 
Key the Steampunk Vampire Girl

&

The Dungeon of Despair
**CONTENTS**

**One**

Key

**Two**

Witch, Ghost, & Mist Map

**Three**

Margrave Snick & Zombie Henchmen

**Four**

Mr. Fuddlebee & Miss Broomble

**Five**

City of the Dead

**Six**

A Birth-night Party

**Seven**

The Dungeon of Despair

**Eight**

Glowing Eyes in the Dark

**Nine**

Raithe & Crudgel

**Ten**

Bedbugs, Castle Ghosts, & Warhag

**Eleven**

Warhag & A Little History of the Necropolis

**Twelve**

A Bloody Business

**Thirteen**

New Vampire Powers

**Fourteen**

Diabolically Doubtful Plotting

**Fifteen**

Future Key, Crinomatic, & Gossamingles

**Sixteen**

Pega the Ghost Maid

**Seventeen**

Miss Broomble the Witch

**Eighteen**

World in Despair

**Nineteen**

Glowing Flowers

**Twenty**

Tudwal the Immortal Puppy-Wolf

**Twenty-one**

Explosions in the Dungeon

**Twenty-two**

Freedom
Key the Steampunk Vampire Girl and the Dungeon of Despair

Becket

Copyright © 2013 Becket

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 0-9898785-3-8

ISBN-13: 978-0-9898785-3-1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the creators' imagination or are used fictitiously.

Under copyright law, if you are not the copyright owner of this work, you are forbidden to reproduce, create derivative works based on this work, download, distribute copies of the work, decompile this work without Becket's express written permission.
For Christina who loves magical stories

And for Anne who loves them too
— CHAPTER ONE —

_Key_

Key was a very beautiful girl with bright blue eyes and a mess of curly red hair that tangled out in all directions.

You might say she lived in the middle of nowhere because she did not have anything like the Internet or cable television or smart phones. But Key would say she lived in a large, beautiful valley with her mom and dad in a small house, with no one else around for miles and miles. Key's mom was a shepherdess while her dad was a wheat farmer, so she spent many happy days running with sheep through tall fields of wheat, where the only apples she heard about only ever fell from trees and the only tablets she knew about were the two that Moses had.

Her dad taught her how to grow wheat, grind it into flour, and bake it into bread. She spent her summers helping him sell wheat and bread in the nearest village, where she quickly grew popular as a wonderful bread baker. Her reputation spread like wildfire, and many lords and senators would travel from all over the land just to taste a slice with butter.

At the same time, Key's mom taught her how to shear sheep, dye wool, and weave it on a loom into blankets. She spent her winters helping her mom sell wool and blankets in that same village where, like her bread baking, her popularity also grew and soon everyone knew her not only as a baker, but also as a magnificent weaver of the thickest, warmest, snuggest blankets around. Many queens and presidents would travel from far away countries just to buy one – especially the ones with the red dots.

Key's mom and dad were very proud of her.

Yet some days in the valley were very hard. One summer was so hot that the sun burned the wheat fields and one winter was so cold that a few sheep froze into blocks of ice. But Key did not mind the difficult times because her mom and dad taught her the meaning of the word _perseverance_. Although neither of them could tell her how to define the word according to a dictionary (because neither could afford to go to school), they showed her instead every day that perseverance means: _Achieving your goal without surrendering to despair_.

Key remembered this lesson, and all her parents' lessons, every day of her life – until she turned nine years old.

Yes, Key's ninth birthday was the worst day she'd ever had because it was the day on which she lost so much. How much? Well, she lost as much as any person can lose. And every night afterward, Key struggled to remember her parents' lessons along with the meaning of the word _perseverance_.

Actually, the daytime of Key's ninth birthday had been very lovely. The weather had been beautiful. The sky had been cloudless and blue, and the warm sun had shone brightly. Key had helped her mom sell all their wool blankets in the village right before she helped her dad sell all their loaves of bread. They had worked hard all day until sunset, and then they returned home, knowing that they had done good work.

They had a wonderful home. During the day it looked snug and comfortable. At night it looked warm and inviting. They never locked their doors or windows, but kept their house always open, welcoming anyone to freely come inside for a good, simple meal near a small, warm fire.

Oh, if only they had locked at least their front door when they got home that evening, then the awful thing that happened to Key might never have happened at all. But, alas, they didn't lock the door – and double alas, the terrible thing did happen, which sent Key to a very horrible place called _"Despair."_

The bad thing happened shortly after dinner.

Dinner had been delicious, by the way. Key told her mom and dad so, even though all they had to eat was bread and vegetable soup. That was all they could afford and they would never eat her mom's sheep. Yes, she told them it was the best meal she'd ever had in nine years, and they laughed together, because they were a happy, joyous family.

Together they cleared the dinner plates from the table and set out dessert plates. Then her mom brought out a small cake; but no one would dare mention how the cake looked just a little too small for three people – no bigger than a cupcake really – with nine birthday candles clumped together on top.

Key loved her birthday cake. She made a wish and blew out her candles, although she didn't wish for anything for herself. She didn't want anything else. She felt she had everything she could ever want. Her only wish was for her mom and dad to be happy.

Then she received three presents – one from her mom, another from her dad, and one from them both. That was it. It was all she wanted. It was all she needed. She loved the meaning inside the gifts from her parents because they never bought gifts, and neither did Key. They couldn't afford to. Instead they made all their gifts for one another by hand, which made the gifts richer than any apple and smarter than all the smart phones in the world.

The gift from her mom was a new crook for shepherding sheep, which she'd carved by hand from an old willow tree, yet she confessed that she had her doubts about the durability of willow wood. Key assured her mom that it was the gift she truly wanted, and she promised her that there was no finer gift in the world for a nine-year-old daughter – equal only to the gift that came next from her dad.

His gift was a saddle stone for grinding wheat grains into flour, which he'd carved out of gray-green marble. Key loved it also, telling him how marvelous it was by planting plenty of kisses all over his face.

Yes, indeed, this was quickly becoming the most amazing birthday she'd ever had.

But then she got the present from both her mom and dad. She was speechless when she saw that it was a beautiful white dress.

Her mom and dad had woven it together out of the softest linen. It was sleeveless and went down to her knees. She hugged the dress to her face and pressed it to her nose to smell its wonderful scent. She wished she could find the words to tell them how much she loved this gift, because to her it truly was the dress to end all other dresses in the whole world.

Both her mom and dad said she looked like a beautiful princess in it when she tried it on and stood before them, barefooted with yellow daisies woven through her hair, which she'd picked from a field earlier that day because she loved the way the daisies' bright yellow petals looked like sunshine, and also because her mom and dad made her feel like the sunshine of their lives. They clapped for joy when she twirled around for them, with tears of gratitude filling her eyes and the hem of her dress flaring out like a budding flower.

Yes, most definitely, this had become the best birthday she'd ever had.

Key was just about to cut the cake for the three of them and hand it around, but right before that happy moment happened, the worst thing that could have happened finally did.

The unlocked front door swung open.

Standing in the doorway was a very big, very mean, and very angry vampire.

This vampire was called by many names. Some called him "Margrave the Gruesome." Others called him "Margrave the Ghastly." A few called him "Margrave the Grisly." And one time someone called him "Margrave the Not-Too-Gabby," but that someone met a gruesome, grisly, and ghastly end.

The legal name in the Society of Mystical Creatures for this nasty vampire was Margrave Bodkin Snick. He was popular like Key, but unlike her, his popularity had not come about because of anything good, but rather because of all the bad things he did. How bad were they? Well, I can't go into the gory details, but they were the most horrible things you can think of. Treachery was child's play to him. Burglary was kid's stuff. He was mean, cruel, thoughtless, greedy, grumpy; and a bully, a snitch, a thief; and he was even a ruthless killer.

Yes, Margrave Snick hurt many people and many Mystical Creatures – and Key was the last person he hurt for a long time.

Now in her doorway, this menacing vampire stood panting with his black hair completely mussed, looking as though he had been running away from something quite painful and fearful. While he had somewhat handsome features such as a strong chin beneath two large cheekbones, along with skin as white as pure milk, his eyes were shifty and yellow – and they were now glaring venomously at Key.

So tall he had to stoop down beneath the doorframe, Margrave Snick strode into her home without so much as a _How do you do_.

Key's dad stood up to greet him, but the vampire pushed him aside just as, following him through the front door, in came two zombies. They were Margrave Snick's henchmen, and the only two survivors of his most recent zombicidal attack on the Society of Mystical Creatures. These two zombies were so thin and boney that, if their rotting skin hadn't been black and blue, they might have easily been mistaken for skeletons.

"I'm starving!" one zombie henchman moaned.

"I haven't eaten in weeks!" the other zombie henchman added, except his mouth was decaying so badly he spoke in unintelligible mumbles. What he said sounded more like, _"Gurgle snurgle flursh shnuffles!"_

Despite the absolute horror of this unexpected visit, Key's mom and dad were very polite. They would not let anyone go away hungry. So they invited inside their home Margrave Snick and his two zombie henchmen because they always taught Key by example. And in this way she learned from them how to care for others, even for those who might hurt you.

Now, once the three guests were all inside, one of the zombie henchmen closed the front door behind him, and was the first one who ever locked it. The _click_ that the door made when it locked sounded strange to Key, and she was not sure what it meant at first, not until she looked at Margrave Snick and saw the tall vampire flashing his long fangs and leering at her the way hungry wolves leer at helpless sheep.
— CHAPTER TWO —

_Witch, Ghost, & Mist Map_

A ghost and a witch appeared on a hilltop not too far from Key's house.

In life, the ghost had been an elderly man with a thick mustache and goatee. In death, he looked roughly the same, except now he was as transparent as a green bottle and glowed with a pale green light. As the elderly ghost floated beside his witch companion, the tips of his wingtip shoes dangled just above the grass while he grasped an umbrella like a cane. He seemed very natural wearing a three-piece pinstriped suit, dark rectangular spectacles, a bright bowtie, a dandelion pinned to his lapel, and a bowler hat atop his head with dark goggles around its rim.

The witch was a young woman, very tall, with smooth brown skin. She had curly black hair and was wearing a purple-black velvet dress, tall black boots, and a top hat with goggles around its rim, too. Perhaps more fantastic than this were the whirring, buzzing, zapping, and blinking gadgets strapped all over her clothing, from hat to boot. Down her forearm was a long spyglass. Her thick belt was leather and brass covered all over in steam gauges, wiring, and lights blinking blue and red. Around her left shoulder was a copper plate of armor mechanized by wires, cogwheels, and copper pipes gushing out steam. She looked, perhaps, more like an android than a witch.

Now the witch turned to the ghost and spoke in a strong voice. "I'm not blaming you, Mr. Fuddlebee, but I think you lost their trail."

"My dear, Miss Broomble," replied Mr. Fuddlebee the ghost in a much softer, quite raspier voice, "it was necessary to make a quick stop."

"Necessary?" asked Miss Broomble the witch, a hint of doubt in her voice. "After months of dead ends, we finally caught up with Margrave, but you halted our chase in London to buy a new umbrella."

"Well, my dear Miss Broomble," the elderly ghost responded, "my old umbrella had a hole in it."

"But you're a ghost, Mr. Fuddlebee. The rain passes through you _and_ through your umbrella."

"Miss Broomble, old men like me might die easily, but old habits die much, much harder."

Unsatisfied with this answer, yet accepting it the way friends accept one another's quirks, Miss Broomble now removed a handheld brass canister from a leather pocket on her belt. Along the canister's side were etched stylish letters: _Mist Map_.

The witch held the brass canister in the air, pressed a button on its top, and out sprayed a fine, dark blue mist in the half-moon light.

The mist formed into a dark blue cloud, which swayed like the sea for a moment, and then shaped itself into a miniature model of the surrounding countryside – with miniature hills and miniature trees and miniature fields of sheep and wheat.

Miss Broomble pointed to one hill on the Mist Map that had two golden dots twinkling on top like stars.

"We're here," she said.

She ran her finger through the mist, which parted like water and then quickly reshaped back into the model.

Miss Broomble frowned. "We last saw Margrave and his henchmen here, at the Old Oak."

Mr. Fuddlebee stroked his goatee thoughtfully. Then he held the tip of his ghostly umbrella up to the Mist Map and he pointed along a small trail that led from the Old Oak to a small house. "I believe, Miss Broomble," the elderly ghost said, "that Margrave and his henchmen fled in this direction."

Miss Broomble looked closer at the small house. Blue cloudy wisps from the Mist Map coiled around her face. "Who lives there, Mr. Fuddlebee?"

The elderly ghost sighed. "I cannot say for certain, but whoever they are, if they have invited Margrave Snick and his two zombie henchmen into their home, their lives will never be the same again. Quickly now! We must dash if we're to save them."

Without another word, hoping that they weren't too late, the ghost and the witch hurried through the Mist Map's dark blue cloud, down the hill into the valley, to the small house – the house where Key lived with her mom and dad, the house where Margrave Snick had just trespassed with his two zombie henchmen.
— CHAPTER THREE —

_Margrave Snick & Zombie Henchmen_

Key's mom and dad did not often worry. When they did, they became kinder than usual.

As they were welcoming in Margrave Snick and his henchmen, Key saw them being extra-kind, even though the vampire was rude and his two henchmen had rotting skin and a bad smell, so Key could tell that her parents were quite worried indeed.

Yet because they taught her by example, she tried to be kind the way they were kind. She cut her birthday cake into three slices, even though it was so small that it only cut into that amount exactly. And she did not mind that there was no cake left anymore for her and her parents. For her, having a slice of birthday cake was not as important as making a small sacrifice for the sake of someone else's needs.

_Yes_ , she assured herself, _everyone needs a slice of birthday cake_.

She put one slice on a plate and handed it to Margrave Snick first because, from her point of view, he looked so out of sorts, so angry, that he appeared to be the most in need.

So that she might be ready with a response, she imagined the vampire taking the cake and thanking her for her kindness. However, when Margrave glared at Key's gift, as if it were completely disgusting to him, she blinked in confusion, wondering why he wasn't taking it, and wondering if he'd even heard of the deliciousness of birthday cakes before. So you can imagine that she was even more confused when the vampire suddenly backhanded the plate, sending the slice sailing across the room and against the wall where the plate shattered into several shards.

Key was so shocked that she let her mouth hang open, not quite knowing what to say or do. She'd never seen anyone be so rude and ungrateful. And she started to wonder if she herself had done something wrong to offend him.

One zombie henchman laughed at Key. It sounded like coughing and sickness.

The other zombie tried to laugh too, but his laughter did not last long as his rotting jaw dropped off his face. With a very embarrassed look, the zombie then scrambled to pick it up and attach it back to his head. He tried to smile but he had attached his jaw so crookedly that now his head looked lopsided with a cockeyed grin.

Margrave Snick sneered at Key as he loomed over her. His long fangs glistened with saliva. He raised his hands over his head like claws. Then he hissed like a crocodile in her face. "You have only one thing that can satisfy my appetite."

And before Key could even think about what that meant, complete chaos suddenly broke out inside her once peaceful home.

One zombie henchman started chasing Key's dad while the other chased her mom. Her dad was strong because of the farming he did and her mom was fast because she was always chasing after lost sheep. But Margrave Snick had increased the strength and speed of these two zombie henchmen, using a recipe of malice with a dash of magic mud, so that now they were much stronger and faster than most mortals. Now not even Key's mom and dad could overpower the dead.

In a rush Margrave Snick grasped Key in his powerful embrace, pulled her close, and sank his long, sharp vampire fangs into her neck.

Key winced and tensed, tightly shutting her eyes. The pain of the vampire's bite was like no pain she'd ever felt before. One moment his fangs felt as cold as ice in her skin; the next they felt as hot as fiery thorns. Key started shivering and sweating at the same time. Her body was tingly all over, from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet and everywhere in between. She felt sick to her stomach as she became weaker and weaker. She felt more tired than she'd ever been before; so tired in fact, that she felt like falling into a long, deep sleep.

Yet when things seemed to be as bad as they could possibly get, something happened that brought a little light into Key's suddenly hopeless home – for right at that moment, Mr. Fuddlebee the elderly ghost came gliding in through the front door with ghostly trails of light swirling around him.

He then unlocked the front door and it burst open.

Now in the doorway stood Miss Broomble the witch, with the gadgets strapped to her arms and legs whirring, prepared for battle.

Mr. Fuddlebee took something out from inside his jacket pocket. It appeared to be no bigger than a grain of sand, for the elderly ghost had to pinch it between his ghostly fingers.

And as he held the grain high overhead, bright white light instantly shone out, which seemed at first as tiny as a pinpoint of starlight, but then grew into a radiance brighter than the sun.

The light filled the whole house. And to Key it seemed as though her house shone with the light of heaven.

Then in a startlingly powerful voice, Mr. Fuddlebee bellowed, "Margrave Snick, you are no longer a vampire! You are no longer immortal! Your power is taken back by the Hand of DIOS!"

The bright white light completely surrounded Key. It did not hurt her eyes, but it blinded her briefly.

She could not see her mom and dad. She could not see the vampire holding her. She could only feel his vampire fangs come out from her neck.

In her ears she could hear Margrave Snick's voice sounding completely horrified as he gasped in shock, "No, it can't be true. I can't be mortal. I can't be human again. I can't—"

The vampire started to utter more, but at that very instant he vanished into thin air.

Key fell to the ground. Her head struck the floor hard.
— CHAPTER FOUR —

_Mr. Fuddlebee & Miss Broomble_

The grain of light pinched between Mr. Fuddlebee's fingers dimmed slowly, before snuffing out altogether like a candle.

He tucked the grain back inside his jacket pocket as Miss Broomble knelt beside Key. The witch gently touched the bite wounds on her neck, but Key was so dazed that she did not quite understand what the witch was doing, caring little about vampire bites, caring only for her mom and dad who did not seem to be responding when Key, in a weak, hoarse voice called out for them, "Mom? Dad? Where are you?"

Were they safe?

Mr. Fuddlebee glided over, with green ghostly trails of light swirling behind him, and he studied Key's condition, his expression a mask of concern.

She heard the ghost and the witch talking, but she felt so strangely tired that she could barely understand them. The more she tried, the more her mind felt groggy and her eyes felt heavy with sleep. She struggled to keep them open and stay awake, but it was no good; she felt she might fall into a deep sleep at any moment.

"Mr. Fuddlebee," the witch said desperately, "the child's been bitten."

"Yes, Miss Broomble," the elderly ghost said more calmly, "she is no longer mortal."

"Of course I'm mortal," Key tried to argue, but she had become so tired she could barely open her mouth. Then she wondered, What does _mortal_ mean?

Miss Broomble tensed her brow. "Margrave Snick has never made another vampire, Mr. Fuddlebee."

"Quite true, Miss Broomble," the elderly ghost said in agreement. "This child is his first."

"There's no telling who she'll become, Mr. Fuddlebee."

"True again, Miss Broomble. This girl might become quite powerful indeed."

_Me?_ thought Key. _Powerful?_ She was not sure if she was awake or asleep. Is this real or a dream? She did not want to be powerful. She just wanted to live a quiet life in her simple home with her mom and dad.

She opened her mouth to try once again speaking with the ghost and the witch. But she stopped, her mouth still open, when she noticed a giant wolf with black and brown fur standing upright on two hind legs.

The giant wolf had suddenly stepped out of the shadows, seemingly out of nowhere, and was now standing behind the ghost and the witch. Yet they kept on talking as though they didn't notice how the wolf's eyes glowed like fiery torches, or how his breathing seemed as deep and rumbly as thunder.

_Where did that wolf come from?_ Key wondered in alarm, starting to feel very afraid of him.

But the giant wolf seemed to be looking at her with an expression of deep love and devotion. He seemed to know Key the way one dear friend knows another. No, it did not seem that the wolf would hurt her at all, although perhaps he might lick her face with buckets of slobber.

Now, apparently noticing his presence for the first time, Mr. Fuddlebee turned and floated before the giant wolf. "Look here, Tudwal old boy," he said in a reproving tone. "Miss Key will be all right in the end. Just leave her to us and we'll take good care of her."

The giant wolf growled at the elderly ghost. The whole house seemed to shake by the power in his voice.

"Goodness me," the elderly ghost said in reply, not bothering to hide the shock in his voice. "Well, yes, I certainly understand you enjoy playing fetch with her, but I had no idea she lets you crawl on the ceiling. It's not the most civilized behavior for an immortal puppy wolf. I shall have to speak with Miss Key about teaching you better manners."

Key did not know what the elderly ghost was referring to. Was he talking about her? She had never before played fetch with a giant wolf who stood on his two hind legs. She had certainly never let one crawl on the ceiling. _I must be having a dream_ , she considered. _It's all very strange_.

Miss Broomble stood beside the elderly ghost. "Mr. Fuddlebee," she said, "because Margrave Snick made this child a vampire, other vampires are going to look at her but see him. Many did not like him, so they will not like her, either."

Mr. Fuddlebee nodded. "Yes, Miss Broomble, I believe you're quite correct. In the same way Margrave Snick was hated and feared, she too will be hated and feared, although the hatred and fear directed toward her will be entirely unjustifiable. That's for certain. For the rest of her life, she must bear the burden of someone else's bad reputation. Now her life is in for a lot of inexcusable pain and punishment. And she's not even ten years old, it seems."

"What are we going to do with her, Mr. Fuddlebee?"

"We are not going to do anything with her, Miss Broomble."

"We can't just abandon her, Mr. Fuddlebee."

"Indeed no, Miss Broomble. We are going to do something for her."

"What do you have in mind, Mr. Fuddlebee?"

"My dear Miss Broomble, we are going to escort this child to the one place we all end up."

Miss Broomble thought about this before responding. "The pub?"

The elderly ghost sighed. "No, Miss Broomble. I was referring, of course, to the Necropolis."

The witch shuddered and her eyes widened with alarm. "The Necropolis?" she asked in an affrighted whisper, putting her hand to her mouth. "You want to take this girl to the _City of the Dead?"_

"No, Miss Broomble," said the elderly ghost. "I do not want to. Yet it must be done."

"Certainly we have other options, Mr. Fuddlebee."

The giant wolf growled again at the elderly ghost.

But he addressed the witch first. "Miss Broomble, take a good look around you. All you'll see is a lack of options. Our hands are tied."

The elderly ghost then turned to the giant wolf. "And as for you, Tudwal old fellow, I ask you to trust my judgment. Your suggestion is good, but we must think more seriously of Miss Key's future _and_ yours. So, no, although it sounds quite fun, we simply cannot take her to live in the passenger seat of a moving vehicle with its windows down."

"Mr. Fuddlebee," said Miss Broomble. "We can't simply leave this child with the Deadlings."

"The Deadlings, Miss Broomble?" the elderly ghost said, his ghostly eyebrows raised doubtfully behind his ghostly spectacles. "Surely you – who are now roughly one hundred years old – are not using that callow term to describe the Necropolis Vampires. They are an ancient race, after all."

"They're monsters, Mr. Fuddlebee."

"We're all monsters, Miss Broomble. Yet not all monsters are bad. Just look at _Skulk the undertaker_. The Christmas card he sent me last year was filled with so many nice words that I was tickled a lighter shade of green. Granted, the words might not have made sense all together, and they were written in blood, but they were very nice words all the same – words like _butterfly_ and _fudge_ and _cotton_."

The elderly ghost sighed.

"No, Miss Broomble, this choice I fear is as unavoidable as death. I may be an amateur enthusiast when it comes to DIOS, but I can say without boasting that I am an authority on death – being a ghost and all. Miss Key here must go to live in the City of the Dead, or else all that we have seen tonight might never happen."

"It might turn out for the better, Mr. Fuddlebee," suggested Miss Broomble, sounding a little hopeful.

"But it might turn out for the worse, Miss Broomble," Mr. Fuddlebee replied, sounding a little hopeless. "Margrave Snick is a mortal again. We should count our blessings. We have done our job as well as we could have, considering the circumstances. We cannot risk having the success of our mission turn out differently for the sake of this child. She must go to the Necropolis. She must suffer Despair, for her sake, for all our sakes."

Miss Broomble looked from the elderly ghost down to Key, still lying on the ground. She pursed her lips in frustration. Then she appeared to suddenly brighten as she smiled and her eyes widened with wonder. "This child's parents should take care of her," she said, a sound of hope returning to her voice. "We could ask Lord Odio McHorrim to change them into vampires, too."

The ghost hung his head sorrowfully. "Alas, the child's parents are gone. Do you see them? No, of course not, and neither do I. They disappeared along with Margrave Snick, I fear."

Key did not like the sound of this. Her parents would have never left without telling her goodbye. Why did they leave? Where could they have gone?

"This child is now an orphan vampire," Mr. Fuddlebee continued. "She has no one to take care of her, except us and DIOS. And we must trust that DIOS knows what she is doing. She would not have led us here, to this very place, to this very moment in time, without having a very important plan."

Key had never before heard the word "orphan," or "DIOS" for that matter. And she did not like being called an orphan. Nor did she have a reason to trust this DIOS person, whoever or whatever she was.

Miss Broomble looked down helplessly at Key. Then the witch let out a long melancholy sigh. "I wish I understood the plan of DIOS. Then it would be much easier to accept it."

"I share your feelings, my dear Miss Broomble," Mr. Fuddlebee said, "but sometimes accepting that we do not understand is the first step in understanding."

Key did not understand what he had just said, it sounded very much like a riddle to her, but that mattered little. She could not stay awake much longer. Her eyelids became too heavy. She blinked to keep awake.

