Everyone stared at Maine. “Say that again,” Marsha commanded her.

Maine took a breath. “I can get you inside the Vault, but I want-”

“No!” Seward yelled. He leapt towards Maine, his normally inexpressive face filled with panic. “Stop you little fool!” Maine flinched back from him, but Marsha was suddenly there. She grabbed the Naga’s arm and twisted it behind his back, making him jerk up onto his tiptoes.

“No, don’t listen to her!” Seward tried to plead. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about! Matthew! Tell them, your sister’s lying!” Her brother only stood there staring, completely dumbstruck, as Seward fought to get free.

Marsha pushed him towards the door, nodding to Celeste. “Get him out of here. Put him with the others!” The Elf nodded, pushing her gun into Seward’s back, but he refused to be led out quietly. She called for help as he fought back inside.

“Maine!” he yelled, his eyes fixed on her. “Whatever you’re thinking, do NOT let them in there! You can’t!” Two more Firstborn burst into the hall, grabbing hold of Seward, but he clung to the doorframe. More came, prying loose his hands. Before they carried him bodily away, he yelled back one final time, “You can’t!”

The door slammed shut behind them and Marsha let out a long breath. She then turned back to Maine and got down on one knee, looking the girl directly in the eye. “Now,” she said, “say that again - AND, don’t you joke with me girl!” she breathed out, hands outstretched. “I’ve got no time for it!”

Maine clenched her fists and tried to force as much steel into her voice that she could muster. “I know how to get you inside the Vault.”

Marsha’s eyes narrowed, and she studied her for a moment. “How?” she asked at last. “You know the spell the Naga put on it?”

Maine shook her head.

“Oh, that would’ve been helpful,” Lichi pouted.

“Maybe it’s a special type of Maierson magic?” Vaux, suggested. As they all looked at him, he blushed and fiddled with his hands awkwardly. “I’ve heard some spells are passed down family lines, and I thought maybe…”

“It’s nothing like that,” Maine shook her head again.

“How then?” Marsha grunted impatiently. “You spy on your Granny coming and going?”

“No, I spied on my Grandmother’s maid going in to clean it.”

Everyone stared at her. Marsha opened her mouth and then closed it quickly, completely speechless for the moment. Then she snorted. “Figures. I didn’t think the old Hag did her own cleaning.”

Matthew looked helplessly from his sister to the chalked in door on the wall. “Miss Imi?” he asked in a small voice. “Even Miss Imi knew?”

The Halfling gave an impressed whistle. “The cleaning crew always knows a way in,” he nodded to himself. “It’s just like Agony at the Art Museum, or The Barbaric Bank Robbery.”

Maine’s eyes opened wide. “Wait! I’ve read those too!” she said excitedly.

He blinked, looking surprised at her. “Huh? You’ve read True Crime Library?”

Maine was already rummaging through her bag, pulling out wrinkled copies of the dime-store serials she had stowed away and shoving them into his hands. “Of course! I love those types of stories,” she admitted. “Robberies, hold-ups, hostage situations gone wrong!” she nodded eagerly. “I mean, Wexxa, Wild Witch of the West or The Boy Nihilist are probably my favorite, but True Crime Libary’s pretty good too.” Her face fell a bit then. “I used to have all the issues, but then Miss Imi found them. ‘Not appropriate for someone of my age’” she parroted her, making a face.

Miss Lichi peered interestedly over the Halfling's shoulder as he flipped through the few issues she’d handed over. Vaux gave the pair a very disapproving frown. “If you ask me,” he sniffed, “they’re not appropriate for any age.”

Marsha raised her hands. “Can we get back to the topic at hand?” she asked impatiently. She looked at Maine. “I get the How, what I want to know now is: Why? Why are you helping us? What do you get out of it?”

Maine looked at her, then at her brother. “I want to be a Witch,” she said quietly.

“A Witch?” Marsha asked. “You’re a Maierson, you’re already a Witch.”

“No, a real one!” Maine insisted. “I want to be trained! I want to study, just like my Grandmother did!”

Matthew was looking at her, confused. Marsha shook her head. “You’re a Maierson,” she repeated. “You must have dozens of Witches and Wizards all around the world, just lining up to teach you! Any one of them would be more than happy to take you on. What’s the hurry?” Maine shook her head fiercely, but the woman went on. “It doesn’t make sense. What does getting in that Vault change?”

“I can’t wait!” Maine yelled, suddenly. “I’ve got to be a Witch now! Now! Not ten years from now!” Her chest heaved up and down and her eyes felt wet, but she refused to dash the tears away. She would not show weakness now. “No one’s teaching magic anymore,” she told them. “There’s no schools, no tutors for someone of my age. Yeah, sure I could wait till I’m older, but what happens till then?” She found herself looking at her brother. The expression on his face was hurt, wounded even, but she forced herself to go on.

“Maiersons’ needs magic. It needs someone who can uphold our legacy, our reputation.” She felt herself shiver as she looked away from her brother. “Maiersons needs a Witch now,” she said simply. “It needs me.”

Marsha’s eyes narrowed again. “And the Vault?” she nodded towards it.

“All my Grandmother’s best spellbooks,” Maine told her. “The important books, the rare ones, even the ones she wasn’t supposed to have.” Vaux raised his eyebrows and Lichi’s mouth formed an ‘O’. She drifted closer to the wall, while the Halfling edged away nervously.

“Are you sure we should be messing with that stuff?” he asked.

“I need them,” Maine pleaded. “I can learn things in there that no one else can teach me.” She lowered her eyes. “Things my brother certainly won’t let me learn on my own. That’s why I need to get in there.”

Marsha stared at her hard. She rubbed at her chin and looked down at the floor. The Goblin cleared his throat.

“I don’t think the Ledgers you want are up here either,” he said carefully, glancing over at Matthew. Her brother frowned, looking puzzled, as Vaux gestured to the back cabinets and drawers. “I’m not done looking yet, but everything so far seems to be devoted to the Factory, nothing pertaining to the family business.”

“Family business?” her brother asked. “What are you talking about?”

Marsha shook her head, ignoring him. She stared at the cabinets for a moment, then turned back to Maine. “How many?” she asked at last. Maine’s eyebrows rose excitedly, but Marsha raised her hands. “Don’t get too excited! You’re not leaving here with all of them. So, how many do you need?”

Maine bit her lip suddenly. “Half?” she guessed, not expecting the question.

“No!” Matthew burst out, but no one seemed to hear him.

“Half? You expect us to carry them out of here for you?” Marsha asked, looking amused. She tugged lightly on the strap of Maine’s bag. “How about three books?”

“What! Three books! I go through that in a week!” Maine scoffed. “Ten,” she countered.

“I don’t need your help, you know that?” Marsha told her frankly. “Even if I can’t get the Naga to talk, we’ve got a fall-back plan.” She leaned back and nodded to the Halfling. “Show her.”

He patted a bulge inside his jacket, looking proud. “Dynamite,” he smiled to her.

Vaux jumped in sudden fright. “Buster!” he yelled, backing away quickly. “I thought we agreed you were going to leave it behind!”

The Halfling, Buster apparently, made a face as he closed his jacket. “No, I said that I was going to leave it in safe hands. And mine are the safest hands I know.”

Marsha smirked at Maine. “We’ll blow this entire house to kingdom come if we need to. Do the neighborhood a world of good,” she mused softly, then her voice went hard again. “Three books.”

