A Lying Witch Book Three

try to connect it to what I’d already learned about Max from the past, I didn’t have time. Jim was back there, and he was running out of time.

I closed the book and tried to hook it under my arm, intending to take it away with me. It rapidly became clear that it was too heavy to lug around.

So I closed it reluctantly and returned my attention to looking for a weapon.

It didn’t take all that long to find a set of shelves at the back of the room. Arrayed along them was such a strange collection of objects. From mundane things like torches and vases, to these truly complicated mechanical devices that looked as if they were straight out of a steampunk movie.

With my tongue pressed between my teeth, I eventually found something that looked like a crowbar. At first glance, it appeared mundane – as if the Lonely King had bought it at the local hardware store for a couple of bucks. At second glance? I saw the magical runes carved into the metal.

Hesitantly, I reached forward and plucked it up with a shaking hand. When it didn’t explode, I waved it experimentally.

Realizing I couldn’t pin all my hopes on this object and return to Jim only to find out the crowbar was nothing more than a fancy magical toy, I looked around for something to vandalize. Because hey, at the very least I could take out my frustration on the Lonely King’s expensive stuff.

I found a strange metal contraption whose purpose I couldn’t guess. What mattered was that it was made of thick magical bars that looked as if they were far sturdier than the same bars which held Jim in place.

Placing the crowbar between the magical bars, I gave an experimental tug. And that was all it took.

I felt a charge of magic race down the crowbar, and the curved tip suddenly ballooned, gorging itself until the bars snapped like dried bone.

“Christ,” I managed as I jerked back.

I stared at the shattered device by my feet, the crowbar still in my hand.

Yep, this would work.

I sucked in a breath then headed back to the door.

No time. No time. The refrain repeated in my mind.

I cast one last, longing glance at the book before I walked out of the room and closed the door. I entered the corridor warily, searching over my shoulder in every direction for any sign of the Lonely King.

When I realized I was alone, I made my way back through the twisting corridors.

I was lucky I had a great sense of direction – I was even luckier that that sense of direction counted for something in this constantly shifting mansion.

I repeated my steps exactly, even repeated the points where I’d clutched the wall for support.

Once I reached the right staircase, I took to the steps in exactly the same pattern and with the same hesitation between each. And that was all it took. Somehow, the growing steps reconnected to the right level, and I soon found myself in front of the exact section of wall Jim was behind.

I brought up a hand to knock on the wall, then thought better of it. It wasn’t as if my fists were large and strong enough to be heard through plaster and wood. So I yanked at the crowbar and knocked it against the wall instead. As I struck it against the plaster, another charge of magic burst through it, shifted into the wall, and blasted a hole right through it.

“Holy hell,” I spat, sure to keep my tone quiet even though surprise lurched through me.

Fortunately, the building hadn’t shifted again, and the hole in the wall led right back into my prison cell.

Jim was pressed all the way up against the bars of his cage, a totally surprised look smoothing his brow as he stared from me to the crowbar. “Found a weapon, then?”

I nodded.

“I thought I told you to knock?”

I shrugged. “You did. I just knocked with a crowbar.”

He shook his head and waved me over.

I skidded over to the cage. I crammed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, winced, and shoved the crowbar against the bars. Again, the metal engorged itself, and with a groaning, splitting sound, the bars of the cage broke apart.

Jim was smart enough that he’d moved to the back of the cage and had pressed himself right up against the bars. Fortunately, as the bars split, they didn’t send any shards of metal spiraling into him.

As soon as the cage was broken, Jim thrust forward. He took the crowbar off me, and I didn’t protest.

Then he turned his attention to the door. “Alright, we’ve gotta get out of here.”

“No,” I said as I reached a hand out and locked it on his elbow, my grip tightening over his arm. “We’ll never make it out of here in time. Don’t ask me what’s happening, but the corridor and stairways out there – they keep shifting around. I feel like I’m in some kind of surrealist painting.”

“Crap,” Jim managed, voice sharp with a harsh breath. “It could take years to find our way out of here.”

“We could just take the window,” I commented as I extended a finger towards it. “I think that’s the real sky out there.”

Jim paused. “You’re getting used to the magical world now, ha? Even teaching me a few tricks.”

I grinned.

Jim thrust towards the window, drawing the crowbar up and striking it against the glass wall as if he were striking a ball with a bat.

The glass shattered and fell out of the window.

Jim pushed towards the ledge, locked one hand on it, leaned out, and obviously tried to judge the distance down to the ground.

I leaned past, and that’s when my stomach sank. It