But right before she fell asleep completely, she happened to notice another girl standing beside the giant wolf, whom the ghost had called "Tudwal."

This other girl was clinging onto Tudwal's monstrous leg. This other girl did not care that he had enormous teeth and claws. This other girl was lovingly stroking his thick brown-black fur. In fact, the more Key thought about it, the more she realized that Tudwal the wolf was this other girl's pet.

Key thought this other girl looked very familiar, although her face was a little too out of focus to place.

The other girl let go of the giant wolf, stepped between the ghost and the witch, and she knelt before Key. Now her face came into focus, and as it did, Key saw that this other girl's face looked like a mirror reflection.

This other girl was _another Key!_

This other Key had the same bright blue eyes as Key. This other Key had the same long thick curly red hair as Key. This other Key almost had the same smile, the same walk, the same everything.

But this other Key also had long fangs like Margrave Snick. And her skin was as pale as a porcelain doll.

Key had never seen herself look so beautiful – and so scary.

This other Key was wearing a very strange outfit, the likes of which Key had never seen before. This other Key had on a long dark green jacket over a white blouse. Around her middle was a copper bodice covered with gauges and cogwheels. She wore black fingerless gloves, violet shorts, and a pair of mechanical boots with lights and gauges and wires. Above her eyes were metal goggles with several swiveling lenses of various sizes. Holstered to her side was a brass-plated pistol. Clutched in one hand was a bronze rifle, much taller than her, and loaded with copper canisters and wrapped in glass tubes filled with blue and red ink.

This other Key seemed the same age as Key – nine years old.

But her eyes looked like the eyes of a much older woman. They were red with tears. They had seen too much Despair.

_Am I crying_ , Key wondered, _or is she?_

This other Key wiped away the tears from her own cheek. Then she wiped away a tear rolling down Key's cheek also.

They both smiled at one another.

The other Key's smile did not look happy, but sorrowful.

Then this other Key spoke in a voice as gentle as a lullaby. "I wish I could save you from the suffering you're about to go through. I wish I could save you from the Deadlings and the Necropolis Castle. I wish I could save you from Old Queen Crinkle. I wish I could save you from the Dungeon of Despair. But I can't. You need to go into Despair so that I can come out of it. But I want you to know – because you need to know – that I love you very much, and that you're going to be all right, Key the vampire."

Now the other Key's smile seemed a little happier.

"Happy birth-night," she added.
— CHAPTER FIVE —

_City of the Dead_

Key awoke in the back of a black carriage.

Outside it was night; the half-moon was high in the sky. The carriage was riding through a dark forest.

All of a sudden she noticed she wasn't alone. Mr. Fuddlebee the elderly ghost was sitting beside her, inasmuch as an elderly ghost can sit in a carriage bumping along a dirt road. Key had the impression that he was not riding in the carriage, but floating in a seated position along with it because, whenever the carriage hit a bump along the way, he briefly passed right through it, or it passed through him – Key could not tell which.

He had been looking through one of the windows. And when he sensed that she had awoken, he turned to her and smiled a warm greeting. "Welcome back to the living," he said, "so to speak."

Key looked around the carriage. She'd never been in one before, and she wondered now if all carriages looked like this one.

All around her were dials and gauges and copper wiring. There were levers and switches and buttons with blinking lights. There were clocks and gears and brass rods with currents of electricity zapping between them.

There was also a strange brass horn coiled into a dumbwaiter on the other side of the carriage. In case you don't know (because Key didn't and she had to ask Mr. Fuddlebee about it) a dumbwaiter is a little elevator about the size of a shoebox. "Having them in your carriage is a rare treat," Mr. Fuddlebee explained, "for most dumbwaiters are in mansions. All sorts of things are sent through them from one part of the mansion to another."

"What sort of things?" wondered Key aloud.

"Well," replied Mr. Fuddlebee thoughtfully, "things like books and bells and breakfast for normal mansions, and for Mystical Mansions things like fangs and bats and bedgoblins."

Key had heard of hobgoblins before, but never _bedgoblins_. She was about to ask Mr. Fuddlebee about them when he leaned forward and spoke into the mouth of the brass horn. "Chai tea with maple syrup, please."

Then he leaned back in the carriage seat and waited until steam rushed out from the sides of the dumbwaiter. That must have been the sign he was looking for because, with a contended smile, he slid up the dumbwaiter's door and reached inside. But his smile quickly vanished when he discovered that the shoebox-sized elevator was empty.

The elderly ghost sighed irritably, muttering to himself, "The GadgetTronic Brothers must make another update to this infernal contraption."

Then he leaned so deep inside the dumbwaiter that Key wondered how far down it went below the carriage. She could hear Mr. Fuddlebee repeating his order in a louder, more commanding tone, his voice seeming to echo a great distance. "I said, _Chai tea with maple syrup!"_ He closed the door abruptly, but opened it once more to add into the dumbwaiter, _"Please!"_

Then he shut the door again and sat back on the carriage seat. He looked over to Key to say in a calmer tone, "It's always best to be polite, you know."

Then he took out his ghostly pocket watch and studied it for a moment.

Once a brief spell had passed, he seemed satisfied. Mr. Fuddlebee then slid open once more the dumbwaiter door, and to Key's great surprise, now inside was a silver tea tray. On the tea tray was a china tea set and beside that was a bottle of maple syrup.

Mr. Fuddlebee took out the tea tray. Metal legs automatically extended beneath it so that the tea tray became a tea table.

Then he set the tea table before Key. He poured a generous helping of maple syrup into the teacup and filled the rest of the cup with chai tea. He stirred it with a teaspoon and then brought the teacup to his nose to smell the flavorful scent. His bottle-green color darkened with delight.

Mr. Fuddlebee offered Key the cup. "You'll probably want something a little stronger later," he said, "such as strawberry blood nectar with perhaps some Snuckle Truffles on the side. But I've always found a good cup of tea quite refreshing, especially one sweetened with maple syrup."

Key thought the tea had a delicious scent. She felt very thirsty, but, as she missed her mom and dad very much, she did not have much of an appetite.

"I want to go home," she told Mr. Fuddlebee in a piteous tone.

The elderly ghost sighed thoughtfully. Then he told Key all he could about what had happened to her parents. "I do not know much," he admitted, "but what I do know I will share." He told her how they had fought bravely against the two zombies. He told her how they had tried to fight against Margrave Snick. He told her how they had sacrificed themselves to save Key.

This was all so confusing. The only thing Key could recall was that Margrave Snick had bitten her neck. She had no idea that her mom and dad had done so much.

But then a startling question came into Key's mind. "How did they save me if I was turned into a vampire?"

Mr. Fuddlebee gave a long melancholy sigh. "There are worse fates, my dear," he said.

"Like what?"

"Well," Mr. Fuddlebee said sadly, "like being half a witch and half a werewolf. Such an unfortunate occurrence did indeed happen to my dear friend Winifred. She's never been the same since. With hind paws like hers, how on earth will she ever rollerblade again?"

Once Key had a few sips of Mr. Fuddlebee's chai tea with maple syrup, she began to feel warm inside. A red glow came into her cheeks. And now, with a little more hope in her voice, she turned to the elderly ghost and asked, "How did my mom and dad sacrifice themselves for me?"

Mr. Fuddlebee was not entirely sure how to answer her. After taking a minute or two to consider this, he spoke to her in a reassuring tone. "Do not fret, my dear. SPOOK has launched a thorough investigation into the matter. We'll get to the bottom of this oddly odious kerfuffle."

Key wrinkled her nose in confusion. "What's SPOOK?"

Mr. Fuddlebee proudly straightened his bowtie and sat up a little higher. He spelled it out for her: "S-P-O-O-K stands for _Subcommittee Preventing Oddly Odious Kerfuffles_."

"What's a _kerfuffle?"_ Key inquired.

Mr. Fuddlebee opened his mouth to speak, but he paused with a look of confusion on his ghostly face. After pondering her question for a moment or two, he could only shrug and confess, "You know, my dear, I'm not entirely sure. But if it's anything like what I've seen in the field, then it's definitely odd and most definitely odious."

"What does _odious_ mean?" Key asked.

Mr. Fuddlebee thought about this too, but in the end all he could say was, "If my work is mysterious to you, just imagine how mysterious it must be to me also."

Key did not think this made much sense. "But nothing has made much sense today," she remarked sorrowfully to herself.

Key looked out the window and noticed that the carriage was heading straight for a large mountain. She grew worried when it seemed they were going to collide into it. But at the last possible moment, the carriage drove straight into a tunnel that took them far underground, deep down into the mountain's unfathomable depths.

Mr. Fuddlebee leaned close to Key and spoke in a hushed tone, as if fearful someone might hear him. "This is Morrow Mountain, my dear. The Dwarves of Morrow live in the mountain's upper crust while the Necropolis is in the lowest realms. The Dwarves are excellent fellows. I hope you get a chance to meet them. Their pumpkin rum is to die for – again."

The tunnel had been carved into the mountain's rock. It wound around and around so much that the journey under the mountain seemed to take an eternity. The chai tea kept Key awake for a while, as the carriage bumped along. But soon the effects of the tea wore off, and Key began to get very drowsy. Her eyes became heavy with sleep. And not too much later, Key began to doze in the darkness under the fabled Morrow Mountain.

But she awoke with a start as the carriage hit a particularly large bump, which Mr. Fuddlebee hardly noticed at all.

Key wondered how long she'd been asleep. The elderly ghost had returned his attention to the scene outside the window. Key could not quite tell what he was looking at; all she saw at first through the window was total darkness. Then she sat up and peered more intently. And what she saw now amazed her!

The carriage had entered into a cave so enormous that it didn't seem like a cave at all. The ceiling appeared to be the nighttime sky. But Mr. Fuddlebee explained to her otherwise. "No, my dear, those aren't stars above us and we're not looking at starlight or constellations. On the contrary, you're looking at the ceiling of the Necropolis, which is so far above us at this point that no vampire in the world would be able to see the stalactites hanging down – which is a special variety grown by the Dwarves of Morrow. No, what appear to be stars are actually the Un-snuff-outable Torchlights of the Dwarves. Good chaps! Always working, always mining, always singing and drinking pumpkin rum."

The more Key looked up at the ceiling, the more she thought that being in this place was like being beneath an eternal nighttime sky.

The carriage rode past numerous graveyards and tombstones and mausoleums. There were so many burial places that Key could not count them all. They stretched on and on, into the distance, into the darkness, like grains of sand along the shore of a pitch-black sea.

Mr. Fuddlebee turned to look gravely into Key's eyes. "Welcome," he said to her in the eerie whisper of ghosts, "to the City of the Dead – the Necropolis."

The carriage rode past more and more graveyards, but it also rode past skeletons with cameras slung around their necks, and past burly trolls wearing Hawaiian shirts, and past a family of goblins in a station wagon.

Finally the carriage pulled up to a castle so gigantic that Key could not even see the top of the tallest tower or count the number of cannons sticking out of the castle's great wall.

Within the wall and all around the castle were millions of gravestones, thousands of tombs and towers, and hundreds of turrets, all of different shapes and sizes. Most were so crooked that Key thought they might topple over at any moment.

Mr. Fuddlebee exited the carriage, and Key timidly followed. She'd never been in any place like this. It was all so strange, and even a little wonderful. The darkness seemed like a living fog, pressing against the torchlights that hung from the castle and its graveyards. Key could not place the scent in the air, but it was like ice and dust and caramel and spice.

Mr. Fuddlebee took Key's hand and he led her across a very long drawbridge. The touch of his hand was like freezing cold air. "Careful, my dear," he said to her. "Do not fall into Melancholy Moat. A Kraken lives at the bottom, and he refuses to entertain visitors on Hobdays."

Key looked over the edge of the drawbridge at Melancholy Moat. She didn't like the idea of falling in or visiting with a Kraken because the black water looked as thick as oil and also because she had no idea what a Kraken was, but it didn't sound friendly at all. Yet she could not help herself when she asked Mr. Fuddlebee, "What day is Hobday?"

"Well," the elderly ghost said, "it's kind of like half of Tuesday, with an eighth of Friday and a sprinkle of Sunday. It can be a very relaxing day, if you know how to do it right."

Mr. Fuddlebee led Key through the castle's main gate. He led her past Living Gargoyles that laughed at her like crows. He led her past vampire guards who glared at her with contempt. Finally he led her past Snooty Suits of Armor that turned away from her with a rather snobbish air, whispering to themselves, "Look at her dress, how shabby, I bet you can't even polish it."

No one seemed to like Key at all. She wondered what she'd done wrong.

Inside the castle's main doors was a large room filled with a grand chandelier, old paintings, tapestries, tables, chairs, and sofas. It might have looked like any old room in any old castle, but in the Necropolis Castle there were also many things floating all over the place, like swords and spoons and spindles and soap, and a bust of a peculiar looking vampire called _Lord Flumpsy Nimbleshanks_.

As Mr. Fuddlebee led Key through the room, the floating objects parted for them. He explained that some objects were floating because of enchantments, while most were floating because castle ghosts were carrying them. "The ghosts are like me," Mr. Fuddlebee remarked, "yet unlike me, these poor chaps are the castle servants. The vampires who live in this castle forbid these ghosts from appearing or speaking. Only ghosts like myself are allowed to be seen and heard."

Mr. Fuddlebee also explained how the vampires who lived in the Necropolis Castle were called the Clan of the Necropolis Vampires. "Yet some Mystical Creatures call them the Necropolis Vampires," he added, "although most just call them The Deadlings."

"Now that I must live in the Necropolis," Key said, "must I also be called a Deadling?"

"That term is too generalized to describe the Necropolis Vampires, for not all are Deadlings," Mr. Fuddlebee told her. "Moreover, you are what you work to become: If you work not to become a Deadling, then you will be someone else."

Key did not like the castle or the Necropolis. It was too dark and cold. She missed the sunlight and the daisies. "Why would anyone live here?" inquired Key.

"The Necropolis Vampires," Mr. Fuddlebee explained, "are the Keepers of the Dead."

"Why must the dead be kept?" Key asked.

"Well," Mr. Fuddlebee said matter-of-factly, "if no one kept them, can you imagine the negative reaction most people would have seeing the Dead lining up for a morning cup of Joe?"

The elderly ghost paused with second thoughts.

Then he leaned down to Key and spoke in a low tone, "And when I say, 'a cup of Joe,' I am of course not referring to coffee."

Key and Mr. Fuddlebee walked down a long hall with a red carpet.

A group of Necropolis Vampires passed by. Some of them sneered and scowled at Key. Others pointed and snickered at her. It was clear that Margrave Snick's evil reputation had arrived long before Key's carriage. The Necropolis Vampires had already made up their minds to dislike her because they disliked Margrave Snick.

So she was beginning to feel more alone and lonely than ever, and it was only her first night in the Necropolis. How was she supposed to spend the rest of her life here? She wished Mr. Fuddlebee had not brought her to this terrible castle. She wished she had not been made a vampire. She wished her mom and dad would rescue her. She did not want to drink blood. She only wanted to live a simple life on her farm, baking bread and weaving blankets that everyone loved.

She put her face in her hands and began to weep.

Mr. Fuddlebee knelt down to her. "Yes, that's right, my dear," he said, "best to have it all out now before we go in to see the Queen of the Necropolis. She does not take too well to weeping. The last child she saw weeping in her presence she fed to Warhag."

Key looked up at Mr. Fuddlebee. "What's Warhag?" she asked through a sniffle.

The elderly ghost shuddered. "Aside from Margrave Snick, Warhag is perhaps the deadliest Mystical Creature ever to grace the Necropolis. Don't let her cuddly orange fur fool you."

Mr. Fuddlebee waited with Key until she could weep no more. He touched her gently on the shoulder. "It is time," he said with a heavy heart. "We must go in."

And so Mr. Fuddlebee brought Key into the Royal Court of the Necropolis Castle, where hundreds more vampires were gathered around an old queen on a throne – Queen of the Vampire Castle, Queen of the Necropolis – Old Queen Crinkle.
— CHAPTER SIX —

_A Birth-night Party_

You probably think of a queen as a stately looking woman wearing long beautiful robes and a golden crown bedecked with many varieties of jewels.

But the Queen of the Necropolis was not that kind of queen at all. Being Queen of the City of the Dead was like being President of Piddle. The Queen of the Necropolis ruled over a land that no one wanted to see or think about.

Key looked over Old Queen Crinkle and noticed that her crown was made of spoons, her scepter was made of wire hangers, her rings were steel nuts and bolts, and her royal robes were patchwork. To Key, this Queen did not seem like the queens she read about in fairytales.

Key then looked around at the Royal Court. It did not take long for her to decide that she did not like it one bit. It was held in a gloomy chamber of gray stone. Enchanted torches floated all around. Magic tapestries hovered before the walls. Red ribbons were knotting and unknotting themselves on large wrought iron chandeliers. Instruments appeared to be floating in a corner – but Key soon learned that it was only invisible minstrel ghosts playing music on lutes, flutes, cymbals, and tambourines that swayed back and forth in rhythm.

Mr. Fuddlebee spoke to Key in a low tone. "Tonight the Royal Court is celebrating Old Queen Crinkle's birth-night."

Key remembered how that other Key had wished her a Happy Birth-night also. Aside from this night being the strangest and saddest she'd ever known, Key could not help but wonder what "Birth- _night"_ meant.

"Well," Mr. Fuddlebee explained, "Vampires do not say 'birthday.' Daylight would destroy them – if they were lucky. If they were unlucky, it would make them sparkle. So you see, for a vampire, saying 'day' is like saying 'sun,' and saying 'sun' is like saying 'death.' So saying 'Happy Birthday' to a vampire would be like wishing them 'Happy Birth- _death!' _Or 'Happy Sparkle-day!' – which for many vampires is a far worse fate."

Key noticed a large banner over the throne with the words, _Happy Four Hundred Twenty Seventh Birth-Night!_ The Old Queen looked very old to Key, as her face was thin and bony – a face that might have been kindly and benevolent, once upon a time, yet now it was lined from ages of scowling. Even so, Key could hardly believe that Old Queen Crinkle was turning four hundred twenty seven years old.

"Was Margrave Snick that old too?" Key inquired.

"Older," Mr. Fuddlebee said with a sigh. "He was supposed to be changed back into a mortal when he turned seven hundred seventy seven years old. But he has an uncanny knack for fleeing from the law."

"He's almost eight hundred years old?" said Key in astonishment.

"Older," Mr. Fuddlebee said again with another sigh.

The Queen's age marveled Key, but Margrave Snick's age was almost beyond understanding. The more Key imagined what it would be like to live for eight hundred years, the more mysterious it seemed.

But then another idea came into her head.

"You said that Margrave Snick _has_ an uncanny knack for fleeing from the law," she said to the elderly ghost. "Surely you mean that he had a knack, don't you? Margrave Snick is no longer alive, right?"

Mr. Fuddlebee went _"Hmmm"_ and then he said in a mysterious tone, "We shall see."

Mr. Fuddlebee led Key a few paces before the Queen's throne and then he stopped, just out of reach of the Royal Scepter, which looked a little sharper now that Key could see it up close.

Old Queen Crinkle scowled at Mr. Fuddlebee. Then she fixed her angry look upon Key while her court vampires circled around the girl and the elderly ghost like a pack of hungry hyenas. "So this is the child," the Queen said in a dark, raspy voice, as she scrutinized Key up and down. "This is the one made by Margrave?"

Mr. Fuddlebee did not seem at all bothered by the other vampires, but hovered contentedly beside Key with the tips of his shoes skimming over the floor. Cordially greeting the Queen, he tipped his bowler hat toward her in a respectful manner. "My dear Crinkle," the elderly ghost said, putting on his best smile for her, yet, because he didn't call her "queen," her scowl became much more _scowlier_ , as she returned her attention back to him. "I had no idea," he went on, "that you knew anything about this child's most unfortunate circumstances. Did perhaps Margrave mention to you he was going to pay her family a visit?"

Key got the sense that these two had a long history together, and that the Queen had never liked Mr. Fuddlebee very much. Then again, sensing the general air of loathing that seemed to hang around the Queen like a dark cloud, Key wondered if she liked anyone at all.

Old Queen Crinkle narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Mr. Fuddlebee. "Is this official SPOOK business?" she asked. "If you want to know about my association with Margrave Snick, then you'll need a Warlock's Warrant from the Department of Injustice."

"Well then, my dear Crinkle," Mr. Fuddlebee said, not at all fazed by the Queen's unhelpful attitude, "how in the world did you ever hear about Margrave making this child a vampire?"

Old Queen Crinkle cleared her throat nervously, giving herself a little pause before speaking again. And when she did, her voice sounded much more controlled. "We heard about it on the Welkin City news."

Key had never heard of Welkin City, but it was clear that Mr. Fuddlebee knew all about it, because his green glowing face brightened as he said, "Ah! Yes, of course, the Welkin City news. But my dear Matilda," (Key guessed that Old Queen Crinkle's first name was Matilda) "I had no idea," he went on, "that you had the Necropolis Castle outfitted with Optomechs, as Optomech projection is the only legal means of watching any Welkin City broadcast nowadays."

Old Queen Crinkle was silent for a moment, glaring at Mr. Fuddlebee. It seemed to Key that, in this dialogue between these two old acquaintances, Mr. Fuddlebee was maneuvering the Queen the way a chess master maneuvers pieces along a board. Finally, Old Queen Crinkle responded, but in a quieter, bitterer, less commanding tone than before. "You know that we have been forbidden the use of Optomechs since the Goblin Revolt of 1914. You were the one, after all, who issued that regulation in the first place."

"Was I?" Mr. Fuddlebee said, trying to sound innocent. "Ah yes, well, I must have forgotten that small detail. But I am deeply grateful to you now for 'jogging' my memory, as they say these days. But I would be more grateful to you if you told me how you came across the information that Margrave Snick sired a child tonight."

Now Old Queen Crinkle looked really worried and irritated. She had been checkmated into a corner and she had nowhere else to go, except into the truth – which was a place she visited about as often as she visited the Labyrinth Library – that is to say, about once every hundred years or so, give or take a decade. So, very slowly, she shifted in her throne; and at long length spoke only one word, a word which made the eyes of every vampire in her court go wide with fear...

"Deborah."

Mr. Fuddlebee leaned a little bit forward, cupping his ghostly hand to his ghostly ear. "Excuse me," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't catch that. Did you say _'fibber'?_ Because I've never heard of a 'fibber' telling the news before, except maybe poorly."

"Deborah," the Queen said again, only slightly louder, and with a lot more concern in her voice. "I said, Deborah."

All the vampires in the court shifted their gaze from the Queen to Mr. Fuddlebee, to see what he would do.

Even Key looked up at him inquisitively, yet wondering in a soft voice, "Who's Deborah?"

"Deborah," Mr. Fuddlebee said flatly, "the Diabolical Unicorn."

Old Queen Crinkle harrumphed and looked away, clutching her scepter tighter and muttering to herself about "plans to take over the underworld."

"Who's Deborah," Key whispered up at Mr. Fuddlebee.

The elderly ghost winked at her. "Aside from the mention of her being your ticket into the Necropolis," he explained to her, "she has the ability to channel through her horn current events throughout the world." Mr. Fuddlebee returned his attention to the Queen and spoke in a more commanding voice. "Under SPOOK regulation 2B-M1, Deborah, like the Optomechs, is also forbidden to use her powers here in the Necropolis, as well as in other major cities like Paris and New Orleans. Yet somehow, someone has disregarded that regulation, awoken Deborah from her partially dead slumber, and coerced her into using her power; for, although she is Diabolical, she is not a fool. Only a fool would think that she could break SPOOK regulation and get away with it."

Mr. Fuddlebee glided a little closer to the throne.

"Is Deborah a fool?" he asked the Queen.

Old Queen Crinkle's eyes smoldered with rage at the elderly ghost. "What do you want?" she growled.

Mr. Fuddlebee gestured for Key to come forward. She did, and stood by his side, yet she still cautiously eyed the Queen's sharp scepter. Mr. Fuddlebee looked intently at Old Queen Crinkle. "This child needs a new home," he told her.

The Queen tapped her scepter on the floor. She studied Key with scorn. "This is Margrave's child," she said. "Let the dead raise the dead."

Several brown-nosing vampires in the court began clapping instantly because they thought the Queen had made a joke. But as the Queen was not in a joking mood, she ordered them to be thrown into the Toag cage for being a public nuisance. Key looked on helplessly as those brown-nosing vampires were dragged away by Snooty Suits of Armor, who were saying to them, "Come on now, it's not all that bad," while the brown-nosing vampires were wailing pitifully, "No, not the Toag cage, anything but the Toags!"

Mr. Fuddlebee shook his head as he addressed the Queen. "Margrave Snick cannot take care of this child for a number of reasons," he said. "For one, never before has there been a more unfit guardian for taking care of children. Another reason is that Margrave is no longer a vampire; his power was taken by the Hand of DIOS."

The news report had evidently not covered Margrave Snick's fate because, at the mention of the Hand of DIOS, every vampire in the court gasped and took a step back in fright. Even Old Queen Crinkle flinched and stared with wide eyes at Mr. Fuddlebee. "Margrave Snick," she said a little doubtfully, "is mortal again?"

"Quite so," Mr. Fuddlebee said solemnly.

Just then a frail, pale vampire girl stepped in front of Key. She looked a little older than her, but age is difficult to tell with immortals. She could have been a century old vampire in the body of a thirteen-year-old girl. She had short blonde hair and dark rings around her eyes. She wore a tight black jacket, black pants, and tall black boots. Her clothes were made of tiny dragon scales that twinkled in the torchlight.