Maine was no stranger to this kind of negotiation tactic however. You wouldn’t last long in Old Coney trading dime-store books and candies from Sweetwaters if you couldn’t play hardball. She cocked her head to the side, as if listening to something. “Is that Albert I hear?” she asked, almost sweetly. Vaux flinched, listening intently, while Lichi cocked her head, turning around in a circle. “Do you think he’s managed to smash his way through the doors yet? Ten books.”

Marsha made a face and her lips pinched together. “Five. Final offer,” she said at last, holding out her hand.

Matthew pushed his way forwards. “No! Maine don’t!”

Maine stared at her for a moment, then smiled. Her small hand disappeared in the large woman’s grip. Matthew’s head sunk down to his chest. “Five books,” she agreed, starting to pump her hand up and down. “And one more thing,” she quickly added.

Marsha’s hand clenched tight on hers. “One more what?” she asked, her voice rumbling dangerously.

“It’s nothing huge,” Maine promised quickly. “Really tiny actually. Like jar-sized.”

Matthew’s head snapped back up, fear in his eyes. “Oh no,” he said in a quiet voice.

Marsha’s grip tightened. “What is it?”

“It’s an urn,” Maine said as her brother started to shake his head. “Look, it’s mine, alright?” she said in a rush. “I know it’s hidden somewhere in the house and this is the only place I haven’t been able to look. Five books and the urn, that’s all I want. You can take the rest.”

Marsha’s eyes narrowed as she held onto Maine’s hand. She looked to be thinking quickly.

Matthew pushed his way forwards, struggling with Vaux and Buster. “No, listen! No matter what you think of me, you can’t let my sister have that urn,” he told her. Marsha glared and pushed him back with one hand. “No, please! I’m being serious! It’s a matter of public safety!”

She looked at the two struggling with him and nodded. Buster smirked. “Hey, gimme one of those pamphlets you’re always going on about,” he grunted to Vaux.

“Oh, which one?” he asked brightly. A number of pamphlets appeared in his hands like magic. “I’ve got Late, Lunch, Lounge: Work Smarter, Not Harder, uh… Unite! Our Numbers Can’t be Divided by One, oh, take Workers Strike Your Friends and Neighbors, I need to get the punctuation fixed on that one.“

Buster grabbed the offered pamphlet and stuffed it into Matthew’s mouth, near choking him. “Thanks,” he smiled, as he yanked the Goblin’s bandanna off and used it to gag him for good measure. Her brother coughed, going red in the face, but all the sounds he could make were muffled shouts.

Marsha turned back to Maine. “Now, what the hell’s inside the urn?”

“My property,” Maine said flatly.

Marsha raised her eyebrows. Maine raised hers right back.

The room suddenly shook, plaster falling from the ceiling. They could all hear the sound of gunfire and shouting from closeby. The Halfling grunted, ducking his head. “We don’t have time for this,” he moaned.

“Dammit,” Marsha swore. She took a breath and then let go of Maine’s hand. “You’ve got a deal,” she said quickly. “Now get us inside that damn room!”

Maine popped up like a rocket and ran to the wall, standing in front of the chalked door frame. “Do you need this?” Lichi asked, holding up her stub of chalk, but Maine shook her head. She was looking down at the wooden floorboards, staring hard, until she found a particular knothole in front of the door; shaped like a closed eye. She raised her foot above it, then stepped back suddenly.

“Wait, I forgot!”

The room shook again, harder this time and Marsha shouted. “Hurry up!”

“Just a sec!” Maine pleaded, digging through her bag. She pulled out a small maid’s cap and an old, moth-eaten shawl. She dumped her bag down and threw the shawl over her shoulders. “It won’t work without this!” she said as she wrestled with her hair, trying to shove the unruly mess up under the cap.

They watched her struggle for a moment, then Marsha grabbed her, muttering to herself. “Hold still,” she snapped, yanking Maine’s hair around and getting it under control. Maine fidgeted as the larger woman pushed and pulled at her hair till she had it all stuffed under the tiny cap. “There,” she said at last, tying the knot off with her teeth. The little cap looked like it was ready to burst, but it held for the moment.

Turning around quickly, Maine adjusted her shawl. “How do I look?,” she asked. “Like Ms Imi you think?”

Marsha gave her a flat look. “What? How should I know?” she asked angrily. “Will it work or not, that’s what I want to know.”

Maine shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” As Marsha ground her teeth in the background, Maine walked back to the peculiar looking knot on the floor and tapped the toe of her shoe on it three times. Blue lights sparkled under her foot as faint runic symbols appeared around the knott. Clearing her throat, she did her best imitation of Miss Imi’s hoarse voice. “It’s me. Open up.”

There were the sudden sounds of someone drawing on a chalkboard, but fast, like a recording sped up. An image appeared before them, as if sketched by an invisible hand: a closed eye, set in the middle of the doorframe. More runic symbols began to sparkle around it and the eye began to bulge, pushing out the wall, seeming to grow more detailed with every moment. They could see wrinkles and folds in the skin, even lashes and gunk in the corner of the eye. Then the lid slowly cracked open and an iris peeked out sleepily. It blinked and began to focus.

The Firstborn moved quickly out of the way from behind Maine, all except for Lichi who started to drift forwards. “Oh, a Mage’s Eye,” she murmured excitedly. “That’s very clever, you know.” She continued to admire it as Buster jumped forwards and pulled her back.

The Eye’s gaze slowly settled on Maine, who waited patiently before it, head bowed. It blinked calmly, taking in the shawl and the cap, till it suddenly narrowed, the pupil sharply compressing. The runic symbols crackled around it as Maine held her pose, wondering if she’d done something wrong. Then she gasped and quickly got down on her knees, ducking her head down lower.

For a heartbeat, the Eye continued to stare, magic crackling around it, then it seemed to soften and relax. Its eyelid began to droop closed as a hollow unlocking sound boomed from within the wall, and a small line, only a few feet tall appeared underneath it, running to the floor. The line grew wider, becoming the outline of a set of doors swinging inwards, and as the Eye closed completely, receding back into the wall, a small opening appeared below it leading into complete darkness.

The Firstborn crowded behind Maine as she climbed to her feet. Buster stared at the tiny door, then back up at the now completely chalk drawing of the eye. “Doesn’t seem that clever to me,” he snorted. “Can’t tell the difference between a girl and a Hob!”

“Well, it’s a Mage’s Eye, not a Brain,” Lichi shrugged. “It can see, not think for itself.” She drifted closer, inspecting the chalk drawing. “Still, it’s a very difficult spell. Your Grandmother certainly knew her stuff.”

“Of course,” Maine said. She was staring down into the blackness, a familiar tingling sensation running up and down her spine and making the hairs on her arms stand on end. From the light of the room, she could just see steps leading down from the doorway, disappearing into darkness. Her whole life felt like it had led to this moment; months of planning, weeks of effort and preparation, just to get here. Gran’s books, everything she needed was just a few feet further now.

Marsha bent down suddenly in front of the tiny door, peering inside. The opening was so small that she could barely fit her head through. She reached one massive arm in, feeling around in the blackness, then took hold of one of the edges and tried to use it to pull the bigger door open. No matter how much she grunted and strained however, it wouldn’t budge, and she finally fell back on the floor. She cocked an eye at the Halfling. “You give it a try.”

He peered at the small opening carefully and then shook his head. “I think it might be too tight fit, even for me,” he admitted ruefully, slapping his stomach. Marsha glared at him, then looked at Vaux.

“Oh, not me,” he shook his head quickly. “Goblin’s have very poor night-vision.”

“I thought you were born in a cave?”

“And now I live in the City, what does that tell you?”

She let out a sigh and started to climb to her feet. Maine was already tightening the strap on her bag, pulling it closer to her. “Five books and the urn,” she reminded Marsha.

