He could still be playing a game—but until I have proof of that, I’m going to assume he’s sincere. Which means I need to get him and myself into that storage room, where we’ll be comparatively safe until my team reappears and we can pack up Drosselmeyer’s things.
The Javelins will have to deal with the fact that Ravager is coming back to the mortal realm with us. Whatever my plans originally were, I won’t double-cross him, not after he saved my life again. He’ll get a share of the treasure, even if it comes out of my portion.
If the Javelins don’t reappear, I’ll stuff my bag and Ravager’s with whatever small items I can find, then wait until he wakes up. There might be something among Drosselmeyer’s inventions that we can use against the razorwings. We’ll make our way upstairs, get the Doras Álainn, and leave Faerie.
Once I’m out of this goddamned realm, I’m not coming back here, ever.
The shield protecting the door of the storage room is impenetrable, but I’ve watched Ravager use his explosive paint enough times to understand how it works. He lost his igniter back in the razorwing hallway, but I’ve got a flint of my own. I can manage this.
He wasn’t lying when he said he was almost out of the gel. At first glance, the small bucket from his pack looks empty, but when I sweep the brush around the insides, it comes out gleaming wet.
Just enough for a crawlspace, he said, so I don’t try to create a whole door through the stonework. With my knife, I mark the corners of a square just large enough for me to crawl through. I should be able to push or pull Ravager through the hole as well.
I’m tempted to paint the gel in the exact shape that I need, but instead I use Ravager’s technique of drawing lightning-shaped forks and branches. Once I’ve used every bit of paint I can scrape from the container or squeeze out of the brush, I drag Ravager farther away from the door.
My heartbeat is a terrified staccato as I approach the painted explosive and strike my flint with another stone. It takes me a few tries to make a spark that catches in the gel.
Immediately it begins to hiss, while a warning glow travels along the branches I painted. I flee the scene, running down the hall and crouching over Ravager, shielding his injured face with my arms.
The explosion shakes the hallway, generating a clatter of rubble and a cloud of dust. I wait a few minutes for the dust to settle, watching for the reappearance of the razorwings. They must have been traumatized by the damage he did to their flock, because they don’t show up to investigate.
With bruised, weary fingers, I scrape the rubble out of the aperture I made. Dragging Ravager over to the hole takes much of my remaining energy, and getting us both through the crawlspace drains me entirely.
There’s a single light-orb in the room beyond. Not much illumination, but it’ll do.
Once we’re inside, I shove a box in front of the hole and set both our packs on it. Hopefully that will keep out any razorwings who might grow bold enough to come down this hallway and probe for the source of the explosion.
I drape Ravager’s unconscious body against the wall in the semblance of a sitting position. Then I collapse beside him.
In a moment I’ll get up and look through the pile of crates and contraptions in the center of the room. I’ll poke through the clockwork devices and read the titles on the spines of each book stack.
But right now, I’m trembling too violently from the physical effort of moving Ravager around. I need a few minutes to deepen my breathing, slow my heart rate, and rest my overtaxed muscles.
Something vibrates in my pocket.
Fuck… the wishing stone. The last time I pulled it out and looked at it was in the pantry, right before I woke Ravager up. At that point there were three dots, but there was no way to tell how much of the third hour was left. It could have been closer to two. Which means time may have already run out.
I sit up, my fingertips sliding into my pocket—but before I can take out the stone, the Javelins appear, looking exactly as they did before they vanished.
Maven, gorgeous as ever in her custom leather corset. Boulder, his fists clenched, the light gleaming on the reinforced knuckles of his gloves. Flex, still holding his lockpicking kit in his long fingers. Scriv, hunched and wary like an animal just freed from a trap.
“What the everliving fuck?” exclaims Maven.
“You’re back! Thank the gods!” I scramble to my feet and lunge forward to hug her, but she draws back, her lip curling with suspicion. She has never looked at me that way before.
“Are you all right?” I falter. “What exactly happened? I mean, what do you remember from your side of things?”
“I remember you saying that you wished we’d go away.” Maven’s eyes narrow, her gaze void of warmth. “I remember darkness, and orange lights moving around. I could hear Scriv, Boulder, and Flex talking. We were trapped together, wherever it was. Whereveryouput us.”
“It was an accident,” I protest. “I didn’t know that stone you gave me could grant wishes.”
“I warned you that it might.”
“But you weren’t sure. And even if we’d known for certain that it was a wishing stone, who would have thought that it would activate from my pocket? Seems like it should be the kind of thing you hold in your hand when you speak a wish, or something you activate with blood or a special word. It seems like a foolish design flaw to have it—”
“Stop!” snaps Maven. “Do you understand what we went through? We weredisembodied, Devilry. We had no idea where we were trapped or how long it would last. Can you comprehend the mental agony that comes with that sort of experience?”
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. You have to believe that I never intended—”