She sneered and snickered at Key's birthday dress.

"Hello, my dear Raithe," Mr. Fuddlebee greeted the frail, pale vampire girl. "I certainly hope that we're staying out of trouble tonight. I hope you weren't involved in this Deborah debacle. You no doubt recall our previous conversation. You do recall it, don't you? How important it is to avoid thinking of ourselves as Deadlings? It's the best way to avoid breaking any further SPOOK regulations. We don't want to end up frozen in Coppertine, do we?"

Raithe's sneering snicker quickly vanished at the mention of this. She backed away from Key and Mr. Fuddlebee, but said defiantly, "I'm not afraid of you or Margrave Snick. And I for one don't think his orphan should stay here with us – for one simple reason." Raithe paused dramatically to make her words sound more important. Then she added, "Margrave's child looks like a troll."

Key thought Raithe was beautiful on the outside. But the inside of this frail, pale vampire girl seemed like a cellar – empty and dark.

Raithe pointed in Key's face and shouted with cruel laughter, "Troll!"

A gang of vampires nearby erupted into laughter also. The laughter contagiously spread to other vampires, and soon the whole court was filled with vampires laughing at Key and mocking her. Even the Queen's scowl turned into a malicious sneer when everyone started calling Key a "troll."

Key had never been called a troll before. She had never been laughed at either. Being called a troll and being mocked hurt the way Margrave's bite had hurt. But this new kind of pain seemed to sink in a little deeper.

"Crudgel," shouted Raithe all of a sudden, and Key instantly feared that this Crudgel was some kind of weapon, as if she could be hurt any more that night. But she was both relieved and alarmed when a tall, thick vampire boy stepped from the crowd. His black hair hung in his face. He had a silver ring in his nose like a bull. He wore wide black breeches, tall black boots, a white shirt, and a black jerkin. Crudgel looked like he was maybe fifteen, although he could have been fifty, yet he acted like a two-year-old, snorting in Key's face and pointing at her with his thick fingers.

"If this Troll stays here," Raithe said to Crudgel, "what do you think we should do with her?"

Crudgel licked his lips hungrily at Key. "Can we eat her?" he asked, laughing like an ape.

Key drew closer to Mr. Fuddlebee. She did not know the elderly ghost very well, but she felt more comfortable with him than she did with these other vampires. She tried wrapping her arms around him but she passed right through his waistcoat.

Raithe shouted in mockery at Key, "Troll!"

The vampire gang behind her started jeering also. "Troll!" they shouted together. "Dungeon Troll!" they shouted some more. Then they began dancing around her, pointing in her face, and making ugly faces at her.

With a sudden surge of confidence and determination, Key decided that she was not going to stand for this rude behavior any longer. She had never experienced so much hate before, and she could not understand why these other vampires would not like her, wondering at the same time if they even liked themselves. So in a loud voice she shouted, "KEY!"

In an instant the minstrel ghosts stopped playing, and the vampires stopped dancing and laughing, and the ribbons stopped knotting, and everyone in the Royal Court fell as silent as the grave, utterly shocked and amazed at Key's sudden outburst – even Key – everyone, that is, except Mr. Fuddlebee, who seemed to be smiling on her with fatherly pride. Rarely had one so young spoken with such power and magic in her voice.

"Key," she said again, yet more gently this time. "My name is Key." She was trying to keep up her confidence and her determination, but by the faltering tone in her voice, she doubted she was succeeding.

Mr. Fuddlebee glided uncomfortably close to the Queen's throne. "SPOOK law authorizes me to place this child where I believe she will best thrive."

The Queen raised her eyebrows doubtfully at Mr. Fuddlebee. "You believe she will thrive in the City of the Dead?"

"Not at all," Mr. Fuddlebee replied. "But my hands are tied presently."

"What can bind a ghost's hands," the Queen asked, subtly studying Mr. Fuddlebee's wrists, perhaps hoping that they were literally bound in ghostly shackles.

"Time, unfortunately, binds me," Mr. Fuddlebee responded in a tone of great regret.

"That is not a good enough reason," the Queen retorted.

"Perhaps not," Mr. Fuddlebee replied, looking around the court, "but regulation 2B-M1 has been violated, and I can count about twelve more violations in this very room. Now, if you prefer SPOOK not to come down on you like the Hammer of Hades, then I highly recommend you accept this child into your home, my dear Crinkle. And," he added almost as an afterthought, "this does not mean throwing her to the Toags."

Old Queen Crinkle stared at Mr. Fuddlebee with burning ferocity. She looked as if she were ready to shout out her hate, shout about how unfair it was of SPOOK and Mr. Fuddlebee and the Society of Mystical Creatures to place this burden upon her, as if Key was a burden. But to Key's relief, the Queen did not shout. Instead she whispered, which, to Key's dismay, sounded much more threatening than if she had shouted her lungs out. "Fine," the Queen spat. "The child can live with us amongst the dead."

Key's new home had been decided for her.

Crudgel laughed sinisterly at her and his gang of vampires laughed with him. They all watched Raithe to see if she would laugh too, but Raithe wasn't even smiling. Instead she was giving Key the blackest look one might receive. So, without Raithe's support, Crudgel and the vampire gang stopped laughing as well, nudging each other in the side to quiet down, for fear of being as disliked as Key.

At that moment, Key realized that the Queen might be in charge of the Castle and the Necropolis, but Raithe seemed most definitely in charge of the vampires. Key also realized that Raithe was someone who would not show her anger immediately, but let it churn inside her like bubbles in a bottle, ready to burst at any moment. Key decided that Raithe would make an excellent queen of the Necropolis, and she hoped that would never ever happen.

Mr. Fuddlebee now lowered to the floor, kneeling on one knee before Key. From behind his ghostly spectacles, his green eyes stared kindly at her. "Now, my dear," he said softly, "I must leave you. But you and I will see one another again. I can assure you of that."

"Don't leave me," Key whispered to him. Tears began pooling in her eyes. "I don't like it here."

Mr. Fuddlebee nodded sympathetically. "In time you will explain to me the reason you must stay."

Key wiped away her tears. "I don't understand that." She sniffled. "Please, stay here with me," she begged.

"No matter what happens remember this," Mr. Fuddlebee whispered. "You're stronger than you realize. Everything will be all right in the end. There is a great plan at work for you."

He kissed her forehead. The kiss felt like ice. Key would have preferred a kiss from her mom and dad; she wished she'd had a chance to tell them goodbye. Yet she didn't want to say goodbye to Mr. Fuddlebee. Although she knew him very little, she had seen enough of the Necropolis to know that she did not want to be left alone with creatures whose hearts were the deadest thing around.

But in the end, Mr. Fuddlebee had to go. There was no convincing him otherwise. Yet he did not tell Key goodbye, but instead said, "Until the next time we meet," and it made Key feel a little better, knowing that Mr. Fuddlebee would come back for her.

The elderly ghost then glided high up into the air, with ghost dust swirling behind him in trails of pale green light.
— CHAPTER SEVEN —

_The Dungeon of Despair_

Old Queen Crinkle watched Mr. Fuddlebee float up and away and disappear through the vaulted ceiling, high above the heads of the Royal Court.

A few tense moments passed, until it became clear to all that Mr. Fuddlebee, Minister of SPOOK, Keeper of the Hand of DIOS, was not returning. Not long after that, Old Queen Crinkle's malevolent grin widened, and she turned her gaze down from the ceiling upon Key. Her expression then slowly melted from delight (that Mr. Fuddlebee had gone) to utter disgust (that he had left Key "the troll" behind). With an impatient tone, Old Queen Crinkle snapped a command to her court of vampires. "Throw this troll in the dungeon!"

Now, the instant before Key heard those horrid words, when she realized that Mr. Fuddlebee was most definitely not returning, she tried to prepare herself for anything bad that might happen – anything at all. But upon hearing the word "dungeon," Key's heart sank because no matter how many bad things she imagined, she never guessed that she would be thrown into the dungeon of a castle in the City of the Dead.

Raithe's face twisted into a mixed expression of happiness and hate as she heard the Queen's order. Then she repeated it with even more vigor. "Throw the Troll in the dungeon!"

The other vampires moved at her command and the whole vampire court instantly became festive again. Cheering began all around. Crudgel raised his fists over his head like an ape as he shouted, "Let's get on with the Queen's birth-night party!" Then his whole gang of vampires cheered with him, "Happy four hundred twenty seven crinkly years!"

Several red ribbons swooped down from the wrought iron chandeliers and bound Key's hands in doubled knots. Enchanted tapestries began moving as if dancing for joy. The minstrel ghosts started playing an ironically lively funeral dirge on Key's behalf.

Crudgel and his vampire gang swarmed past Raithe and surrounded Key like bees. They grabbed her, picked her up off the ground, and held her up high in the air. While they carried her around the court, they pulled her long red hair, struck her, called her horrible names, and laughed in her face.

As if things could not get any worse for Key, now several Snooty Suits of Armor returned to the court, followed by some of the Living Gargoyles that Key had met on the drawbridge. The two groups joined the vampire gang and together the whole malicious party carried Key to the dungeon – despite the fact that she was the smallest vampire in the castle.

Raithe led the vampire gang from the Royal Court down a long hallway. To Key's amazement, she was not walking on the floor, but on the ceiling with her arms folded feistily and her lips coiled in a cunning smirk.

The gang carried Key past several rooms. She could not keep them all straight. There was the Curious Common Room, the Demented Dining Room, and the Black Magic Billiard Room. There were also several more rooms for practicing swimming in blood, fencing with bones, and name-calling. And still some more rooms seemed to be alive with monstrous arms and legs coming up from the floor, great eyes blinking beside couches, and large mouths yawning beneath coffee tables. As Key was carried past one room in particular, a wide mouth in the carpet greeted her in a deep voice, "Well, hello there, Miss Frumpydoo."

The gang carried Key along several twisting and turning hallways, and down numerous flights of winding stairs. Key tried to remember the way they were going in case she could figure out a way of escape – one left, two rights, three lefts, one upside down, one one-and-a-half right side ups – but in the end, the Necropolis Castle was too much like a maze, and she felt utterly lost.

When things seemed to be at their lowest, the Living Gargoyles, the Snooty Suits of Armor, and the vampire gang began chanting a cruel song, as if they had been oddly prepared to torture Key.

_Toss the Troll away_

_before the break of day._

_She's wrecked our birth-night bash._

_Let's burn her into ash!_

_Let's eat this wrecking Troll!_

_Let's toss her in a hole!_

_Let's keep our birth-nights safe_

_from this Trollish waif,_

_this ragamuffin,_

_this urchin we'll roughen_

_in the dungeon, in the deep_

_in the darkest hole we keep._

_Let the dungeon be her grave,_

_till she's eaten by the Knave_

_or by Toags with purple beaks_

_or by great big Crunkle Cheeks_

_or by the Sneezing Bogglesaurus_

_or the Wheezing Furble Chorus._

_Let her heart be staked._

_Let her toes be baked._

_Let her nose be boiled._

_Let her fingers be oiled._

_Let her live her life_

_in loneliness and strife_

_in a darkness to beware_

_in the Dungeon of Despair!_

The vampire gang carried Key down to the lowest part of the castle, until they came to a stone hallway, long and dark. The air down there was much colder and very thin, and it smelled of smoke and pepper and pigs.

The gang stopped just outside a door that one vampire called, " _massumongous_ ," which was barred and locked on the outside. Key assumed that massumongous meant that the door was both massive and humongous – even though the word _humongous_ comes from the words _huge_ and _enormous_ , which would make this door massively huge in its enormity. Key thought that was a very accurate description because this particular door stretched so high above her head that she could not see the top.

In the middle of this massumongous door was a large bronze knocker with the face of a hideous troll. The troll's facial expression was frozen in a look of horror, with wide eyes and a grotesquely opened mouth. The look said in so many words to Key: "Despair: Once in, never out!"

Key had no idea what lay beyond the door, but her imagination was conjuring all sorts of horrible monsters that lived in the dark on the other side, just waiting to gobble her up.

Crudgel snickered at Key as he climbed up the door to unbar the bars and unlock the locks. He leaped down and struggled to swing it open. Several more vampires had to help him. Dust fell like snow from the doorframe. The hinges screamed for lack of oil. It was clear to Key that the dungeon door had not been opened for a long, long time and that nothing had come out for perhaps a much longer time.

"How long will I be down there?" she wondered in fear as the door opened wider. She tried to look more intently into the dark, but, although her new vampire vision was excellent, she could not see much beyond the doorframe. The dungeon's darkness was so thick you could almost slice through it with a knife – like the birthday cake she never got to have. No, she could only see an old stone stairwell that led down into pitch-black gloom. The bottom was beyond her sight, which made the dungeon seem even scarier.

Still standing on the ceiling, Raithe looked down at Key. "Do you know what we call the dungeon, Troll?"

The vampire gang grabbed ahold of Key's chin and angled her head up to face Raithe. Key shook her head, despite the strong hands gripping her face. She did not want to know what the dungeon was called. She did not want to be there anymore. She missed her mom and dad. Weren't they going to rescue her? She wanted Mr. Fuddlebee to come back. Why had he gone in the first place?

Raithe's thin lips curled in a cruel smile. "Welcome," she hissed, "to the Dungeon of Despair."

The vampire gang then flung Key headlong through the door, right before they slammed the door closed, barring the bars and locking the locks.

And thus, Key fell straight into darkness, tumbling down the hard stone steps, down far below the vampire castle, down below the City of the Dead, down into the Dungeon of Despair.

Oh, but do not worry. Key was not entirely alone.
— CHAPTER EIGHT —

_Glowing Eyes in the Dark_

Key had been thrown into Despair. Now her world was filled with utter darkness. She could see almost nothing. No torchlights hung on the walls. No candles burned on chandeliers. No warm fires burned in hearths. The dungeon was so dark that Key could not see her hand passing back and forth before her face.

The only thing Key could see were the slits of beastly eyes that glowed violet. Some _thing_ was watching her.

Whatever it was, Key didn't want to know. She hurriedly crawled away from it. She would have crawled away from the darkness if that were possible, but as that would not be so for a very long time, she crawled until her head collided with the dungeon wall. Then she whirled around and sat with her back against it, hoping that she was actually sitting against a wall and not against some sort of stone monster – like a gargoyle.

The glowing eyes continued to watch her from a distance, not moving, just crouching, prepared at any moment to pounce.

Key sat for a few moments, slowing her breathing, and taking in her surroundings.

The dungeon was mostly silent. Sometimes there were strange creaks and pops and drips of water. The floor felt like soil and stones, both as cold as ice. The air was frosty in Key's nose and throat and lungs, yet the dungeon smelled absolutely horrible. Key decided that Despair was without a doubt a very cold, very dirty, very horrible place. She wanted out and never to come back again.

Also, Key felt very grimy and covered head to foot in bruises. Her hands and knees and face felt smeared in dirt and soot. Her long curly hair felt knotted and tangled. Worse than these horrid things put together was that those cruel castle vampires had torn her birthday dress – the last gift she'd ever received from her mom and dad. Tearing it was like tearing the last link she had with them. She hoped to preserve her dress for as long as she could.

For a second, she imagined all this was just a bad dream that she might wake from at any moment. She longed to be home with her mom and dad. She'd even settle for being back inside Mr. Fuddlebee's black carriage with its dumbwaiter and its chai tea with maple syrup. But as the coldness of the dungeon set in, she began to realize that being with her parents and Mr. Fuddlebee was the dream. The reality of living in the Dungeon of Despair was her nightmare that, she feared, she might never wake from.

Key suddenly felt a sharp pain in her stomach. Falling down the stairs had hurt badly, but that pain, surprisingly enough, disappeared fast as it was replaced by another pain in her stomach. This new pain seemed like hunger, although Key had never felt a hunger like it before. If it were hunger, she decided, it was like a beast in her belly – a beast she feared letting loose.

Key tried to think of all her favorite foods, but her mind turned to the birthday cake that she hadn't even had a chance to taste. So she imagined eating it now. But the more she thought about tasting a delicious slice of cake, the more she felt sick to her stomach. Her new hunger seemed to be growling for some other kind of food.

She remembered how Margrave Snick had leered hungrily at her and she hoped she didn't look like that. She hoped she wouldn't have to drink blood like him. The last thing she wanted was to become like the vampire who had made her. Was he supposed to be her father? She surely hoped not.

It took an hour for Key's vampire eyes to adjust to the dark. By then she could almost see what Despair looked like, with its stone pillars and floor and archways. Enduring that hour seemed almost endless. One minute in Despair seemed like an hour, and one hour seemed like a week, and the length of the whole night was starting to seem like an eternity of punishment.

Key quickly discovered that now she had a lot of time to think, and the first thing she thought about was losing her mom and dad. It was a thought that saddened her very much, so after a time she tried thinking differently, telling herself that dwelling on the past would do nothing to help her out of this terrible situation which she found herself in at present.

But she also quickly learned that trying to think differently and actually doing so were two very different tasks, as her mind stopped thinking about her mom and dad, and quickly switched to her last memory of them – at her ninth birthday party.

"Happy birthday," she told herself softly, even though she didn't feel very happy. And she didn't feel like a nine-year-old girl, either. In some ways she felt younger while in other ways she felt older – much, much older.

Key wept for the rest of the night, wondering where her mom and dad were. Sometimes she called out for them in the darkness, hoping (foolishly, she thought) that they might be nearby. "Mom? Dad?"

Mostly the echo of her lonely voice responded. But one time the snickering of some foul creature replied from the dungeon's soupy darkness. She looked for the violet glowing eyes, but they were there no longer. Not seeing them made them seem a little scarier, and for a very brief second, Key was tempted to hope that this mysterious beast with glowing eyes would devour her, bones and all, to end her misery.

The night ended when Key felt very drowsy. She could not see the sun rising while the dungeon was buried deep beneath the Necropolis Castle, which was buried far below Morrow Mountain. But she could feel sunrise's effect on her. Every vampire could. The higher the sun rose, the sleepier they all became.

As Key's eyelids grew heavier and heavier, she yawned wide, beginning to feel sleep coming on. She tried with all her might to stay awake, pinching herself and slapping her face, but the sunrise was just too powerful for her. Soon her sorrow no longer mattered, and her fears seemed fruitless, as she stretched out on the dirty dungeon floor, and fell fast asleep.

She did not have any pleasant dreams that day, only more wretched nightmares, because the last thing she saw before sunrise were those beastly glowing eyes, creeping closer, and closer, and closer.
— CHAPTER NINE —

_Raithe & Crudgel_

On the first night Key awoke in the Dungeon of Despair, she did so at exactly the moment when the sun sank down beyond the horizon. As with the sunrise, she could not see the sunset now, yet she could feel how it awakened her. Every vampire in the Necropolis Castle similarly felt the sun setting and had begun to rise from their coffins for the night.

Key felt very groggy as she opened her eyes in the dungeon's darkness. For a second, before she fully awoke, she told herself that she'd had a nightmare about losing her mom and dad, about becoming a vampire, and about having to live in the City of the Dead. But when her sleepiness eventually wore away, Key realized that she hadn't been dreaming – that her nightmare was real.

Then she realized that someone was touching her leg.

Sitting up with a start, she saw Raithe with a torch in one hand and in the other hand a shackle, which she was locking around Key's ankle.

Seeing that Key was awake, Raithe laughed at her and shoved her back down. Then she swung her torch along the ground. The light shone on a long thick chain that ran from the shackle to the dungeon wall, where Crudgel was locking the other end of the chain in place.

Raithe and Crudgel yanked hard on the chain to make sure it would hold fast, one end to the dungeon wall, the other end to Key's ankle.

Then Raithe held her torch in Key's face. "Never say we weren't charitable to you, Troll," she hissed cruelly.

Crudgel grunted in agreement, adding, "We don't want you to wander too far into Despair."

Raithe then held the torch over Key's birthday dress and the hem of the dress suddenly caught fire.

Key panicked, stood, and tried to run away. But her chain, firmly shackling her to the wall, tightened and yanked her backwards.

She fell flat on her face. The impact knocked out her two front teeth and pain rang in her head like a bell.

The good that came from this was that it made Key stop, drop, and roll – which is what you should do if you're ever on fire. Stopping, dropping, and rolling completely put out the fire on Key's dress.

Raithe and Crudgel fell over and rolled on the ground, holding their stomachs and howling with mocking laughter.

Key sat up, confused and in pain. Her skin had been badly singed. Her mouth throbbed with pain where her teeth were missing, and she worried about what she would do without two front teeth. But her worry did not compare to the sorrow she felt seeing black burn marks on the hem of her birthday dress. It seemed to her then that the gift her mom and dad had given her was already being destroyed by cruelty and Despair.

Tears started welling in her eyes, but they dried up when Key began to notice the scrapes on her knees healing, as if by magic. Next, the humming pain in her head dimmed. Then the bruises on her elbows stopped hurting, their black and blue color melted away, while the burn marks on her legs also restored to the healthy white color of vampire skin. After this, two new front teeth grew into Key's mouth. It appeared that Key's vampire power had healed her almost instantly.

Key thought this was amazing! And she wondered if she would always heal this way. Then she wondered if hurts on the inside healed as fast as hurts on the outside. "Wouldn't that be wonderful," Key said to herself.

Seeing that Key was no longer in much pain, Raithe stood up and kicked Crudgel until he stood, too. Together they approached Key, their arms around one another's necks. They laughed in her face and it seemed to Key that they would never stop.

Raithe pointed her finger at the tip of Key's nose. "What are you going to do now, Troll?" she crowed.

Crudgel shoved Key. "Try running away again, Dungeon Troll," he snarled.

Key held up her chain and studied it in dismay. "There's no way I can break it," she told herself. For the first time in her life, Key had a feeling that she could not name. It was like being alone in a crowd, but worse. "Hopeless" seemed like a good word for the way she felt. Key had never felt hopeless before. She did not like the feeling. It was so completely different from the way she had always felt.

Key let go of her chain. Tears started welling in her eyes again. She put her face in her hands and she began to weep mournfully.

Seeing Key's tears and hearing her sobs made Raithe and Crudgel laugh even harder now. They flashed their vampire fangs and they hissed in her ear, calling her more cruel names while they poked and prodded her, coaxing her to fight back.

But Key would not fight back. She would not respond to them. She could not. She did not know how to do so. No one had ever taught her. No one had ever been that mean to her, so she had no idea how to respond to meanness.

So she did what felt natural; she turned away from them. Facing the vast emptiness of Despair felt easier than confronting pitiless hate.

It did not take long for Raithe and Crudgel to grow bored. If Key would not fight back, then there was no entertainment for the night. And if there was no entertainment, then there was no reason for them to stay. So they took their torchlight and they returned to the upper castle, making rude gestures as they went. They returned to well-lit chambers, to warmth and friendship, to food and blood and death and life. They returned to the safety of the Necropolis – if anything can be called "safe" in the City of the Dead.

The good news was that they never came back down to the dungeon ever again. The bad news was that no one else did either, at least not for a long, long time.
— CHAPTER TEN —

_Bedbugs, Castle Ghosts, & Warhag_

Key had to sleep on the dungeon's dirty ground. Creepy crawlies slept around her, things like Shadow Spiders and Wicked Worms and Macabre Maggots. It was all she had for warmth.

Key's mom and dad used to tuck her into bed at night, lulling a little nursery rhyme to her before she fell asleep: "Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

When she was a little girl, she used to imagine that bedbugs were real, but by the age of nine she stopped believing in them. Now that she was living in the dungeon of the Necropolis Castle, she soon learned that, in the same way vampires, ghosts, witches, and zombies were real, bedbugs were also very, very real.

Necropolis Bedbugs were all over the City of the Dead, causing nightly mischief wherever they lived – or died. Yet they were not tiny insects like some might imagine. Instead they were three feet tall, wore black undertaker suits with tall top hats, and they had pointy ears and wide smiles with precisely forty-two sharp teeth.

Two of them lived in the dungeon with Key. Because most Mystical Creatures are imprisoned in the dungeon for good behavior, the two bedbugs were not prisoners since they had never done anything right, but instead had done everything wrong, as they did wrongdoings exceedingly well. The two bedbugs actually lived in the dungeon freely because they enjoyed living in Despair.

They called themselves "The Grimbuggles." One was named Bosh Grimbuggle and the other was named Mr. Humbug Grimbuggle.

If you ever encounter a Grimbuggle Bedbug, my only advice to you is _run!_ The last thing you want to see is the first thing they become. For instance, if you did not study for a test, they become your teacher. If you are late for work, they become your boss. If you do not want to read what comes next, they'll show you.

The last thing Key wanted to do was laugh because she had no one to laugh with. So the Grimbuggle Bedbugs bothered Key all night long with evil knock-knock jokes from _Guy Bellock's Black Book of Cackles, Hexes, and Other Perilous Party Tricks_.

This was pretty bad, sure, but worse creatures than Shadow Spiders and Grimbuggle Bedbugs lived in the dungeon, too. Key came to know them by their nickname – _Toags_.

Toags were one of the many castle servants. They were assigned the melancholy task of cleaning the dungeon, the hidden passageways, and the Perilous Nursery. And some nights they even had to clean Key, which was just a smidgen worse than having to hear another evil joke told by the two Grimbuggle Bedbugs, Bosh and Mr. Humbug.