“I remember,” the woman grumbled. Her eyes narrowed however, and she looked up to Celeste. “Grab some rope.”

“Hey, wait!” Maine protested, but Marsha wouldn’t change her mind. In less than a minute, they had produced a length of rope and tied the end around her waist.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas,” Marsha warned, holding the other end in her fist.

Maine tugged at the cord. “Honestly, where do you think I’m going to go?” she asked, making a face.

“It just makes me feel better.” Another boom shook the room and the Firstborn’s eyes flickered upwards nervously. Marsha gestured to the Elf again. “Take Mr Maierson up to the front,” she said quickly. “Maybe the sight of him under guard might slow them down.” Celeste nodded and grabbed Matthew. Her brother struggled, trying to yell through his gag, but she kicked him forwards, forcing him to the door. Maine kept her head down, avoiding her brother’s eye, but she could still feel it. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She had to do this, for the good of the family. That’s all that mattered.

Marsha nudged her in the middle of the back, pushing her towards the small door. “Time’s wasting,” she said impatiently.

Maine nodded, pulling her focus back. She reached into her bag and pulled a small, dented hand lantern out, and shook the pyreflies inside awake. The light they cast forwards seemed dim and flickered pitifully as she clipped it to her belt, but it would have to do. She walked to the tiny opening and stared inside. Even with the lantern, she could hardly see a few inches in front of her, just the edges of the steps, leading down deeper into blackness. But first though, was the door.

The Firstborn watched anxiously as she turned sideways, pushing and grunting as she tried to squeeze inside. Maine backed out and adjusted her bag, trying again. They watched her struggle again, as a muscle in Marsha’s jaw began to twitch. “You can get in there, right?” she asked, her voice strained.

“Uf cous ay caan,” Maine said, her face squished up between the edges of the door.

“Here, let me help,” the Halfling grunted, moving behind her. He put both hands on her back and braced himself. “Breath out,” he warned suddenly.

“Wut?” was all Maine managed, when he pushed with all his might and she popped through the door. She yelled and might have gone tumbling down the stairs, when the rope went taunt and hauled her back from the edge, her arms swinging wildly in the darkness.

“Are you okay?” he asked, poking his head in the doorway as far as it would go.

Maine found her balance at last and stood there, trying to catch her breath. “I’m fine!”

There was a struggle at the doorway, and Buster’s face disappeared to be replaced by Marsha’s. “Get the door open first,” she ordered her impatiently. “There’s gotta be a switch or something on the inside. Look around!”

“Right, right,” Maine said, rolling her eyes. She felt a tug on the rope and looked back irritably.

Marsha shook the rope again. “I’m serious! I even get a sniff of funny business and I’ll yank you right out.”

“I’ve got it!” Maine took a breath and started down the steps. She took them slowly, advancing one at a time, both hands on the smooth, stone walls to either side of her. Within a few feet, the light from the office door had been swallowed up and she only had the dim glow of her belt lantern to see by. The air went cool and she suppressed a shiver, not wanting the Firstborn to get the idea that a Maierson could feel the cold, or could possibly be afraid. It was just a basement after all, she reminded herself, a locked, secret basement in her own house that held all of her Family’s greatest secrets. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from rattling. Nothing to worry about at all.

She took another step and her foot suddenly slipped forwards, right off the edge of the stair. She braced herself on the wall, crying out, and dangled there for a moment, one foot hanging in the air.

The rope went a bit tighter. “What happened?” Marsha’s voice called out from above, her voice sounding a bit worried.

Maine took a breath and then another. “I’m okay,” she called out, her eyes still wide. After a moment, Marsha grunted and the line slackened.

“How deep does it go?” she heard Vaux ask faintly. Maine wished she knew herself. The office door behind her seemed dim and far away now. She’d thought the Vault must have been beneath the Library, but from the distance she’d come so far she must have been under the Square outside by now. The air was even cooler now, and there was a smell that was growing stronger, something strange and earthy, that she couldn’t identify. She continued on, step after step, and till suddenly she found herself at the bottom, with nothing but empty blackness in front of her.

She felt behind her for the rope and gave it a quick tug. “I’m at the bottom!” She unclipped the lantern from her belt and held it up, looking around.

“Try and find a door switch or release!” Marsha called back. “There’s got to be one around.”

There was in fact. Maine could see a lever nearby on the wall, its purpose plain to guess. “Hmm, I don’t see anything,” she called back, trying to keep from smiling. “I’ll keep looking.” She wandered forwards, holding the lantern aloft. Most of the Vault was hidden in darkness, but her little light revealed the ends of wooden shelves, many rows high, that seemed to run down the center of the room, dividing it up into aisles that were just large enough for a single person to walk down. And, most exciting of all, the shelves weren’t empty, each one bulged with strange shapes and outlines that she could just barely make out by lantern light: full jars and bottles labeled with skulls and scribbled writing, skulls and bones lying in rows, scrolls and parchments, locked cases of gleaming bits of metal and jewels. This was it! Everything that she’d hoped for! The books had to be here, everything her Grandmother had gathered or written that she’d need to become the Witch of her dreams. She started walking faster, her breath picking up. She wanted to run down the aisles, looking at everything at once, damn the darkness! She could feel it, she’d be a proper Maierson at last, one that could make her Grandmother proud.

She was going quickly now, scanning as far as she could see, when suddenly small and white seemed to fly directly at her from out of the darkness. She tripped and fell, screaming, and the lantern flew out of her hands. It bounced and rolled forwards, hitting the far wall. As she lay moaning on the ground, she heard Marsha call down from above, “Hey! What’s going on?” The rope went taunt again and started to pull on her and Maine rolled onto her back, tugging back at it.

“I’m alright!” she called. Still in pain, she crawled forwards, heading towards the small lantern. Grabbing it, she swung the light around, scanning the ceiling, looking for whatever had flown out at her. She saw boxes and crates, a few Elder skulls, then suddenly the light fell on a small skeletal figure, floating in mid-air. She flinched back, but the figure remained still and she slowly lowered her arms, staring closer.

It was a Pixie skeleton, as beautiful and frail as a porcelain doll, displayed within a glass bottle. It sat alone on the end of a shelf packed with crates, the tiny figure suspended so it seemed to glide through the air. Maine picked herself up and wandered closer, staring in awe. She’d never even known that Pixie’s had bones, but there each one was, as thin as a strand of thread, the skull itself no bigger than a blueberry. She touched the glass with her fingers, admiring the way the translucent wings seemed to shimmer and sparkle in the lantern light, and then her eyes were drawn downwards to something else that caught the lantern light.

There were three, identical small glass jars on the shelf below the skeleton, each containing a small pile of glittering Pixie wings. Maine’s eyes widened. Pixie wings were incredibly rare and potent magical ingredients. Even the Factory didn’t have a supply. Ignoring the red ribbon wrapped around the top of the first jar, she picked it up and gave it a good shake. The wings inside tapped against the glass frantically, but they barely produced a spark - too old, too dried out. The second jar was in even worse shape, the wings almost falling to dust. When she grabbed the third jar however, it lit up in her hand, blue sparks and lights dancing inside the glass. She opened her bag to shove it deep inside and then hissed in sudden pain; all at once the glass had frosted over, almost freezing her fingers to the surface. She bit her lip to keep from crying out at the stabbing pain in her hand, as the glass jar dropped from her hand and fell deep inside her bag.

The rope gave another sudden tug and Marsha’s voice called out. “Hey? What’s going on! You’re taking too long down there!”

