John was calling her name, but Credence couldn't hear his voice above the din in her ears.

Her blood felt hot and her mind was full of vengeful thoughts.

She had nothing to take her anger out on.

All she could do was continue moving.

She stopped when her vision began to cloud. John had given up his pursuit, and when Credence finally paused she found herself in a field of dark grass and blue mushrooms.

The towns was a good distance behind her, so small it looked like a fairy village.

She wanted to destroy something. She flicked her wrist and sent fire into the grass, but it didn't catch, only died into nothing.

His damned world must be shielded.

Credence balled her fists and threw her head back, letting out a scream of frustration. She wished for the terrible magic to come to her again, that mysterious force that could crumble buildings and crack the ground. She wanted to tear the Collector's world to pieces.

If only Lilith had begun her lessons sooner. If only the hag had taught Credence something useful.

Credence held onto her anger, trying to draw energy from the moonless sky, but it proved fruitless. When she could bear failure no longer, she fell to the ground and ripped handfuls of grass from the field, throwing them in a great fit of anger. She beat against the dirt and yelled and cried until she was exhausted.

She felt eyes watching her, and she turned to the woods to catch whoever it was—

Only the trees stared back.

Unless the spy was hiding inside of them.

Fueled by cruel intent, she pulled fire into her palm and focused on a singular tree standing near the outskirts of the woods.

Hurt, she thought, I want to destroy you, I want to rejoice in your ruin.

She hurled the fire at the tree and watched it soar across the field. It landed within the tree's branches and sizzled into nothing. With no other focus but to tear it down, Credence ran towards the tree, flinging flame after flame that died upon impact.

When she reached the tree she put her hands on its trunk and squeezed, and to her mind came the image of bark crushing under her grip.

The wood did not give in, but her aim to destroy came to life in a shocking way.

The tree trembled and a low groan came from within it.

The bark was warm, and its heat grew until Credence was forced to let go.

Cracks split across it, from the base of its trunk to the highest of its branches. Light shot into the cracks, a blistering red that made the tree look like it was burning from the inside. Credence stood back, marveling in horror as things began to crawl from the red: Long, thin arms, vines, that grew and wrapped around every last inch of the tree until it was covered, with not a speck of wood left to be seen.

Then came a dangerous crack from beneath the vines. They choked the tree until it split and toppled forward, and Credence had to scramble out of its path.

It hit the ground with a thunderous boom.

Silence fell over the world.

Credence cautiously approached the remains of what she had done. The tree was no longer a tree, but a mass of black rot and vines. Smoke rose from the pile, bringing the scent of burned wood to her nose. It was only now that she was close that Credence could see hundreds of slender thorns adorning the charred vines.

Whatever she had conjured, it looked like its only intent was to hurt. To kill.

Pride overtook her. She didn't need Lilith or Ma.

But as her eyes roamed over the brambles, her satisfaction was replaced with guilt.

Was this the only kind of magic she could pull from herself?

Am I wicked?

Fatigue washed over her, and the effort of making the trek back to her bed in the tavern outweighed the reward.

And she wasn't ready to leave what she had done.

The grass is soft, she thought and dropped to the ground.

It was as comfortable as any pallet, and the air was warm enough to forgo a blanket or fire. She laid her head onto the fingers of green, and her thoughts drifted into the prologue of dreams.

"Call to me again," she murmured as she stared at the dead tree. "Tell me how to find the Queen."

***

Nothingness greeted her.

No peaceful kingdom or bright colors. No voice called her name.

There was only a void and the feeling of being alone.

Credence's eyes opened to the purple world. Above her, the colors of dusk swirled around thin clouds.

Where was the kingdom with the white tree? Where was the Queen?

She rose from the ground. If the voice no longer called to her, she would be completely on her own.

Even more concerning, the remnants of her vicious spell had disappeared. The mass of thorns and vines was gone, and grass had grown in its place. The only evidence of what she had done remained in the charred coloring of the grass, a patch of black in a green sea.

She had to find the tree with the Queen now. It was a massive thing that glowed brightly. It would be easy to spot—

Unless the Collector had enchanted it.

