Ginger froze, her hand still clutching her glowing tail, her eyes wide and darting towards the sound. The earlier flicker of determination had vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated fear. The comfortable hum of the library now seemed to pulse with a menacing undertone.

"Someone's here," I whispered, stating the obvious but needing to give voice to the sudden shift in atmosphere. My gaze instinctively snapped back to the slumped figure of Professor Milway. Was he truly unconscious, or worse? And who, or what, was approaching? The thought of being trapped in this strange, hidden place with an unknown entity sent a fresh wave of adrenaline through me.

"Ginger? Is that you?" The voice was rough, a peculiar blend of feminine and masculine tones, yet strangely memorable.

Ginger perked up, her rigid posture relaxing just a fraction. "Mira?" she whispered, a hint of surprise and relief in her tone.

The footsteps stopped. A figure emerged from behind one of the colossal bookshelves, stepping into the ethereal glow of the central light pillar. It was a person of striking presence, tall and powerfully built, with long, wavy black hair placed in a ponytail and piercing black eyes that seemed to take everything in at once. Their left arm was a gleaming prosthetic, an intricate blend of dark wood. They wore a crisp white shirt under a tailored black waistcoat vest, topped with a stylish sleeveless white tailcoat. Delicate sun and moon earrings adorned their ears.

Their gaze swept across the library, finally landing on our hiding spot. A slow, knowing smile touched their lips. "I thought I heard you, Ginger. It's been too long."

Ginger, no longer hiding, pushed herself to her feet, pulling me up with her. The fear that had gripped her moments before seemed to dissipate at the sight of Mira. "Mira, oh thank god you're here." She gestured towards the slumped figure at the desk. “We need help, it's Professor Millway.”

Mira's gaze sharpened, their smile fading as they took in the scene. They strode purposefully towards the desk, their striking attire a stark contrast to the ancient surroundings.

Page 17

Ginger studied the map, her path leading six blocks into an older part of Charlotte. She turned left into a narrow alleyway. There, tacked to a nondescript door, was a sign

Only Maleficent can enter this door.

A chill snaked down my spine, fighting against the humid Charlotte air. “Only Maleficent can enter this door,” I muttered the words feeling absurd. “Maleficent? As in, the Disney villain? Are we sure this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank?”

Ginger gave me a look-brow furrowed, head slightly tilted- a clear message that read: Honestly, I don’t even know what to say here. She turned back to the door, her gaze fixed. Without a sound, it swung.

My jaw went slack. The door, moments ago solid and unyielding, now stood ajar, revealing a darkness beyond that seemed to swallow the dim light of the alley. There was no creak of hinges, no scraping of wood against concrete – just a silent, effortless opening. It was as if the door itself had simply… relaxed.

Ginger stepped through without a backwards glance at my stunned face. "After you,” she said, her voice dry, a hint of impatience in her tone.

I hesitated, the hair on my arms prickling. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to question, to demand an explanation for this bizarre display. But then I looked at Ginger, already halfway through the threshold, a silhouette against the impenetrable blackness within. Her determination was a palpable force, pulling me along in its wake. There was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, I followed her into the unknown, the strange sign “Only Maleficent can enter this door” echoing in my mind, a riddle I was not meant to solve just yet.

The air on the other side was surprisingly cool, almost damp, a stark contrast to the humid Charlotte night. It smelled of old books and something faintly metallic, like ozone after a lightning strike. My eyes struggled to adjust, but as they did, a vast space began to materialize around us.

This wasn’t an alleyway or a typical building. We were in what looked like an enormous, circular library, stretching upwards into an unseen ceiling. Towering shelves, laden with ancient, leather-bound tomes, spiraled like a helix around a central column of what appeared to be swirling, ethereal light. The light pulsed, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air and casting long, shifting shadows that made the whole place feel alive.

Oddly shaped instruments, some glowing with an inner luminescence, were perched on scattered tables between the shelves. Globes spun slowly on their axes, depicting constellations I didn’t recognize. There was a low hum, a resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate through the very floor beneath our feet-a sound both comforting and deeply unsettling.

(Page 16)