“Just a sec!” Maine called, gritting her teeth. She pulled out a length of cloth from her bag and wrapped it around her still frozen palm, tying it off with her teeth. Still trying to work some feeling back into her fingers, she walked back to the level and pulled on it with her good hand. There was a rattling clunk from somewhere above her, and the sound of stone sliding against wood. Then in the darkness, music began to play.

It was faint at first, a small, tinkling sound, rather like a music box, accompanied by the soft click of gears whirling. She looked up to see a soft, golden light beginning to shine from just above a small box she hadn’t noticed before, set high up on the wall. The light was coming for a pair of twisted copper rods on the top of the box, each only a few inches high. There was a spark of magic, running across the ceiling, and then nearly a dozen more lights began to shine further down the wall. Dwarven lanterns, she realized, very expensive, very rare. The rods began to slowly revolve on a pedestal, twisting around each other like dancers as the music played faster, and as they spun, the light shone brighter, pushing back the darkness.

There was the sound of pushing and shoving coming down the stairs behind her as the Firstborn descended in a rush. “Quit it! Quit it! I’m going first!” Marsha snapped, thrusting herself forwards, gun drawn. Her eyes were wide with fear as she spun around, looking down each aisle, breath hissing between her teeth. Then slowly, her gun lowered. “Oh, wow,” she breathed out in awe.

Vaux and Lichi poked their heads out of the stairway, one on top of the other. “Incredible,” the Goblin said. He wandered forwards, looking up at the shelves then at the Dwarven lights up on the wall. “Simply incredible.” His nose twitched and he breathed in suddenly. “What’s that smell? Familiar…”

“It’s lovely,” Lichi muttered warmly. She stood at the foot of the stairs, seeming to swell as she breathed in that strange, earthy smell that was stronger than ever. “Mushrooms,” she said. “Mushrooms used to grow here. Oyster, Chaga, Reishi… oh, and a very saucy Turkey Tail,” she laughed. Slowly, arms began to sprout from her shoulders, growing out to stroke at the walls tenderly. “They’re gone now, but I can still feel their traces…” Her strange, eyeless face seemed to grow tender, and her wide cap dipped down. “This was a place filled with great love… For a time at least…”

The Halfling pushed his way past her, rubbing his hands together. “Well right now it’s filled with loot!” he laughed. “That’s all I care about!” He ran forwards down the center aisle, capering and nearly dancing with glee. With the lights, Maine could see that the shelves were all full, practically groaning with chests and crates, rows upon rows of bottles and vials full of colored liquids and powders. Weapons gleamed upon the walls, hanging on hooks and racks; daggers, spears, swords, and axes, each more deadly than the next. Some of the blades were wrapped in cloth and tied with red ribbons, a sure sign of a cursed or dangerous item. Maine felt a thrill of excitement as she gazed down the aisles, it was everything that she’d dreamed about.

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“I see where your family was hiding all the top-shelf items,” Marsha said to her. Maine could only nod silently. Then she breathed out in shock as her jaw fell open. As the lights illuminated more of the room, she could now see to the far end of the Vault. A huge bookshelf had been built into the back wall, running from floor to ceiling, and it was stuffed near to bursting; books, journals, and racks upon racks of rolled scrolls tied with red ribbons.

Marsha glanced over her shoulder to see what Maine was staring so raptly at. She smirked and rolled her eyes. “Get to it kid,” she told her. “Remember, no more than five-”

“FivebooksIgotit,” Maine yelled, already in a run.

Laughing, Marsha put her fingers to her lips and whistled shrilly. The other Firstborn turned and looked at her quickly. “Buster, get everyone down here we can spare! I want this place unloaded, double-time!”

The Halfling jumped, grinning broadly and scampered back up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. Vaux meanwhile, was standing nervously before a shelf of thick jars filled with dark green fluid. Elder heads and other organs floated inside the jars; there were Goblin and Elf specimens, a huge single eye connected to a brainstem, even a many chambered Orge’s heart preserved in the liquid. He tapped softly on the glass, looking a bit sick. “Are we really taking everything?” he asked, his voice quavering.

“Absolutely,” she smiled. He whimpered, still staring at the glass and she spoke again, more seriously. “Vaux, we need those Ledgers. Remember, whatever we get here today is useless without them.”

He sighed, tearing his eyes away at last from the glass. “Right, right. Well, I guess I’d better get started.”

As he started past her, the first of the Firstborn came rushing down the stairs. They came in twos and threes, shoving and pushing their way forwards, carrying empty crates and sacks. Their Maierson uniforms, pristine this morning, were now torn and bloody, their faces showing signs of heavy fighting upstairs. As they reached the Vault, they paused, staring around the room in a mix of fear and awe, crowding the entrance to the room.

Marsha waded into the middle of them, urging them forwards. “C’mon, we don’t have all day! Load up everything! Whatever you can grab!” At the crack of her voice, they jumped and hurried forwards, breaking off down the aisles. Weapons clattered to the floor as they started grabbing them off the walls, sweeping items and boxes off the shelves. The room became filled with the sound of pounding feet and the chatter of voices as the Firstborn scrambled to get everything packed up as quickly as possible. It became pure chaos, with people bumping into each other, groups struggling to lift and move the heavier, larger pieces, and everyone fighting to get by on the narrow stairway. What happened next was entirely predictable.

Lichi stood alone in the middle of the tumult, trying to shout advice. “If everyone could please slow down!” she called, spinning around as Firstborn rushed by. “Ah, he was first, let him by!” A Dryad staggered by her, dragging an ornate metal shield, the rim scratching a line in the floor behind her. “Can someone please help her lift that?” There was the sound of shattering glass and she turned, flinching. “Oh, please be careful!” She drifted hurriedly over towards a circle of Firstborn that were standing back from a shelf littered with broken vials. They stood in shock, watching the bubbling liquid drip down the wood, slowly dissolving it.

As the shelf started to collapse, someone turned and asked her, “What is all that?”

Lichi bent down, and plucked one of the smoking labels from the puddle on the floor. “Ooh, Nessus’ blood! That’s quite a rare find!” she said in a delighted voice. The arm that held the smoking label began to shrivel and turn black, before dropping off of Lichi’s body to disintegrate on the floor. “See if any of the bottles are still intact,” she urged them, nodding eagerly. “I’d love to add them to my collection.”

She cocked her head curiously as they backed further away, but before she could ask why, there was the sound of more crashing behind her. A black, cast-iron cauldron was rolling back down the stairs, knocking anyone in its way aside. Firstborn cried out and dove for cover, but there was a group trapped at the bottom of the stairs carrying a large, standing mirror that could only watch in horror as it rolled towards them. The cauldron struck the mirror head on, and with a thunder-crack of releasing magical energy it smashed through, shattering the glass into pieces. The air tingled and sparks flew from the Dwarven lights as the cauldron rolled to a stop on the Vault floor, spilling out a woozy looking Halfling. He got to his knees, head lolling, and Lichi hurried over.

“Stebbins! Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.

He stumbled to his feet, eyes crossed and swaying slightly. “Ugh! Yes, I think so,” he groaned

The cauldron rocked again and then another, identical Halfling crawled out of it. “Ugh! Yes, I think so,” the other one groaned as well.

Lichi’s cap tilted to either side as both of the Halflings rubbed at their heads with the same motion, both smiling sheepishly. “Guess I shouldn’t have tried to lift that all on my own,” they said together. Then they frowned, blinking in confusion. “Wait? Who just said that?”

She frowned as she stood over the two Halflings, staring goggle-eyed at each other “Stebbins, have you always had an identical twin?” she asked, trying to remember.

