A Smidge of Magic

Chapter 43

The other side of the door opened into a cavernous empty space after a short passage. The ceiling was far too high, and the room too long to fit anywhere inside the Justiciar Law building, let alone the offices. No, this room was the size of a football field by Ian's estimation. All along the walls were muted purple lights, though they had no visible source. The lighting only served to highlight the emptiness of the room. Black marble streaked with veins of white created ornate pillars that held up a ceiling lost high above in the shadows. The only objects in the room of any significance were the doors. Lining the walls were doors of all shapes and sizes. Some were modern looking with deadbolts and brass spherical knobs. Others were ancient complex carvings hewn from stone in the faces of dragons.

"This can't be right. This place is massive. Is it a trick from the magical lock that we broke?" Ian asked.

"No, this is right," Ban said as his eyes moved down a line of doors. "These doors must all lead here, wherever here is. We'd need Roland to confirm but, I suspect those doors lead all over Paragore. We must find the one that leads deeper inside."

When it became apparent they were alone they stepped farther into the room. With there being so many ingresses and egresses it was pointless to attempt to keep watch. Ian softly, and nervously, hummed the tune one of these things is not like the other while trying to find a way out.

"There is a door in the corner over there," Vale whispered softly, "It is not obvious like the rest. Someone wants it hidden."

They moved in a triangle towards the indicated door. Ian stayed in front, Vale and Ban moved backward behind him. They were attempting, as best as three people can, to prepare for anything to pounce from any angle. They made it through the hall unmolested. Now that they were upon the door, Ian found it lacked a handle to twist. But it was no less clear that it was a door. Wooden slats banded together with iron in a broad square.

"There's no way in," Ian whispered.

"Trade," Ban said, and the pair changed places. With nothing to lose and all to gain, Ban stepped up and shoved on it, hard. The door popped back into the wall and became flush, the sound of a click echoed after. The door slid sideways into the wall and the way was open. As yellow light poured out from the opening temporarily blinding them.

The adjoining room was the most lavish room any of them had ever set foot in. From the fur skin rugs stretched out before an elaborate onyx fireplace, which had some very risqué carvings on either side of the firepit, to the massive chandelier that was made of glittering diamonds the size of a man. It was exactly how Ian imagined a supervillain would live.

"I don't like this. Are they underestimating us? Did they expect the chimera to handle us?" Ian asked.

No one responded.

They crossed the gallery, studying the opulent decorations they passed. Around every pillar rested marble statues or more carvings. Unidentifiable antiquities nestled into velvet pillows that sat atop breathtaking wooden sculptures. And precious stones were embedded in all of it. Everything was excessive to the point of being ridiculous. There were several more grandiose wooden doors leading out from this room, all identical in shape, carving, size, and every other discernible feature. But there was no Star Chart or anything close to resembling a scroll, book, or post-it. So Ian did the most logical thing he could think of.

"Eenie-meenie-minie-moe, catch a tiger by its toe..." At the end of the rhyme, Ian's finger landed on the third door to the left of where he started. He felt a pull in his gut and to him that was confirmation enough for him.

"Is that some manner of spell to determine the correct door?" Ban asked. "I've never heard anything like it."

"As long as you don't need me to explain how it works, yes, it's definitely a spell." Ian couldn't precisely explain the sensation he'd been feeling since his arrival on Paragore. The feeling of the hairs rising along the back of his neck and the small, incessant tugs at his mind directing him where to look or move. It wasn't the same as the instinct he'd developed over his years as a cop, but it wasn't blind luck either. It was as though he'd developed an entirely new sense, a primal sense of survival. And he wasn't quite ready to share that fact with his companions, he needed more time to figure it out himself.