Maine watched them go, panic taking hold. “Wait! You can’t go!” she cried. “I need the urn! I haven’t found it yet! You have to keep looking!”

  Marsha gave her a frank look, still waving the Firstborn towards the stairs. “What are you talking about? We’ve stayed here too long already!” She turned and whistled shrilly to a pair of Goblins in the back of the room, bickering as they tried to drag a huge set of antlers. “Leave that alone! Trust me, you don’t want to be left behind!”

  Maine hurried towards her, scraps of paper and bits of packing straw kicking up behind her boots as she ran. “But there’s got to be more here!” she told her desperately. She stamped on the floor suddenly in several places, then ran to the wall and started to pound against it, listening for any kind of echo. “A hidden compartment or another room! There’s got to be something!”

  She pulled her hand back again, but Marsha caught it. “There’s nothing here, girl. Give it up!” she told her, shaking her head. “We’re getting out of here, and you better do the same! You’re brother’s not gonna be very happy with you!”

  “No! I have to find him first!” Maine yelled, pulling away.

  There was a dry cough behind them. Fink was standing at the edge of the shelves, smiling intently. Marsha’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Maybe she’s got a point,” he told her, nodding his head. He strolled over to the almost empty bookcase and knocked on it, listening closely. Scraps of paper from discarded books, their spines stamped flat in the chaos, swirled around his feet. “You’re not going to get a second chance at this, after all, and I know I’d hate to think that I left something valuable behind.”

  “How many times do I have to kick you out of here?” Marsha growled. Scraps of paper swirled around her feet as she started towards him.

  Maine backed up against the shelves, her eyes flashing around the room. The Firstborn were nearly all up the stairs, only the two Goblins remained below, crouching in fear behind the set of antlers. Then she saw Buster, the Halfling, creeping up one of the aisles, his eyes fixed on Fink. Fink gave no indication he had noticed him, still tapping on the bookshelves, listening intently.

  “Why don’t you call your men back?” he suggested, smiling at her. “Have them knock a few walls down, even try the floor and ceiling. What’s the harm in being thorough?”

  “Oh, I’ll call them back,” she warned him, her hand going to her holster. Then she stopped abruptly in mid-stride, her foot seemingly frozen to the floor. She stared down. “What the hell did you-”

  Maine blinked in astonishment. Paper. Scraps of papers were plastered around Marsha’s boots and stuck to the floor as if they’d been glued down. She grunted, the veins on her neck standing out as she tried to lift either of her legs, but no matter what she did it they wouldn’t budge.

  More scraps were swirling around the floor now, far more than should have come from just the discarded books, Maine realized too late. She took a half a step backwards involuntarily, and froze as she felt something brush past her foot. She looked down to see one of the scraps flapping in the air, half-wrapped around the edge of her boot. She could just barely make out the golden runes inked on one side.

  Fink knocked against the bookcase again smiling. “Not quite the useless, old hack, am I?” he asked Maine, laughing. Then his smile dipped and he knocked again in the same spot. The wall returned with a hollow sound and his face grew excited. “Hey, I think I actually hear something-” He froze and his eyes grew very large. “Oh!”

  The bookshelf exploded right where his head had been a moment ago. He rolled to the side with surprising speed, dodging bullets as Marsha fired twice more. Maine threw herself down behind the shelves, ducking for cover. The blasts echoed in the enclosed vault, filling the air with smoke.

  Mmrowr

  Maine’s eyes jerked open in astonishment.

  Marsha was cursing loudly, her gun tracking Fink as he moved, but a sudden flurry of paper whipped up from the floor, plastering itself over her face. She ripped and tore at the scraps of paper, trying to see, but they remained stuck like glue. Fink popped up, laughing, but then Buster charged at him from behind, grabbing hold.

  “I’ve got him!” he yelled, locking arms around Fink. “I’ve got him!” Maine could hear more Firstborn yelling above them, and there was the sound of feet pounding down the stairs.

  Fink’s smile grew even broader. “Oh you do, do you?” His hands clamped down on Buster’s arms, and then something happened that was so extraordinary that Maine almost didn’t believe her eyes.

  A lithe figure leapt forwards, diving out of Fink’s body as smooth as a swimmer might plunge into deep water. They rolled forwards on the floor, leaving Fink standing behind with a stunned Buster still wrapped around him. The Firstborn began to pour into the room, Celeste leading the way. Their weapons were drawn as they rushed into the aisles, looking about in confusion.