There were two drawbacks to having Toags work in the Necropolis Castle. First: Toags were like dust bunnies, except that these dust bunnies were maniacal, homicidal, and the size of purple turkeys.

Second: Toags had no idea how to clean.

Ghost servants had to clean everything else, which mostly involved sprucing castle bedchambers, emptying chamber pots, sweeping chimneys, scouring cinders, cooking meals, polishing the silver, beating rugs, dusting cobwebs, washing clothes, scrubbing floors, among countless other tasks that the ghosts struggled to finish in a single night.

As Mr. Fuddlebee mentioned, the Necropolis Vampires forbade all ghost servants from appearing. Every ghost had to stay invisible. If a ghost appeared before a vampire, its punishment would be to receive the severe assignment of executing the most horrendous task in the entire Necropolis – which occasionally did involve executions. This punishment was far worse than cleaning the Tomb of the Tortured Tarantula, worse than cleaning the Grave of the Grim Goblin, and even worse than cleaning the Mausoleum of the Mostly Mutilated Mummies of Manchester. The punishment for any ghost servant who had the boldness to appear before a vampire would be to clean the Toag Cage.

That being said, there was one job that all servants had to do at least once in their undead lifetime, because it was the most important job in the entire Necropolis. It was more important than being President of the United States and the British Prime Minister rolled up into one. This highly important job was to feed the deadliest creature in the entire Necropolis – the castle cat, Warhag.

Ghost servants also lived in the dungeon with Key. She never saw them because they would not break the castle rule: They would not appear before a castle vampire, even if that vampire was only Key. It did not matter that the Necropolis Vampires rejected her; she was a vampire, too. They would not break the rule, partly because most ghosts were good, not wanting to break any rule, even if it were ridiculous, but mostly none of them broke castle rules because all of them feared cleaning the Toag cage. So every ghost servant stayed extra far away from Key.

Regardless of this, she could tell they were nearby whenever all sorts of odds and ends floated by, things like frying pans and buckets, needles and pincushions, forks and swords and crinoline, all floating through the air on their way to be cleaned in the Great Cauldron.

Key could also hear the ghosts whispering with one another. The whispers of the ghosts always echoed eerily in Despair. More than once Key tried speaking with them, but they would not speak with her either, since cleaning the Toag cage was an incredibly nasty business.

Key would have loved to talk with anyone other than the Shadow Spiders because they only wanted to talk on Tuesdays. So Key's isolation, sadness, and loneliness were quickly becoming like sores – and she knew that sores can get very infected if left uncared for.
— CHAPTER ELEVEN —

_Warhag & A Little History of the Necropolis_

Key was not officially a prisoner of the castle because castle prisoners were usually sent to what the Necropolis Vampires called "The Torture Chamber," although most people would have called it a _library_.

The final communication that Key received from the Necropolis vampires was a scroll written in blood from the Queen's secretary, Galfridus Fish. On the scroll was a list of things Key was forbidden to do. She was forbidden to leave the dungeon. She was forbidden to talk with another vampire. She was forbidden to remove the chain shackling her ankle to the wall. She was forbidden to drink the same blood other vampires drank. In fact, there was only one thing she was allowed to do: Drink the blood of whatever she could find – which would have been Red Rodents, Shadow Spiders, Wicked Worms, Macabre Maggots, or even Grimbuggle Bedbugs, if she could catch one. But she refused to hurt any of those poor creatures, even if they were Bosh or Mr. Humbug. So she let herself starve in Despair.

Key spent many nights much more lonely than alone. Raithe and Crudgel had been her first visitors, and not many more came to visit Key for a long time after that. Yet to keep her imagination entertained, she listened to the eerie sounds of the Necropolis every night.

She loved the nights when she heard zombie horses charging across the castle drawbridge over Melancholy Moat. The chain shackling her ankle stretched far enough for her to climb up the wall and peek through a barred window. The window overlooked Melancholy Moat's black water. Stretching as high up as she could go, so that she could just barely see out into the Necropolis, she would watch a band of castle vampires go charging off on their zombie steeds, out into Necropolis streets, seemingly on some important errand.

Ah, Key dreamed about going with them.

And in that dream, she also dreamed how someone else would come down into the dungeon to visit with her. She dreamed how they would say to her, "Come up from Despair! Come be our friend! Come be our family!" It didn't matter to Key that the Necropolis Vampires had rejected her and had treated her so miserably. She still felt an urge to be their friend. She wouldn't have even asked them for an apology.

Key had not seen much of the Necropolis, but from her carriage ride with Mr. Fuddlebee, she remembered that the City of the Dead was a grand gathering of tombs, graveyards, mausoleums, and many other kinds of burial places. And because of that brief memory, Key was becoming increasingly interested in knowing more about where she lived. But as the Shadow Spiders did not care about the goings-on outside Despair, and as the ghosts would not speak with her, Key grew very heavy hearted when she could not learn anything about the Necropolis's history or about current events.

Then one night, when Key heard no noises coming from outside the dungeon, and when the Grimbuggle Bedbugs had stopped pestering her for a short spell, and when she had nothing else to do except think about all the things she had lost, and all the things she would never do again, Key's heavy heart began to feel much heavier – perhaps the heaviest it had felt since the first night she came here, on her ninth birthday. So she lay on the ground and began to weep.

But her weeping stopped when, to her great surprise, she noticed that coming out of the darkness was a second visitor.

At first all she saw were those same beastly eyes shining with a violet glow. Through the darkness, the eyes crept closer and closer, and Key thought her end was coming. Then the beast came into view, and Key saw that it was none other than the castle cat, Warhag.

She had somehow managed to slip into Despair. Key had no idea how Warhag had gotten through the massumongous door to the dungeon, but she guessed that the cat no doubt knew all sorts of secrets about the Necropolis Castle.

Warhag now padded silently close to Key, like a lioness stalking prey. Then she sat just beyond reach, with the end of her tail twitching menacingly. Key took that as a warning that seemed to say: "Touch me and you'll probably lose three fingers, if you're lucky."

Warhag's fur was mostly orange. It had black swirls all over, black swirls around her eyes and mouth, black swirls around her legs and tail. Her coat looked as though it might have been soft a very long time ago, yet now it looked a little mangy, although Key would have never said so because she was not only polite, but also wise enough to avoid upsetting a Mystical Creature whose reputation had evidently given her the frightening name of "Warhag."

The castle cat was also bedecked in jewelry. Her ears were pierced with gold rings. Her nostrils were pierced with diamond studs. And on the tips of her long saber teeth were silver caps that looked as sharp as daggers. It was clear to Key that all of Warhag's jewelry had been booty from war.

But perhaps the cat's most striking feature was her constant frown. It made her look untiringly miserable, even when she was happy.

Curiosity suddenly replaced Key's fear when she observed that the cat had something clutched in her jaws. Is that a matchbox? Or some square creature? Key was greatly interested in knowing what it was, so she tried calling the cat over, holding out her hand in a friendly gesture. She was not only eager to know what the cat had, but she was also hopeful to befriend anyone, or anything – as Despair can make anyone desperate enough to attempt befriending even a fearsome beast such as Warhag the cat.

For a very tense moment it seemed as if Key's gesture had somehow offended the cat because, without warning, her natural scowl worsened. She stared at Key without blinking, the slits of her feline eyes increasing her frightening glower. Warhag then licked her lips, which, as several slain creatures had glimpsed right before the end, was a sign that it was time for one of three things: battle, dinner, or petting.

So Key speedily, and wisely, withdrew her hand and sat perfectly still, watching Warhag watch her.

After that, the orange cat sat so still for so long that she seemed to have turned to stone. But just as Key began to imagine that Warhag was about to pounce upon her at any moment, the castle cat dropped the thing in her mouth, yawned, and blinked sleepily. Then, with the unhurried movements of a fearless predator, Warhag turned away and padded out of the dungeon as silently as she had come, apparently deciding not to eat Key for the time being since Warhag considered herself a very merciful cat.

From where Key sat, she could see well enough that Warhag had dropped a very little book. However, she had dropped it too far out of reach, as if to be kind at first, and then torture her. She tried stretching and pulling herself to get closer to the little book, but it was no good. The book was too far away and the chain was holding her fast to the wall.

Yet just as she was about to lose all hope, the little book began to move closer, seemingly all by itself. Key had no idea how this was happening. It was as if the little book was willing itself to draw closer to her outstretched hand, as if perhaps by magic. Then she remembered all the things she had seen floating throughout the dungeon, and she remembered the castle servants – the ghosts. With this in mind, Key had a sneaking suspicion that one of the ghosts, although still not appearing before her or speaking with her, was at least helping her.

The little book slid right up to Key and she hurriedly snatched it up, a little fearful that it might wander off by itself. Clutching it, she observed how it was so small that it fit right in the palm of her hand. But it wasn't the size of the book that mattered, just how she read it. And she would indeed read this great gift. After all, one good book in Despair can be worth a hundred friends with kind words, although one act of kindness for someone in Despair can be worth a thousand books.

Had Warhag given it to her? She didn't think so. Then who?

The cover was purple velvet with gold lettering. The title was _Wanda Wickery's History of the Necropolis - A Small Book With a Big Story_.

Key decided that it must have been a ghost servant who had slid the book closer to her. So she looked up into the invisible air and she spoke to this ghost, this friend in the dark. "I don't know who you are," she said, her voice choking with gratitude, "and I know you can't speak with me, but thank you. Thank you so very, very much."

There was no response from the ghost, but Key did not need one. She opened the book and was about to begin reading, but she saw a little note inscribed on the first page. It read: _A little light in the darkness. Mr. F_.

Key did not need to think about who this mysterious "Mr. F" was, for she knew it must have been Mr. Fuddlebee. He had promised to come back, but if some reason prevented him from returning, then the least he could do was send this book. Key was very glad for his thoughtfulness. This was a precious gift indeed.

But then Key wondered aloud, "How did he convince Warhag to deliver it to me?" After thinking about this for a long moment, considering how Warhag did not appear to be a creature who would do many favors, Key came to the logical conclusion that some mysteries must remain unsolved for the time being. With her curiosity at least satisfied at present, she opened the little book to the first chapter, and she began reading.

Key would not have needed much light to read the book in the dark, as her vampire eyes could see much, even at the bottom of Despair. But she did not need her vampire sight for this book because, while it was indeed quite small with very tiny font, the words came alive with lights and shimmering dust. And as she read, the words leaped from the page and swirled around her and formed into shapes of the characters and things she read about.

She began reading about how the Necropolis started off as catacombs for a small group of Mystical Creatures – only one vampire, one witch, one werewolf, one ghost, and one zombie. After Key read this, the bright words leaped from the page and shaped into shimmering images of the story of how those first five Mystical Creatures were buried in an underground chamber.

Key turned the page to read the story of the first undertaker, Skulk, while more shimmering words swirled around her, making shapes of his work. She was not surprised to read how Skulk the undertaker struggled to keep those five Mystical Creatures in their graves. Some nights he was successful, preventing the Dead from leaving their coffins and causing mayhem. But most nights he was not successful at all. At least one of the five Mystical Creatures escaped nearly every night.

Yet they always returned to their graves before sunrise, usually bringing with them one new Mystical Creature, for the vampire made more vampires, and the zombie made more zombies, and the werewolf made more werewolves, while the witch found more witches and the ghost found more ghosts. Soon there were so many vampires, witches, werewolves, ghosts, and zombies living in the Catacombs that a Society of Mystical Creatures formed.

As the Mostly Dead population grew, the Catacombs turned into a village. In time, several Mystical Creatures rose from their graves to start a Grave Owners Association, which they called the "G.O.A." for short. Eventually there was so much development that the G.O.A. renamed the Catacombs, "Necroville."

The G.O.A. hired Dwarves to carve deeper into the ground, developing neighborhoods, schools, playgrounds, libraries, and general areas for the Mostly Dead to practice their sorcery, necromancy, and golf.

As time passed, and as countless more Mystical Creatures came crowding into Necroville for burial, or at least semi-burial, more Dwarves were hired and more space was carved out. The Dwarves carved down into the ground for the Mostly Dead while they built up for themselves so that they would have a place to live, as they were constantly working, for many Mystical Creatures were constantly dying – or at least mostly dying, either naturally or supernaturally. Thus the grand structure of Morrow Mountain began to take shape.

The population growth became a great deal of work for one mere undertaker to handle, as many vampires made many more vampires, and many werewolves made many more werewolves, and many zombies made many more zombies while many witches found many more witches and many ghosts found many more ghosts. Also, Mystical Creatures of all kinds were moving in and making homes among the Dead – creatures like Goblins, Hobgoblins and Bedgoblins; Elves, Dwarves, and Fairies; Brownies, Boggarts, and Pixies; Trolls, Ghouls, Poltergeists, Gremlins, and many, many more – and all of them either Partly Dead, Mostly Dead, or Fully Dead – Partly Dead like the Narrowly Departed Dwarves of Durham, the Slightly Slaughtered Pumpkin People of Paris, and the Nearly Annihilated Nymphs of Wales – Mostly Dead like the Hardly Headless Harpies of Hong Kong, the Barely Bloodless Boogeymen of Baton Rouge, and the Sort of Massacred Satyrs of Savannah – and Fully Dead like the Roughly Lifeless Zombies of Los Angeles, the Almost Alive Elves of Exeter, and the Nigh-Dead Pirates of Mexico.

As the population grew, Skulk the undertaker was quickly overwhelmed, for the village was overrun with the Dead not staying in their graves. Even the Fully Dead would sometimes rise from their coffins to pop down to the pub for Unhappy Hour.

The village soon became so over-populated that Necroville expanded into a city – The City of the Dead – the Necropolis. And as Key read on, and as the shimmering words danced all around her, making twinkling images of the story of the Necropolis, she learned that it soon became the burial place for any and all Mystical Creatures, but no mortals. The G.O.A. put up a sign that read: NO MORTALS ALLOWED! They even went so far as to put a skull and cross bones on the sign, telling themselves, "That'll scare them mortal folk."

Yet almost overnight the Necropolis became so popular among the Mostly Dead that it was soon jam-packed with graves and tombs and crypts and mausoleums. Reading between the lines, Key found it quite interesting that graves were not graves at all, but more like apartments; and tombs were not like tombs at all, but more like houses; and crypts were more like mansions; and mausoleums were more like estates.

It was with the accumulation of such residents, and with the formation of such residences, that the G.O.A. finally asked Skulk the undertaker to retire. As a retirement bonus, he was given a gold watch and a free trip to Hawaii.

After his retirement ceremony, vampires took on the role of undertaker. They hired the Dwarves to build the Necropolis Castle and they gave themselves the title "Keepers of the Dead." Beginning with the first Queen of the Necropolis, Modwenna, the Necropolis Vampires kept the Dead inside the Necropolis ever since, especially when the Dead had no desire to stay dead.

Key read and read until she began to feel very sleepy. She tried to stay awake because she wanted to read more, but her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, until she fell fast asleep on the dungeon floor, surrounded by the shimmering shapes of the book, for the sun had risen somewhere outside Morrow Mountain, where the dead were kept far out of sight underground.
— CHAPTER TWELVE —

_A Bloody Business_

Key also learned from her little book that, when the Dwarves of Morrow first began digging deeper for the Dead, they preserved the Catacombs from being knocked down by progress. And when they built the Necropolis Castle, they began by building the dungeon on top of the Old Catacombs, to prevent them from ever being knocked down in the future – for Dwarves truly cherish maintaining history and saving ancient secrets.

The castle was built so long ago that, by the time Key was thrown into the dungeon, the Necropolis Vampires had completely forgotten about the Old Catacombs. So they had no idea that the first five Mystical Creatures – the first vampire, the first witch, the first werewolf, the first zombie, and the first ghost – were still buried far below, deep down in the darkest vaults of the dungeon, where the Old Catacombs could be found. The Necropolis Vampires simply thought of the dungeon as Despair, and not as a vault of fascinating ancient history.

Yet Key could sometimes hear those first five Mystical Creatures still knocking on their coffins, still trying to get out again. And she could also hear Skulk the undertaker, who took up surfing during his Hawaiian holiday, still trying to do his old job too, as he would drag his heavy chains Tuesdays through Sundays, since Mondays were his day off.

It was clear to Key that the Necropolis Vampires did not care much about the dungeon. They considered it to be more of a place of waste. But, as the old saying goes, one person's trash is another person's treasure. Key had begun to find a small amount of treasure in Despair because the vampires were also completely oblivious to the fact that several groups of Mystical Creatures had long ago moved into the dungeon and were running moderately successful businesses.

There were, for instance, in the northern quarter of the dungeon, the Near Dead Druids of Denmark, who had built a small factory for making cough drops, lemon drops, and nasty drops off cliffs. On the south side of the dungeon were the Somewhat Sleepy Sorcerers of Scandinavia, who had started a small dentistry practice, specializing in capping fangs, which was very popular with ogres, trolls, and Warhag the cat. In the east were the Mostly Murdered Gremlins of Germany, clockmakers by trade, whose cuckoo clock business was not as successful as they would have liked, due to the principal problem of highly carnivorous cuckoos, which sprang from the clocks to tell the time and eat the nearest living thing, making teatime rather murderous.

Many more Mystical Creatures worked in the dungeon due to the fact that the Necropolis Vampires, being so clueless of the mischief-making that occurred inside their own home, never interfered with business practices that some Necropolis citizens might call "diabolically doubtful." Key rarely ever saw the majority of these other Mystical Businesses, as they were either too far away in the dungeon, or too good at hiding their diabolically doubtful work. You see, if the castle was huge, then the dungeon was twice as large, more like an unfathomable cave, considering that the size of the dungeon had grown in proportion with the spreading of Despair. And as the depth of Despair had many levels, the breadth of the dungeon expanded far beyond the horizon.

However, Key did come to know quite well one group of Mystical Creatures – the Partly Dead Brownie Folk of Boston, who had a successful blood bank business not too far from where she was chained to the wall. She began to see them quite often reading tiny newspapers and carrying small briefcases on their way to work. The Brownies were less than six inches tall. They were not considered mischievous – except after devouring large amounts of chocolate. As a large amount of chocolate for an average Brownie was a thimble full, whenever they gobbled up too much chocolate, they lost complete control of themselves, laughed wickedly, doused themselves in milk chocolate, and went screaming madly through the Necropolis streets, in search of something they called, "The Great Fizzy Wonder-Bang!"

The Brownies collected all the blood in their bank themselves. They would go out into the Necropolis to gather blood from all kinds of Mystical Creatures. Some kindly volunteered their blood. Others kindly volunteered their blood only after being knocked unconscious. Some blood came from the Vaults of the Mostly Mutilated Ogres in the Marsh District. Other blood came from the Barrow of the Somewhat Slain Banshees on Bell Tower Street. And other blood came from the Crypt of the Bonemen, in the Jazz Quarter of the Necropolis – a blood that most vampires found irresistible due to its deliciously dry aftertaste.

The Partly Dead Brownie Folk sold most of their blood supply to the ghost cooks in the castle kitchen. The ghost cooks prepared every bloody meal for the castle vampires. They paid the Brownies in heavy sacks of cacao beans, which the Brownies would grind into cocoa powder and mix with butter, sugar, and blood for their side business – _Snuckle Truffles the Bloody Bonbons_. The Brownies would sell Snuckle Truffles at the Mystical Market, and helpless masses would devour the Bloody Bonbons with the ravenous intensity of a Toag.

The Brownies thought it was rather rude the way Key was being treated by the Necropolis Vampires, as the Brownies were, if not a little insane, then quite polite, for they were made of an odd mixture of goodness, mischief, and an air of business professionalism. So they decided to make Key their official taste tester, giving her several boxes of Snuckle Truffles each night, most filled with new and exciting flavors, although some were filled with rather questionable taste sensations. Thus, Key would never go hungry again in Despair, as the Snuckle Truffles business was always providing her with several boxes of chocolate-covered blood flavors to taste and test.

Inside each box was an assortment of blood-flavored chocolate. Some treats were flavored with the blood of the Not Quite Dead Dragons of Duluth. Others were flavored with the blood of the Sort of Dismembered Skeletons of Seattle. Others were flavored with the Mostly Mangled Mummies of Manchester. Key quite enjoyed one flavor of Snuckle Truffle in particular, filled with the blood of the Somewhat Snuffed-Out Fairies of the Cinnamon Tree Forest. She did not at all enjoy the blood of the Nearly Nixed Bogeypeople of Bogalusa, which tasted like old shoes and lobster.

Some nights the Brownies became so caught up in their business (or in search of the Great Fizzy Wonder-Bang) that they forgot about Key. But that was not often, and she never complained. Not eating chocolate-covered blood gave her more time to think and read her little book. Key often thought about the night she lost her mom and dad. She could not forget how Margrave Snick had sunk his teeth into her neck. "Who is Margrave Snick?" Key would often ask herself. Wanda Wickery's little book did not have much information on him. And the Brownies did not care much about him, or about many other goings-on, as they were usually greedier more for chocolate than for the news.
— CHAPTER THIRTEEN —

_New Vampire Powers_

Key's vampire senses gave her distraction from Despair.

Her sense of taste was the most enjoyable of her new powers. As the Brownies surprised her almost every night with new flavors of Snuckle Truffles, and as the flavors were a delightful treat to her powerful taste buds, Key could taste the process by which a Snuckle Truffle was made. She could taste that ghost cooks in the castle kitchen had handled the cacao beans with great honor, as if the beans kept magic locked inside. She could taste next that the Brownies had ground the beans into cocoa powder using the ancient stones of the Arken Tribe. Without any Brownie telling her, and without ever reading the tiny labels on the little boxes, Key's marvelous sense of taste told her how the blood for one Bloody Bonbon had been kindly donated by Pixies from the Purplewood Pumpkin Patch, which tasted like sugar butter; and how the blood for another Snuckle Truffle had been stolen from the Mead Bees of the Bubble Tree, which tasted like peppermint and honey; and Key also tasted how the blood for another Snuckle Truffle had been given by the Tree People of the Perpetually Burning Forest, which tasted like Brussels sprouts and ashes, which was another unfortunate consequence of being an official taste tester.

Also, Key's powerful vampire eyes could see much more than her human eyes could ever see. She could study the threads of her tattered birthday dress all night. The sight would keep her utterly entertained. She could see entirely new patterns. She could count the number of fibers in one thread of linen, as each fiber had a unique story to tell that only Key's eyes could see. Yet she also noticed that, while her dress had felt a little too big on her ninth birthday, now it seemed to feel too small, and Key wondered how that could be. Had she grown, even though she was supposed to look like a nine-year-old girl forever? She doubted that were so, but she could not explain how she felt so much bigger, even though it was impossible for a vampire to grow. "Is there," she was curious to know, "a difference between growing up and being grown-up?" It was all a mystery to her.

Key's sense of smell was also very powerful. She could identify every strange scent in the dungeon walls and in the floor. Her sense of smell was so powerful that she could inhale and tell how a dandelion seed had struck the stone against her back one hundred years ago. The scent was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Key could smell that the dandelion had come from a field of lilies. An old man had plucked it, had pinned it to the lapel of his suit, and had made a wish on the dandelion before blowing on the seeds, scattering them to the wind. Key could smell that one seed had sailed on the current of the wind, over land, over sea, all the way to Morrow Mountain, and drifted eventually into the dungeon. That little seed had come such a long way – just like Key. "Where's the seed now?" she wondered. She felt she could use all the good wishes she could get.

Her sense of touch was also very sharp. Her eyelash could feel the tiniest mote of dust tumbling down. The hairs on the back of her neck could feel the wind blustering against the Perilous Peak of Morrow Mountain. Her fingertips could feel the whole story of a single cobblestone.

Now Key ran her fingers gently over the cobblestone by her chained ankle. She could feel its tiny lines telling her the story of the cobblestone's life. It had been born in the fiery depths of Morrow Mountain. Pressure beneath the mountain gave it shape. An age later it came to the surface. A hobgoblin peddler found it and sold it to blind craftsman. Key's fingertips felt how, still by touching the tiny lines of the cobblestone, the craftsman had been left-handed, how his fingers had been heavily callused, and how he had wept over them when unbearable arthritis took away his work. His story made Key weep, too. Often she would touch the cobblestones and feel how each came from a different place. Each cobblestone had a unique story to tell her, and all their stories combined together and helped her forget for a time about the sadness she never failed to feel in Despair.

Key's vampire hearing was so excellent that she could hear Red Rodents scurrying a mile away, and ghosts whispering in hidden passageways, and Mostly Mangled Gnomes in the dungeon's southern quarter, who'd started a new haberdashery selling gentlemen's suits bedecked with the latest gizmos developed by the GadgetTronic Brothers. Key liked to hear all these wonderful gizmos whizzing and whirring.

The more Key heard of the strange and wonderful world all around her, the more she wished she weren't shackled to the wall, for she wished to roam about the dungeon, exploring the depths of its darkness, and visiting with all the interesting creatures she could hear, yet never see, because the Gnomes, the Trolls, the Ghosts, even the Red Rodents, all seemed more interesting than the loneliness of Despair.

Key's hearing was so good that she could hear other vampires talking in other parts of the castle. Vampires in towers were too far away for Key to hear, but those in the common room she could hear quite easily, although the vampires trapped in the Wandering Scullery could be heard only on Wednesdays, when the scullery went scampering by the dungeon. Yet, for as much as Key enjoyed her supernatural powers, she did not enjoy listening in on the conversations of others because she had never forgotten her mom and dad teaching her that eavesdropping is rude.

