Opening the door, McPherson poked her head out into the subterranean depths under Naugle’s house. The hallway was empty. Korbin followed to see it was made of the same perfectly fitted but asymmetrical stone as the house’s foyer, stretching out in either direction, disappearing into darkness after a few yards pace. McPherson stepped out and instantly stopped, shoulders bunching up to her ears.

“McPherson?” Korbin asked.

The inspector raised her shoe, a thin translucent slime stretching between it and the floor. “Ugh. There go a perfectly good pair of Hermes.” She examined the sole then, “At least we know that whatever passed this way wasn’t our imaginations.”

“That’s good?” Oliver squeaked from behind.

“Yes,” Aggie answered, picked a direction and marched. Whatever ooze stuck to the floor made small suction sounds with every footstep, so she abandoned any attachment to her shoes or stealth.

Looking up and down the hallway, Korbin noted his door was the only one in the subterranean lair. “It must have been easy to find me,” he noted.

“Well, the house wanted you found,” McPherson shrugged.

“That’s not a comforting notion,” Korbin replied, stopping only a second later as he felt the same rumbling sound from before behind them, causing everyone to look over their shoulder.

“Then you probably don’t want to know what’s behind us.” As McPherson spoke, the door to Korbin’s room had disappeared beyond a veil of darkness as the torches dimmed where they had once been.

“Maybe we should move faster?” Oliver’s words were practically in Korbin’s ear, the other man so close he could have been wearing him for a backpack.

Moving faster proved difficult and somewhat purposeless until the hallway finally broke into an intersection. McPherson took a left, the torches that way briefly flaring as she proceeded down the ooze covered hallway. The suction of her footfalls stopped as the another rumble shook the hall. Ahead, an intersection’s dimly lit torches snuffed out as the wall of flesh that had slithered past the Judas hatch blocked the hall. It moved perpendicularly across the path they had picked, its surface rippling and squirming, threatening to push out towards the trio. 

“OK, so we aren’t going that way.” McPherson turned and quickly went back to the previous intersection, selecting the opposite path. Not far down that direction, the same rumbling shook the hall and Aggie stopped. “Interesting,” was her only initial comment, squinting to see the snakeskin moving ahead.

Oliver squeaked, “We’re trapped.”

“Of course we’re trapped,” McPherson responded. “The question is why is the house giving us the illusion of choice.”

Korbin sighed, trying to use his irritation to keep his own fear at bay. “Etenia.”

“Hmmm?” McPherson responded to Korbin like he had asked a question in a library.

“Etenia is here. She’s baiting us. It’s a power move.” Korbin spoke as if Etenia were a particularly sociopathic CEO.

“How do you know so much about her?” Even in the subterranean lair, under his wife and the history of Slakterquay, Korbin detected some jealousy in the professor’s voice.

Korbin was glad the dim light and his partial transformation kept his embarrassment from showing. “She killed my Zuri.”

“Aren’t you glad you asked?” McPherson said, then reversed course to go back to the last intersection, returning to their original, straight course. The rumbling issued behind them, but the inspector made no effort to go faster. If anything, she became cautious as pantomime, picking up hands and feet in an exaggerated show of stealth, peeking around the corners of each hallway. The hall rumbled even as they proceeded straight, as if irritated by the diminutive analyst’s behavior. 

Korbin found that the McPherson’s refusal to be intimidated by the house bolstered his own courage. The slowed pace, though, caused Oliver’s breath to become even more ragged. 

A dot of light ahead slowly became an archway as they proceeded down the hall. Through it they could see the hallway’s stone floor widened into an open space. Lit by flickering torch light, the irregular stone of the floors stretched forward until it disappeared into a swirling darkness. Korbin squinted at it, noting it wasn’t an absence of light, but a moving effluence.

McPherson paid the murk no mind and stepped out into the room. From the change in her footsteps he could tell she stepped out onto dry stone.

In the room, McPherson studied the miasma on the large hall’s far side. Korbin found his eyes drawn to the hole in the room’s floor.

Naugle’s mine wasn’t the rocky entrance into the earth Korbin had expected, but a shaft like a well. Large enough to park a modern American car on, it was perfectly round and went straight down, with no wale to prevent anyone from falling in.

As Oliver found the courage to enter the room, or perhaps was just too cowardly to remain in the hallway alone, the effluvium at the room’s other end billowed. From it, beginning with the lowest step, emerged something like a ziggurat with irregular geometry, a huge, stone pyramid built by the hands of mad, ingenious idiots. The darkness stuck to it as the structure emerged, wiggling as it took physical form, like glow worms or coral, ctenophoric appendages reached out from it, stirring the air, searching for purchase.

In the center was a clear set of human-sized stairs, each emerging from the darkness until the highest point appeared, atop which sat a throne, upon which sat Etenia Ephraim. Korbin couldn’t help but stare at her. In trivial appearance, she was not dissimilar to the thing that had been in his room; pale, raven-haired, voluptuous and flame-eyed. There was no mistaking, though, this was the genuine article.