  The lithe figure stood up slowly from the floor. They were dressed in a formal gray jacket and trousers, with a brilliant gold vest winking out from underneath. They wore no tie and their collar hung open, revealing a long, graceful neck and a sharp, pointed jaw. Their hair was shaved close on either side of their head, leaving a long blonde strip that was slicked back, rising up like a rooster’s comb.

  Maine stared as the Firstborn rushed forwards, unsure if she was looking at a man or a woman. The figure didn’t seem like a man, but she’d never heard of a woman dressing like that before.

  The figure raised hands clad in fingerless gloves to the ceiling as the Firstborn surrounded them. “I surrender!” they said fearfully, ducking their head down. Then Maine saw one yellow eye gleam out from under their arm.

  “Watch out!” she called, but the figure dropped down to the ground, arms bent.

  Fink’s body, still held up by Buster, exploded into countless fragments of paper, filling the air. It was like a tornado had touched down in the Vault, scraps of paper battered at everyone, whipping wildly through the aisles. Maine ducked down, covering her head, feeling the paper slap against her skin and hold tight. The Firstborn were yelling, firing their guns, but no one could see anything in the storm. Then their guns went silent one by one, and their voices grew muffled.

  Maine remained on the floor, head down. She could feel the scraps of paper covering her arms and head, holding tight for a moment, but then they seemed to loosen. She inched her head up, surprised, then stood, and the paper fell off of her like dried leaves, tumbling down around her. She stared about.

  The Vault was covered in white scraps of paper, from floor to ceiling, like it had been attacked by a demented company of wallpaperists. Loose scraps flitted around her feet, slapping against her legs, but nothing seemed to stick to her. Maine could see golden runes shining on each scrap of paper, incredibly intricate and detailed. Fink, or whoever they were, must have been controlling each scrap. The level of concentration it must have required, she realized, stunned. She staggered forwards, bumping suddenly into a moaning figure. It was a Firstborn, wrapped up like a paper mummy. They were all over the Vault, plastered in place or pinned to walls and floor.

  A laughing, crowing voice made Maine look up. The lithe figure danced through the Firstborn, capering madly. “How do you like that?” they cried to one wrapped figure in particular, taller than any of the others.

  They drew themselves up straight and bowed solemnly. “Let it never be said that the pen isn’t mightier than the gun,” they intoned before breaking into laughter. “Especially when you’ve got a whole lot of paper!”

  They waved their hands suddenly towards Maine, still laughing. “Come on, come on,” they called. “Don’t be shy. I said we might work together, and I meant it.” Before Maine even moved, they hurried over to the back of the Vault. The bookshelf was covered with paper, just like all the other walls, but they snapped their fingers and the scraps fell away, piling up on the floor.

  They started to pound on the shelves, tugging backwards on the frame. “Look, look! Do you see?” they cried.

  Maine stumbled forwards, staring. Where Marsha had shot at Fink, the bullet holes had left deep gouges in the wood. One of those was deeper than the others, revealing a dark crevice behind the wall.

  “Oh, I knew the Firstborn were good for something,” Fink said, yanking back on the wood around the hole, ripping it open wider. “There’s something here!”

  Mmmmmmrrowwwrr

  Maine stumbled forwards towards the shelf. She couldn’t have imagined it this time, the sound had to be real. Her hands slapped against the bookshelves, feeling around the walls and under the levels. “There must be a switch,” she said desperately, searching with her fingers. Fink pushed her aside and began feeling as well, both of them running their hands along the shelf.

  Something clicked under Maine’s fingers suddenly and the wall shook. They both stepped back as dust rained down from the wall. A section of wood paneling slid back, revealing a dark, empty space hidden in the wall. Or nearly empty.

  “Is this it?” Fink asked, reaching inside. Before Maine could stop them, they lifted out a small gray urn and held it up to the light. It was no bigger than a mason jar, and the lid was sealed tightly shut with molten lead. Fink turned it this way and that, staring intently.

  They started to shake it, and Maine reached forwards quickly. “Be careful!”

  Fink stared at her. “Why? “What is this?” She tried to reach for it again, but they held it higher, up out of reach.

  “Please! Let me have it!” she said, jumping.

  “This can’t be it!” Fink snarled in frustration. They tucked the urn under their arm and searched the hidden space again, feeling into the corners. There was nothing else inside, though Maine did notice a bare rectangular space in the dust.

