Cal stood with the rest of Audit Team Six at the top of the stairwell, leading down to the second level. Dave’s guardian form hung from the webs above them.

Cal had disconnected the Dungeon Meld because he was leaving Dave’s Area of Influence. Being back in his body felt a little strange, but again, no vomiting. He was feeling very accomplished.

And his Triple A spell had given him some important information.

To get to the lower subbasements, they would have to battle their way through Inke’s dungeon, or Cal had sensed from his Triple A spell. The stairwell down to the level three dungeon should be near the Tattoo Troll’s inner sanctum. Inke’s core gem was there, protecting the Celestial Node. Inke’s debuff tattoos were still active, though Kronke was back to normal. His regeneration ability had kicked in to free him.

Helga, however, was still moving as slow as Aldaleeran molasses in January.

Inke’s Potpourri pendant had been destroyed in the fight, and they’d soaked Inke’s body in Daphne’s most pungent corrosive seawater. No matter what they did, Inke’s magic remained. They were bringing Helga with them in hopes the debuffs would wear off soon.

Gwen crossed her arms and glared at her father. “So, you’re really leaving your inner sanctum under the care of some of your lame minions, a geezer freezer, the world’s loudest sink, and a coffee maker with a major depressive disorder. Whom I love. Don’t get me wrong. Hey, Dad, play your cards right, and Fullgeers might become your new son-in-law.”

Dave squinted at his daughter. “I’m not sure you could win that coffee machine’s heart, daughter of mine. I think Fullgeers would prefer the scythe.”

Kronke chuckled. He was his normal green self for the moment. “No, Pinkie love Kronke, not Fullgeers.”

Dave adjusted his tortoise shell glasses. “Regardless, I’ll slide down my web to run some recon. As your manager, I can’t have you taking risks I wouldn’t take myself.”

Gwen grunted in disgust, leapt up on the railing, and spread out her steampunk wings, and then dropped down, catching herself about twenty feet below. She had a flashlight she’d created from one of the parallelograms and some the old electronic equipment. The flashlights looked janky, didn’t work half the time, but when they did work, they were pretty effective. According to Dave, that’s how most people thought of the Electronic Abacuses.

The Spidercrat looked a little baffled that his daughter had beaten him to the punch.

The rogue engineer sent them all messages through the Conference Call.

Kronke gave Cal a miserable look.

Gwen sent back.

The troll paladin wrinkled his nose.

Gwen asked.

It took a while for Helga’s smile to form on her face.

Gwen’s voice reached back to them. Her voice then changed.

Dave immediately slid down a web to the landing on the second level.

Helga lifted a hand, but Kronke was already moving quickly down the wide, concrete and metal of the alpha stairwell.

Cal motioned for Hurricane to go down the steps.

The halfling sent her regrets, slowly, word by agonizing word.

Cal took up the rear guard.

Dave responded.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Cal wondered what that meant. While he followed, he considered what Dave had said. Telekinesis could give his illusions the illusion of reality by giving them force and substance. He’d have to try that.

Cal kept glancing behind him. yes, they’d cleared the office building of all monsters so far, but he didn’t want anything backstabbing him. He never went first, and he never went last, and he found both positions equally uncomfortable.

At the bottom of the stairwell, he turned left and followed his team down a dingy concrete hallway with tons of graffiti on the side. And not like good, bubbly graffiti, done by true artists, but terrible graffiti that was more noise than art.

Cal hurried until he came to a set of glass doors that had been scratched up and painted with more of the bad graffiti. If his team had just come through here, why were the doors closed?

Cal pulled one open, with a bad feeling in his gut.

It was a reception area, with an ornate wooden desk and an ornate cushioned chair to match. Oil lamps burned in sconces on the walls covered with red velvet wallpaper. The ceiling and floor were bare concrete though, and the smell of incense permeated the air. In neon lights was the name of the dungeon—The Parlours of Shading and Shadows. Underneath was a small wooden sign: The Artists Are In But Mostly Out. Walk-Ins Welcome. By Appointment Only. Next to the door was a very plain, kinda crappy wooden door with a rope door handle.

Behind the magnificent desk stood a woman with blue hair, wearing various dresses and coats, and a pair of big black shiny boots. She had both a nose ring and an eyebrow ring. Her throat was completely tattooed. She was probably the most fashionable woman Cal had ever seen. She radiated style.

Gwen stood with her Roast Beast Fork out. Her wings were spread. Kronke towered behind her, not in full Reaper Knight mode, but the scythe was out and ready for some bloodletting. Dave sat on Kronke’s shoulders, mouth open to reveal his fangs. He could spit his venom a fair distance.

Helga had her musket up against her shoulder.

