It takes another minute of poking through the pantries until I find one stocked with alcohol. I take a few that are filled with clear fluid.
Hopefully it’s something strong.
‘You need to blend in,’Cassandra’s memory urges.
Not needing to be told twice, I keep looking until I spot a hamper with soiled uniforms. Grabbing one, I slip back into the empty pantry and swap my clothing. Then, I chop the onion and rub the pieces all over my hair and skin.
Scent that, asshole.
My eyes are tearing up, but I don’t let it slow me down as I sprint through the servant passages. A few minutes later, I find familiar ground and make my way back to the library.
Every fiber of my being is revolting against what I’m going to do. But if I’m going to evade Leon, then I need a diversion.
Books are the answer.
Unfortunately, that’s because they’re flammable, and fire makes an excellent diversion. I don’t even think I’ve seen fire alarms in this place.
Major oversight on their part.
Once I’m deep inside the sacred space and surrounded by shelves, I find a small desk and put down my stolen goods.
Yet again, I am seriously missing Google. Hopefully, television did its research, since I’m about to take ‘as seen on TV’ at its most literal sense.
Opening the bottles, I pour all but one over the surrounding shelves.
I’m so sorry, books.
Since I’m not sure whether the alcohol will explode when I light it on fire, I save the last bottle. Quickly, I soak my rag in alcohol, shoving half of it into the bottle in an attempt at making a Molotov cocktail.
In Hollywood, we trust?
Now that the easy part is done, I pause to take a few shuddering inhales, psyching myself up for what comes next.
I’m wasting time.
My friends, my realms, my home.
The mantra is enough to remind me exactly who is at stake.
‘Gag yourself,’Cassandra’s memory yells.
Shoving a book between my teeth, I lay my ring finger over the table, keeping my other digits pointed at the floor.
I will not fail them.
Before I can think any further on how much this is going to hurt, I pick up the butcher knife and slam it down onto my finger.
White hot agony detonates through me, and I scream into the book so hard that my teeth ache. Sobbing, I refuse to look down at my hand. Nausea rises in my gut, and I fight the urge to throw up. But adrenaline hits me a breath later, and despite my trembling fingers, I try to light a match.
It takes me four tries.
I light the rag.
Please.Pleaseburn.
The alcohol-soaked material goes up in flames, and I only have a moment to toss the DIY grenade. Glass shatters, and the fire erupts. There’s no explosion, but the flames immediately ignite the alcohol, creating a raging hall of fire. It spreads quickly, and I finally look down long enough to grab my dismembered finger.
I toss it into the flames. The diamond shimmers in the firelight, and I can only hope Leon thinks I’m burning.