But why? The tree belonged to Credence, didn't it?

Did the Collector know—

Don't think about him, she snapped at herself. Or he will appear again.

He promised not to visit her unexpectedly, but Credence did not believe he was the sort of beast that kept its word.

"The tree could have a shield around it," she mused out loud, using the habit of distracting her thoughts with narration. She took a step towards the woods. "If I focus—"

Thunk.

Her foot landed on something hard.

She'd walked onto the black patch of ground, but instead of soil there was wood. It groaned under her weight. Credence knelt and pulled at the grass, removing enough to reveal a door laying flat against the earth. Its face was charred like the grass that hid it, and there was a small keyhole but no handle to open it.

Was this one of the Collector's creations? It was not polished and pristine like the rest of his world, but crudely made and unfinished. 

When she tried to lift the door it would not budge, and although it appeared badly burnt its frame held her weight, even when Credence jumped up and down on it.

She peered into the keyhole but could see nothing inside.

"I thought no door was locked to me," she said.

Perhaps there was nothing behind it but dirt.

No. It couldn't just be a door.

Had it been purposefully hidden from her? That made the contents behind it all the more intriguing.

She went to the towns to find a tool to open it.

"I could slip something between the cracks," she thought out loud. "Or maybe an axe to chop it..."

What would the Collector wish to keep from her? 

She envisioned a room filled with gold and jewels. Was the Collector the sort of creature that hoarded treasure? Or was there something more precious still that he needed to lock away?

Or someone.

It hit her like a plunge into cold water.

I am hidden. Find me.

The Queen. Trapped beneath the ground.

"Same as the school," Credence whispered with a shudder.

And like the hatch beneath the Headmaster's rug, there must be a key.

The Collector surely kept it close.

How could she procure it? She could fight him and try to take it by force. She could play the sneak and get close enough to search his pockets, or she could hide somewhere in the castle and—

"That's absurd," she scoffed at herself.

She could ask him for it, but that sounded just as ridiculous.

I could bargain.

The thought stopped her.

Make a trade for the key.

What did she have that the Collector wanted?

The reply flew from her mouth immediately.

"Me."

She shook her head.

She would never give herself to the Collector...but she might be able to craft a lie convincing enough to seem like a bargain. A bitter part of her thought it was impossible, that the Collector was too cunning to beguile.

In the meantime, she would pursue trying to pry the door open.

She found a few odds and ends in the towns. A thin iron rod. A hatchet. A hammer. Some unnamable objects that looked sharp and efficient. She carried them back to the door in the field.

They did her little good in the end.

The hatchet would not splinter the door, no matter how hard she swung it. When she tried to hammer the thin rod between the door and the ground nothing happened, as if the door was merely a painting. She could not dig around or under it either, for there was nothing beneath the door but soil.

As each failed attempt piled on, a weight grew in her stomach. Her mind anxiously returned to the one route she didn't want to take.

You have to bargain.

"Not yet," she mumbled. "There's always another way."

Her mind continued to torment her.

You cannot open it. He wanted it this way.

She tried magic next, sending fire that slid off the door and extinguished instantly in the grass. She thought of the spell she had cast on the tree and wondered if it would work here, but when she tried to muster the fury for it she found the task futile.

She sat back, drenched in sweat. 

"Damn it all!" she cursed and threw the hammer into the field.

It landed near the boots and cane of John.

"What's this?" he asked, his eyes roaming over the scene before him.

A blackened door beneath the girl. Evidence of her attempts to break in littered around her.

John frowned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a cautious tone. "You're not supposed to know about this—are you?" He scratched the back of his head, his expression equal parts confusion and worry. "How did you find this?"

Credence had no desire to explain how she destroyed a tree and woke up to a door.

"I thought I was free to go where I pleased," she replied and turned back to the door to jam the iron rod into its face.

Not even a splinter formed under her pressure. She threw the rod after the hammer and crossed her arms petulantly.

"Why is it locked?" she demanded.

Amusement danced in John's eyes and he leaned on his cane.

"It's the master's vault."

"His what?"

"A place for his treasure."

"The Collector has treasure?"

