She’d better hope I’m the first one she meets. If it’s Slaughter, and I’m not around to restrain him—
An image flashes into my brain before I can stop it—Slaughter throwing her down, crushing himself against her, hurting her in the most brutal of ways. She wouldn’t beg for mercy, but she would scream, and even in my imagination, the sound of her agony sends a raw twist of panic through my gut.
I have to reach her first. There’s no alternative. I can deal with a lot of shit, but if that vision in my head comes true, I’m going to see and hear it in my nightmares for years. I just know it.
“Fuck,” I mutter, swinging my leg over the windowsill.
Before placing my boot on the floor, I take the precaution of looking down. There’s a simple wooden circlet lying beneath the window, half-concealed by the crumpled edge of a rug. Looks like an embroidery hoop, except with more joints along the frame. That’s the trap Slaughter encountered, the one that made him feel like he was burning alive. It’s so dark in here I can barely see it.
I don’t like using open flames because I carry so many different types of explosives in my pack and on my person, so I take out a pocket torch I designed for just such occasions. It’s short, portable, and slow-burning, and it gives off a creepy, sluggish red light whose heat stays contained within the tarry fuel I’ve daubed along the tip. It doesn’t smell great, but it’s better than nothing, especially when I don’t have the funds for Iridian crystal sticks.
Extending my arm, I wave the torch back and forth, trying to get a good look at what I might be facing.
The entire floor of the room is a glittering mass of spiky baubles and prickly ornaments, like decorations that might be strung overhead at a festival or a banquet, only sharper and morewicked-looking. They look like they’d be painful to step on, and I have no doubt that’s not the only harm they would cause.
The only clear space where I could step is directly in front of the window, where the trap lies. Even though Slaughter already sprung it, I’m not taking the risk. It might still have some potential for harm, and I’d rather not feel its effects. Needle spent all the rest of the special pond water on Slaughter, so I’d be stuck with the curse.
I take a bit of flint from one of my pockets and chuck it into the big room, as far as I can throw it. The flint tumbles among the spiky ornaments, but nothing happens. As I suspected. If these things were too sensitive, Devilry wouldn’t have been able to spread them out on the floor without harming herself.
Unhooking my water jug from my belt, I heft it to test the weight, then pitch it after the flint. It lands with acrunch, breaking one of the ornaments.
The shards begin to glow bright red. Scarlet threads rise from the pieces, snaking around the water jug, wrapping it thickly, and concealing it within a few seconds. There’s a creaking, cracking sound as the leather gives way, and then a gurgle of leaking water. The scarlet strands recoil from the pulverized mess that was once the jug, but the glow of the broken ornament remains, a virulent, visible threat.
“Well played, you cunning little atrocity,” I mutter, turning my gaze to the various display cases and cabinets along the walls, then up to the ceiling of the room.
That’s my route. She doesn’t expect someone of my height and build to be nimble, but despite my size I’m pretty fucking flexible, and I’ve got excellent balance. I can climbonthe walls, rest atop the furniture, even climb along the ceiling if I have to. No part of me will ever touch the cursed objects.
I’ve performed a similar feat in a vault with a charmed floor. I can do this.
First, I dig out a hole in the wall plaster with my knife and wedge my torch there. Crouched on the windowsill, I pull on the serrated gloves I use when I’m climbing surfaces other than rock, and I attach spiked tips to the toes of my boots.
I scan the room, plotting my route, and then I leap from the window frame, swinging my body to the left and catching the wall with my right hand and foot.
The plaster gives way more than I expect it to, and the spiked toe of my boot carves through it in a terrifying descent that sends a pulse of panic through my body. But my foot catches and stops just above the layer of cursed objects on the floor.
I don’t hesitate. Now that I know parts of the walls are fragile, I understand the speed at which I need to move. I go sideways, picking my way as lightly as I can, like a climber traveling horizontally along a cliff. As I near the first cabinet, I work my way higher, then reach for its solid bulk, pulling myself on top, into the space between the piece of furniture and the high ceiling.
“You’re cheating,” a voice hisses through the gloom.
I should focus on what I’m doing and stop engaging with her, but apparently I can’t help myself. “When did I promise to do this fairly?”
“You didn’t.” Her voice takes on an openness, like she’s smiling. Probably not a friendly smile. “I suspected you might try something of the kind. It’s what I would do—except I’d be far less clumsy. Look at the holes you’ve torn in the wall. The owners of this place won’t be happy.”
“Maybeyourcrew is delicate with their work, mincing about like dainty dolls and drinking tea together afterward,” I retort. “My motto is ‘get in and get out,’ and whatever gets broken along the way ain’t my problem.”
“A lot of things are going to be broken before you leave this place, including some of your bones,” she says sweetly. “Where do you plan to go from your perch? Could it be to the top of that armoire? Oh wait… I think there’s something up there. Too bad it’s too dark for you to see what it is.”
I squint toward the armoire, and sure enough, I can make out something black and lumpy. It could be a lethal trap, or it could be some old wadded-up drapes she put there to fool me.
My gaze darts to a gigantic display case farther out in the room. Behind the glass walls is an enormous metal-plated glove that looks big enough to grip my entire body.
“Ah, the Unyielding Gauntlet,” she says. “I read the placard on that one. It belonged to a giant of ancient Faerie. Once its fingers close around something, they don’t open, not until the victim has rotted down to bones. Go ahead and try jumping onto the case. I’m sure the glass won’t break and send you into its clutches. I’m also sure you won’t rebound off the shield and land in the middle of the bodach beads.”
“Those red ornaments? Is that what they’re called? Bodach beads?”
“Yes. I’ll bet you’re wondering where I found the little beauties. They were in those two big wardrobes in the corner, see? In labeled boxes. They had a whole book of notes stored with them, but I only glanced at it long enough to discover a few important things—like the fact that they’re lethal if you crush them. I dumped them out carefully, one box at a time, and they just spread out across the floor as if they knew what I wanted them to do. Very handy. Faerie is a wonderful place, really.”
“Entrancing,” I mutter.