Traffic resumed on the stairs, and Marsha spotted Celeste weaving her way down into the Vault. She pushed her way through the crowd, waving for her to come closer. “What’s going on upstairs?” she asked, shouting to make herself be heard.

Celeste opened her mouth, but then stumbled as another Firstborn collided with her. Marsha had to reach out to steady her, pulling her close. The Elven woman flashed her a grateful smile, but all Marsha could see were the fresh scratches and scrapes on her face and neck, and how the tips of her hair were still sizzling.

“It’s been touch and go,” Celeste admitted in a tired voice. “They almost broke through a couple times till you sent up the Maierson boy. They backed off once they saw him.”

Marsha nodded, patting down the ends of her hair. “Sorry, I should’ve sent him up sooner,” she apologized. She hesitated for a moment, then forced herself to ask, “Have we lost anyone-”

Celeste pushed off of her suddenly, waving her hand. “You want to talk about that now?” she asked, sounding sharp and bitter. “We’ve still got a job to do.”

She started to walk away, when Marsha reached out and grabbed her arm. “How many have we lost?” she asked again.

Celeste sighed, looking down. “Three, so far,” she admitted.

Marsha’s grip tightened. “Three?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Celeste said, pulling away from her. She started to wave on the nearest crew, urging them on faster. “Whatever it costs!” she said, throwing Marsha’s own words back at her. “Remember?”

Marsha watched her go, swallowed up by the rush of the Firstborn. She stood alone in the middle of the crush for a moment, bodies lugging boxes and crates bumping past her. Then she spun around, stalking back towards the back of the Vault. Celeste was right, the job was more important right now. They could mourn later. This was worth it, she told herself. This was worth it.

The Firstborn had reached the end of the room by now. Goblins carrying tall, swaying stacks of books staggered past her towards the stairs while more climbed up onto the shelves or scaled the ladders. “Maierson?” she called out, dodging books as they rained down around her. “Maierson? Where are you?”

Her foot suddenly kicked Maine’s bag, lying abandoned on the floor. There was a grunt and she turned to see Maine clinging to the top few shelves, tugging at a book that was wedged into place. “What are you doing?” Marsha asked. “Get down from there!”

“This… one is a… bit… stuck!” Maine said through clenched teeth. She let go of the shelf, throwing her whole weight against the book, and it jerked loose with a pop, sending her falling backwards.

Before Marsha could stop herself or even think better, she jumped forwards, catching the girl before she hit the stone floor. “Little fool! What were you thinking?” Instead of looking grateful, Maine just lay there smiling, clutching the tiny book to her chest. “What is that?” Marsha asked.

The book was a small, leather-bound journal, unremarkable except for a small ‘M’ stamped in the corner. As she held it, Maine could almost hear the scratch of a familiar pen writing, swift and sure. She brought the journal up and touched her lips to the surface, breathing in that scent of dark, rich coffee, clove cigarettes, and jasmine perfume. “It’s my Grandmother’s journal,” she said, her eyes watering. Her fingers trembled as she cracked the book open, flipping through the pages. “It’s priceless, everything my Grandmother ever worked on is… Hey!”

Marsha moved closer, curious, as Maine started to flip through the journal, faster and faster. “What? I don’t-” she said, growing more agitated.

“What is it?” Marsha asked.

“I can’t read any of it!” Maine exploded, thrusting the book at her. Marsha took it and turned it over as Maine pouted. The pages were full of slanted, looping writing, completely indecipherable to her.

Marsha glanced over it for a moment and then shrugged, handing the book back. “Tough break,” she told her bluntly. She started to walk over to the other Firstborn, still scrambling to pack up the rest of the shelves. “That still counts as one of your five by the way.” Maine stuffed the journal down into her bag, still fuming, and stuck her tongue out at the woman’s back.

Maine’s head jerked up in a panic as Marsha called back to her, “Hope you’ve found everything you were looking for.”

“Everything, right,” she said nervously, her eyes scanning what was left inside the Vault. The Firstborn had been working like mad, and more than half the shelves were already bare. “Uh, almost!” She scooped up her bag and threw it over her shoulder, walking quickly down one of the aisles. The urn! She still hadn’t found the urn. Where was it? It had to be in here somewhere; she’d turned the mansion inside and out for weeks, it couldn’t be anywhere else! She dodged around Firstborn, looking high and low to see what was left. Someone ran past her carrying a crate filled with jars and pottery and she lunged for it. “Um, wait a minute!” she called.

“Leggo!” the Elf said, wrestling with the crate as Maine hung off it, rummaging through the contents. She fell back with a disappointed sigh. Maybe someone had already grabbed it? Maine started to chew on her thumbnail, still pacing the aisles. Could it already have been packed away, up in a Firstborn wagon? What could she do then? She glanced through an open shelf to her left, still worrying, when suddenly she found herself staring into a familiar set of sharp, yellow eyes.

It was Fink! He was in the Vault, in the very next aisle, blinking back at her. Maine stared, sure she must have been imagining him, but then he smiled back at her, and she saw his gold teeth winking. It was him, in the bold, red-checkered flesh. He had a Maierson cap pulled low over his brow, but there was no mistaking him. She looked quickly down the aisle, trying to see if any of the Firstborn were watching, then leaned in across the shelf and hissed at him, “What are you doing?”

“The same thing you are,” he told her, smiling shamelessly. He reached up and grabbed a coiled length of silver wire, wrapped on a spindle, and dropped it into a bulging sack at his feet. “Looking for the best pieces I can grab.”

She glared at him, grinding her teeth. “How did you get down here? This place is crawling with Firstborn!”

“Aw, they’re too busy to notice me,” he waved his hand, unconcerned. Three more items slid off the shelf and into his sack. “And what’s to see? I’m just another helping hand, after all.”

“Did I hear you right, though? Did you really find Madelyn’s journal?” he asked suddenly, his eyes all alight. He pressed his face against the shelves, looking hungrily towards her bag. “How extraordinary! Could I take a look perhaps? Just a peak?”

The skin on his face stretched and seemed to start to tear as he pressed forwards. Maine took a step back and pulled her bag close. “It’s none of your business!” she snapped. “Get out of here! Before someone sees you!”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he chided her, pressing himself even further through the shelf. It seemed impossible that a person of his size could manage to fit, but his body almost seemed to ooze through the narrow opening. “Maybe we could help each other, hmmm? Trade what we’ve found?”

She started to back away, nervous. “Uh, have you- Have you seen an urn nearby?” she asked, unable to think of anything else. “It’s small, like a stone vase, sealed up with magic?”

Fink paused in sudden surprise. “An urn?” he asked, thinking. “No, can’t say that I have.” His eyes grew sly then. “What is it? Something special?”

“Uh, no! Not special,” she said quickly, suddenly regretting asking. “Not special at all!” He started inching forwards again, clearly not believing her. Her back bumped up against the far shelf and she was brought up short. “My Gran made it,” she admitted in a sudden squeak.

“Your Gran made it?” he asked, sounding suddenly delighted, then his voice filled with undisguised greed. “What does it do?”

She was saved from answering by Vaux’s voice suddenly calling out.

“I’ve found it! I’ve got the Ledger!” he cried, running down the aisle behind Fink. The Goblin held a wide, brown book in his hands, bulging with clips of paper and notes that spilled out behind him as he ran. With an almost audible pop, Fink reversed himself and oozed back through the shelf. As more Firstborn ran towards Vaux, Fink ducked his head down and slunk off in the opposite direction. Maine breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let’s see it!” Marsha cried out, hurrying over to Vaux. A large crowd had formed around them, eager to see. Curious herself, Maine drifted over, looking curiously at the Ledger held in the Goblin’s hands. It didn’t seem very magical to her, just a normal business ledger, no different than any of the dozens in Gran’s office or the Factory. Yet Marsha’s hands seemed to tremble as she took it from the Goblin, and she sighed as she cracked it open, scanning through the first few pages.