But one night she couldn't help herself. She just had to eavesdrop when she heard two vampires coming down to the castle's lowest level. She could not tell who they were at first, but the lower they came, the more she knew, and the closer they drew, the more she feared, for she had met these two vampires twice already, once in Old Queen Crinkle's court, and another time when they chained her to the wall.

It was Raithe and Crudgel.
— CHAPTER FOURTEEN —

_Diabolically Doubtful Plotting_

Necropolis Vampires thrived on treachery, duplicity, and all out cruelty, as Key had already learned – the hard way. Some vampires schemed better than others while others were far crueler than some. A few vampires conspired openly in castle common rooms while many hatched plots in the secret shadows of broom cupboards. For all that, Raithe and Crudgel were two Necropolis Vampires who ate trickery and drank duplicity. They, as Key had also already learned – the _really_ hard way – were selfish, thoughtless, and unbelievably mean.

And as Key could now hear them coming down to the lowest parts of the castle, she began to worry that they might come into the dungeon again and do something worse to her, such as burn the rest of her birthday dress, which had become much more worn and filthy with all her time in Despair. She sat on pins and needles hearing Raithe stop just outside the dungeon door, then Crudgel stopping after her, seeming more like her pet than her peer. As both stayed outside the door for so long, it became clear to Key that they had no intention of entering the dungeon, and perhaps they weren't even thinking of Key, which brought her every inch of gladness. No, it seemed that Raithe and Crudgel had come down to the lowest parts of the castle to secretly hatch a diabolically doubtful plot.

Yes, Raithe was clearly the leader of the two, but it was Crudgel who was speaking more, at least at the outset of this mutinous meeting, jabbering on and on about his fears of Margrave Snick, Mr. Fuddlebee, and the Hand of DIOS. The worried tone of his voice surprised Key; she never would have guessed that a bully could be so afraid.

Crudgel began biting his fingernails. "I don't want to be mortal again," he moaned.

Raithe paced nervously back and forth. "I won't be mortal again, that's certain," she said. "I'll escape Mr. Fuddlebee. I'll escape the Hand of DIOS. I'll do whatever it takes, but I won't be mortal again."

Crudgel paced back and forth, too. But he bumped into Raithe and she smacked him upside his head. To avoid having this problem again, Raithe began pacing up one wall. "I'm going to destroy the Five Houses," she muttered as she walked.

"All Five," Crudgel asked in surprise and confusion. "Even ours?"

"Of course," Raithe said, spitting it out matter-of-factly, "all Five Houses, even ours. If a house is infected, then it must be destroyed and remade. All Five Houses are infected with the idea that we immortals must become mortal again. So all five must be completely, totally, and utterly destroyed."

Key had read in her little book about the Five Mystical Houses, begun by the first five Mystical Creatures, who were now buried in the Old Catacombs. There was the House of the Witch, the House of the Zombie, the House of the Werewolf, the House of the Ghost, and the House of the Vampire. _Is Raithe really going to destroy them all?_ Key wondered. _How would she do it?_

Raithe gave a dastardly laugh. "In the end," she said, "when I have destroyed all Five Houses, I will rebuild them all and then there will only be one house – House Raithe. Why settle for being simply queen of the Necropolis? I will be Queen of all Mystical Creatures."

Crudgel tried to walk up the wall too, but Raithe had powers he didn't have; he could follow her about halfway up before he flopped back down to the floor like a fish. Grunting in pain he said, "Wasn't that Margrave Snick's plan, except he wanted to be King?"

"Finders, keepers," was Raithe's snide reply.

"Look," Crudgel stated, "the Law of Mortality states that all of us must become mortal again. How will you break the law? Even if you did destroy all Five Houses and remade them into one, you couldn't keep it. I mean, the Hand of DIOS will find you, as it did Margrave, and it will change you back into a mortal the way it changed him back into one. As powerful as he was, he couldn't escape it. How do you think you can?"

Raithe walked up to the ceiling and began pacing. "I'll do more than break the law," she snapped. "I'll break the Hand of DIOS."

Crudgel oohed. "That'll mean," he said in awe, "no more Fuddlebee."

Raithe smiled wickedly. "No more becoming mortal again, either," she scoffed.

Key remembered how Mr. Fuddlebee had used the Hand of DIOS on Margrave Snick the night that villainous vampire turned her into a vampire too. She remembered how Mr. Fuddlebee had come into her home, how he had taken a grain of light from his jacket pocket, how he had held it up into the air, how bright the light had shone, and how he had said, "Margrave Snick, you are no longer a vampire! You are no longer immortal! Your power is taken back by the Hand of DIOS!"

Key believed she now understood this power. "The Hand of DIOS changes immortals into mortals," she told herself.

This was a new idea to her, and it quickly became quite appealing, because, you see, she'd never wanted to be immortal in the first place, she did not like being a vampire, and she did not want to be one anymore. She wanted to be nine-years-old again, for she had it in her mind that, if Mr. Fuddlebee would change her back into a mortal by working on her also the trick of the Hand of DIOS, then perhaps she could go back to her old life on the farm in the valley, living in a simple home with her mom and dad, herding sheep and harvesting wheat. She hoped and prayed that Mr. Fuddlebee would do this for her, would change her back into a mortal. Yet, she began to wonder, why hadn't he done so before?

Raithe stopped pacing suddenly. She stood perfectly still on the ceiling for a long moment as she thought. Then, when she had come to a decision about something seemingly very important, she declared in a voice brimming with eagerness and excitement, "I know what to do!"

Crudgel's voice, however, was quite doubtful as he said, "What's your plan? I don't have to dress as a goat again, do I? Because I remember your last plan and, look, I'll be honest, I still don't get what a 'scapegoat' is or why 'scaping' – whatever that means – has anything to do with 'goats'."

Raithe, ignoring his last remark yet responding to his question, uttered only one word: "Silas."

Key did not know who this Silas was or what he did, for there was still so much more about the Necropolis that was a total mystery to her. But one thing was perfectly clear: As Key listened to Crudgel blink in deep thought, she understood that he knew this Silas creature.

At length Crudgel asked simply, "Silas the Cyclops?"

Raithe leaped down from the ceiling and spoke quickly in her excitement. "Silas is the linchpin."

Crudgel scratched his head. "I thought Silas the Cyclops was – oh, what's that word again – a fly morgue."

"What?" snapped Raithe impatiently. "What on earth's a fly morgue?"

"I dunno," Crudgel mumbled sheepishly. "A place where dead flies are kept?"

"Are you really that dim? Who would keep dead flies?"

"Silas?"

"Silas isn't a fly morgue – he's a _cyborg_ ," Raithe said in a belittling tone. "Yes, Silas the Cybernetic Cyclops is the key to a great plan – a plan that will take down the Five Houses, a plan that will remake them into one, a plan that will make me queen."

"A plan that will let us stay immortal?" Crudgel asked with a tone of hope in his voice.

Raithe sneered and cackled. "Yes, indeed it is a plan that will break the Hand of DIOS, destroy Mr. Fuddlebee, and let us stay immortal," she said.

"Immortal forever?" Crudgel asked with the tone of hope rising in his voice, which caused Raithe to sigh irritably again.

"Yes, you gormless git," she exclaim with even more impatience than before. "Being immortal means not dying forever. That's why this whole Law of Mortality doesn't make sense. Immortals are immortal forever. If we are to become mortal again because of some ridiculous Law of Mortality, then we are not technically immortal beings – just long-lived, which is not why I became a vampire."

"Raithe had the choice to become a vampire?" Key now wondered aloud, thinking about how nice it would have been if she'd had a choice, too. She would have never chosen to live like this.

Raithe's plan did indeed sound diabolically doubtful and, although Key would have preferred not to eavesdrop, she decided that she should hear more of this plan, fearing that, if she didn't, it might bring harm to Mr. Fuddlebee, who, while leaving her in Despair, was one of the nicest people she'd met so far – even if he was a ghost. Yet she could not hear anything further as Raithe, simmering with excitement to put her plan into immediate effect, eagerly hurried off, with Crudgel tagging along at her heels.

Although Mr. Fuddlebee had been very kind to Key in many ways, the more she thought about the conversation she had just overheard, the more she began to have doubts in her heart about the elderly ghost. Key had eavesdropped with good intentions, yet something quite rotten was beginning to eat away at her on the inside. Though Raithe and Crudgel's plotting might have concerned hurting Mr. Fuddlebee in one way, it had begun to hurt him in another way, as question after question began to pester Key like flies. For instance, she wondered, why didn't he tell her more about Margrave Snick? And why did he abandon her to the City of the Dead? And why did he leave her with vampires who hated her, ignored her, and cast her headlong into a dungeon full of emptiness and loneliness? Why didn't he change her back into a mortal? He could have done so with the Hand of DIOS. Couldn't he?

The next time Key saw him, she decided, she would put these questions to him – and she hoped she would do it in a manner more kindly than she felt right at that moment.
— CHAPTER FIFTEEN —

_Future Key, Crinomatic, & Gossamingles_

Nights in Despair became weeks; weeks became months; months became years. Years became decades. And in all that time, Key did not grow old. She was a vampire, so she had the gift of immortality. She would look like a nine-year-old girl for the rest of her nights.

After ten years in the Dungeon of Despair, she stopped celebrating holidays. After thirty years locked away, she stopped celebrating her mom and dad's birthdays. And after fifty years of being abandoned and forgotten, she stopped celebrating her own birthdays also – although she knew she should have called it "birth-night" like the other vampires, yet Key didn't want to, because she wanted to feel more normal, the way she used to feel living with her mom and dad. And so as time slowly passed in Despair, Key soon stopped hoping that her life was only a nightmare, she stopped hoping that things would be different, and she began to accept that she had been completely abandoned to her abysmal fate.

The night Key turned one hundred years old felt like the loneliest of her entire life. She had come to the general conclusion that she would have to live in Despair forever. You see, from her point of view, when all was said and done, she had been in prison for one hundred years without any hope of escape – yes, one hundred years of being chained to Despair, one hundred years of never turning into a ten-year-old girl. Of course, after her first year in prison, technically, she aged from nine years old to ten, but at the time, it did not seem like she had reached that all-important age of ten because she didn't feel older than nine, and she didn't look older than nine either, nor did she have anyone to tell her, "You're in your double digits now. You're growing up!" No, from her point of view, her first year in Despair was not the year she turned ten, but the year she became one – one year old as a vampire, one year old in Despair. Yes, technically, she was now one hundred nine years old, but she didn't count her first nine mortal years living with her mom and dad. Those first nine years of mortal life were more like a dream than reality. And now that she was a one hundred year old vampire in the nightmare of Despair, she still felt as though the threshold of being a ten-year-old girl was far, far out of reach.

But it only seemed proper to Key that, while she had not celebrated a birthday in over forty years, she should at least remember her one-hundredth birthday. "After all," she said to herself encouragingly, "you don't turn one hundred years old every night." So, shortly before the Necropolis Clock Tower tolled twelve times, marking the exact moment when one day ended and another began, when she would no longer be ninety-nine years old and finally be one hundred, Key drew one hundred lines in the dirt on the floor all around her, which she imagined as birthday candles that she could neither wish upon nor blow out.

Once she finished, she sat perfectly still for a long time, waiting and listening for the Necropolis Clock Tower to chime the hour of midnight – an hour that most Mystical Creatures called "The Witching Time of Night." Key listened and listened, yet no chime came. She listened some more and she thought to herself that time in Despair can really seem slow. Key listened for so long that she wondered if the clock had already chimed and she had just missed it.

Deciding that the problem wasn't with her, and that something must have gone wrong with the Necropolis Clock Tower, Key crawled up the wall to her cell window overhead, and she peeped past the bars. It was then that she noticed something quite odd: Everything appeared to have frozen in a moment of time. Key could see Necropolis Vampires frozen on their zombie steeds, which were also frozen in mid-stride on the drawbridge. They had been charging toward a group of Partly Dead Goblins who were also frozen in a moment of protest, carrying picketing signs, on which was the word GROSS – which meant _Goblin Rights On Spying & Sabotage_.

Key looked around the Necropolis and, although her imprisonment kept her from seeing much more, she could see enough to tell that many Mystical Creatures were also frozen in that moment of time. She saw a Mostly Dead Troll wearing sunglasses, frozen while tripping over a Not Quite Dead Gnome in a white waistcoat, who was also frozen in a moment of sheer panic. Key also saw a Poltergeist frozen while scaring a Partly Dead Sprite, who was also frozen in a look of pure fright while spilling her cappuccino. Key also saw a Merman frozen in Melancholy Moat – and a Kraken's frozen hand bursting from the black water to grab him – and a frozen death-guard with zinc on his nose trying to either save the Merman or help the Kraken (Key wasn't sure which).

Half in disbelief, half in excitement to see if something would happen next – "or if anything would ever happen again," she told herself – Key came back down to the dungeon floor. Right then she noticed that several Partly Dead Brownie Folk had been coming toward her, and now they too were frozen in a moment of celebration. With wide frozen smiles, the group was carrying over their heads an open box of Snuckle Truffles, filled with exactly one hundred Bloody Bonbons, each one with a little birth-night candle plunged into the top, to celebrate Key's one-hundredth birth-night.

Key was as touched as she was curious. "What's going on?" she wondered.

Then all of a sudden, in the same peculiar way that she had seen another version of herself all those years ago on her ninth birthday, that same strange event happened a second time. Now, stepping out of the dungeon's shadows, there appeared another Key. Yet this other Key wasn't wearing a shackle; she wasn't chained to the wall at all. No, this other Key was clearly free of Despair, and Key felt a very sharp sting of envy for this other Key, desiring very much to be her.

This other Key was wearing a black aviator cap, violet goggles, dark green jacket with a stand-up collar, wide sleeves, and tall black and white boots. She was also gripping a gentlewoman's cane in one hand. Her other hand clutched a brass pistol. She was shouldering a brass backpack that had two large canisters, one filled with red ink, the other with blue. Her eyebrows were covered in tiny silver mechanisms with wiring as thin as hair. And her fingertips were capped in pewter machines that looked a little like thimbles.

This other Key astonished Key, because she had never seen herself look so powerful and confident. And though she could not be sure, Key had a strange suspicion that this other Key was not from the present moment, but from some future moment that Key had not yet experienced. "Yes," Key said to herself in a flash of realization, "this other Key is from the future." And so Key accordingly thought of this other version of herself as "Future Key."

Future Key now smiled at Key, her vampire fangs flashing in the darkness. "Don't be afraid," she said.

"I'm not afraid," Key replied.

Future Key laughed in happy remembrance. "That's right," she exclaimed. "I forgot. I wasn't afraid."

"What weren't you afraid of?" Key asked.

"Me."

"Who are you?"

"The Key you will be," Future Key said.

Key was almost speechless, now that her suspicion had proven to be true. But she managed to stammer out in utter fascination, "So I'll be you in the future."

"Who says you aren't me now?" Future Key said with a playful smirk.

"I don't feel like you."

"How do I feel?"

"I feel alone and sad."

"I know how you feel," Future Key said, now becoming a little sorrowful. "I felt that way for a long time."

"Do you still feel that way?"

"Sometimes," Future Key admitted, "when I think of you."

"Who are you?" Key asked, but realizing that this wasn't quite the question she wanted to ask – _because it's easier to talk to yourself when your self is not from the future_ , she considered – so she decided to say instead, "I mean, tell me who you are! Tell me who I'll be one day."

"Be who you are now," Future Key told her. "Then you'll know more about me, as you come to know more about your self."

"But I don't really know who I am now," Key said rather piteously.

"You are more than Key the vampire," Future Key replied. "You are Key growing into a woman."

"But I can't grow anymore," Key objected. "I haven't grown in a hundred years."

"Growing also means _maturing_."

"What does maturing mean?"

"It means," Future Key said rather sagely, "growing up without growing older."

"When will I grow into who you are?" Key asked.

"Soon," Future Key said.

"That's not soon enough."

Future Key nodded. "Yes, I remember how eager I was to grow up, to escape Despair."

"I don't like being in this dungeon," Key said.

"Neither did I."

"How long ago were you here?"

Future Key looked around the dungeon with a mixed expression of nostalgia and disgust. "It seems like I was here just yester-night," she said.

"Can you help me escape?" Key begged.

Future Key turned sad and serious. "I wish I could," she replied softly. "But I can't."

"Is Old Queen Crinkle stopping you?"

Future Key scoffed. "Not anymore."

"Are Raithe and Crudgel stopping you?"

"They'll never be a match for who you'll become."

"I want to be you now," Key said.

"I wanted to be me, too," Future Key responded. "I'm glad I am who I am. But to be who I am, I had to be how you are now."

"I don't understand what that means."

"Neither did I," Future Key said. "But you can understand it this way: The suffering you're going through now is necessary and important."

"It's not important to me," Key remarked.

"It's important to me," Future Key replied. "If you want to be who I am, then you have to be how I was."

Key thought for a moment. "How did you get in here?"

Future Key grinned again, her vampire fangs flashing. "You'll learn soon enough," she said a little waggishly.

"If you're not here to get me out," Key said, "then why are you here?"

Future Key pointed to Key's birthday dress. "You've been wearing those same clothes for one hundred years," she said, "ever since you turned nine years old."

Key studied her birthday dress. It was tattered and torn, unwashed and filthy, practically falling to bits. It had lost its white luster years ago.

Future Key then reached into a pouch on her belt and took out a circular device. Fitting perfectly into the palm of her hand, it was silver with black swirling lines carved into it, and a bright sapphire in the center.

She gave it to Key, and Key marveled at it as Future Key pointed to the device and said, "Open it in the evening when you rise from sleep. Wear whatever it gives you for the night. Open it again in the morning before you go to bed. Let it have whatever you're wearing. Wear whatever it gives you. Use it every day. It will never run out of steam. It will never misread your needs. And it will never give you the same outfit twice, unless you ask it to do so."

Now in the palm of Key's hand, the circular device was no bigger than a large, thick coin. Turning it over, Key saw more swirling lines, like curlicue symbols, and she got the impression that it was some sort of strange language. But as she studied the back of the device more closely, she actually did see words engraved in beautiful gold lettering: _The GadgetTronic Brothers, Est. ∞_.

"What is this?" Key asked, holding the device toward Future Key.

"It's called," Future Key said, "a Crinomatic."

"It makes clothes?" Key asked.

"You'll see," Future Key replied with a cheeky grin as she leaned forward and lightly touched the sapphire in the center of the Crinomatic.

The device suddenly opened, like a compact mirror, and a bright white light shone out from within. The light completely surrounded Key, reminding her of the way the light from the Hand of DIOS had shone from between Mr. Fuddlebee's fingers and surrounded her on her ninth birthday. If anyone in the dungeon could have seen Key at that moment, the light now radiating out from the open Crinomatic would have blinded them briefly. Not even Key could escape this temporary blindness, although the light did allow her to watch while her clothes marvelously changed.

She was enthralled watching her old birthday dress suddenly scatter in a swirl of ashes, right before it was funneled directly into the Crinomatic. Next, out from the small device came teeny-tiny robotic creatures, each one as small as a drop of mist. Key's very acute vampire sight observed that they bore a striking resemblance to tiny black widow spiders. She knew that normal black widows have a red hourglass shape on their backs, but these robotic spiders had instead only one word, which was much, much smaller than the spiders, so much smaller in fact that she had to narrow her eyes just to read it.

"Gossamingles," she read aloud.

She understood then that Gossamingles must be what these tiny robotic spiders were called. And as Key tried to study them a little more closely, one soared right past her nose, and she happened to read more words underneath its black abdomen: _The GadgetTronic Brothers, Est. ∞_.

Before Key could look for any more writing on the tiny robotic spiders, the Gossamingles gathered all over her body, tickling her from head to foot so much that she could not stop laughing. It felt good to laugh again; she hadn't done so in a long time.

Then the Gossamingles linked themselves together like thread as they wove themselves into new clothes. They coordinated the color of their metallic skin to appear pleasing. Perhaps the most amazing part of it all was that they did all this in mere seconds. When they finished weaving themselves into Key's new outfit, the Gossamingles fell fast asleep. And if Key listened hard enough, she could just barely hear them snoring like sleeping children.

Key studied her new clothes. They were wonderful! She had never worn clothes that fit her so perfectly. They were like nothing she had ever seen before. She was now wearing a dove gray jacket, white shirt, black gloves, leather corset, leather boots, and black and white striped pants.

Also, little copper gizmos were strapped all over her clothing, with wiring sticking out every which way. Strapped to her sleeves were pewter plates with switches. Fastened to her boots were brass boxes and buttons. Affixed to her corset were three gauges. Above one gauge were the words _Body Temperature Regulator_. Above another gauge were the words _Boredom Driver-Outer_. Above another gauge was the word _Custard_.

The Gossamingles had even woven themselves together under her shackles, as her ankle was still chained to the wall, which saddened Key a little, even though she was so delighted with these new clothes. They may have fit quite comfortably, but she was still a prisoner in Despair.

Key looked up for Future Key, to thank her immensely, but Future Key was nowhere to be seen. "Wait," Key called out into the darkness of Despair, suddenly thinking of a very important question. "What happened to mom and dad's gift? What happened to my – I mean, _our_ birthday dress?"

An answer came back to her, sounding like an echo among leaves rustling in a breeze, and it was Future Key's voice speaking in this strange echo, very faintly, as if she was responding from far, far away. "Don't worry," were her parting words to Key. "The dress is stored safely in the Crinomatic's core processor. Besides, mom and dad's last gift wasn't their best."

For the first time in their peculiar conversation, Key heartily disagreed with Future Key. Although she had no idea what a _core processor_ was, her birthday dress was very important to her; she didn't want to lose it now. It had been with her for so long, and she had preserved it as best as she could from fire, from dirt, from drippy Snuckle Truffles, that she truly believed her dress was indeed the best gift she ever received from her mom and dad.

Yet as was the case throughout the whole conversation, Future Key already knew what Key was thinking in her heart, and she called back now in that far off voice, "You, Key, are the best gift mom and dad gave the world."

And then Future Key was gone for the present, leaving Key with something new to wear, and something newer to think about.

Then that moment became unfrozen and time started moving onward again. Zombie steeds started charging again and Goblins started protesting again. Trolls started tripping again and Poltergeists started scaring again. And Partly Dead Brownie Folk, carrying a box of one hundred delicious Snuckle Truffles, started celebrating again, singing to Key, "Happy Birth-night to you! Happy Birth-night to you!"
— CHAPTER SIXTEEN —

_Pega the Ghost Maid_

Each morning before Key fell asleep, the Gossamingles returned to the Crinomatic, and a new group poured out, covering her all over in a thick nightgown, and keeping her very warm during the day while she slept. And each evening after Key rose from sleep, the Gossamingles returned to the Crinomatic while another new group poured out, to wrap her up in a fresh new outfit.

No two outfits were ever the same, although some looked a little similar, while each was always new and exciting. Some nights the Gossamingles wove around Key and shaped into a dress with frills and lace. Some mornings they wove together into a nightgown as thick as a mattress. Some nights they wove together into an outfit of brown leather and brass. Some mornings they wove together into a nightgown as cozy as a down comforter. Key never worried about what outfit the Gossamingles wove into. They seemed to know her inside and out, so they always wove into clothing and gadgets that she thought were absolutely gorgeous!

Now, it cannot be said that there has never been a ghost who was never kind or compassionate, because I know one or two who could readily show you otherwise. Key would back me up! For, as she was still sleeping on the hard dungeon floor, and as her new clothes became completely filthy in no time, a ghost servant did indeed show her more kindness than one in a thousand Necropolis vampires ever did.

Key could not see this ghost servant because it would not break castle rules. It would not appear before her; it would not speak with her. Nevertheless, the ghost began doing little works for Key that a maid might have done, such as sprucing up the dungeon, brushing Key's hair, wiping grime away from her cheeks and nose, and bringing her leftover blood treats from the kitchen – "because one can't live on chocolaty blood alone," Key thought to herself rather wryly, referring of course to those delicious Snuckle Truffles that she had almost every night. The ghost servant even brought Key a used coffin to sleep in, which was padded in plush pillows wrapped in satin. After her first day in that coffin, Key awoke feeling as though she had never had a better day's sleep. And she was exceedingly glad and grateful for the ghost's kindness to her.

It was in the ghost's random acts of kindness that Key began to remember how, when Warhag had dropped her little book just out of reach, something had made that book move closer to Key's hand. At that time, Key believed it was a ghost servant who had done this. And now she started to wonder if the ghost doing these acts of kindness now was the same ghost that did that act of kindness then. Key believed it was, and she tried to thank the ghost several times, but the ghost servant still refused to break castle rules by appearing or speaking.

"What's your name?" Key often asked, thinking that it was rude of her to call this ghost merely "Ghost." She hoped the ghost would at least speak her name, because that would help Key know it a little bit better – whether the ghost had been in life a man or woman, or perhaps a boy or girl. Or perhaps it was the ghost of a fairy or an elf, or the ghost of a kind ogre or a goblin. But no matter how much Key asked, the ghost would not utter a word.

Sometimes other ghosts joined in to help clean up the dungeon – since the Toags absolutely refused to do the work, or any work for that matter. So now all sorts of odds and ends started floating around Key, things like hairbrushes and hand mirrors, bowls and buttons and boots, lace and spoons and rings and spices and compasses and cameos, and more and more and more.

