Page 81 of Devour the Dark

Vane disappears into the cellar's depths, but his voice echoes back to us. “There are seven holding rooms down here,” he explains, checking one, then a second. “The third has a hidden room…” He disappears inside. “There you are, you fucker.”

We gather into the small room surrounded by honeycomb shelves full of bottled wine. One of the shelves has been pushed in revealing a hidden alcove where more kegs are held. Malachi is inside, gagged and tied up.

Vane undoes the gag. “Tell me you have the hat.”

“Thanks. Nice to see you, too. I’ve only been stuck down here in the dark for many fucking hours,” Malachi says.

Vane crouches beside him. “Tell me you have the hat, or I’m feeding you directly to my brother. Bones and all.”

Malachi licks his lips. “Fine. Yes. I have the hat. Is the Myth gone?”

“The Crocodile just ate her,” I say. “That’s two Myths he’s devoured. We need that hat right fucking now.”

“I left it in the library. In the piano.”

We were just in there earlier. We were so fucking close to it. It was within our reach.

Asha stays behind to untie Malachi while Vane, Winnie, Wendy, and I return to the library.

The piano hood is opened, the hat revealed.

I’m not sure what I expected, but a crushed velvet top hat was not it.

Vane retrieves it with a careful grip.

“It’s really a hat?” Winnie says.

“I said it was a hat,” Vane answers.

“Yeah, but I was sorta expecting that to be some kind of metaphor.”

“It’s a hat,” he says and makes his way back upstairs.

“But like…a magical hat?” Winnie asks.

“Something like that.”

We approach the open doors to the conservatory with apprehension, with urgency beating at our backs.

It’s silent inside.

All of the bodies are gone, all of the Myth Maker’s guards.

There is only the Crocodile, propped up against the outer wall, blood covering his face, his neck, crusted beneath his fingernails. Firecracker is batting at a torn piece of fabric hanging from Roc’s shirt.

When we enter, he looks up slowly, sees the hat, and laughs. “Fucking finally.”

He sets the cat aside, then struggles to all fours and vomits black ichor.

When he’s done heaving, he collapses to his side. “Hurry.”

“Get up.” Vane is by his side. I quickly take the other and together we hoist Roc to his knees. To me, Vane says, “When I put the hat on him, you stand back. Far back.”

What kind of hat is this anyway?

“You ready?” Vane asks his brother.

Roc trembles, then nods.

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