Julie closed her eyes and braced.
A weight like a runaway truck crashed into her, and she flew back and hit the floor, head cracking, breath gusting from her lungs. The great, slavering beast stood on her, kneading her uniform vest with questing claws. Its mouth opened wide, baring yellowing fangs as it hissed a breath that smelled like carrion. Somehow, she’d gotten her arms in front of her and held it off, barely. Her hands sank into the soft, gray flesh of its chest. Its chunky head strained forward. She punched at it, dug her fingernails into it, trying to find some sensitive spot that might at least make it hesitate. She scrabbled for its eyes, but it turned its head away, and its claws ripped into her vest.
She screamed.
Thunder cracked, and the creature leaped away from her, yelping. A second boom sounded, this time accompanied by a flash of light. Less like a lightning strike and more like some kind of explosion in reverse. She covered her head and curled up against the chaos of it. The air smelled of sulfur.
She waited a long time for the silence to settle, not convinced that calm had returned to the hallway. Her chest and shoulders were sore, bruised. She had to work to draw breath into complaining lungs. Finally, though, she could uncurl from the floor and look around.
A dark stain the size of a sedan streaked away from her across the carpet and walls, like soot and ashes from an old fireplace. The edges of it gave off thin fingers of smoke. Housekeeping was going to love this. The scent of burned meat seared into her nose.
Grant stood nearby, hands lifted in a gesture of having just thrown something. Grenade, maybe? Some arcane whatsit? It hardly mattered.
She closed her eyes, hoping once again that it was all an illusion and that it would go away. But she could smell charred flesh, a rotten taste in the back of her throat.
From nearby, Grant asked, “Are you all right?”
Leaning toward the wall, she threw up.
“Julie—”
“You said it was an illusion.”
“I had every—”
“I trusted you!” Her gut heaved again. Hugging herself, she slumped against the wall and waited for the world to stop spinning.
He stood calmly, expressionless, like this sort of thing happened to him every day. Maybe it did.
She could believe her eyes. Maybe that was why she didn’t dare open them again. Then it would all be real.
“Julie,” he said again, his voice far too calm. She wanted to shake him.
“You were right,” she said, her voice scratching past her raw throat and disbelief. “I should have stayed behind.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
When
she looked up, the burned stain streaking across the hall and the puddle of vomit in front of her were still there, all too real. Grant appeared serene. Unmoved.
“Really?”
“You have a gift for seeing past the obvious. You were the kid who always figured out the magic tricks, weren’t you?”
She had to smile. For every rabbit pulled out of a hat, there was a table with a trapdoor nearby. You just had to know where to look.
“You are all right?” he asked, and she could believe that he was really concerned.
She had to think about it. The alternatives were going crazy or muddling through. She didn’t have time for the going-crazy part. “I will be.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, reaching out to help her up. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”
She took his hand and lurched to her feet. “You do the distracting next time.” She didn’t like the way her voice was shaking. If she thought about it too much, she’d run, screaming. If Grant could stand his ground, she could, too. She was determined.
“I was so sure it was an illusion. The players at your table—they had to have been illusions.”
“The guy from yesterday was sweating.”