In the corner of the room, on a fat velvet pillow, repose two glossy spheres like the ones in the observation room.
So this is the place where she hid the Doras Àlainn. Behind a cabinet, she said. Which isn’t much help, because there are ten cabinets in this room, each one made of a different wood, each bearing a line of bold symbols along its doors, like some sort of pictographic Faerie label that I can’t read. There’s a different jewel set in the engraved molding above the doors of every cabinet. I spot amethyst, moonstone, ruby, and a few others I’m unsure about.
Exploring this room barefoot is going to hurt. Even if I brush aside the sharp debris, I’m bound to miss some tiny pieces and suffer for it. I need to think carefully here so I can minimize the risk to my feet. I have to try to figure out which cabinet Devilry might choose for a hiding place.
She’s practical. Analytical. Even her impulsive choices are based on rapid logic sequences in her brain. She has a touch of whimsy about her too, a desire to stand out, as evidenced by the scarlet streaks in her black hair. She can be vicious, but she’s also kind. She has a deep love for beautiful, sparkly things, like the ring she stole when she was a child. The one with the purple gemstone.
After setting down the weapon, I take off my pack and use it to push aside the dangerous detritus on the floor, clearing a less painful path for my feet. Carefully I walk along the bare floor, leaving bloody footprints as I go.
Maybe I should stop and bandage my feet, but I’m desperate to find the Doras Àlainn and return to Devilry before she gets free and puts herself in more danger.
Painstakingly I shove the pack along the floor ahead of me. I’m using my right hand at first, but the wound in my shoulder muscles becomes excruciating, so I switch to using my left forearm.
I closed the door to this room, but I keep glancing back, worried that the ooze might creep beneath the door. So far it hasn’t. Maybe it’s too thick to fit through such a small crack.
As I approach the cabinet with the purple gem, I peer at it, looking for trip-wires, triggers, anything that Devilry might have used to booby-trap it. I don’t see any snares. She didn’t activate the door shield for this room, and the fragments on the floor seem like a hasty afterthought. It makes sense that she’d want this area readily accessible for whenever she was ready to leave. She wouldn’t place too many traps that would hinder her own path to the device. I’m probably safe to step around and look behind the cabinet.
First I clear the floor around it. Then I lean toward the wall and place my eye to the crack.
It’s too dark to see anything, and my arms are too thick to reach into that narrow space. I set my left shoulder to the giant piece of furniture and shove with all my might.
The nerves in my left arm scream, and I groan, but I keep pushing, angling my body, trying to force the cabinet away from the wall. Its bulk shifts slightly, then a little more.
“Fuck this!” I bellow, and I throw all my pain and effort into the next shove. The cabinet moves outward at an angle, and I hear something fall to the floor with a clunk. Whatever was stuck behind it has been dislodged.
Kneeling, I run my right hand through the space beneath the cabinet and encounter a thick disc-shaped object with a variegated surface.
I draw it out, my heart thundering with agony and triumph. The device is crafted from moonstone, beautifully decorated with twisting black vines and pale mushrooms.
“Thank the gods.” I climb heavily to my feet. They’re slick and bloody against the wooden floor.
With the ooze still lurking in the hallway, I’m not sure how I’ll get out of here. I’ve got no explosives left, and I’ve lost my favorite igniter. Using the cannon on the ooze doesn’t seem like the right move—it would destroy my path back to the stairs.
I jam the Doras Àlainn into my back pocket and decide that the simplest plan is the best. I go through my pack and remove everything I can carry on my person, including my second-best igniter. With the igniter, I light the pack on fire, giving it a moment to start burning in earnest.
Then I open the door and pitch the burning pack into the hallway, hurling it as far as I can in the direction opposite from the spiral stairs.
As I suspected, the heat and movement attracts the ooze. The whole bulbous mass scoots past the doorway, toward the flaming object. I can see my boots in the gooey center of the creature, being transported along with a variety of other small objects.
I’ve got a slim margin of hallway I can use, a narrow strip of boards not cloaked by the ooze. A few steps and a leap carry me clear of the danger, and though the shock to my injured feet is excruciating, there’s a keen rush of glee in my chest at having outwitted the creeping slime, all while keeping my hold on the weapon.
At the stairs, I hesitate, looking back at the ooze, curious how it will react to the burning pack. A peninsula of the greenslime has separated from the rest, and it’s creeping toward the flame, drawn by the heat.
The instant the ooze touches the fire, there’s a violentbang, so loud my ears go muffled and my skull rings with shock. I duck, shielding my face against a hail of oncoming shrapnel.
After a moment, I risk a glance down the hallway.
The combination of that bit of ooze with the fire was catastrophic. It created a spherical explosion so perfect that I can see the shape of its curvature in the destroyed walls and blasted timbers. Everything within the sphere of destruction was annihilated.
A harsh whine sings through the muted air, penetrating even my momentary deafness. It’s the ooze-creature, mouthlessly wailing its pain. There’s less of it now, and what remains of its mass slides through a damaged door into one of the other rooms, seeking refuge.
I tilt my head from side to side and pop my jaw, trying to get my hearing back, even though I know it will take time. Meanwhile I ponder the fact that the ooze isn’t merely sentient and fixated on devouring each living thing it encounters—it’s also highly explosive.
“Why the fuck do the Fae keep this stuff around?” I mutter.
I descend the spiral staircase toward the second floor. Once I reach the first level, I’ll take the wardrobe stairs to the basement, and I’ll make my way to the room where Devilry waits for me. This is almost over. Our triumph is so close I can taste it.
But as I place one bloody foot on the next curved step, I see a shadow moving on the wall. At the same moment an odor hits me—something acrid and morbid, like the smell of death. The spiral staircase vibrates under a ponderous weight that’s advancing from below.