Etenia appeared to be naked, clothed only by a tiara, a green piece of finery mottled with the black to form the snakehead of her god, Kek. As she stood and emerged from the miasma, the dark tendrils of it wrapped themselves around her, barely covering a few select inches of her unblemished flesh. Without a word, she unfurled from throne, placing one foot lithely in front of the other as she made to descend the stairs.

“Breathe, boys,” Korbin heard McPherson command. Reminded, Oliver gasped for air. Korbin could feel McPherson’s stare at the priestess. Gesturing to her ephemeral garment, the inspector asked, “Can I fit dollar bills in that thing?”

Etenia smiled, an expression that filled Korbin with both desire and fear. “Have your fun, little thing,” her voice was calm and sweet. “This is almost over.” She turned to Korbin and Oliver.

“What’s that?” McPherson’s question was short and pointed, drawing the priestess’s attention back.

“What?” Etenia snapped.

“What’s almost over?” McPerson asked blithely as Etenia’s stare bore into her.

“Tiny thing, if you wish to live long enough to see what will become of this world, hold your tongue.” Etenia moved closer to McPherson, the tiara growing like the hood of a cobra, moving as a living thing. To Korbin’s surprise, McPherson retreated.

“I hate surprises,” McPherson replied. “Can’t you give me a sneak peek?”

Moving closer to McPherson as the inspector backed away, Etenia gestured to the dark miasma behind her. “Witness and despair.” McPherson looked over Etenia’s shoulder even as the priestess’s lunging words pushed her further back.

“Clouds? Your plan is clouds?”

“Fool!” Etenia spit at her, causing McPherson to close an eye. “This is the primordial chaos that lives under the earth. I will bring it forth to Slakterquay and then it will envelop the world.”

“That,” McPherson continued to step away from Etenia, the priestess’s hood hissing and spitting. “That looks really boring. Do you at least get a harp?”

“I will the first among Kek, sitting at the right hand, reshaping the world.” Korbin was impressed with how quickly McPherson irritated Etenia. Although her abilities at that were always impressive and Etenia’s temper never long.

As if thinking the same thing, Etenia’s gaze moved from McPherson to the pit. “In fact, I think you’ll be the first to be amongst the remade.”

“But why drag Oliver into this?” McPherson asked, ignoring the obvious threat. “I mean really, everybody wants to rule the world, but did you have to break up a marriage to do it?”

“Because he was weak and easily manipulated.” At those words, Korbin felt Oliver wilt like a rejected teenage boy. “Because I needed to find the stone, I needed to remove it, and I needed Naugle’s blood for the summoning. Oliver,” Etenia smiled, savoring the power and the cruelty, “was stupid enough to give me all three.”

“But I have the stone,” McPherson held the artifact in front of her, moving it in circles in front of her chest, her feet skirting the edge of the pit.

As Etenia moved to follow the analyst, Korbin caught a glimpse of Etenia’s predatory grin. “Do you know any of the spells of the ancient earth, little creature? Do you even speak the eldritch tongues of the Ogru Dem or what they stole from the X’Komish?”

McPherson let out a, “No,” stretching out the second letter to make the word into a very long syllable.

Etenia moved closer to McPherson, maneuvering herself and raising her hands in anticipation to strike. “Then what shall you do with your precious stone?”

“Catch.” McPherson tossed the artifact at Etenia with enough force that the priestess was forced to seize it. She stared at it, blinking for a moment, hissing as it burned at the primordial ephemera of what passed for her garment.

McPherson said, “Korbin.”

His name snapped him out of the trance Etenia’s presence had put him, Korbin saw how McPherson had maneuvered the priestess. With no small amount of satisfaction, he rushed forward to forcefully plant his foot onto the priestess’s perfectly formed rump. He did it with enough gusto that he nearly went over the edge of the hole with her.

Standing next to McPherson, Korbin felt Oliver rush to the edge to look down, his face slack with disbelief. He stared into the darkness, searching for his mistress, until McPherson said, “Say the words, professor.” When Oliver said nothing, McPherson persisted, “Professor. Speak the words on the stone.”

Oliver stumbled, “I don’t know if I have them memorized.”

“Well, you better give it a shot. Or you’re going to be the first to deal with her when she climbs out of that hole.” Korbin could hear the smile in the inspector’s voice. “She’s gonna be pissed.”

Oliver pulled his eyes from the emptiness and stood straight. The smaller man turned to the miasma surging forth from the ziggurat throne, chanting in words that Korbin did not understand but could:

“The words upon this stone bind you

soul thief, enslaver, seminal beast,

to the center of the world’s endless womb

Never die

Always live

Down below

To howl at the starless sky.”

“Whelp,” McPherson said, “let’s hope the sacrifice doesn’t have to be voluntary.”

The house rumbled, louder and more forcefully than before, dust and earth falling from the ceiling. “I guess that answers that.” Her smile made Korbin want to push McPherson into Naugle’s pit. Or hug her. He wasn’t sure which.

