Stop, stop, stop,” came a voice from above her. “Really, Az, you’re as bad as Kale!”
Light filled the passage, and relief flooded through Azalea as Bramble emerged around the corner, holding Lily and grinning a wry, delighted grin.
With more thumphing and scuffing down the creaky stairs, all eleven of Azalea’s sisters appeared around the bend, sleep in their feet, but mouths open and faces alight. Clover was the only one with enough sense to bring the lamp.
“The room burst with light,” said Bramble. “It was like waking to a sunrise—and we haven’t seen that in months. Az…the fireplace wall—”
“I know,” said Azalea. “Can you believe it?”
The girls huddled closer to Azalea, and as they crowded about the lamp, she told them what Lord Bradford had said about magic passages. She told them about the sugar teeth, escaped from the kitchen cabinet and caught in their room, and using the silver handkerchief to open the wall. The girls’ eyes, already wide, grew wider with fascination.
“I should have woken you all,” said Azalea when she finished. “I was too eager to wait, I suppose. But I’m glad the passage stayed open for you. Is it still?”
“No,” said Eve. “It’s solid now.”
“The mark is on this side, too,” said Bramble. “I suppose we’ll give it a rub when we need to get out.” She shivered, looking at the brick around her. “I wouldn’t want to be trapped in this place.”
“Where does it lead?” said Flora.
“I don’t know.” Azalea peered into the darkness, into the curve of more stairs. “Probably it’s just a storage room, but it might have bits of magic left to it, like the tower. Want to find out?”
“Yes!”
Clover handed Azalea the lamp, and Azalea led them down the stairs, holding it high. The staircase descended much farther than she expected, and only after several lengthy minutes did the passage lighten. They turned the next curve, revealing an archway below. A soft, silver light emanated from it. Azalea’s brows furrowed. Bright moonlight? Indoors?
The girls stayed back as Azalea descended to the doorway. Hands quavering, she leaned against the edge and looked.
She stepped back, dumbfounded.
The scene washed over Azalea like a crystal symphony. A forest.
But nothing like the wood behind the palace! Every bough, branch, leaf, and ivied tendril looked as though it had been frosted in silver. It shimmered in the soft, misty light.
Azalea inhaled, catching the muted scent of a morning fog, with a touch of pine, and stepped through the doorway into the bright forest. Everything sparkled in bits, catching highlights in glisters as she moved. Even the path beneath her feet. She turned to a glass-spun tree on her left. Silver ornaments glowed among the delicate silver leaves—glimmering glass plums. Azalea touched one. Its edging glittered as it swayed. Next to the ornament, strings of pearls swathed each branch in swooping arcs.
“It’s so beautiful,” whispered Flora. The girls had followed Azalea through the doorway, their voices hushed.
“Like winter, when the snow’s just fallen,” Goldenrod whispered.
“Or…the Yuletide trees,” said Clover.
Azalea thought it looked a mix of all of them—the gardens, the palace, and the Yuletide—all mixed into one and dipped in silver.
“Az, what is this place?” Bramble looked up, gaping. The tallest of the silver trees disappeared into a mist.
“I think it’s the palace,” Azalea managed to say.
Bramble arched a thin red eyebrow, grinning. “Not our boot-blackened palace! No wonder we were never told about this passage—we’d never come back up!”
Bramble was right. Azalea touched a swath of ribbon and pearls, feeling the knobbly string between her fingers. She hadn’t expected to find so much magic, and all beneath their room!
The girls slowly walked down the path; everything was quiet, muffled, as though in a snowfall. Every so often, Azalea reached out to touch a silver-white branch or a teardrop ornament, just to remind herself she wasn’t dreaming.
Ahead, the silver branches of a large willow tree curtained the end of the path. Nearing it, they heard the tinkling of a music box playing faintly in the air. Quiet as it was, all the girls looked about them, eyebrows raised. When they drew closer, the timbre of the music changed. It became fuller, fleshing to a soft three-quarter-time orchestral melody. Azalea’s feet itched to twirl.