  Fink kicked the shelf. “Argh! I can’t believe this!” They held up the jar, staring at it again. “Weeks planning this caper and this is all I have to show!” they said, shaking it.

  mmEEEEwwwrrr!!

  Maine danced around her, trying to grab the urn. “Please, take anything else you want, but I need that!” she said desperately.

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  Fink paused, and then looked down at her, their eyes slowly kindling with interest. “Maybe we can work out a trade,” they told her. “Madelyn’s journal for the urn? How does that sound?”

  Maine blinked, taking a step back. “Gran’s journal! But-”

  “You said anything,” Fink pointed out. They took a step towards her, and Maine retreated again. Papers rustled on the walls and floor, and all around her the mummified shapes of the Firstborn trembled, their cries muffled. She found it hard to look away from the glow of Fink’s yellow stare. “It’s a fair trade, when you look at it,” they pointed out in a honeyed voice. “You can’t even read it, after all.”

  Maine clutched at her bag tightly. “It’s my Gran’s journal!” she nearly shouted. She tried to dart to the side, but Fink was too quick, cutting her off. They flexed their hands and paper whipped up around the floor, circling the two of them in a sudden storm. Maine stared about, but there was nowhere to run.

  Fink hefted the urn and held out their other hand, waiting. “It’s the best deal you're going to get.”

  Maine bit down on her lip. She slowly reached into her bag. Fink smiled, gold teeth winking. Then Maine felt her hand close on something cold and round.

  “There’s a smart girl-” Fink started to say, when Maine suddenly whipped the globe of pixie wings out and slapped it into their hand. Fink screamed with pain as the globe immediately iced over, freezing fast to their fingers. As they jumped up and down, cursing and trying to break it loose, Maine leapt forwards, snatching the urn away from them. She tried to run, but the paper was still surrounding them in a tight storm.

  “Damn you!” Fink yelled, and their free hand flexed suddenly. The papers swirled even faster and rose up into the air, spiraling down towards Maine. In the single moment before the paper engulfed her, she lifted the urn up, and then brought it smashing down to the floor.

  The papers covered her like a wave, burying her under. They settled, leaving a great pile on the floor, then went still.

  mmmEEEEEEEEwwwRRRRRRRRRR!!

  Smoke began to leak up through the papers. The pile twitched and jerked violently, beginning to shake. Fink stared, backing up, as orange light began to shine through. All at once, the papers exploded upwards, each scrap bursting into flames that consumed them in an instant. Fink yelled and fell back, as the flames burst through the Vault, traveling up the walls and across the floors, turning each scrap of paper to ash. The Firstborn collapsed all around them, lying stunned as they were suddenly freed.

  As the light faded, Maine was revealed, blinking and coughing on the floor. She was crouched on her hands and knees, the shards of the urn in front of her. Gray ash, like sand, was spilling out around the shards, tumbling over her fingers. Her eyes were wide with sudden, hopeful joy.

  Then in the stillness, a single flame, no bigger than a candle, sparked into life above the ash. It bobbed up and down ecstatically, burning freely in the air without a wick or any source that could be seen. It began to pulse, growing larger with each beat, spreading wider and thicker. In a moment, it was the size of an egg, then an apple, and it continued to grow. The tip of the flame lengthened, whipping out in a long streak as it began to crackle and purr.

  Tears burst from Maine’s eyes and she reached forwards. “Ifri!” she cried.

  Mrrrpp!

  She held an orange and red kitten in her hands, all fluff and spiky hair. It blinked brilliant blue eyes, getting adjusted to the dim light, and its sharply pointed ears, tufted with fur, twitched excitedly. It reached towards her face with one paw gently, then butted its head under her chin, purring like a log crackling on the fire. “Ifri!” she said again, sobbing with joy. She clutched the kitten tightly to her chest. “Ifri, I missed you so much!”

  Fink and the Firstborn stared as she rolled around the floor, completely oblivious to everything but her pet. “Did you miss me?” she asked lovingly, holding his cheeks and ruffling his fur. He batted at her face and she hugged him closer. “Oh, I bet you did. Gran had you locked away, but I told you I’d find you again, and I did! Yes, I did! I bet you’re happy to get out of that nasty urn, huh?”