He did neither, though, as the dust falling from the ceiling became chunks of rock, pebbles, then stones big enough to crush a man. He scooped McPherson up in one arm and dragged Oliver by his elbow, moving everyone out of the room with a speed they could never have achieved themselves. Flying down the hallway, he was no longer concerned by any threat the house could make beyond crushing them.

He only stopped when Oliver screamed at him to do so. He pulled the small man up by his arm so they faced one another. Korbin could tell from Oliver’s expression he no longer appeared remotely human. His face had reshaped itself enough that he was no longer certain his language could be understood, but his eyes commanded the professor to speak.

“Where are going?” Oliver screeched. “The hallways are starting to collapse!” To make his point, a chunk of stone fell to crash onto the floor.

“He’s right,” McPherson said, slipping out of Korbin’s grip to stand on the increasingly shaky floor. “The house let us down here because Etenia wanted it. Now it’s reverting.”

Korbin asked what she meant, but his words came out as an angry, inquisitive squawk. In response, McPherson said, “You heard Etenia. This isn’t a house. It’s the primordial stuff of chaos.”

“So?” Oliver’s voice went high, desperate for an answer.

“So there is no exit. There is no anything.” McPherson grabbed each man by his elbow and pulled them to kneeling. “We need to bend it to our will. We need to make an exit.” Oliver attempted to say something as Korbin cawed, but McPherson slapped the professor while reaching up to hold Korbin’s beak shut. “Close your eyes and imagine an exit. Will it into existence. Imagine,” McPherson took a deep breath in, calming what Korbin realized were her own frightened nerves. “Imagine a door.”

In the houses’s crumbling, Korbin closed his eyes and envisioned an exit, like the door from the house’s foyer, or the Judas hatch on his cell. They are the same, he realized, they’re portals, from one point of existence to another, the Judas hatch growing in his mind till it matched the exit from Naugle’s home in every dimension, every crack and crook.

“There!” the analyst cried. Korbin opened his eyes to see McPherson pointing. Where once before there was nothing but a stone wall, now a wooden door, as real as any South Slope house but the one they were in. Without a word, Oliver jumped for it. Korbin and McPherson followed.

The trio burst into a room that was thankfully stable, the irregular stone floor unmoving, brilliantly lit in comparison to the mystifying tunnels under it. Korbin only fully realized where they were, though, when he saw Anne Derby pressed against the huge portrait of Naugle as if trying to embrace the settler.

Stunned at the sudden change, Korbin only moved when McPherson pushed him towards the house’s door. That’s all it took to get his feet moving again, his eyesight empty of everything but the exit.

The room rocked, causing everyone to stumble, but Korbin balanced himself by grabbing the doorknob. McPherson and Oliver piled behind him, only stopping when they heard a voice say, “See you next time.” A smiling, almost doting, Anne Derby had peeled herself away from Naugle to stare at them with vacant, happy eyes.

Under all of this, McPherson panted out, “You can come with us, Anne. Come now.”

In a voice that said the world couldn’t be in better shape, Anne replied, “Why would would I do that?”

Korbin felt McPherson forming an argument, some words to try and free Anne, but saw in Anne’s eyes she would never be free. He grabbed McPherson with one arm, opened the exit with the other, and hurled the small figure through it, grateful to see the analyst landed on the green, wet grass of a Slakterquay autumn day. He followed with the instinct of a bird swooping out of a tree.

While the inspector rolled across the lawn, dirtying her suit, Korbin landed on both feet, solidly, bending his knees slightly so there was almost no impact. He took a deep breath of the clean air before he remembered Oliver, turning to see the other man clinging to the house’s door frame.

Oliver had a death grip on the wood, but Anne had him by one arm, pulling him back into Naugle’s house. As if a wind blew on both of them, Korbin could see Anne’s hair came out of its tight bun to be sucked back inside, her calico apron and laughter both being swept back by a force that began to touch Korbin. Oliver stared at him with wide, panicked eyes, mouth open in a soundless pleading.

Korbin almost went back for him. But then he felt McPherson’s hand on his now human elbow. She couldn’t stop him, but it paused him long enough for him to realize the grass under his talons had begun to creep, like the sliding of a snake underfoot, pulling toward the house, which began to sink, into a brackish and impenetrable hole.

Korbin followed McPherson’s lead and grabbed for the sidewalk as if it were a cliff’s edge. Pulling himself onto the concrete with all of the force of resisting a hurricane, he gained purchase. His body pressed against the steady municipal pavement, he caught his breath, panting into the cold concrete.

When the world stopped moving underneath him, Korbin rolled himself over and sat up. Naugle’s house was gone, the Slakterquay green space the only thing in its place. He vomited then, the serpent tongue of the Ogru Dem coming out in his own juices, staining the sidewalk. The long, forked muscle twisted there for a few moments before it dissipated into the same dark smoke as the house.

Dirty, sweaty, and disheveled, McPherson popped up next to him, staring at the lovely park. She brushed some of the dirt off her sleeves and asked, “So, how do I get paid?”

To read the previous chapter, go here.

See author’s published work here.

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