The Architect puked up a fantastic geyser of liquid, and it took the shape of the couch and cushions. There was no sign of the damage from before, everything totally pristine, as if nothing had ever happened. He reached down to make a minute adjustment to one of the pillows, and then nodded as if approving his work.
Sariel placed his hands on Seymour’s shoulders and pushed him forward.
“Wow!” Day gushed. “He’s incredible!”
“He’s fuckin’ somethin’, all right,” Seymour muttered, unable to look away from the horrifically fascinating sight until they were in the bedroom.
It was equally wrecked here, if not more so considering the giant hole in the wall. Inside of it was a heavy wooden door stained black, and there was an ornate silver keyhole right in the middle. While a door being hidden behind a wall was strange, it was the specific wall that made it even stranger.
It was the one separating the bedroom from the living room.
“Uh, okay.” Seymour blinked. “Not gonna ask why you got the notion to tear up the wall, but how ’bout where the hell does that door go? ’Cause I’m guessin’ it’s not back out to the couch.”
“Your father was very fond of pocket dimensions.” Lou crossed his arms. “I assume this is one of them. We found a few others, but we cannot access them.”
“You called us here to show me a door you can’t open?”
“I called you here because I believe you can open it.” Lou nodded toward the living room. “One of the pocket dimensionsin the living room was unlocked. Guessing that’s where you found Day?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“I used a key.” Seymour reached into his pocket, frowning. “Just some regular ol’ key from my dad.” He pulled out his keys to show Lou. “Here, it’s this one.”
Lou studied it intently. “It must be enchanted somehow.” He gestured at the door. “If you’d be so kind.”
“Sure.” Seymour stepped up to place the key in the hole. A modern key had no right being able to open such an ancient looking door, but he heard a click as he turned it. “Well. Now what?”
“Now we open it.” Lou grabbed the doorknob to do just that.
Seymour tensed, backpedaling and nearly smacking into Sariel. He saw the golf club he’d discarded from the last time they were here, and he quickly snatched it up. He had learned one very important thing since the start of this bizarre adventure, and that was to be ready for anything.
A griffon shitting rainbows.
A horde of elves who spat acid.
Absolutely fuckinganything.
The door opened, revealing…
A closet.
A closet that was deceptively normal at first glance, packed to bursting with an assortment of mundane items. There were stacks of boxes, a whole flock of winter jackets, a neon green golf bag, and oh—there was just one teeny tiny thing amiss.
Perched on top of the golf bag was a human skull with a golden crown bolted in right through the bone.
The skull’s empty sockets flickered, glowed with bright red orbs, and stared right at Seymour.
Seymour stared back.
The skull screamed.
Naturally, because he didn’t want the skull to feel left out, Seymour screamed too.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