John shrugged. "He has a vault."

"Why is it burned?"

"It's not. Just looks that way. He doesn't want anyone opening it, so he made it look ugly and dangerous."

Credence looked at the empty world around them and snorted.

"He doesn't want me opening it, you mean. What's behind the door?"

"I don't know."

"Is the Queen in there?"

John raised an eyebrow and Credence took it as confirmation.

"It doesn't matter," John said. "Whatever it is, he commanded no one would get—"

"He never said anything to me."

"You're not opening that door, so you'd best forget about it."

"Why's it in this field where I could find it?"

"Don't know and don't care."

"But—"

"Leave it, Credence," he hissed.

She huffed and pushed off the ground to stand.

"If he thinks I'm going to leave it alone—"

"You can take that up with him yourself. It's time for dinner."

That was John's final word on the matter. After he'd bound Credence's wrists they walked the long path to the castle, and it wasn't until they were in the courtyard that Credence broke their silence.

"Will you show me the way to the—my tree? With the collection?"

It wasn't so important now that she knew where the Queen really was, but there might be something useful there, a sprite or magical being that could help her open the vault in exchange for their freedom.

"Of course," came the reply, "but you must eat first."

At the entrance to the dining hall, Credence hesitated. Given how their last dinner ended, she didn't want to see the Collector so soon, not until she had a proper plan for gaining entry to the burned door.

More than that, she was nervous. She didn't want to hear any more talk of marriage or the freedom it would afford her.

And she didn't want to see the longing in the Collector's eyes.

John mistook her hesitation for something else.

"Is it really so difficult to dine with him?"

The door opened and Credence brushed past him, ignoring his question.

"Let's get this over with," she murmured.

The door began to close between them.

"You should consider a bath soon," he snarked. "I could smell you from miles away."

Credence took her seat and began to eat, unbothered by the thought of appearing rude for not waiting on her host. Her stomach was painfully empty, her energy exerted from trying to open the charred door. Through bites she turned to her shoulders to sniff herself, trying to decide if John's taunt about needing a bath was true.

Now that she thought about it, her clothes were a little worn. If she was going to meet the Queen, she'd need to find something suitable to replace the rags on her body.

Surely one of the shops in the towns would oblige.

So wrapped up in her thoughts and goals, it wasn't until she was far past comfortably full that Credence realized something was wrong.

The Collector wasn't there.

His arrival was long past due, and he hadn't joined to disrupt her peace. She looked towards the balcony, at the tall, thick columns that obstructed her view of what lay behind.

What was hidden up there?

A wicked urge nagged her, coaxing her to climb the stairs and peek—

What if the Collector was waiting for her?

He might be hoping that she would climb the stairs and walk into a trap.

She dipped her finger into the glaze of a dessert bun, wanting to distract herself with the taste of sweetness. She cast several more glances at the balcony, until she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Come out," she called. "I'm tired of your game."

Silence.

"You're too late. I've finished eating."

The door to the hall opened, startling her. John was there, ready to walk her out of the castle.

"Was it less detestable this time?"

"It was, "Credence answered loudly. "He didn't attend."

She raised her hands towards him, showing the rope still around her wrists. The Collector usually waved it away. John frowned, suggesting that her host's absence was abnormal.

With heavy caution, he removed the rope from her wrist.

"Well..." he said, "there's always next time."

"There needn't be. I found this meal to be the most satisfying one yet. I hope he never appears again."

She led the way out.

"You asked me to show you the tree," John said as they approached the bridge outside the castle.

"Yes," Credence replied. "But not yet."

"Not yet?"

"I think I'll have that bath."

John chuckled. "Good idea."

"Is there...where can I find a change of clothing?"

She looked down at the rags on her body.

"I'd suggest one of the tailor's shops in the towns," John answered.

He watched her as she walked away.

"Credence." She turned back to him. "I'll tell my master you desire something to wear."

She shrugged. "Do as you like."

"You swear he wasn't at dinner?"

"Take my word or don't, wolf. Only one of us has proven to be a liar here."

She turned to leave.

"Everyone lies," came the reply. "There's even some who can't help but deceive themselves."