Her lips mumbled as she read, tracing the words with one hand. The Firstborn waited anxiously around her while Vaux tapped his claws together excitedly. “What did I tell you,” he said, almost breathless. “I knew they had to have a record here somewhere! I knew it!”

Marsha nodded. “This is it! Everything we need!” She slammed the book shut and held it up to the group, like she’d just found the most valuable piece in the entire Vault. “Firstborn! Well done!” she cried. As they started to cheer, Maine edged closer, trying to figure out what was going on. She saw Fink slinking closer as well, sticking to the edge of the crowd. Their eyes met and then both went to the book in her hands. What had the Firstborn been looking for?

The cheering went on for a moment, then Marsha cut it off with a slash of her hands. “Okay, we’re done here!” she shouted. “Pack up whatever you’ve got and get it to the wagons!” The Firstborn gave one last cheer, louder than anything before. There were still many books and artifacts left on the shelves, even some larger, expensive looking ones, but they ignored them all, running now for the exits.

Maine watched them go, panic taking hold. “Wait! You can’t go!” she cried. “I need the urn! I haven’t found it yet! You have to keep looking!”

Marsha gave her a frank look, still waving the Firstborn towards the stairs. “What are you talking about? We’ve stayed here too long already!” She turned and whistled shrilly to a pair of Goblins in the back of the room, bickering as they tried to drag a huge set of antlers. “Leave that alone! Trust me, you don’t want to be left behind!”

Maine hurried towards her, scraps of paper and bits of packing straw kicking up behind her boots as she ran. “But there’s got to be more here!” she told her desperately. She stamped on the floor suddenly in several places, then ran to the wall and started to pound against it, listening for any kind of echo. “A hidden compartment or another room! There’s got to be something!”

She pulled her hand back again, but Marsha caught it. “There’s nothing here, girl. Give it up!” she told her, shaking her head. “We’re getting out of here, and you better do the same! You’re brother’s not gonna be very happy with you!”

“No! I have to find him first!” Maine yelled, pulling away.

There was a dry cough behind them. Fink was standing at the edge of the shelves, smiling intently. Marsha’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Maybe she’s got a point,” he told her, nodding his head. He strolled over to the almost empty bookcase and knocked on it, listening closely. Scraps of paper from discarded books, their spines stamped flat in the chaos, swirled around his feet. “You’re not going to get a second chance at this, after all, and I know I’d hate to think that I left something valuable behind.”

“How many times do I have to kick you out of here?” Marsha growled. Scraps of paper swirled around her feet as she started towards him.

Maine backed up against the shelves, her eyes flashing around the room. The Firstborn were nearly all up the stairs, only the two Goblins remained below, crouching in fear behind the set of antlers. Then she saw Buster, the Halfling, creeping up one of the aisles, his eyes fixed on Fink. Fink gave no indication he had noticed him, still tapping on the bookshelves, listening intently.

“Why don’t you call your men back?” he suggested, smiling at her. “Have them knock a few walls down, even try the floor and ceiling. What’s the harm in being thorough?”

“Oh, I’ll call them back,” she warned him, her hand going to her holster. Then she stopped abruptly in mid-stride, her foot seemingly frozen to the floor. She stared down. “What the hell did you-”

Maine blinked in astonishment. Paper. Scraps of papers were plastered around Marsha’s boots and stuck to the floor as if they’d been glued down. She grunted, the veins on her neck standing out as she tried to lift either of her legs, but no matter what she did it they wouldn’t budge.

More scraps were swirling around the floor now, far more than should have come from just the discarded books, Maine realized too late. She took a half a step backwards involuntarily, and froze as she felt something brush past her foot. She looked down to see one of the scraps flapping in the air, half-wrapped around the edge of her boot. She could just barely make out the golden runes inked on one side.

Fink knocked against the bookcase again smiling. “Not quite the useless, old hack, am I?” he asked Maine, laughing. Then his smile dipped and he knocked again in the same spot. The wall returned with a hollow sound and his face grew excited. “Hey, I think I actually hear something-” He froze and his eyes grew very large. “Oh!”

The bookshelf exploded right where his head had been a moment ago. He rolled to the side with surprising speed, dodging bullets as Marsha fired twice more. Maine threw herself down behind the shelves, ducking for cover. The blasts echoed in the enclosed vault, filling the air with smoke.

Mmrowr

Maine’s eyes jerked open in astonishment.

Marsha was cursing loudly, her gun tracking Fink as he moved, but a sudden flurry of paper whipped up from the floor, plastering itself over her face. She ripped and tore at the scraps of paper, trying to see, but they remained stuck like glue. Fink popped up, laughing, but then Buster charged at him from behind, grabbing hold.

“I’ve got him!” he yelled, locking arms around Fink. “I’ve got him!” Maine could hear more Firstborn yelling above them, and there was the sound of feet pounding down the stairs.

Fink’s smile grew even broader. “Oh you do, do you?” His hands clamped down on Buster’s arms, and then something happened that was so extraordinary that Maine almost didn’t believe her eyes.

A lithe figure leapt forwards, diving out of Fink’s body as smooth as a swimmer might plunge into deep water. They rolled forwards on the floor, leaving Fink standing behind with a stunned Buster still wrapped around him. The Firstborn began to pour into the room, Celeste leading the way. Their weapons were drawn as they rushed into the aisles, looking about in confusion.

The lithe figure stood up slowly from the floor. They were dressed in a formal gray jacket and trousers, with a brilliant gold vest winking out from underneath. They wore no tie and their collar hung open, revealing a long, graceful neck and a sharp, pointed jaw. Their hair was shaved close on either side of their head, leaving a long blonde strip that was slicked back, rising up like a rooster’s comb.

Maine stared as the Firstborn rushed forwards, unsure if she was looking at a man or a woman. The figure didn’t seem like a man, but she’d never heard of a woman dressing like that before.

The figure raised hands clad in fingerless gloves to the ceiling as the Firstborn surrounded them. “I surrender!” they said fearfully, ducking their head down. Then Maine saw one yellow eye gleam out from under their arm.

“Watch out!” she called, but the figure dropped down to the ground, arms bent.

Fink’s body, still held up by Buster, exploded into countless fragments of paper, filling the air. It was like a tornado had touched down in the Vault, scraps of paper battered at everyone, whipping wildly through the aisles. Maine ducked down, covering her head, feeling the paper slap against her skin and hold tight. The Firstborn were yelling, firing their guns, but no one could see anything in the storm. Then their guns went silent one by one, and their voices grew muffled.

Maine remained on the floor, head down. She could feel the scraps of paper covering her arms and head, holding tight for a moment, but then they seemed to loosen. She inched her head up, surprised, then stood, and the paper fell off of her like dried leaves, tumbling down around her. She stared about.

The Vault was covered in white scraps of paper, from floor to ceiling, like it had been attacked by a demented company of wallpaperists. Loose scraps flitted around her feet, slapping against her legs, but nothing seemed to stick to her. Maine could see golden runes shining on each scrap of paper, incredibly intricate and detailed. Fink, or whoever they were, must have been controlling each scrap. The level of concentration it must have required, she realized, stunned. She staggered forwards, bumping suddenly into a moaning figure. It was a Firstborn, wrapped up like a paper mummy. They were all over the Vault, plastered in place or pinned to walls and floor.