  Ifri chirped, mrrrrp! and as if to show how happy he was, he burst into flames. The Firstborn gasped and pulled back in shock. He lay there in her arms, happily burning, the flames licking around his spiky fur like a second coat. Maine pulled him close again into another hug, cooing with joy. “Oh, yes you are!” she said, nuzzling him again.

  Fink stared at her in astonishment. There was no sizzle, no cry of pain. “How are you not burned?” they asked. They reached a trembling hand towards Ifri, and the cat laid back his ears.

  KhhhhIIIIssss!!!

  He swiped a paw at Fink and they jerked back their hand in pain. “Owwww!!”

  Maine hugged Ifri tighter. “He only burns people he doesn’t like,” she said protectively. Ifri hissed again and spat.

  Fink sucked at their reddened, burnt finger. “Hmm, I had an Uncle that was the same way,” they admitted. “Can’t say I was that fond of him though. Are you sure you still don’t want to trade?” Maine shook her head fiercely.

  “That’s a pity, isn’t it?” Fink said, shaking their head to all the Firstborn, lying around the Vault. They watched in stunned silence as Fink climbed to their feet, beginning to stretch.

  “Well, it has been an interesting morning, gentlemen, I don’t mind telling you.” Fink flexed their arms, and bent their legs, wincing slightly. “There was food, drink, even a show.” The Firstborn began to stir, climbing shakily. Marsha was using a shelf to drag herself upright. Her face was turning purple, a vein standing out on her forehead.

  “But the important thing to remember is that everyone got what they were looking for,” Fink told them. They threw their bag over their shoulder, and waved a hand towards the door. “Or very nearly at least!”

  The shelf by Fink’s head exploded with gunfire. They were halfway up the stairs in an instant, running for their life as more bullets followed.

  “After him!” Marsha yelled, firing wildly. Still shaky on their feet, the Firstborn charged after Fink. Maine grabbed Ifri and tucked him into her bag, zipping it closed. She raced upstairs and through Gran’s office, pushing her way through the mob as they stumbled and bumped against each other. She caught a flash of Fink’s bag as he vanished through the hall and into the library, and she raced after.

  In the library, more Firstborn were at the windows, firing from cover. Dust and broken bits of wood rained down as more shots came from outside, striking the walls and ceiling. They stared as Fink rushed past them, running out into the main hall, with Maine only a few steps behind. Her bag bounced painfully at her hip, Ifri hissing and spitting inside, but she couldn’t stop now.

  In the front hall, the front doors hung open, battered to pieces, while Firstborn crouched behind a barricade of sofas and furniture, firing wildly through the open gap. Celeste was rallying them, shouting and waving her arms, while outside Maine caught a glimpse of Albert, charging up the steps like a locomotive, steam billowing out from his ears. Shots pinged and ricocheted off his body and the other Maierson workers ducked for cover.

  Matthew was lying bound and gagged on the floor. She caught her brother’s eye for a moment as she jumped over him, her hands reaching towards Fink.

  Marsha burst into the library behind them. “Stop him!” she screamed. At the barricade and windows, the Firstborn stopped and stared, while more from the Vault surged past Marsha, running as fast as they could, but Fink was nearly at the ballroom door.

  Celeste made a diving grab for them, but Fink leapt over her arms and burst through the double doors. The guests were crowded in the back of the ballroom, hiding under their chairs as more Firstborn fired from the windows into the street, keeping the workers back. Two large Trolls with shotguns guarded the open doors that led through the covered walkway to the Factory and attached yard.

  “Stop him! Stop him!” Marsha yelled, waving her hands towards the Trolls.

  “Stop them! Stop them!” Fink yelled back, waving behind them to the Factory.

  The Trolls hefted their guns, looking around in confusion. Maine could see workers standing behind a hastily thrown together barricade of wheelbarrows and scrap at the Factory entrance, but the opening to the yard was free. A masked face peaked out from the opening curiously, drawn by the shouting.

  Fink was nearly past the Trolls. “STOP HIM!” Marsha nearly screamed.

  One of the Trolls finally got the message and lumbered forwards, roaring. Fink dodged to the side, waving his arms, and scraps of paper flew from out of his sleeves, blinding the Troll and making him stumble and fall. Evidently, Ifri hadn’t burnt up all of Fink’s little tricks.

