Page 81 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Nobody’s done that,” Maison says, his eyes narrowed.

“Nobody they told you about,” Chloe shoots back. “They don’t exactly advertise.” She digs her shoulder against the door, and another lock clicks, swinging the door open to reveal a grand locking mechanism, like a bank safe, and she rubs her hands together. “Thanks, Delina, that’s exactly what I needed.”

“I literally did nothing,” Delina replies, but still deposits the lock pick into Chloe’s outstretched hand.

“Welcome to my life,” Gurlien says, but he too looks excited. “Any dead in there? What, I want to know now instead of when you get it open.”

Delina blinks at him, then looks towards the dusty safe lock, and lets herself think.

The thick metal of the door blocks out most, but beyond a few faint stirrings of dead bugs —died of hunger, the pains still echoing through their husks—nothing.

“Bugs, I think,” Delina replies, even though she’s pretty damn certain of that. Better to couch it in maybes to not disappoint.

Maison side eyes her at that, like he can tell, even though his eyes are their normal grey.

“Oh those are fine,” Chloe replies, then tugs on the lock wheel, giving it a preliminary spin and listening.

“How did you avoid the locking pits,” Maison asks, and it takes Delina a second to realize this is still about Toronto. “Those are specifically to thwart lock breakers.”

Chloe glances at him, but it’s clear she’s only half paying attention. “I’m smaller than everyone they designed it for,” she replies idly. “I broke into the wall instead and walked sideways through it.”

Maison stares down at her, then over at Gurlien. “You two are definitely weirder.”

With another toothy grin, Chloe jerks the wheel of the lock again. It crunches, before the door creaks open, slow.

A quick glance at the lock shows that it’s still intact, but instead of metal bolts, they’re made of clay, soft and moldable.

“That was faster than the last three lock bunker,” Gurlien says, checking an honest-to-god pocket watch. “You’re getting better.”

“Thanks!” Chloe replies sunnily, then pokes at the soft clay of the bolts. “Tried the bolt change instead of the socket. I think it’ll work on everything but electric.”

Maison raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been timing her?”

“Of course, I got to practice somehow, don’t want to lose my touch,” Chloe replies, then shoulders the door open further, pulling a flashlight out of the backpack.

A single lightbulb, long ago cracked, hangs at the top of the low ceiling, and everything else is coated with grime. The air is still, unmoving, and specks of dust hang in the beam of the light.

“Oh, it wasn’t even properly sealed,” Gurlien scoffs. “Too much dust.”

“Why don’t you buy a bunch of locked boxes on eBay or something?” Delina asks, drifting towards the shelving. A bunch of ammo boxes with their hinges rusted sit, cobwebs in between.

“That’s not a real challenge,” Chloe says, nudging a cracked plastic barrel with the toe of her boot. “This guy sucked at setting up a bunker, damn. The good ones are fully sealed, no decay or anything.”

It’s so fully surreal that Delina glances up again at Maison, who’s frowning thoughtfully at the single room, poking through the shelving. The ceilings so low he hunches, just a bit, and his neck aches.

“Remembered to pack nudie mags,” he says, holding up a Playboy magazine from easily the mid-nineties. “Classy.”

“Any of that ammo nine mil?” Gurlien asks, and Maison shakes his head. “Damn, that’s getting expensive.”

“That’s because you’re bad at shooting. Have you ever actually hit anything?” Delina asks, and he gives her a thin-lipped glare. “Seriously, you’re bad at it.”

“Right, you lived in Arizona, you’d have opinions on that,” Gurlien replies. “Though that would probably be incredibly distracting if you ever actually killed someone. Frederick, can Necromancers kill anyone?”

“Don’t call me that,” Maison replies automatically. “But yeah, they should be able to. What they can give…”

“They can take away,” both Chloe and Gurlien chorus, then Gurlien makes a face. “Oh that’s dark for Necromancers.”

“Thanks,” Delina chimes in. “What would that mean for Chloe?”

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