Keith rubbed his temples, then broke into a grin.
"Well, it's not entirely the work of a devil, at least not yet. From what I can tell, qqless than a quarter of its power is being used. I think it's tied to the Devil of Gluttony. Estill must have performed a ritual somewhere in this mansion, and gluttony feeds on memories, drive, movement, hunger… it's been growing stronger by devouring all of that. What Estill plans to do with it, I don't know." Keith's chin twitched as he thought it over.
Devil of gluttony? Vince's head swam. Is that why I was trapped in that dream? Why my memories vanished? Or both? Did the god help me or steal me? His thoughts tumbled, uneasy and scattered.
"Can you tell me where Estill is now?" Vince asked, forcing his voice steady. Keith paced the shelf-lined room a moment, then his eyes brightened. "Third floor. He's in a meeting room with two other stackers. No clue if they know we're alive, but they're there." His voice was brisk, almost too calm.
Vince stared down the long hallway. The stairs climbed and split; most rooms opened off the second level. Could he break through the roof and shoot from above, would the sound carry? Could he even kill a third-stacker?
"How do you know he's there?" Vince asked. "And is the meeting room directly above us?"
Keith waved a hand like a man dismissing a small worry. "Little birdie told me. As for the room: it's not directly above. The meeting room is in the family bedroom wing."
Vince chewed his lip. A thousand half-formed plans skittered through his head, none clean enough to act on. He thought of the god, of the book, of the revolver heavy and warm at his hip. Maybe the god would help. Maybe it wouldn't. He let out a breath and stepped toward the library door.
"One more thing," he said, voice quieter now. "Keith, would you… take a request?"
Keith cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
Vince's throat closed. The words were flat and simple, but they carried everything he'd been trying to swallow for weeks. "Kill Estill."
Keith looked at Vince and laughed like someone who'd finally lost it.
"Kill? Why would I waste my time? I thought you were wiser than that, Roe. You're two artifacts behind Estill. I'm sorry, but I'll have to refuse. Still, if you ever need help, just call my name."
Vince's jaw tightened as sweat slid down his temple. This bastard… there's no way he's real. He knows too much, about Estill, the devil, everything, and it hasn't touched him at all. His stomach twisted. Estill could probably kill me without effort, and this man calls him weak? He's insane. Without another word, Vince shut the door and started down the hall toward the family bedrooms. Each step felt longer than the last, his thoughts circling like vultures.
Am I going to die?
Why am I even doing this?
I've already had these thoughts before.
When he reached the final corridor, five doors lined the walls, each one leading to a separate family room. The meeting room should've connected through the center door, carved with ornate designs that shimmered faintly under the flickering lights.
Vince gripped the handle and turned it slowly. Locked.
"Fine," he muttered.
BANG!
The door shattered under his kick, pieces scattering across the polished floor. Maybe Estill heard it. Maybe he thought it was just another corpse collapsing. Either way, Vince pushed through.
The stench hit him instantly, thick, rotten air that clung to his throat. The room stretched into a wide hallway leading to a bath and another bedroom. Three beds lined the wall, and on each lay a dead body, pale and sunken.
Vince forced himself to look past them, his chest tightening. He climbed onto one of the beds and tore open a small hole in the ceiling, dust and splinters falling onto his hands.
The hole was too small, barely the size of Vince's fingernail. As he dug into it, he heard Estill's voice.
It was sharp and commanding, just like before.
"Well, well, surprisingly it worked out pretty good, even with the two of you. Once the ritual is over, you'll take my place. Others will be coming soon."
Others are coming? Seriously? I need to hurry. Vince's thoughts raced. He kept nibbling at the hole, careful not to make too much noise too fast.
Chip… chip… chip…
After a few minutes, the hole widened. He stopped to listen, waited a minute, then continued. Finally, it was just wide enough for him to see through. From his angle under the counter, Vince could see the room clearly. The walls and floor were dark, the lighting dim.
At the center stood a huge brown table surrounded by chairs. At the far end sat Estill. He looked thinner than before, his cane resting near him. Across from him were two men in fine tailcoats, one with dull brown hair and green eyes, the other black-haired with brown eyes. They looked plain enough to disappear in a crowd.
Then Vince chipped again, too loud this time.
"Hold it!" Estill's voice cut through the room like a blade. He stood up, eyes scanning the space. Vince froze, barely daring to breathe. The sound had been close. Too close.
Estill lingered for a few seconds, his gaze sharp, then slowly lowered his hand and began talking again. Vince didn't move. He was stiff, like a ghost that didn't belong in the world of the living.
I'm going to die. If I hadn't stopped, he would've seen me. He took a slow, shaky breath. He knew if Estill found him, that would be it a Third Stacker was no joke.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, the hole was wide enough for his revolver. Vince leaned against the wall and steadied his breathing. If this had been before, he would've missed, but this time he felt confident.
He closed his eyes and replayed the image of Estill's position in his mind, then raised the revolver and carefully slid the barrel through the hole until it poked out, perfectly aimed. Sweat rolled down his face as his fingers wrapped tight around the trigger.
Just one shot.
BANG!