  As the first Troll fell, the other raised his gun, but a sudden gust of paper batted at his eyes. Maine and Fink threw themselves down as he swatted at the paper with his arms, firing blindly with both barrels. The guests screamed as a huge hole exploded in the ceiling plaster, and one of the chandeliers crashed to the floor with an explosion of crystal and glass. Fink scrambled to their feet and ran, while the papers still battered at the Trolls. Still, the papers were barely more than an annoyance at this point, not even enough to make up a full deck, let alone hold either Troll fast like the others. Fink had to dive past their grasping hands, sprinting for the covered walkway, with Maine following hot on their heels.

  The Firstborn that had peaked out from the yard yelped and leapt out, arms spread wide to try and stop them, but a single slip of paper flew out and slapped across his eyes, blinding him. Fink slipped past, but Maine was going too fast and couldn’t stop, bowling him over. “Sorry!” she shouted over her shoulder as she stumbled past, nearly falling.

  The yard was usually a pretty bustling place, full of supply wagons being loaded or unloaded at all hours. It stank of horses, oxen, and equally big, sweaty workers. Now though, a different sort of Maierson goods were being loaded, as Firstborn scrambled to pack up their wagons. They were far too busy to even notice as Fink ran to the head of the line, waving at the driver of the first wagon. A canvas tarp had been spread over the back, but it was heavily laden with boxes and crates.

  “Here! Take this!” Fink shouted, throwing their bag up at him, and knocking him out of his seat. In a second, they were up in the driver’s seat, grabbing the reins and cracking them. As the horses bolted forwards, Fink swung down and snatched the bag off the stunned driver, saluting him jauntily. “Thank you!” they called back as the wagon rumbled towards the street.

  Maine ran after, scrambling for the back of the wagon. Her fingers scratched against the wood and she leapt forwards.

  The wagon hit a dip in the yard and lurched out of reach. Maine’s hands slipped off and she fell, rolling in the dirt. She lay stunned for a moment, bruised and aching. The wagon rumbled through the gate and into the square as Firstborn leapt clear. The Maierson workers had tried to push a wagon in front of the gates to block off access, but they hadn’t been able to move it near enough, so Fink was able to swerve around it, scraping the wood of his wagon and knocking the makeshift barricade aside. Maine could hear Fink yelling exultantly as the wagon rumbled forwards, towards the mob at the other end of the square.

  There must have been Firstborn plants in the mob, for they seemed ready for this. People began shoving the others back, shouting for them to make way and open up the street, not that the mob needed much persuasion with the wagon rushing towards them. Fink’s wagon rumbled through the narrow gap in the crowd, reins cracking again and again.

  Maine lay in the dirt of the yard, watching the wagon race off. She could feel Ifri thrashing about angrily in her bag, no doubt angry at being batted around as she ran, but she was in no shape to do anything about it. Then, a strong set of hands picked her up off the ground.

  “Get out of the way, girlie!” Marsha yelled. Before Maine could stop her, she hurled her like a sack of potatoes, throwing her into a pile of hay at the side of the yard. “C’mon!” Marsha yelled, swinging her hands to the other Firstborn, who were scrambling for the wagons. The drivers cracked their whips, and wagons began to roll out the yard with Firstborn still climbing on board or hanging off the side. Marsha waved the first wagons through, shouting and cursing. “We’re losing ‘em! C’mon! Faster! Faster!” She ducked as gunfire rang out, the few Maierson workers who had guns firing wildly at the fleeing wagons. She fired back, grabbing onto the last wagon as it rumbled through the gates.

  A few Maierson workers tried to chase after the wagons on foot as the last few pulled through the narrowing gap in the crowd, but they were forced to stop as the mob surged back into place, blocking off all access. No one, save Albert perhaps, could have followed after them now.

  Maine fell out of the hay pile, spitting out stalks and dust. Maierson workers scrambled around the yard, hardly paying her mind as they rushed about, trying to restore order. She heard her brother’s voice shouting somewhere, and the scream of Albert’s hissing whistle. A few of the guests, panicking and having trouble breathing, had to be helped out into the open air. Maine, filthy, bruised, and bleeding, walked past all of them.

  She stared out from the gates into the square, past the overturned, battered wagons, and past the riotous mob. She could just see the dust of the wagons as they disappeared into the maze-like streets of Old Coney, but then that too faded away.

  She unzipped her bag and lifted out the furious, hissing kitten. Ifri’s hair stood on end and flames leapt from his whiskers as he spit. Maine held him close, enjoying the one victory she felt she’d earned today. The rest she’d have to get back tomorrow, she thought. It was her responsibility after all. As a Maierson.