A laughing, crowing voice made Maine look up. The lithe figure danced through the Firstborn, capering madly. “How do you like that?” they cried to one wrapped figure in particular, taller than any of the others.

They drew themselves up straight and bowed solemnly. “Let it never be said that the pen isn’t mightier than the gun,” they intoned before breaking into laughter. “Especially when you’ve got a whole lot of paper!”

They waved their hands suddenly towards Maine, still laughing. “Come on, come on,” they called. “Don’t be shy. I said we might work together, and I meant it.” Before Maine even moved, they hurried over to the back of the Vault. The bookshelf was covered with paper, just like all the other walls, but they snapped their fingers and the scraps fell away, piling up on the floor.

They started to pound on the shelves, tugging backwards on the frame. “Look, look! Do you see?” they cried.

Maine stumbled forwards, staring. Where Marsha had shot at Fink, the bullet holes had left deep gouges in the wood. One of those was deeper than the others, revealing a dark crevice behind the wall.

“Oh, I knew the Firstborn were good for something,” Fink said, yanking back on the wood around the hole, ripping it open wider. “There’s something here!”

Mmmmmmrrowwwrr

Maine stumbled forwards towards the shelf. She couldn’t have imagined it this time, the sound had to be real. Her hands slapped against the bookshelves, feeling around the walls and under the levels. “There must be a switch,” she said desperately, searching with her fingers. Fink pushed her aside and began feeling as well, both of them running their hands along the shelf.

Something clicked under Maine’s fingers suddenly and the wall shook. They both stepped back as dust rained down from the wall. A section of wood paneling slid back, revealing a dark, empty space hidden in the wall. Or nearly empty.

“Is this it?” Fink asked, reaching inside. Before Maine could stop them, they lifted out a small gray urn and held it up to the light. It was no bigger than a mason jar, and the lid was sealed tightly shut with molten lead. Fink turned it this way and that, staring intently.

They started to shake it, and Maine reached forwards quickly. “Be careful!”

Fink stared at her. “Why? “What is this?” She tried to reach for it again, but they held it higher, up out of reach.

“Please! Let me have it!” she said, jumping.

“This can’t be it!” Fink snarled in frustration. They tucked the urn under their arm and searched the hidden space again, feeling into the corners. There was nothing else inside, though Maine did notice a bare rectangular space in the dust.

Fink kicked the shelf. “Argh! I can’t believe this!” They held up the jar, staring at it again. “Weeks planning this caper and this is all I have to show!” they said, shaking it.

mmEEEEwwwrrr!!

Maine danced around her, trying to grab the urn. “Please, take anything else you want, but I need that!” she said desperately.

Fink paused, and then looked down at her, their eyes slowly kindling with interest. “Maybe we can work out a trade,” they told her. “Madelyn’s journal for the urn? How does that sound?”

Maine blinked, taking a step back. “Gran’s journal! But-”

“You said anything,” Fink pointed out. They took a step towards her, and Maine retreated again. Papers rustled on the walls and floor, and all around her the mummified shapes of the Firstborn trembled, their cries muffled. She found it hard to look away from the glow of Fink’s yellow stare. “It’s a fair trade, when you look at it,” they pointed out in a honeyed voice. “You can’t even read it, after all.”

Maine clutched at her bag tightly. “It’s my Gran’s journal!” she nearly shouted. She tried to dart to the side, but Fink was too quick, cutting her off. They flexed their hands and paper whipped up around the floor, circling the two of them in a sudden storm. Maine stared about, but there was nowhere to run.

Fink hefted the urn and held out their other hand, waiting. “It’s the best deal you're going to get.”

Maine bit down on her lip. She slowly reached into her bag. Fink smiled, gold teeth winking. Then Maine felt her hand close on something cold and round.

“There’s a smart girl-” Fink started to say, when Maine suddenly whipped the globe of pixie wings out and slapped it into their hand. Fink screamed with pain as the globe immediately iced over, freezing fast to their fingers. As they jumped up and down, cursing and trying to break it loose, Maine leapt forwards, snatching the urn away from them. She tried to run, but the paper was still surrounding them in a tight storm.

“Damn you!” Fink yelled, and their free hand flexed suddenly. The papers swirled even faster and rose up into the air, spiraling down towards Maine. In the single moment before the paper engulfed her, she lifted the urn up, and then brought it smashing down to the floor.

The papers covered her like a wave, burying her under. They settled, leaving a great pile on the floor, then went still.

mmmEEEEEEEEwwwRRRRRRRRRR!!

Smoke began to leak up through the papers. The pile twitched and jerked violently, beginning to shake. Fink stared, backing up, as orange light began to shine through. All at once, the papers exploded upwards, each scrap bursting into flames that consumed them in an instant. Fink yelled and fell back, as the flames burst through the Vault, traveling up the walls and across the floors, turning each scrap of paper to ash. The Firstborn collapsed all around them, lying stunned as they were suddenly freed.

As the light faded, Maine was revealed, blinking and coughing on the floor. She was crouched on her hands and knees, the shards of the urn in front of her. Gray ash, like sand, was spilling out around the shards, tumbling over her fingers. Her eyes were wide with sudden, hopeful joy.

Then in the stillness, a single flame, no bigger than a candle, sparked into life above the ash. It bobbed up and down ecstatically, burning freely in the air without a wick or any source that could be seen. It began to pulse, growing larger with each beat, spreading wider and thicker. In a moment, it was the size of an egg, then an apple, and it continued to grow. The tip of the flame lengthened, whipping out in a long streak as it began to crackle and purr.

Tears burst from Maine’s eyes and she reached forwards. “Ifri!” she cried.

Mrrrpp!

She held an orange and red kitten in her hands, all fluff and spiky hair. It blinked brilliant blue eyes, getting adjusted to the dim light, and its sharply pointed ears, tufted with fur, twitched excitedly. It reached towards her face with one paw gently, then butted its head under her chin, purring like a log crackling on the fire. “Ifri!” she said again, sobbing with joy. She clutched the kitten tightly to her chest. “Ifri, I missed you so much!”

Fink and the Firstborn stared as she rolled around the floor, completely oblivious to everything but her pet. “Did you miss me?” she asked lovingly, holding his cheeks and ruffling his fur. He batted at her face and she hugged him closer. “Oh, I bet you did. Gran had you locked away, but I told you I’d find you again, and I did! Yes, I did! I bet you’re happy to get out of that nasty urn, huh?”

Ifri chirped, mrrrrp! and as if to show how happy he was, he burst into flames. The Firstborn gasped and pulled back in shock. He lay there in her arms, happily burning, the flames licking around his spiky fur like a second coat. Maine pulled him close again into another hug, cooing with joy. “Oh, yes you are!” she said, nuzzling him again.

Fink stared at her in astonishment. There was no sizzle, no cry of pain. “How are you not burned?” they asked. They reached a trembling hand towards Ifri, and the cat laid back his ears.

KhhhhIIIIssss!!!

He swiped a paw at Fink and they jerked back their hand in pain. “Owwww!!”

Maine hugged Ifri tighter. “He only burns people he doesn’t like,” she said protectively. Ifri hissed again and spat.

Fink sucked at their reddened, burnt finger. “Hmm, I had an Uncle that was the same way,” they admitted. “Can’t say I was that fond of him though. Are you sure you still don’t want to trade?” Maine shook her head fiercely.

“That’s a pity, isn’t it?” Fink said, shaking their head to all the Firstborn, lying around the Vault. They watched in stunned silence as Fink climbed to their feet, beginning to stretch.