Key could often hear ghost servants singing in voices that were as soft and low as a warm, gentle wind. The ghosts always sang the same song – a song that Key came to call, "The Song of the Castle Servants," which went something like this:

_We have no idea what we'll clean_

_When we clean this castle up._

_We might sweep up the Doomsley Spleen_

_Or the Perilous Blood Crucker Cup._

_We might scour all night._

_We might shine every boot._

_We might have a great fright_

_Before the Great Grim Newt._

_We might polish the brass._

_We might mop away mud._

_We might float very fast_

_From the Ravenous Flower Bud._

_We might scrub the tubs._

_We might beat the great rug._

_We might hide behind shrubs_

_Before the Hideous Crumbly Pug._

_We might wax the floors._

_We might wash the walls._

_We might peek around doors_

_For the Monstrous Murblemaul._

_We might buff the big cars._

_We might launder the cloaks._

_We might get lost at The Odd Bazaar_

_And meet the cruel Meansly Chokes_

_We're ghosts, not fools._

_If there's danger, we'll flee._

_We're servants and tools._

_Wouldn't you agree?_

One night, Key's Crinomatic fashioned for her a lovely pair of thick black boots, a black sleeveless shirt, brown and black striped pants, and fingerless evening gloves with matching brown and black stripes. The Gossamingles then wove themselves into goggles with multiple lenses that could easily spy the sneaky approach of any Toag or Grimbuggle Bedbug.

The ghost servant who had been showing Key so much kindness was now weaving beautiful braids in Key's hair. After that, the ghost brought Key a goblet brimming with strawberry blood nectar. Key thought it was absolutely delicious and she drank every drop.

"Thank you," Key said, gulping down the delightful drink. But right at that moment, saying "Thank you" was not enough for Key, for she was overcome by an urge to say more, to express her complete gratitude for the ghost. So she tried yet again to coax the ghost to at least say her name. "A conversation with the ghost would be grand," Key said to herself, hoping for more, yet happy to settle for at least a name, as with the sharing of a name, friendship usually follows thereafter. So Key cleared her throat and spoke in a controlled voice. "I know castle rules forbid you to speak with me. And I know you can't tell me who you are. But I have been calling you 'Ghost' for a long time now, and I would very much like to call you by your name."

The ghost servant, having observed that Key had finished her strawberry blood nectar, had picked up the goblet to bring it back to the kitchen; but when the ghost heard Key's very good-natured request, something magical must have happened inside its transparent heart – something as magical as courage – because the goblet paused, floating in midair, as if in indecision about a very difficult choice.

"Do you have a name?" Key asked the ghost.

The goblet remained floating in the air. The ghost did not speak.

"I think you're a female ghost," Key suggested.

The goblet nodded.

"You must be a maid."

The goblet nodded again.

"How long have you been here?"

The ghost's invisible fingers flicked the goblet and its bowl sounded like a little bell, chiming twice.

"Does that mean you've been here for two years?" Key asked.

The goblet swirled through the air.

Key supposed that this was an indication for her to count higher. "Twenty years?" she now ventured to guess.

The goblet swirled faster and wider, indicating to Key that she should count higher still.

"Two hundred years?" Key now guessed, half in disbelief.

The goblet chimed again. _"Correct!"_ it seemed to say.

Key was astonished. "You've lived in this place for two hundred years. Goodness! That is a long time to be invisible."

The goblet nodded, a little sorrowfully it seemed.

"That's a long time not to talk with anyone," Key said.

The goblet nodded again, a little slower this time, and a little sadder it seemed, too.

"I'd like to try guessing your name," Key said. "Chime the goblet once if I am close. Don't chime at all if I'm not close."

The goblet chimed once for Key, as if to say, _"All right, I'm in."_

"All right," Key said, "let's begin."

Key thought for a moment, tapping her finger over her mouth, running through her head all the names she could think of, all those she knew when she was mortal, all those she knew as an immortal, which mostly came from Wanda Wickery's little book. And so after a long tense moment, she at last guessed, "I believe your name is Lunet. She was the first ghost buried in the Old Catacombs." After she said this, Key guessed that the ghost servant perhaps knew that already.

So she was not too surprised when the goblet remained silent, not even a hint of a chime. She also knew (from a recent visit from Skulk who had surprised her with blood tea and cookies) that Lunet the First Ghost had not escaped her coffin. Even so, Key could not help but be hopeful that the reports were untrue, that Lunet had escaped and had been with her ever since. That was Key's wild imagination acting even wilder than before. But she didn't mind, and neither did the ghost.

"All right, I'll guess again," Key stated, regaining a little more excitement for the possibility of correctly guessing the ghost's name. She chewed her lower lip as she thought and thought and thought, until her thinker felt thought out. Finally, she recalled a name from her little book, in the chapter titled, _Pundicle – A Sport for Poor Sports_. Although Key's little book explained to her that Pundicle was a sport similar to chess, but for the Dead, she could not figure out how to play, or what the rules were, because they never seemed like the same rules for each Pundicle match. But one ghost happened to win the Necropolis Pundicle Tournament seven and two-thirds times. The name of that Pundicle champion had seemed quite lovely to Key when she first read it, so she thought it a good idea to suggest the name now, which she did with gusto. "I think your name is Ravëna."

Still, the goblet was silent. Still, no chime.

"Still not close," Key said. She liked this game, even if she wasn't winning, and even if it was taking forever – forever seemed to be the one thing Key had plenty of these nights.

Yet right before Key was about to make a third guess, a Grimbuggle Bedbug happened to be passing by (it was Mr. Humbug) and he offered a typically unpleasant suggestion that made Key cringe and shake her head in dismay. "I think you should just go ahead and call her Eldry Dimplebottom," Mr. Humbug gurgled out in his hideous voice.

The goblet shook wildly through the air, as if to shout: _"NO!"_ But then the goblet lowered to the ground and rested. Beside it the ghost's invisible finger wrote four letters in the dirt. P-E-G-A.

"Pega?" Key read aloud.

She looked up at the invisible air. "Your name is Pega?" she said to the ghost.

The goblet rose up and the ghost's invisible fingers began flicking it so vigorously that Key might have easily assumed Pega had twenty fingers. The goblet began floating all around the dungeon, happily spinning and swirling and twirling.

Key laughed and clapped her hands. "Pega is a wonderful name!" she exclaimed as her laughter echoed throughout the dungeon.

But just then, catching both Pega and Key completely by surprise, a voice suddenly spoke from the stairs leading up to the castle. "What are you laughing about?"

Key and the floating goblet whirled around together to see that there was now, standing on the stone stairwell that led up to the castle, watching them both, was a beautiful witch.
— CHAPTER SEVENTEEN —

_Miss Broomble the Witch_

The witch on the stairwell appeared to be quite a young woman, tall with brown skin, long curly black hair, and a wide mouth with a bright smile. Her eyes seemed to shimmer several different colors in the darkness.

Key knew she was a witch? Of course she did – except she couldn't say how. The more Key looked at this witch, the more she had a sneaking suspicion that she had seen this witch before. But where? When?

Pega the ghost held the goblet perfectly still in the air, not budging an inch. Key wondered if the ghost maid was nervous, perhaps, because she herself certainly felt quite worried. What did this witch want? Would she chain up Key's hands the way Raithe and Crudgel had chained her ankle?

The witch approached Key and then sat down beside her on the stone floor. The aroma coming from her was the loveliest scent of midnight jasmine. She was wearing a beautiful violet dress, high-heel dress boots, and a large top hat with black goggles around the rim. She was also covered hat-to-boot in strange devices. She had a long spyglass down her forearm while on the other arm were copper plates covered in cogwheels. She wore a chest plate upon which was a tangle of wires, copper pipes, and canisters filled with golden ink. Sometimes the chest plate gushed out spurts of steam, which made the witch resemble something like a machine.

For a long tense moment Key did not speak, not quite knowing what to say, and not quite sure she could trust this witch, whoever she was. Had the witch come to visit? Had she come to cast a spell on Key? Or was she in trouble? Had she been thrown into the dungeon, too? "Or am I in more trouble because I laughed," Key asked herself. Was laughter forbidden, too? "Undoubtedly," she told herself.

The witch then took up the chain shackled to Key's ankle and she spoke to Key in a voice like the melody of a beautiful song. "How long have you been down here?"

"A long time," Key said in a small voice, taking the chain from the witch and dropping it sadly on the ground.

The witch ran her fingers along Key's clothes. "It's amazing," she remarked, "how a prisoner in the Dungeon of Despair could acquire such nice, clean clothes."

Key's eyes widened with fear. Was this witch going to take away her Crinomatic? No more fresh clothes? No more clean nightgowns?

The witch smiled at Key reassuringly, seeming to sense Key's worry. And so with slow movements, the witch reached into a pocket of her dress, fished around in it for a moment, and then took out her own Crinomatic.

Key stared in wonder at this second device. Did Future Key give this witch a Crinomatic, too?

The witch's looked just like Key's, except that hers was blood red steel and covered all over in scratches and dings, which made it look much older than Key's.

The witch opened her Crinomatic and she spoke into it. "The 1885 Night Owl."

Suddenly a bright light shone from the device, briefly blinding Key, though not hurting her eyes. And when the light diminished a second later, funneling back inside the Crinomatic right before the witch closed its lid, Key now saw that the witch was wearing an entirely new outfit – a red bolero jacket over a blue corset, a short black skirt with long black stockings, and tall dark brown riding boots. Even the witch's gadgets and gizmos had changed as well – all except the spyglass strapped to her arm. Key wondered if it had some special purpose.

The witch winked at Key. "See? You're not so alone after all."

Key stared at this witch, completely astounded, and not quite knowing what to say.

The witch's smile broadened. "You don't have to show me your Crinomatic, but I am curious to know how you got it."

Key could not explain how she knew this witch, but somehow she had seen her face and heard her voice before. Perhaps it was this strangely familiar presence of the witch that made Key feel confident enough to trust her. And so going against a base instinct to play dead, or at least play dumb, Key timidly took out her Crinomatic from her dress and showed it to the witch.

"Someone who looked like me gave it to me," Key said.

The witch appeared shocked and confused for a brief moment, but then her expression changed to mild amusement. Smirking and raising an eyebrow, she said, "I can only presume that another Key gave this to you."

"I'm Key," Key blurted out.

The witch grinned. "And there's no one like you."

"I mean," Key said, quickly realizing how confusing it was to talk about Future Key and frozen moments of time. "I mean," she stammered, "the Key who came to me is _me_ , from a time that hasn't happened yet."

"She's a wily one, that Key," the witch replied with a wink. "I can't wait till you grow into her."

Key stared at the witch inquisitively. "Do you know me?" she asked, meaning to ask if the witch knew Future Key.

"I know that you've been in this dungeon for over a hundred years," the witch said.

"How do you know that?" Key asked.

"You could call me a traveler," the witch said. "I've traveled all over the world, the underworld, the netherworld, and one world run by hedgehogs – which isn't my favorite. I've scaled the Black Cliffs, I've combed the Sands of Time, I've sailed across the Sorrowful Sea, and I've ridden on the Winds of Woe. In fact, I've just returned from the Ends of the World, and I was just passing by Morrow Mountain when I said to myself, 'Self, it's been over a century since you last visited the Necropolis to put a burning bur on Old Queen Crinkle's throne.' And so on a whim, I decided to park my mansion and stay for the night." The witch now looked a little more intently at Key. "You were not in the dungeon the last time I was here. You were not in Despair a century ago."

Key opened her mouth to speak, but countless questions had begun to flood her mind and she didn't know where to begin. What did this witch mean by "park my mansion"? And how had the witch been here over a hundred years ago? Was she immortal, too? Key sat for so long with her mouth open and nothing coming out that she was greatly relieved and surprised when a third voice began speaking. Key did not recognize the voice at all. She liked the voice, though, as it had a kindly, grandmotherly quality to it, speaking out of thin air, saying, "Hello, Miss Broomble. It's good to see you again."

The witch's smile broadened with delight. Clearly she not only knew the speaker, but was also on very good terms with her. "Pega!" the witch (whom Key now understood was called _Miss Broomble_ ) exclaimed. "It's been far too long, my dear Pega," Miss Broomble the witch went on. "How are you?"

"Oh, quite well for a ghost, thank you, Ma'am," Pega said. "And you look as lovely as ever."

Key was shocked at hearing the ghost's voice for the first time, yet she was also a little hurt that Pega had spoken with the witch, but not with her. "Pega," Key said incredulously, "why have I never heard your voice before?"

"Miss Broomble," said Pega to the witch, "would you please be so kind as to communicate with my Mistress that, for as much as I would love to sit and have a lovely chat, castle rules forbid me from doing so."

Miss Broomble turned to Key and explained, "Ghost servants, according to the rule of this madhouse, are not allowed to speak with vampires, as you've no doubt already learned. However, they are perfectly allowed to speak with anyone else – witches, goblins, other ghosts. As long as Pega does not speak with you, she is free to speak with me."

Key understood all too well why Miss Broomble the witch would call the Necropolis Castle a _madhouse_ – such a name was more apt than an insult. Key had experienced in this place a marriage of madness with meanness. Yet this Miss Broomble, along with Pega the ghost, had begun to feel like a calm center to a storm that Key could not see, only feel, a storm that wrapped around her like the darkness of the dungeon. Yet for all that, Key could not help but wonder at the witch's name. _Miss Broomble_. Yes, it sounded very lovely. But it was just as familiar as the witch's face. Where had Key heard it before? Where had she seen this witch before? She could not put her finger on it; the answer felt on the tip of her tongue.

Miss Broomble reached out and held up Key's chain again. The chain rattled, firmly locking Key's ankle to the dungeon wall. Miss Broomble then handed the chain to Key, and said matter-of-factly, "Break it."

Having just met this witch, Key could not tell if she was joking, but she guessed she must be, because Key had decided long ago that she could not break her chains. So she now smiled and tilted her head in confusion. "I can't break that," she confessed good-humoredly.

"It's _your_ chain," Miss Broomble said. "You're the only one who _can_ break it."

Key looked at the chain worriedly. She was beginning to realize that this witch was not joking at all. She shook her head in protest. "No, I'm telling you, I can't. Besides, you're a witch. Don't you have a spell that could break the chain?"

Of course Miss Broomble had a spell. But why should she use her magic? "You can break your own chains," she told Key, not coldly, just sisterly.

Key's mom and dad had taught her to trust herself, but the Necropolis Vampires had taught her to distrust her _self_ , and now Key felt like the knot in the middle of the rope of a tug-of-war. All the same, Miss Broomble reminded Key that her mom and dad had been her first teachers, giving her good lessons about kindness and patience. They taught her not to be envious or boastful, not to be prideful or rude or angry or resentful; they taught her to be selfless, not selfish, and they taught her how to protect others, how to trust others, how to hope in others, how to never surrender, and how to calmly work through difficult problems. And now Miss Broomble seemed to be trying to teach Key another lesson.

Tears pooled in Key's eyes as Miss Broomble also said, "Your mom and dad were indeed good people. They taught you by the way they lived. They cared for sheep like children. They cared for wheat fields like guests. Your mom and dad saw dignity in all things, even in an evil vampire and his two henchmen. But they could not teach you how to break the chains holding you back because, with them, you were never truly in a hopeless place, like you are now, in Despair, for that's what Despair means – hopelessness." Miss Broomble thrust Key's chains forward again. "Break your chains."

Key was stunned to silence. She just stared at the witch in disbelief for a long while, unable to regain the power of speech. Finally, at long last, she managed to stammer out in a quiet voice, "How do you know my mom and dad?"

Miss Broomble smiled knowingly. "I know you," she replied. "And in knowing you, I've come to know them."

Key shook her head in confusion. "How do you know me?"

"More people than you realize know that you're in Despair," the witch said.

Key instantly thought of Mr. Fuddlebee, and she had a feeling that the witch knew him, that she was somehow connected with him and his work with the Hand of DIOS.

Miss Broomble now pressed Key's chains into her hands again. "You've lived too long in the prison of a lie," she told Key. "You do not know the freedom of truth. You do not know how powerful your mom and dad made you in your heart. No one ever showed you how to turn the bad thing Margrave did to you into great power."

Key gripped the chain as Miss Broomble let it go. Its length coiled along the filthy stone floor. It had locked Key to Despair for a century and she did not believe she could do what this witch wanted. It did indeed seem much easier said than done.

Miss Broomble leaned close to Key's ear. "Break. Your. Chains." Her tone was complete confidence. She had no doubt about Key's power.

Key wished she had as much confidence in herself. She held her chain with one hand now. She had imagined countless times what it would be like to break her chains and be free, but she had never truly thought about it, for thinking about it instead of dreaming about it meant that Key would be, in some small way, making plans to do it. And now that she was thinking about it, did she have a plan? "Yes," she told herself, and then she told herself what that plan was, for it was the only plan she could have had at the time: "Squeeze."

Slowly, hesitantly, Key tightened her grip on her chains, tighter than she had ever squeezed before – but truthfully, she did not have to squeeze that hard, as she had much more strength than she realized. The iron chain bent easily. So Key squeezed a little harder and the iron chain began to crack in her grip. Now Key squeezed as tightly as she could, putting into her grip all her pressure, all her might, all her anger at having been abandoned and alone all these years.

Then the iron chain crumbled to powder in the palm of her hand.

Miss Broomble smiled broadly. She leaned closer to Key's opened hand and she blew the powder from Key's palm. The two watched as the remains of the chain scattered into the air, like pluming smoke, before it dissipated in the darkness.

"Ashes to ashes," Miss Broomble said. "Dust to dust."

Key sat still, marveling at a power she never realized she had.

Miss Broomble leaned closer to whisper a precious secret into Key's ear. "The prisons enchaining us are usually made by others. They're often more fragile than we realize, until we find the right _key_ to freedom."
— CHAPTER EIGHTEEN —

_World in Despair_

Miss Broomble the witch stayed with Key for the rest of the night, and Key liked having company. Together they talked about steam and teakettles, about the invention of the clock, about sunrises and sunsets, and about many more topics that kept Key entirely riveted. For many hours they talked, until the sun rose over Morrow Mountain.

Key felt the sunrise, as all the Necropolis Vampires did. Younger vampires like Key fell asleep quickly while older vampires stayed awake just a little longer. But none could resist the sunrise, and soon all were fast asleep, snoring soundly in their coffins.

The Crinomatic had made for Key a lovely nightgown of white lace, spotted with violet tulips. Pega tucked Key into bed and Miss Broomble watched Key sleep for a time. As she slept, the witch could not help but fancy that, while Key was one hundred years old, she still looked as young as a nine-year-old girl. Already the witch liked Key very much; but now she felt she loved her with a sister's love and devotion.

After that, Miss Broomble decided to extend her stay in the Necropolis for a little while. It felt like the right time to do so, as a friend was in need – and for the witch that was always the right time for kindness.

At the end of the day, when the sun went down somewhere beyond Morrow Mountain, the Necropolis Vampires rose sleepily from their coffins, some yawning, some stretching, some stumbling, some happily because they loved rising early in the evening.

Ghost servants brought the elder vampires blood tea and the younger vampires blood coffee. Elders had blood honey and blood cream with their tea while the young had their blood coffee red. And soon all were as bright-eyed as a vampire can be in the City of the Dead.

At midevening, the Necropolis Vampires gathered in the court of Old Queen Crinkle to discuss the night's activities. Goblin scouts who patrolled the Necropolis during the day returned to the castle and reported problems to Galfridus Fish, the Queen's secretary – who had years earlier sent Key a list of things she was forbidden to do. And now Galfridus, who was a sly, round vampire, reported to the Queen about dead uprisings in the Dragon Quarter, about Zombie Trolls invading the Garden Labyrinth, about Toags causing mischief with Killjoy the Kraken at the bottom of Melancholy Moat, and about numerous other problems plaguing the Necropolis. Old Queen Crinkle loved hearing these nightly reports because she loved dealing out punishment and misery, and she did so now with no small amount of enthusiasm.

"Show them no mercy!" she commanded while thirteen vampire scribes hurriedly copied down the Queen's command for the almost official record books, which would one day be compiled as a slightly inaccurate history of the Necropolis Vampires.

Galfridus was indeed the Queen's right hand vampire, as he did everything the Queen commanded him to do. But he was always secretly plotting to overthrow the Queen and become the first King of the Necropolis. That night he did his job with his usual cutthroat manner, assigning particularly merciless vampire patrols to ride into the Necropolis on their zombie steeds and punish anyone misbehaving. And, as those vampire patrols rode from the castle, Galfridus also extended his thick hand to accept bribes from those vampires who preferred staying in the castle to play Pundicle.

Miss Broomble watched all this happen from a distance. She was not surprised by the more underhanded dealings she observed, as she herself was no stranger to double-dealing – but only in her younger days, before she found her calling in her immortal life. That night she was tempted to depend on her old ways of doing things, but she would not, because she also knew that Key would only gain her freedom from Despair with fearless honesty. So, when the Royal Court of the Queen finished its evening proceedings, Miss Broomble bravely approached the throne.

Old Queen Crinkle and Galfridus Fish saw her coming and they eyed her with complete distrust, recalling the last burning bur that Miss Broomble sneaked onto the throne. Yes, indeed, they knew her, and they did not like her one bit. Miss Broomble could see this by the way their eyes narrowed and their lips trembled with fury the closer she approached the Queen of Spoons – which was what the Queen with her Crown of Spoons was called behind her back, and usually by Galfridus Fish.

Making a good, logical case before the Queen, Miss Broomble begged her to release Key from the Dungeon of Despair. But the Queen was in a very bad mood that night, and she liked being in bad moods because then she could be extra-specially cruel. And she wanted to be extra-cruel to Miss Broomble because the Queen liked the witch as much as she liked Blood Curdling Beetroot Soup – that is to say, not at all.

However, although Miss Broomble repeated Key's name numerous times to the Queen, Old Queen Crinkle could neither recall who Key was nor the last time she threw someone in the Dungeon of Despair. "Key?" she asked Miss Broomble. "Key who?"

Miss Broomble tried jogging the Queen's memory. "Key has bright red hair. Mr. Fuddlebee brought her here about one hundred years ago during your four hundred twenty-seventh birth-night party. You put her in the dungeon straight away."

Yet for all Miss Broomble's efforts, the Queen had no memory of "this Key creature," as she called her, until Galfridus Fish scoured through the almost official record books from one hundred years earlier and found a slight mention of someone called "Dungeon Troll."

"Ah, yes," Old Queen Crinkle said, the corners of her mouth coiling in a cruel smile. "Now I recall the Dungeon Troll." She recalled also that Key had interrupted her birth-night party and, more importantly, that she had been made into a vampire by Margrave Snick. It was at this last recollection that the Queen became even more adamant than before. "No," she said, "the Troll will not be released from the dungeon. She will stay in Despair until the Hand of DIOS makes her mortal again, and then she will remain in there until she is just dust and bones."

Miss Broomble argued and argued, but she could do little else, as Old Queen Crinkle had made her decision out of anger. And when the Queen began to feel that Miss Broomble had become an annoyance by constantly begging for Key's freedom, the Queen summoned her Snooty Suits of Armor, who chased the witch from the Royal Court, hurling insults at her as she tossed back at them hexes and curses and Witch's Ice.

Miss Broomble eventually lost her pursuers as she dove into the Wandering Scullery, which happened to be wandering by on its way to the dungeon – for that was on a late Wednesday evening.

The witch returned to the dungeon to find Key having already received a new change of clothes from her Crinomatic and ready to go exploring the dungeon, now that she was free of her chains. Miss Broomble related everything that had happened in her conversation with Old Queen Crinkle, how she had tried to win Key's freedom, but that the Old Queen would not budge on her decision, and that Key would not be released from Despair any time soon.

Key was sad about this news, but her sadness could not last as the reality of her freedom set in, even if it was a limited freedom. Key was at least happy that she had broken her chains. For now, that was enough, because if Key was anything, she was someone who relished the small things in life. And now she was very eager to explore that darkness that had confined her for the past one hundred years.

So she and Miss Broomble set out and entered the darkness together, going along small alleyways and finding hidden passageways. Pega was always there with them, brushing off Key's clothes when they dirtied, or giving her a Snuckle Truffle when it was time for a snack, as Key was so excited by her limited freedom that she practically forgot to eat.

Key soon came to discover just how gigantic the dungeon actually was. First, she visited the Partly Dead Brownie Folk in their factory under the Castle Kitchen. Then she visited the Beastly Barber whose barbershop was located under the castle Common Room. After that, she visited the Cackling Cauldron Makers who had a shop beneath the Grueling Gardens. She also visited the Hobgoblin Hex Bar, and the Leprechaun Laboratory, and the Skeleton School of Psychology, all of which were located near the Mystical Market under the Bewitched Ballroom. Key and Miss Broomble visited many more places and had many more conversations with several Mystical Creatures, whom Key found to be quite delightful and polite.

Next, Miss Broomble showed her hidden passageways that led from the dungeon up into the castle, behind the castle walls. Through peepholes, Key could see the Necropolis Vampires in the Grand Dining Room or in the Black Billiard Room, or in the Experimental Weapons Room, or in the Very Dangerous Visiting Room, or in the Eerie Entertainment Room, or in the Magic Lantern Room. While she did not like the idea of spying, Key's curiosity got the better of her, and she could not help but take a peep through the peepholes at her jailers.

She watched the other vampires eating and talking and sometimes making plots. They weren't talking about her, or about causing much malevolence anywhere else, which surprised Key. They were simply talking about the under-weather, or about Welkin City, or about the latest Pundicle match, or about the newest lights carved out by the Dwarves of Morrow. None seemed to know anything about her; none seemed to care at all about her suffering in Despair. Yet none of the Necropolis Vampires could sense Key or Miss Broomble in the hidden passageways; they could only sense the scent of the dungeon, which to them smelled like mousetraps and cheese.