“Who are you?” Gwen said sternly. “Or what are you? You’re not the most beautiful woman in the world, nor would I want to be best friends with, and we probably won’t be the maid-of-honors in each other’s weddings, and then hang out afterwards, and just talk, because though you are an ethereal creature of never-ending light, you totally find me interesting. You give my otherwise dull life meaning.” Gwen gulped. “Cal! Do something!”

Kronke pointed. “She pretty. So pretty. No, Pinkerton, you can’t go be her pet scythe. You stuck with Kronke.”

Helga was silent, which wasn’t a surprise, but her eyes were glowing.

Cal wasn’t sure what he should do. This was magic. This receptionist was amazing in some powerful way. Even though he knew she was probably their enemy, he couldn’t help but want to be her friend. Maybe she was really into accounting.

And yet, that “u” in “parlours” was bugging him. And why was it plural? Wasn’t this simply a giant tattoo parlor? The wooden sign also didn’t make sense.

The receptionist swept her long, blue hair back with fingernails that were as pink and bejeweled as the Pinke Reaper. She spoke in an annoyed, mean-girl voice. Normally, that voice might have grated on Cal’s nerves, but coming from her, it sounded like music. “Do you have, like, an appointment?”

No one spoke. Because they didn’t have an appointment. But weren’t walk-ins welcome? The signage was very confusing.

Dave sighed. “Madam, I’m very sorry. We do not have an appointment. But can I say that your art is wonderful? Seriously. I love your tattoos, and as you can see, I walk the Way of the CPA, and we normally prefer more traditional standards of beauty.”

She rolled her eyes, sat down, and said, “Whatever.” She then took out a bottle of nail polish and shook it. “If you don’t have an appointment, you can’t come in. Sorry. Mr. Inke and the other Inkmages aren’t here. Don’t you see the sign?”

Cal did. “Sorry. We’ll leave.”

The troll paladin giggled. “Sign funny. It says tattoo artists are in but mostly out. Can’t be both. And what are walk-ins? Kronke know about appointments. Kronke has day planner. Wait. Kronke know what going on.”

Cal wasn’t sure what the paladin was saying. Kelly Ryan said they couldn’t go into the dungeon. It wasn’t like they could get past her. She was too wonderful.

The Smell of Freedom, like baking cinnamon rolls, filled the air.

Cal breathed in the scent. His mind cleared some. But he was still so taken with the woman in front of him.

He pushed forward. “Sorry, Ms. Ryan, but we’re walk-ins. We are welcome. I’m going to simply ignore ‘by appointment only.’”

Helga also had thoughts.

Cal motioned at the door. “And miss, the interior decorator on my team has issues with your décor. I’m so sorry for doing this, but we have to attack Inke’s dungeon. Sorry again. So sorry.”

The woman mimicked every word Cal was saying. She looked so cute doing it. She was so perfect in every way. He adored her.

She opened the bottle. “Can you pass? Well, sweetie, do I look like a servant of the sacred flame?”

Cal felt his mouth go dry. “Actually, you do. Whatever that is. I’m sorry. Normally, we wouldn’t be so rude, but we’re trying to save our own lives and the lives of the AT1. And you. We want to save you. You’re one of Inke’s minions, aren’t you?”

“Ugh. You’re so boring. And your ears aren’t pointy enough. How you be an elf and be so uncharismatic? Aren’t you supposed to be luminous beings of never-ending light and song?”

Cal chuckled. “I get that a lot. My illusions have improved, and my graphs have never been more complex. So I have that going for me.”

Gwen grabbed Cal. “Sorry, Kelly, we do need to go. But we should hang out. Totally, we should.”

Kronke fished a cookie out of his pouch. “Maybe Kelly Ryan like cookies?”

Cal thought that the name, “Kelly Ryan,” was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard. Without a doubt.

“No, I don’t want cookies, handsome,” the receptionist said. Then gave Cal a bored look. “Why can’t you be hot like your green friend?”

Cal was devastated. But he did have an answer. “Kronke has most of the charisma in the group. He’s every popular with trolls.”

She focused on painting her nails. “Whatever. Just go. You passed the test, or whatever. The traps and the surprise are totally going to, like, kill you.”

Cal wouldn’t mind dying, if he could spend more time with Kelly Ryan, such an angelic creature, so cool, stylish, and aloof.

Dave leapt to the ground and scurried forward. “We’ll be careful, Miss Ryan. Now, onward. We shall save you and over a thousand worlds!”

The receptionist rolled her eyes again. “Oh goodie.”

Cal was still grinning at her saucy reply when he pulled open the door with the rope handle. He was going first, but only to impress the angel they had just met.