“Well, it has been an interesting morning, gentlemen, I don’t mind telling you.” Fink flexed their arms, and bent their legs, wincing slightly. “There was food, drink, even a show.” The Firstborn began to stir, climbing shakily. Marsha was using a shelf to drag herself upright. Her face was turning purple, a vein standing out on her forehead.

“But the important thing to remember is that everyone got what they were looking for,” Fink told them. They threw their bag over their shoulder, and waved a hand towards the door. “Or very nearly at least!”

The shelf by Fink’s head exploded with gunfire. They were halfway up the stairs in an instant, running for their life as more bullets followed.

“After him!” Marsha yelled, firing wildly. Still shaky on their feet, the Firstborn charged after Fink. Maine grabbed Ifri and tucked him into her bag, zipping it closed. She raced upstairs and through Gran’s office, pushing her way through the mob as they stumbled and bumped against each other. She caught a flash of Fink’s bag as he vanished through the hall and into the library, and she raced after.

In the library, more Firstborn were at the windows, firing from cover. Dust and broken bits of wood rained down as more shots came from outside, striking the walls and ceiling. They stared as Fink rushed past them, running out into the main hall, with Maine only a few steps behind. Her bag bounced painfully at her hip, Ifri hissing and spitting inside, but she couldn’t stop now.

In the front hall, the front doors hung open, battered to pieces, while Firstborn crouched behind a barricade of sofas and furniture, firing wildly through the open gap. Celeste was rallying them, shouting and waving her arms, while outside Maine caught a glimpse of Albert, charging up the steps like a locomotive, steam billowing out from his ears. Shots pinged and ricocheted off his body and the other Maierson workers ducked for cover.

Matthew was lying bound and gagged on the floor. She caught her brother’s eye for a moment as she jumped over him, her hands reaching towards Fink.

Marsha burst into the library behind them. “Stop him!” she screamed. At the barricade and windows, the Firstborn stopped and stared, while more from the Vault surged past Marsha, running as fast as they could, but Fink was nearly at the ballroom door.

Celeste made a diving grab for them, but Fink leapt over her arms and burst through the double doors. The guests were crowded in the back of the ballroom, hiding under their chairs as more Firstborn fired from the windows into the street, keeping the workers back. Two large Trolls with shotguns guarded the open doors that led through the covered walkway to the Factory and attached yard.

“Stop him! Stop him!” Marsha yelled, waving her hands towards the Trolls.

“Stop them! Stop them!” Fink yelled back, waving behind them to the Factory.

The Trolls hefted their guns, looking around in confusion. Maine could see workers standing behind a hastily thrown together barricade of wheelbarrows and scrap at the Factory entrance, but the opening to the yard was free. A masked face peaked out from the opening curiously, drawn by the shouting.

Fink was nearly past the Trolls. “STOP HIM!” Marsha nearly screamed.

One of the Trolls finally got the message and lumbered forwards, roaring. Fink dodged to the side, waving his arms, and scraps of paper flew from out of his sleeves, blinding the Troll and making him stumble and fall. Evidently, Ifri hadn’t burnt up all of Fink’s little tricks.

As the first Troll fell, the other raised his gun, but a sudden gust of paper batted at his eyes. Maine and Fink threw themselves down as he swatted at the paper with his arms, firing blindly with both barrels. The guests screamed as a huge hole exploded in the ceiling plaster, and one of the chandeliers crashed to the floor with an explosion of crystal and glass. Fink scrambled to their feet and ran, while the papers still battered at the Trolls. Still, the papers were barely more than an annoyance at this point, not even enough to make up a full deck, let alone hold either Troll fast like the others. Fink had to dive past their grasping hands, sprinting for the covered walkway, with Maine following hot on their heels.

The Firstborn that had peaked out from the yard yelped and leapt out, arms spread wide to try and stop them, but a single slip of paper flew out and slapped across his eyes, blinding him. Fink slipped past, but Maine was going too fast and couldn’t stop, bowling him over. “Sorry!” she shouted over her shoulder as she stumbled past, nearly falling.

The yard was usually a pretty bustling place, full of supply wagons being loaded or unloaded at all hours. It stank of horses, oxen, and equally big, sweaty workers. Now though, a different sort of Maierson goods were being loaded, as Firstborn scrambled to pack up their wagons. They were far too busy to even notice as Fink ran to the head of the line, waving at the driver of the first wagon. A canvas tarp had been spread over the back, but it was heavily laden with boxes and crates.

“Here! Take this!” Fink shouted, throwing their bag up at him, and knocking him out of his seat. In a second, they were up in the driver’s seat, grabbing the reins and cracking them. As the horses bolted forwards, Fink swung down and snatched the bag off the stunned driver, saluting him jauntily. “Thank you!” they called back as the wagon rumbled towards the street.

Maine ran after, scrambling for the back of the wagon. Her fingers scratched against the wood and she leapt forwards.

The wagon hit a dip in the yard and lurched out of reach. Maine’s hands slipped off and she fell, rolling in the dirt. She lay stunned for a moment, bruised and aching. The wagon rumbled through the gate and into the square as Firstborn leapt clear. The Maierson workers had tried to push a wagon in front of the gates to block off access, but they hadn’t been able to move it near enough, so Fink was able to swerve around it, scraping the wood of his wagon and knocking the makeshift barricade aside. Maine could hear Fink yelling exultantly as the wagon rumbled forwards, towards the mob at the other end of the square.

There must have been Firstborn plants in the mob, for they seemed ready for this. People began shoving the others back, shouting for them to make way and open up the street, not that the mob needed much persuasion with the wagon rushing towards them. Fink’s wagon rumbled through the narrow gap in the crowd, reins cracking again and again.

Maine lay in the dirt of the yard, watching the wagon race off. She could feel Ifri thrashing about angrily in her bag, no doubt angry at being batted around as she ran, but she was in no shape to do anything about it. Then, a strong set of hands picked her up off the ground.

“Get out of the way, girlie!” Marsha yelled. Before Maine could stop her, she hurled her like a sack of potatoes, throwing her into a pile of hay at the side of the yard. “C’mon!” Marsha yelled, swinging her hands to the other Firstborn, who were scrambling for the wagons. The drivers cracked their whips, and wagons began to roll out the yard with Firstborn still climbing on board or hanging off the side. Marsha waved the first wagons through, shouting and cursing. “We’re losing ‘em! C’mon! Faster! Faster!” She ducked as gunfire rang out, the few Maierson workers who had guns firing wildly at the fleeing wagons. She fired back, grabbing onto the last wagon as it rumbled through the gates.

A few Maierson workers tried to chase after the wagons on foot as the last few pulled through the narrowing gap in the crowd, but they were forced to stop as the mob surged back into place, blocking off all access. No one, save Albert perhaps, could have followed after them now.

Maine fell out of the hay pile, spitting out stalks and dust. Maierson workers scrambled around the yard, hardly paying her mind as they rushed about, trying to restore order. She heard her brother’s voice shouting somewhere, and the scream of Albert’s hissing whistle. A few of the guests, panicking and having trouble breathing, had to be helped out into the open air. Maine, filthy, bruised, and bleeding, walked past all of them.

She stared out from the gates into the square, past the overturned, battered wagons, and past the riotous mob. She could just see the dust of the wagons as they disappeared into the maze-like streets of Old Coney, but then that too faded away.

She unzipped her bag and lifted out the furious, hissing kitten. Ifri’s hair stood on end and flames leapt from his whiskers as he spit. Maine held him close, enjoying the one victory she felt she’d earned today. The rest she’d have to get back tomorrow, she thought. It was her responsibility after all. As a Maierson.