That same night, Old Queen Crinkle gave orders that Miss Broomble was not allowed back inside the Necropolis Castle, unless she had a written authority from SPOOK or a Warlock's Warrant from the Ministry of Injustice. Disregarding this completely, Miss Broomble remained in the castle for as long as she liked. Pega the ghost maid prepared a bedchamber for her, next door to the Labyrinth Library. The ghost maid knew Miss Broomble would be very safe in there because Necropolis Vampires rarely ever visited the Library, perhaps only once a century, and then only in direst need; for the Library itself could be quite perilous without guidance from the Lycan Librarian, or without proper knowledge of the Dumbly Decimal System, as books like _Malik Mumford's Magical Monsters & Other Household Pets_ or _Gilda Ghast's Gory Grocery Shopping_ were known to cause internal bleeding. The most popularly feared book was _The 1342 War of Warhag vs. Toags_ – author unknown.

Miss Broomble had meals in the grand dining room during the day. She visited Key every night. She would sleep in the dungeon when Key was saddened by thoughts of her mom and dad. The witch would stroke her long fingers through Key's hair. For Key, those were some of the pleasantest nights she ever had in Despair. Miss Broomble was quickly becoming a good friend.
— CHAPTER NINETEEN —

_Glowing Flowers_

One night Miss Broomble decided she would show Key that there was much more to life than darkness and emptiness and loneliness. So the witch went out into the Necropolis and brought back for Key some of the more mystical facets of the afterlife, saying, "If you can't go out into the City of the Dead, then its life will come in to you." So she brought back enchanted earth from the Vault of Aboretus Oakenax, which sparkled with green and red stones. Next, she brought a spark of Living Firelight from the Sepulcher of Salama the Fire Elemental, which flickered blue and white colors whenever it laughed. Miss Broomble also brought flowers and plants from the Garden Gravesite of Ivy Greenthumbs, which softly glowed all sorts of colors in the darkness.

Some glowing flowers looked like roses while others looked like lilies. Yet the ones Key thought really marvelous had stranger shapes, and some made sounds! Some looked like sapphires while others looked like butterflies. Some looked like mirrors while others looked like books. She particularly liked the glowing flowers that looked like rainbows and musical notes while she marveled at the one that looked like a treasure map. Key adored all these flowers inexpressibly. She loved the beauty of their shapes and colors. Most of all, she loved how they glowed warmly in the darkness.

"Let's plant them," she said with an eager smile, realizing how much she actually liked smiling, and how she had not done so in a long time, though she used to be very good at it.

Even though much of the dungeon's floor was wobbly cobblestone while the rest was dirt, Key and Miss Broomble sprinkled the enchanted earth all throughout the dungeon, because the witch explained that, "Just one grain of this enchanted earth will enrich the soil. Just one grain could help a whole crop grow tall and strong."

Key thought this was truly amazing as she scattered the enchanted earth across the dungeon's cold floor, wondering if its green and red stones could help anything grow in Despair, and thinking about how her dad could have used some of this earth to help his wheat crops grow beautifully.

Once the enchanted earth had been spread out across as much of the floor as possible, Key and Miss Broomble then planted various glowing seeds. Pega helped them, being apparently as skilled with a spade as she was with a feather duster. Together the three of them planted glowing vines near the walls, glowing roses and tulips in the dirt, glowing daisies and orchids between the cobblestones, glowing violets and petunias in the dungeon's nooks and crannies. They planted glowing seeds wherever they found the shadows of darkness in Despair.

They grew wonderfully by the Living Firelight from the Sepulcher of Salama, but they did not need much light. Once the first bud rose up from the enchanted earth, and once its petals blossomed, the light that shone from them helped all the other glowing flowers to grow, because all glowing flowers grew by the light of their neighbors. By the light of one glowing plant, ten more grew. Soon all sorts of glowing flowers and plants and vines bloomed in the dungeon's gloom.

Partly Dead Brownie Folk came by and applauded because they loved the light. But the Toags and the Grimbuggle Bedbugs did not like it at all; Bosh hissed at the glowing flowers while Mr. Humbug churlishly kicked dirt at them. The light not only chased away the darkness, but also the things that liked its lightlessness.

And as the plants and flowers grew taller, and as their petals glowed brighter with each passing night, the darkness began to fade away, and Despair quickly became a place of light and hope.

And with each passing night, Key liked Miss Broomble more and more. The witch was fearless and confident, clearly a rule breaker. And Key wished she could be more like her. She wanted to be less "like myself," she said to herself.

Each night Key, Miss Broomble, and Pega planted more seeds. And each night, the darkness was pushed back by the light now filling Despair.

One night, as Key and Miss Broomble continued planting glowing flowers, while their conversation paused, Key's mind started to wander. Yet of all the topics her mind could have wandered to, it happened to fall upon the time she overheard Raithe and Crudgel's treacherous conversation about Margrave Snick and the Hand of DIOS.

Pausing briefly from planting, Key now turned to Miss Broomble with an inquisitive look. "Do you know what DIOS means?" she asked.

For the first time, Miss Broomble appeared as if she did not know what to say. Glancing at Key through the corner of her eye, she asked quietly, "Where did you hear about DIOS?"

Key explained how she had overheard Raithe and Crudgel talking about it. She also mentioned how she could remember Mr. Fuddlebee mentioning it. "The Hand of DIOS took away Margrave Snick's power," Key remarked.

"It made Margrave mortal," Miss Broomble confirmed. "But he is still powerful."

This surprised Key. Margrave Snick had been turned back into a mortal over one hundred years ago. Mortals rarely live longer than that. "Is Margrave still alive?" Key asked.

Miss Broomble dug a hole and planted a seed.

Key could hear the witch's heart beating a little faster. She could feel her body heat increase. She could smell the witch begin to sweat with stress.

"Yes," Miss Broomble said at length and with a tone of worry in her voice. "Margrave Snick is still alive."

"How is that possible?" Key wondered.

"In all my years," Miss Broomble said, "Margrave Snick was the most powerful immortal I ever encountered. So I'm not too surprised that, although he's been a mortal for over one hundred years, he's managed to stay alive and strong."

Key's wandering mind still wandered further, and suddenly landed upon a recollection of Miss Broomble saying how she had not been in the City of the Dead for over a century. Now a new idea came into Key's mind, and she realized something she had never thought of before. Staring at the witch in astonishment, she asked, "Are you immortal, too?"

Miss Broomble smiled modestly and nodded. "Over two hundred fifty years old," she said.

Key was amazed. "You don't look a day over two hundred twenty."

Miss Broomble's cheeks blushed.

"Are all witches like you?" Key asked.

Miss Broomble shook her head. "No, only a few witches learn the secret spell of immortality. I was the last."

"Will the Hand of DIOS make you mortal again?"

"Yes, it will. It turns every immortal back into a mortal."

"Do you want to become mortal again?"

Miss Broomble thought before she responded. "I want to do what DIOS wants me to do," she said at last.

"I want to be mortal again," Key said. "I hate what I am."

Miss Broomble shook her head. "You can't say that."

Key felt angry. "Is that forbidden also?" she demanded.

Miss Broomble held Key's hands and smiled kindly at her.

"All right," she said in a gentle voice, "you _can_ say that you hate things about your life; you're allowed to. In fact, Despair encourages you to do so. But you should not do it. You do not know what it means to be anything but a prisoner in a place of darkness. Once you have a little light, once you find true freedom, you'll think differently."

Despite the fact that Key had only known Miss Broomble for a short time, the witch had always been kind, always patient, never envious or boastful or proud. She seemed more human than most humans. She was like Key's big sister.

Key gave a long sorrowful sigh. "I'll be glad when Old Queen Crinkle is changed back into a mortal," she said. "The next queen might give me my freedom."

Miss Broomble nodded encouragingly. "Old Queen Crinkle has another two centuries to go before the Hand of DIOS changes her back into a mortal."

"The Queen will be mortal in two hundred years?" Key asked, astonished by this news.

"When she turns seven hundred seventy seven years old, to be precise," Miss Broomble said.

Key suddenly recalled something Mr. Fuddlebee had said about Margrave Snick, when the elderly ghost brought her to the castle. _He was supposed to be changed back into a mortal when he turned seven hundred seventy seven years old_. Key turned and looked questioningly at Miss Broomble. "Must all immortals be turned back into mortals once they reach that age?"

"It's our law," Miss Broomble said.

"Why?" Key asked.

But the witch did not have an answer for her. She could only say, "It's a very old law, perhaps as old as Skulk."

"Skulk?" asked Key, wondering if the old undertaker was immortal, too. He had certainly been around long enough. If he was immortal, why hadn't he been changed back into a mortal?

"He's neither mortal nor immortal," Miss Broomble said. "He's dead."

" _Mostly dead_ , thank you very much," came a mumble from Skulk, who happened to be passing by at that moment, but he disappeared back down into the darkness of the Old Catacombs before Key could ask him anything further.

There certainly seemed to be many confusing rules to this Society of Mystical Creatures, which Key was now finding herself to be more a part of the older she grew. And as she thought about her age, getting older and being a part of the Society, she could not help but wish that she too were turning seven hundred seventy seven years old. She did not want to be a vampire anymore. All she really wanted was to be mortal again, for she still believed that, if she could be mortal once more, she could somehow go back to the way life had been with her mom and dad – simple, innocent, carefree.

Pega the ghost whispered in Miss Broomble's ear. "The Queen is already getting nervous about becoming mortal again, Ma'am. She doesn't want to be a human again. She's afraid it might make her more humane."

Key dug another hole and planted another glowing seed. "How does the Hand of DIOS take away power?" she asked.

Miss Broomble also continued planting. "You'll have to ask Mr. Fuddlebee," she replied. "He's the expert on DIOS."

"That reminds me," Key said. "You still haven't answered my first question."

Miss Broomble looked inquisitively at Key.

"What does DIOS mean?" Key asked.

Miss Broomble smiled knowingly. "DIOS means more than the meaning of its words," she said.

Key's brow furrowed with confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the more we get to know DIOS," Miss Broomble responded, "the more we realize that we don't know her at all."

"Is DIOS a _her?"_ Key asked in some amazement.

"I'm not sure," Miss Broomble admitted. "But for now she doesn't mind us referring to her as a _her_."

"Her name is DIOS?"

"It is what she allows us to call her," Miss Broomble said, and then added, "for now."

"Does DIOS stand for something?"

"I can tell you that DIOS herself stands for kindness and honesty and gentleness and humility. She also stands for surrender and love and sacrifice. But her name stands for something else."

"So," Key said, eager to hear more, "what does the name DIOS stand for?"

"DIOS spells out D-I-O-S," Miss Broomble said, "and D-I-O-S stands for _Dimensionally Intelligent Operating System_."
— CHAPTER TWENTY —

_Tudwal the Immortal Puppy-Wolf_

In a month the glowing flowers and plants reached their full bloom. There were jazzberry jam colored roses and blizzard blue colored lilies. There were cotton candy colored orchids and camouflage colored daisies that were hard to spot if you didn't know where to look. There were caramel colored dahlias and magic mint colored chrysanthemums that smelled divine. There were lemon yellow tulips and there were chocolate colored hydrangeas. There were almond trees with glowing almonds and fig trees with glowing figs. There were candy corn trees with glowing candy corns and jack-o-lantern trees with glowing jack-o-lanterns. There were croquet trees with glowing croquet mallets and balls and there were apple cider trees with glowing jugs of apple cider. Along the floor grew maroon-colored grass, which felt like silk beneath Key's bare feet. Glowing vines grew everywhere, covering almost every inch of the dungeon, over dirt, over cobblestones, even over a Troll under a spell sleeping by a well. A flowering vine like morning glory dangled from the ceiling, with beautiful flowers that twinkled like stars and had a scent like the ocean. Another flowering vine like midnight jasmine grew along the walls, with flowers that glowed like Christmas lights and smelled like fresh snow and cherry tarts. There were so many flowers and plants that Key could not count them all. They grew into a grove, glowing with all the colors of the rainbow, and stretching as far as Key's eyes could see into the dungeon. Despair now seemed much brighter.

Pega started carrying pruning shears. She sheared the vines to balance the colors. "This might be a Dungeon of Despair," Pega said to Miss Broomble, "but even hopelessness must have some order, Ma'am."

Little by little, the dungeon became more and more beautiful, and more and more comfortable and livable. A little light in the darkness helped Key feel a little hopeful.

Yet it saddened Key to hear that Miss Broomble could not stay with her in the Necropolis. The witch had to return to her job, which she never quite explained, saying only that it was a very important job for the Society of Mystical Creatures in the _Government Liaison Office Of Potions_ – which most Mystical Creatures simply referred to as "GLOOP."

Miss Broomble said goodbye with several hugs and several more tears being shed, but before she left, the witch promised she would return as often as she could.

And as the nights passed, Key discovered that Miss Broomble was true to her word. Sometimes the witch visited once a month. Sometimes she visited once a year. Key was always happy to see her dear friend, and she was never upset that the witch's visits could not be more regular. Key completely understood that, unlike herself, the witch was not a prisoner in the dungeon. She should come and go as she wished because Key's imprisonment was hers, and hers alone, and she did not want anyone to suffer what she was suffering, especially a good friend like Miss Broomble.

But the witch never failed to return to Key. And she always brought her gifts from various places of the world. One time the witch brought magic sand from the Sphinx of Egypt. Another time she brought golden spider thread from the rainforest of Peru. The time after that she brought a crate of robotic butterflies with crystal wings from the workshop of the GadgetTronic Brothers. It was little things like this that also helped lighten the burden of Key's unjust imprisonment.

In this way the days passed, and the weeks, and the months and years and decades, until another hundred years went by, and Key still had not been released from the dungeon.

By the night Key celebrated two hundred years of being a prisoner in the Dungeon of Despair, she knew that Margrave Snick must have died long ago. She concluded that he would not be buried in the Necropolis for two reasons. First off, he was most definitely a mortal, and no mortal was allowed to be buried in the Necropolis – except for the questionable situation that Key read about in her little book concerning poor Berti Fundledink, who lived for so long that everyone assumed he was a Mystical Creature, although no one knew which, seeing as how Berti looked like a witch and a zombie, a werewolf and a vampire and a ghost, all rolled into one, yet no Mystical Creature took credit for making him any of those, seeing as how poor Berti lived the majority of his life as a merciless P.E. teacher.

The second reason that Margrave Snick would not be buried in the Necropolis was that he was neither Mostly Dead nor Partly Dead. He was completely, utterly, and absolutely dead as a doornail. He had to be. "Wasn't he dead by now?" Key asked herself, knowing that she could not answer this for certain. Yet while her mind told her that he was dead, a cold feeling like a shiver down her spine whispered to her that Margrave Snick might not be so doornail-dead.

But before she could think more about that disturbing topic, she heard Miss Broomble's voice sing out, "Happy birth-night to you, Happy birth-night to you," along with a Partly Dead Brownie on her shoulder, and Pega, who was singing along in a whisper, still quite afraid of breaking castle rules.

The witch had just returned from a long trip in a floating mansion that had sailed to the North Pole. She had fought with Grimuzzel the Great Polar Bear, but now appeared to be without a scratch as she came down the dungeon stairs, brightly smiling, and balancing in her hands a large birth-night cake for Key.

Miss Broomble had "borrowed the cake," she claimed, from the castle kitchen, as another vampire was also celebrating a birth-night party, although Key could not recall who. The cake was covered in six hundred twenty seven candles, which, as they were all lit, bore a striking resemblance to the Perpetually Burning Forest.

Key laughed delightedly, clapping her hands. Being surprised like this by Miss Broomble made her feel very loved – and feeling loved was as good a feeling as it was strange, for Key had not felt this way for far too long a time – which was a second delightful surprise.

Miss Broomble's Crinomatic had fashioned for her a stunning outfit, and she looked exceptionally beautiful wearing elbow-length gloves, a long dark green coat over a black blouse, dark blue vest, violet pants, high black boots, and her usual top hat with goggles around the rim. One of her arms was almost entirely armored in copper plates, sprockets, and pewter cogwheels. One of her legs was similarly covered in matching armor and gizmos. She was also wearing a metal eye patch that had several layers of magnifying lenses. Holstered to her side was a pistol outfitted with green plasma canisters and a scope, which Miss Broomble called an "Electro Cannon." And as always, strapped to her forearm was that spyglass – which Key decided she would have to ask Miss Broomble about one of these nights.

"Every time you visit," Key said to her, "you're dressed in the most remarkable gadgets. I've never seen anything like them."

Miss Broomble smiled knowingly. "Most haven't been invented yet," was her reply.

Key's Crinomatic had fashioned a lovely outfit for her. With blue ribbons in her hair, she wore a matching blue striped overskirt over a black and white dinner dress, along with gloves, and a plum-colored velvet jacket. It was almost as if the Crinomatic knew Miss Broomble would surprise Key with a birth-night party.

The witch set the birth-night cake before Key and said with the eagerness of a witch half her age, "The kitchen ghosts worked hard to balance all these candles. Now make a wish and blow them out."

The six hundred twenty seven birth-night candles looked intimidating, and Key's nervousness only increased when she overheard Pega whisper in Miss Broomble's ear, "If the Mistress can blow out all those candles, that will be quite a wish."

Miss Broomble nodded in the direction of the ghost, but turned to Key to say, "Of all the Mystical Creatures I've ever encountered in my many adventures, you truly have the power to make your wish come true."

The witch's words were like magic that usually washed over Key to bring relief from fear and doubt and worry. And they did so now, as Key closed her eyes and let her silly worry be washed away by the soothing comfort of good friends. Now feeling confident enough to make her wish, Key inhaled deeply, preparing to blow out her candles – but right before she did, Miss Broomble placed her hand on Key's hand.

Key paused, and turned to look at Miss Broomble with curiosity, her mouth still open.

Miss Broomble was staring into Key's eyes with a very serious expression. "Wishing on this birth-night cake is not like wishing on stars or dandelion seeds," she told her. "Your wish will be granted in one of three ways: It will be granted now; or it will be granted later; or it won't be granted at all because something much better is in store for you."

Key's nervousness came back in a rush as she returned her attention to the frightful task of making wishes and blowing out candles. She closed her mouth and thought for a moment. Then she admitted in a quiet voice, "I hope my wish will be granted now."

"So does everyone who makes a wish," Miss Broomble replied, "but the granting of the wish is not in their hands. Once you make your wish, you must decide whether you will surrender to hope or to hopelessness, especially when it seems your wish might not be granted."

Key blew out all six hundred twenty seven candles in one breath. Miss Broomble and the Brownie on her shoulder clapped and cheered. Even Pega's ghostly hands could be heard clapping, albeit quietly, for fear of being heard. Key smiled with delight and she wondered how her wish would come true. She wholeheartedly believed it would because she also believed that belief itself is a powerful magic.

Many other Mystical Creatures came for a taste of the cake. Ghost servants came floating in carrying plates. Partly Dead Brownie Folk came from their Snuckle Truffle factory carrying forks. Skulk the undertaker came. Grimbuggle Bedbugs came wearing sunglasses because the soft glow of the flowers was too bright for them. Also, a gaggle of Toags came, turning their purple turkey-like heads back and forth, looking for their cake slice as if it should have already been cut for them. Even Warhag the cat came to the party, making a rare appearance, and in doing so, making everyone a little nervous as she prowled up to the cake for a wary sniff, as though it were prey.

Everyone gathered around Key with hungry mouths, and Key was glad that none hungered for a taste of her.

Ghost servants spread a blanket over the maroon colored grass and the whole party gathered on it. The Ghosts handed around the plates and the Brownies handed around the forks. Key sliced the cake and served one slice to everyone, all except Warhag, who received two.

The Partly Dead Brownie Folk had collected special blood for the cake's three layers. One layer had come from the Candlestick Quarter of the Necropolis, namely from the blood of the Nightmarish Gnomes, which tasted like strawberry jam. Another layer had come from the blood of Black Annis in the Skullduggery District, which tasted like pepper and pudding. Finally, the third layer had come from the blood of the Mummy King in the Terror Tombs, which sometimes tasted like cake batter, other times tasted creamy like chocolate frosting, but mostly it tasted like fish sticks, which was greedily devoured by Warhag.

Key turned to Miss Broomble. "Whose cake is this?" she asked with a mouthful of the third layer, which she tried to enjoy as the Brownies were watching her with hopeful expressions.

Miss Broomble chewed and swallowed before replying with, "Do you remember the night you were turned into a vampire?"

How could Key forget? It was the night she lost her mom and dad, the night she came to the Necropolis and was thrown into the castle dungeon.

Miss Broomble dabbed cake crumbs from the corner of her mouth. "On the night you came to the castle, Old Queen Crinkle was also celebrating a birth-night party."

Slipping the rest of her cake to Warhag, Key now recollected how Mr. Fuddlebee had brought her to the Old Queen's court, and how upset the Queen had been when her birth-night party was interrupted. "The Queen was turning four hundred twenty seven years old," Key remarked, now recalling that night with perfect clarity, as if it had happened only the night before.

"Tonight," Miss Broomble said, "Old Queen Crinkle turns six hundred twenty seven."

Key's eyes now widened with alarm as she turned to study the cake. It had exactly six hundred twenty seven candles. "Did you take the Queen's cake?"she asked in amazement.

Miss Broomble smirked. "Think of it as a reminder," she said.

Pega's voice now spoke, whispering very close to the witch's ear. "What's it a reminder of, Ma'am?"

Miss Broomble replied by addressing everyone in the dungeon, even Warhag who was curled up beside a terrified-looking Bedbug. "It is a reminder," the witch said, "that in one hundred fifty years Old Queen Crinkle will be seven hundred seventy seven. On that night, Mr. Fuddlebee will return to the Necropolis. On that night, he will have with him the Hand of DIOS. On that night, Old Queen Crinkle will be mortal again."

Key liked this idea very much, even though one hundred fifty years seemed like a long way away. The fact that Old Queen Crinkle would become mortal again also meant that she would no longer be Queen, and that was like seeing light at the far end of a very long, very dark tunnel. Key began to fancy that the next queen might release her from the dungeon – "unless," Key considered with sudden concern, "unless the next Queen is Raithe" – a thought which made Key shudder. Yet as always, she tried to hope for the best, hoping that another queen after Old Queen Crinkle would give her freedom from Despair. But Key, who had not had much practice lately in the art of hoping, struggled to believe that her suffering would end.

And so the night wore on.

When Key's birth-night cake had been eaten, and when another round of "Happy Birth-night" had been sung, the time finally came for Key's presents.

The Partly Dead Brownie Folk gave Key a box of Snuckle Truffles with a whole new variety of blood flavors. The blood of one bonbon came from Touchstone the Titan Tarantula. The blood of another came from Balthasar the Black Cat of Caldron Alley. The blood of another came from Willoughby the Weird Warlord of Warwick.

The Grimbuggle Bedbugs, Bosh and Mr. Humbug, gave Key two pouches. The first pouch was filled with the invisible dust that makes people itch at night. The second pouch was filled with the crust that forms on eyelids while people slumber. "The finest there is," Bosh said rather proudly, to which Key could only manage a simple reply of, "Thank you."

Next, Warhag padded uncomfortably close. In the cat's mouth was a Mostly Dead Dormouse, which she dropped at Key's feet. The Dormouse blinked helplessly at Key with large frightened eyes. Wrapped around its neck was a white label. On the label were words scratched out in black ink: One Free Pass From Being Mercilessly Slaughtered. It was the kindest gift Warhag had ever given anyone. She must have really liked Key.

Pega had made a pair of ghost slippers for Key and she gave them to her without a word, but Key could hear the ghost muttering nervously to herself, "Oh dear, oh dear, I hope they fit." And to her great relief, the ghostly slippers fit Key perfectly, even though they glowed with an eerie green light, left glowing green footprints all over the dungeon, and felt as cold as ice on Key's feet. Key was nonetheless immensely grateful to the ghost maid for her kindness and thoughtfulness.

Last of all, Miss Broomble handed Key a shoebox. Key was utterly astonished upon opening the box and discovering that, as she looked, fast asleep on a red velvet cushion, there was a small brown puppy.

Key rubbed her eyes to believe that this was nighttime and that she was awake. She blinked and realized that this was not the day; this was not another dream of some unreal happiness. No, this was real. Before her was indeed a puppy.

Warmth bloomed inside her chest, and tears filled her eyes, not the tears she wept before, not tears of loneliness and hopelessness, but tears of pure joy, tears that felt too good to wipe away, as Miss Broomble explained how this was no ordinary puppy. He was like Key. "He will not grow old," she said. "Winifred the Witch-Wolf of Wichita bit the puppy by accident, making him immortal also."

Key had read about Winifred in her little book. Winifred was the first Mystical Creature to have almost successfully become two Mystical Creatures at once, yet the two halves were constantly bickering and arguing and fighting. Key now listened attentively while Miss Broomble explained how, recently, the two halves of Winifred had their worst fight yet. Her Witch Half had wanted to read _The Cauldron Crow_ while her Wolf Half had wanted to watch _The Adventures of Snuffles Furryfeet_. They got into a terrible fight over this, which resulted in several splintered chairs, countless smashed windows, a few dented fire hydrants, forty-two broken tombstones, and one immortal puppy.

"Now the puppy needs a new home," Miss Broomble said to Key. "Can you think of anyone who could use a good friend in the dark?"

