Elle: There’s, like, ten gates down here. I see the one that’s not a trap. It’s under the bed close to the fight.
Donut: IMANI, ARE YOU OKAY?
Imani: I’m good, actually. That was a good thing. All that did was show that my uncle would’ve died even if I hadn’t left. But what’s going on with my dog?
Carl: We need to get to 231. Gonna have to go out the door and into the hallway.
Elle: Want us to go with you?
Carl: No. Get the gate and get to the finish line.
Elle: Roger that. Thanks for the assist.
We hit the ground, and we raced across the tiled floor, unnoticed as we angled toward the front door. Donut opened it up easily as we approached.
“The spell makes this very easy,” Pontiff said as we passed through the hole. A group of racers sped by as we entered the hallway. Someone sent a message about avoiding apartment 223.
It seemed all these apartments were self-contained. If the apartment caught on fire, it didn’t spread. The bugs, however, were leaving, so we had to be careful.
The hallway was darkly lit with a cheap industrial-linoleum floor. The hall just went on and on. Apartment 231 was across the hall and down a ways. We turned and rushed, passing the elevator, whose door was blasted open. Bugs zipped aboutwithin, and one moved to pursue us, but I tossed a smoke curtain behind us.
“Do you think we’re in first place for our heat?” Donut asked as we approached 231.
“I don’t know,” I said. I jabbed a finger at Dr. Metcalf, who reappeared on the dash, arms crossed, a smug expression on her face. “Don’t say a goddamned word.” And then I added, “I don’t think very many people have theHolespell. Lots of crawlers havePhaseandTeleport, but those don’t work for this. I know some teams are clearly ahead of us right now, but it sounds like many are having issues getting from one floor to the next.”
Donut nodded, not saying anything. She took a deep breath as if preparing herself for whatever we were going to find in apartment 231. I reached out and put a hand on her as she castHoleon the door.
“Remember, it’s not real,” I said.
“I know, Carl.”
We entered the apartment through the front door.
Entering apartment 231.
For half a second, I was confused, but I quickly realized what was happening.
“Where are we?” Donut asked as we rumbled inside. “Carl, someone’s redecorated our apartment! Pontiff, it’s under the second door on the left.”
We entered the foyer. “This is an apartment on the first floor of our building. Not ours.”
A pink motorcycle helmet sat on the floor by the door along with a giant pair of female boots. We moved past and bumped onto the carpet. A scratched-to-hell cat tree sat in the living room next to a red couch. Sitting on the couch were two women in their twenties. I recognized one of them.
Marjory Williams, Ferdinand’s owner. Well, not Ferdinand. Gravy Boat. The other woman was someone named Alicia, and Ididn’t know her. Both had the X’d-out eyes. Neither noticed as we approached.
“Carl, Carl, look!” Donut hissed, pointing.
An orange tail swished from the very top of the cat tree. The large orange cat was asleep, peacefully snoring at the top of the tree.
“Bill keeps calling,” Marjory was saying, looking at her phone. “That’s like the tenth time today.”
“You gotta call the police,” the friend, Alicia, said.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s violating the restraining order. Marjory, you’re not thinking of going back with him, are you? I swear to god, if you let that abusive asshole back into your life... Remember what he did to Gravy? Think of him at least.”
“I know, I know. But if I call the police, and he gets arrested... He says he finally got a job.”