Key lifted the immortal puppy off the velvet pillow.

He had short brown fur, with a mask of black fur wrapping around his snout and eyes, while the fur on his ears and tail was a mix of black and brown. Key buried her nose in the folds of his soft fur. He smelled like the meadows of her mom's sheep. He smelled like the fields of her dad's wheat.

The immortal puppy whimpered. Sleepily, he blinked open his black eyes.

Key tried to speak, but her voice was choked with gratitude. The puppy was the best gift she ever remembered receiving. She'd never had such good friends before as Miss Broomble, Pega, the Brownies, and even Warhag.

"Thank you," she finally managed to say, looking around the dungeon at everyone present. "Thank you for everything."

Miss Broomble smiled. "You're welcome."

Pega clapped vigorously. The sound echoed throughout the dungeon. Invisible tears of gladness streamed down the ghost's invisible cheeks.

The immortal puppy now woke up. He sniffed Key's face and he licked her nose. Then he barked with a voice so loud and powerful that Warhag the cat stared at him anxiously.

Key decided she would call her immortal puppy "Tudwal" – a name she had read in her little book. The name Tudwal meant _Ruler of the Country_ , and had belonged to a powerful werewolf who had renowned skills at pillaging, plundering, and bowling.

Miss Broomble approved. "Good name," she said with a smile.

In the nights that followed, Tudwal was at first a little timid about the dungeon. The immortal puppy stayed close to Key, following her everywhere, always looking up at her, to see what she was doing. He would sleep in her coffin during the day, lying curled up on her chest. And he would stay up all night, barking and yipping and playing, like any good puppy, yet never changing, always staying the same puppy size with the same puppy playfulness.

Key dungeon-trained him, she played fetch with him, and she even taught him some tricks. Tudwal's favorite games were jumping ten feet in the air, barking loud enough to shatter stone, and crawling on the ceiling.

But Tudwal was not a werewolf, as the word _were-_ in werewolf means _man_ , and Tudwal was not a man, but a puppy. Winifred the Witch Wolf had made him a puppy-wolf, an immortal who would stay the same puppy size for the rest of his life. Yet while most werewolves changed from person to wolf under a full moon, Tudwal the immortal puppy-wolf was different because Winifred was half werewolf. So Tudwal would only change from puppy to wolf during the _half-moon_.

His change was very impressive. He did not merely change into a wolf. He changed from a puppy into a twelve-foot tall wolf-monster, walking on thick hind legs, with shoulders as wide as his height, foot-long fangs, and paws with claws larger than Key's head.

The only thing that did not change was his puppy playfulness. Tudwal the Wolf loved to play fetch. He loved to play Hide and Seek. He loved it when he and Key chased each other across the dungeon ceiling.

The only creatures who showed no respect for Tudwal the Wolf were the Toags – as Toags respect nothing. And Tudwal the Wolf soon became their worst victim. Every half-moon, the Toags took a break from not cleaning the dungeon to clamber all over this twelve-foot tall wolf-monster, to mercilessly tickle him with their purple turkey wattles.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE —

_Explosions in the Dungeon_

Key and Tudwal lived together in the dungeon for the next one hundred fifty years. To Key, Despair seemed less lonely now that she and Tudwal did everything together. Pega was always with them too, never talking to Key, but always cleaning up behind them, especially Tudwal, whom she was constantly reprimanding for being "too puppyish!" she'd exclaim.

When he turned ten years old, Pega would say, "You're older than most dogs, so stop being such a puppy!" And when he turned one hundred ten years old, even if he had transformed into a wolf, Pega would still say, "You're the oldest puppy that's ever lived and died and become a half wolf. When are you going to stop being so puppyish?" He never did; Tudwal was, after all, an _immortal puppy_.

One night, Key gathered glowing berries and glowing petals from the glowing plants, and she crushed them into glowing inks, making glowing colors like red and blue and yellow. Then she cleared away vines from one dungeon wall and she drew on it with the inks she had made. Some pictures were of her mom and dad; some pictures were of Miss Broomble, Pega, and Tudwal; and one dark picture was of Margrave Snick. Key asked Pega to draw on the dungeon walls also, but Pega feared being in trouble with Old Queen Crinkle a little less than she feared making a mess. However, after Key begged and pleaded with her to attempt at least one drawing, Pega finally relented, and drew a picture of herself, so that her Mistress might know what her maidservant looked like. And so, with her invisible ghostly fingers reluctantly dipping into the glowing inks, Pega drew the image of a round woman in servant's clothes. Unfortunately, not long after this, Tudwal, thinking this was all a game, walked through the red glowing ink, then walked up the walls and across Pega's drawing, right before scurrying across the ceiling and leaving glowing red paw prints everywhere. Key had never heard Pega scream so furiously.

In time, Key's two hundred fifty-ninth birth-night came and went. So did her two hundred ninety-ninth, along with her three hundred nineteenth, her three hundred twenty-ninth, her three hundred thirty-ninth, and her three hundred forty-ninth birth-night. And in all that time, Key grew older, but she never grew up.

Finally Key turned three hundred fifty nine years old as a vampire, and as an immortal who could not escape living at the bottom of Despair. Yet this was the birth-night she had been hoping for. This was the night Old Queen Crinkle would turn seven hundred seventy seven. This was the night Mr. Fuddlebee would return. This was the night that the Hand of DIOS would take away the Queen's vampire power and make her mortal again. This was the night Key might be released from prison. This was the night she might be free from Despair.

That evening the sun set the way it always did. Vampires began rising from their coffins the way they usually did. Tudwal licked Key's face the way he usually did.

But then there was a terrible explosion, which made dust drizzle down from the ceiling.

Key sat up in her coffin with a start and she looked desperately around in search of what could have caused it, wondering if it was a Grimbuggle or a Toag, or maybe Warhag had finally begun her war.

More explosions shook the castle, and the dungeon rocked as if struck by an earthquake.

Tudwal leaped from the coffin, scuttled over to the dungeon wall, and barked up at the small window.

Melancholy Moat started leaking through the dungeon walls. Pitch-black water pooled on the ground like oil.

Ghost servants hurried to plug up the leaks in the walls, bringing whatever they could find to stuff into the holes and mop up the floor. There were of course the usual mops and buckets; yet there were also things like candlesticks and cabbages, sealing wax and thimbles and stockings and balls of string.

Another explosion shook the castle even harder.

Melancholy Moat's black water now poured in even faster. The moat water drowned the glowing flowers. It washed away the vines. It destroyed the garden that Key had made out of her dungeon.

But Tudwal was having a wonderful time, springing between the leaks and the rushing water, barking and yipping merrily while Pega kept nervously chiding him, "You're one hundred fifty years old; this is no time to act so puppyish!"

Tudwal leaped back into the coffin and shook the moat water from his coat, drenching Key in its foul blackness.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, as the water had a sharp odor of rotting eggs and marmalade.

Another terrible explosion shook the castle.

A huge hole burst through the dungeon wall. Looking through it, Key could see the wide dark world of a thriving city in an underground cave, yet filled with tombs and crypts and barrows and graveyards.

"The Necropolis," Key whispered in an awestruck tone. Through her prison window, she had barely been able to see it during her long stay in the dungeon. The last time she'd had such a clear view of it was with Mr. Fuddlebee, on the night he brought her to this horrible place. And now that she was seeing it again so freely after all these years, she almost couldn't quite believe the sheer scope and scale of the City of the Dead.

However, before she could think on this further, Key then glimpsed the thick legs of a giant standing on the other side of her dungeon wall. After having lived in the Society of Mystical Creatures for so long (if you can say she _lived)_ , Key was less surprised at seeing a giant than she was at seeing how one of his giant legs was flesh and bone while the other leg was robotic.

Right before another explosion shook the castle, Key noticed the giant's legs move. And she began to understand what was happening. "It's the giant," she said to Tudwal. "The giant is striking the castle."

With that last strike from the giant's fury, there followed another explosion. Melancholy Moat came rushing into the dungeon like a wild river. The black water snatched up Key's coffin and sailed her from one side of her cell to the other.

The coffin banged against the dungeon walls. Key hugged Tudwal close. She looked into the black water and she feared leaping into it, as it bore an uncanny resemblance to molten glurp. But soon Key would have no choice. The water was beating her coffin so badly against the dungeon walls that it might break apart at any moment.

So, hesitantly, Key, preferring to leap into the water than to sink with her coffin, stood up in it, balanced, and took a deep breath, preparing to take that awful step into the flood.

But right before she did, Mr. Fuddlebee floated down from the ceiling. "Good evening, my dear," he said to Key in his calm, soft, elderly voice. "I hope you're not considering a plunge into that ghastly water."

Key had not heard Mr. Fuddlebee's voice in centuries, not since she was made a vampire, not since she had lost her mom and dad, not since Mr. Fuddlebee had brought her to the Necropolis Castle where she had to live in the Dungeon of Despair. And as she looked at him now, Key saw that Mr. Fuddlebee had not aged a night. He still looked exactly the same.

Floating over the old stone stairs that led up to the castle, the elderly ghost was still wearing his three-piece pinstriped suit, his dark rectangular spectacles, his bright bowtie, his bowler hat with goggles around the rim, and a dandelion pinned to his lapel.

Mr. Fuddlebee gestured for Key to come to him. "Perhaps you should consider leaping to safety," he said. "I fear that the Kraken might have swum into the dungeon by now. His name is Killjoy, by the way, although some just call him Dennis."

Tudwal stood on Key's lap. He placed his front paws on the edge of the coffin and he began barking wildly at the elderly ghost.

Mr. Fuddlebee, gripping the handle of his umbrella as if it were a cane, stared at Tudwal in a look of shock and confusion. But then a moment later, he covered his mouth to hide an embarrassed smile. "Why yes," he chuckled at Tudwal, "this is a new umbrella. Thank you for asking."

A sudden surge of anger overcame Key. She felt like she wanted to blame someone for all her misery in Despair, and right at that moment, seeing Mr. Fuddlebee again, she felt as though all of this was his fault. In her heart of hearts, Key knew this wasn't true. But she was looking to lay blame, not to acknowledge the truth, even though she wanted to know the answer to a question that could provide the truth: "Why?" she demanded. Why had he come to her house? Why had he abandoned her to this place? Why did she have to suffer so much? Why did she have to be so lonely for so long? "Why should I trust you?" Key shouted, staring fiercely at the elderly ghost.

Mr. Fuddlebee looked with compassion into Key's eyes. He was calm and patient. He was without fear and anger. "Yes," he said, "this is all my fault."

His response surprised Key. She had expected him to make excuses, to argue, to insist that he was right. She had expected him to behave like a Necropolis Vampire, acting selfish and cruel.

Neither selfish nor cruel, Mr. Fuddlebee was not someone who met other people's expectations, but surpassed them, as he did so now with Key, for she was completely surprised that he was not surprised or alarmed by her anger towards him.

Yet Key was even more surprised when, from behind the elderly ghost, appeared Miss Broomble. "Don't blame him," the witch said. "This is all my fault."

Key blinked with a bewildered expression, feeling more shocked than ever!

Miss Broomble was dressed like a warrior. Her long curly black hair was tied back. Covering her mouth and nose was a half-mask made of old brass. Over her chest and arms were plates of thick metal. Over her hands were gauntlets of copper and leather. Rising from behind her shoulders were two pewter smokestacks with steam billowing from them. Cogwheels ran from her shoulders down her arms. And over her heart was a seven-sided hole with bright blue light shining out.

Miss Broomble pressed a button on the side of her half-mask. Its old brass plates folded away. "I have been your friend for over one hundred years," she said to Key, "but I never helped free you from this dungeon. I never helped free you from Despair. I wanted to do so, but I could not. It's been eating away at me. I am so sorry, child."

"As am I," Mr. Fuddlebee added.

Key would not blame Miss Broomble since the witch became one of her dearest friends. No, her urge was to blame Mr. Fuddlebee. "You knew I've been locked in this dungeon all these years," Key said, glowering at the elderly ghost, "yet you did not help me from Despair."

"My dear," Mr. Fuddlebee replied calmly, "I know that this is difficult to believe, but the Dungeon of Despair was the best home you could have had. The day I brought you here was the saddest of my afterlife, as I knew you would be poorly treated. However, alternative vampire homes would have been worse. Much worse."

A shiver ran through his ghostly form.

"We could have sent you to the Vampire Mafia of Chicago," he continued. "They would have entombed you in cement and dropped you in Lake Michigan. We could have sent you to the Vampire Gang of Brooklyn. They would have eaten you alive, figuratively and literally, and not necessarily in that order."

Mr. Fuddlebee floated out over the black water, closer to Key.

"We could have sent you to the Orphanage for Mostly Mad Vampires," he continued, "or to the Vampire Asylum in Biloxi, or to the Vampire Academy in Opelousas. We could have sent you to any number of places, even high school. In the end, Despair was where you had to be. It has given you the least amount of suffering and the most amount of knowledge."

Pain stabbed Key's heart. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "What kind of knowledge has Despair given me?" she demanded.

Mr. Fuddlebee floated closer to her. "You now possess a greater knowledge about who you really are, my dear. You had to suffer what you have suffered now. So that, later, you will become the vampire I have come to know as a friend. Believe me, I know it's all so confusing at the moment, but it will, I promise, make sense in time. Then you will explain it better to me than I have explained it to you. You have not yet learned everything about your _self."_

Key felt more confused than ever. How could she be a friend of this elderly ghost? She had only met him once before. Yet he was speaking with her as though he had known her for years. "What's going on?" she asked herself.

On the verge of tears, she now glared at Mr. Fuddlebee. "You haven't been my friend!" she shouted at him. "You left me down here in the dark. Alone. Lonely! My only friends have been a witch, an invisible ghost, and an immortal puppy."

"Immortal puppy?" Mr. Fuddlebee said inquisitively. He studied Tudwal for a moment with a look of surprise and curiosity. Then he stared at Miss Broomble with a questioning expression. "You gave her Winifred's puppy?"

Right then another violent explosion rocked the castle.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO —

_Freedom_

The hole in the dungeon wall became wider. The black water of Melancholy Moat came rushing in even faster. Despair was filling up quickly with darkness and suffocation.

And as the black water rose higher, all the businesses in the dungeon shut down. Mystical Creatures of all kinds began fleeing from the watery chaos. The Beastly Barbershop wrapped up their razors, scissors, and meat cleavers to prevent rusting, and then used their barber chair cushions as floatation devices. Cackling Cauldron Makers floated in their cauldrons, paddling along desperately toward the stairwell that led up to the exit. The Partly Dead Brownie Folk made little ships out of their Snuckle Truffle boxes and oars out of spoons; and they rowed hard to safety. Skulk the undertaker curiously surfed by on five very ancient-looking coffins. The Living Firelight went skipping across the water, screaming madly as it went. Students from the Skeleton School of Psychology made a raft out of their schoolbooks. Scientists from the Leprechaun Laboratory stopped up test tubes to use as water wings. Nightly patrons of the Hobgoblin Hex Bar floated by in barrels of pumpkin rum. Many more hordes were sailing across Melancholy Moat in whatever they could find, some in boxes and some in cans, some in bottles or boots or magic lamps. The Toags naturally floated across the black water like ducks. All the while, Warhag watched the goings-on from a rafter, until the sounds of chaos and screams for mercy lulled her into the deep sleep of purring kittens.

The black water surged all around Key's coffin and rushed it away from Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble. The force of the current slammed the coffin against one wall, causing the coffin to crack. Water began seeping in all around Key and Tudwal. Any minute now, the coffin would break apart and sink.

Miss Broomble removed a copper box from her sleeve and hurriedly spoke a command to it, "Bridge," before setting it down at her feet.

The small copper box began unfolding. It unfolded and unfolded and unfolded some more. And it went on unfolding until it transformed into a long narrow bridge that lengthened across the dungeon, just above Melancholy Moat's black water, stretching all the way from Miss Broomble to Key. Then little metal clamps at one end of the bridge clamped down at the stairwell near Miss Broomble's boots while the other end clamped onto the wall beside Key.

Key set Tudwal on the copper bridge just as a massive clawed hand suddenly burst out from the black water. The hand was much wider than Key's coffin, colored the grey-blue of great white sharks, yet it had claws as long as black swords.

"Oh dear me," Mr. Fuddlebee stated. "Killjoy the Kraken."

"Hurry!" Miss Broomble shouted to Key.

Key leaped to the copper bridge just as the Kraken's claws sliced through her coffin and dragged it down into the black water, leaving only splinters and broken boards floating along the surface.

She was about to run toward Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble, but she stopped, realizing that she was still in her nightgown. A horrific moment of clarity overcame Key right then, for she knew she'd left everything she owned in the coffin – her ghostly green slippers, her little book, her Crinomatic, and even her most valuable possession stored inside the Crinomatic's core processor – her white birthday dress.

Key turned to look for the coffin, hoping that some of it might still be left on the surface of the water. But as she saw that the coffin had indeed sunk along with all her possessions, her heart sank too, knowing that it was all lost, perhaps forever.

"Leave it and come on!" Miss Broomble shouted, waving for Key to hurry.

Without thinking on it any further, Key turned and dashed barefooted across the bridge with Tudwal scuttling alongside her.

The Kraken's clawed hand once more rose up from the black water and slammed down on the bridge, right at Key's heels.

Tudwal barked furiously at the Kraken.

But Mr. Fuddlebee shook his head in confusion at the immortal puppy. "I seriously doubt, old fellow, that Killjoy knows what you mean by _face punch."_

The Kraken's long claws ripped through the copper bridge, tearing it entirely apart, and pulling it down into the flood.

Key and Tudwal leaped toward the stairwell, but their leap was not far enough, and they began plummeting down toward the black water. Yet just before they splashed down, Pega's invisible hand grabbed Key and Key quickly grabbed Tudwal.

"It's all right, Mistress," came the voice of Pega out of the air. "I've got you."

"Pega!" Key exclaimed delightedly, realizing that the ghost had broken the castle rules. "You spoke to me!"

"I know, Mistress," Pega said nervously, "don't tell anyone!"

Pega raised Key and Tudwal far from the water. She glided them toward Mr. Fuddlebee and Miss Broomble on the stairwell.

Mr. Fuddlebee rose higher into the air also with ghostly green trails of light swirling after him. He soared up to the dungeon ceiling. "Keep the child safe," he called down to Miss Broomble. "I'll see if I can talk some sense into Crinkle. If her ridiculous plan of escape destroys the castle, there's no knowing how many Mostly Dead Mystical Creatures might escape also. Common people would see them in the streets and panic, realizing that the afterlife is like life as much as Old Queen Crinkle is like Little Mary Sunshine." And with that, Mr. Fuddlebee vanished through the dungeon ceiling.

Pega set Key and Tudwal down beside Miss Broomble on the stairwell. Key and Miss Broomble hugged, glad to see one another again.

Then Key asked the witch, "Did the Queen release the Kraken?"

"Old Queen Crinkle is trying to escape," the witch explained, "and Killjoy the Kraken is using this as an opportunity to attack the castle. You're not the only prisoner, and this dungeon isn't the only prison. Killjoy has been imprisoned in Melancholy Moat for over five hundred years. He's pretty upset about that."

"I know how he feels," Key remarked under her breath. Then she recalled the two giant legs that she had seen through the hole in the dungeon wall, one leg flesh and bone, the other robotic. "I saw a giant attacking the castle also," Key said. "Is he in league with the Kraken?"

Miss Broomble shook her head. "No, that giant is in fact a part of the Queen's plan of escape. We're still trying to figure out how he fits into it all. The giant is a Cyclops, a cyborg called Silas."

"Silas the Cybernetic Cyclops," Key mused to herself – the same creature that she had overheard Raithe and Crudgel talking about. "Was this Raithe's plan, or the Queen's?" Key wondered.

Miss Broomble squatted down to the copper bridge. She inspected the box that it had been, although there wasn't much to inspect, except shredded metal. "Return," she ordered it, but the bridge did not budge. "Return," she commanded it again with greater emphasis, yet again the bridge remained perfectly motionless in its demise. "Broken," the witch spat in frustration under her breath as she stood and faced Key. "Another one gone. Let's hope the GadgetTronic Brothers will give me another Oscillobox for work."

"What kind of work do you do?" Key asked.

"This," Miss Broomble said, gesturing and looking up.

Key looked around, but all she saw was the flooded dungeon. She did not understand what "this" meant.

"Mr. Fuddlebee and I work for DIOS," Miss Broomble explained. "We turn immortals back into mortals."

Key was shocked. "You mean to say that this whole time you could have made me mortal again, but you did not? You kept this secret from me?"

"Much has been kept from you, and not by me alone, but by yourself also," Miss Broomble said to a rather confused looking Key. "Look," the witch went on, "there is no time to answer all your questions now, but I will answer one." Miss Broomble sighed heavily before she spoke. "No, I could not change you back into a mortal for many reasons. You're not seven hundred seventy seven years old, first off. Secondly, _you_ would not let me change you back into a mortal."

"Me?" Key had no idea what Miss Broomble meant and she pleaded with her old friend, "Please, explain this to me. How could I have stopped you? You know how I've been in prison in Despair. You know that I have not liked my life. Why didn't you help me change that? Why didn't you change me back into a mortal if you had the power to do so?"

Miss Broomble leaned close and kissed Key's forehead. "I love you," the witch said kindly, "and I will protect you in whatever way I can. But right now I cannot give you any more answers. I can only say that you would not let me do anything other than what I did. Now, come on. We must go. Follow me, and you'll soon know everything."

Key looked helplessly into Miss Broomble's eyes. She didn't understand – she wanted answers now – she didn't want to wait. But if waiting was what she had to do to know the truth, then she would. She was very good at waiting by now; living for so long in Despair had certainly taught her that much.

Key nodded at Miss Broomble. "Let's go," she agreed quietly and with firm resolution.

Miss Broomble put her hand on Key's shoulder. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Key asked.

Pega had been there the whole time, listening and hoping for the best for Key. Now she could not contain her excitement any longer. Still very invisible, she leaned close to Key and broke the castle rules again to whisper in Key's ear, "Are you ready for freedom, Mistress?"

Key looked nervously into Miss Broomble's large dark eyes. "Will the other vampires put me back down here again?"

Miss Broomble smiled reassuringly. "The suffering you've endured is nothing compared to the good things awaiting you now. Come on. Let's go help Mr. Fuddlebee stop the Old Queen from escaping."

Miss Broomble then turned and hurried up the stone stairwell toward the exit.

Key set Tudwal down at her feet. She looked back at the dungeon one last time. It was almost completely flooded, deep underwater. There was no sign of her old shackles. There was no sign of her used coffin. There was no sign of the glowing flowers she had planted; their comforting lights had been snuffed out.

Key was not sure if she felt nervous about freedom, or if she felt nervous about changing her life. She had lived mostly in darkness and emptiness, in rejection and loneliness. She did not know if she could remember being as free as she had been before her ninth birthday. She did not know if she could live life without Despair. Change like that was scary, and Key had to be brave.

So, now, she turned away from what she knew and she turned toward what she did not know. She placed one foot in front of the other and she took her first steps away from fear. She took a few more steps toward freedom, one step at a time; that's all it took. She didn't say goodbye. She didn't look back anymore. She left the dungeon.

Key the Steampunk Vampire Girl stopped living in Despair.
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_End of Book One_
Acknowledgments

This book would not have been possible without the guidance, dedication, and love of certain people.

_Christina_ – for reading and rereading, and for listening to me read and reread several drafts; and for being a constant source of support and encouragement.

_Raven Quinn_ – for drawing Key, her friends, her foes, and her magic to life with your amazing artistry.

_Ashley Little_ – for your great thoughts and ideas.

_Todd Barselow_ – for your great work as an editor.

_Anne_ – for your friendship, support, and guidance; and for pioneering a way to tell vampire stories differently.

_God_ – for filling my life with love and innumerable blessings.

_You_ – for reading this book.
Credits

Cover design by Becket

www.facebook.com/iBecket

Illustrations by Raven Quinn

https://www.facebook.com/officialravenquinn

Images

istockphoto | chronicler101 | keys | File #27475620

istockphoto | venimo | blue seamless pattern with cogs and gears | File #20156005

vectorstock | scivias | Steampunk frame made of cogs vector | File ID: 1195560
_About Becket_

Becket has a BA in music composition, an MA in Systematic Theology, and an MS in Industrial/Organizational Psychology. He was a diocesan seminarian for 3 years. He was a Benedictine monk for 5 years. For the last 8 years, he has worked as Anne Rice's assistant, and has spent that time learning from her.

You can find Becket here

www.facebook.com/iBecket

_About Raven Quinn_

Raven Quinn is a Los Angeles based singer/songwriter, recording artist and illustrator. Although Raven is primarily recognized for her work in music, she has also revealed herself to be a passionate visual artist with a unique and whimsical style that is all her own. Her artistic tools of choice are usually simple: a BIC pen, watercolor pencils, and her expansive imagination. Drawing has always been a creative outlet for Raven, but it was only in 2012 that she began making her original artwork available to the public through online auctions. Due to increasing demand, she eventually began taking commission requests as her schedule allowed in 2013. Raven's artistic contribution to KEY THE STEAMPUNK VAMPIRE GIRL marks her debut as an illustrator for a children's book, and is the realization of a life-long dream to help visually bring to life fantastical worlds and characters for young readers. When she is not writing or in the studio recording new music, Raven can inevitably be found working on her latest illustration.

You can find Raven Quinn here

https://www.facebook.com/officialravenquinn
