She settled on flinging it open.
Though she tensed in anticipation of a falling ceiling or the floor vanishing beneath her feet, nothing prevented her from crossing the threshold farther into the house.
There, on the other side, she glimpsed what might have been a huge parlor. Difficult to tell, what with cords and chains and wheels and gears and pulleys covering every inch of the walls and most of the ceiling.
A blank spot in the middle contained a man hanging upside down from his knees on a short trapeze, with a hammer in one hand and a wrench in the other. A leather helmet covered his head. One eye was hidden behind some sort of telescoping lens, whereas the other was magnified fivefold behind an inch-thick circle of glass.
He grunted toward the ceiling. “This will be ready for deployment within the hour.”
Beneath him on the ground stood a woman free of helmets but wielding a sword in each hand. She danced erratically amongst the disparate items of furniture, fencing wildly against an attacking army of invisible foes.
“Took you long enough,” Elizabeth Wynchester said. Not to her husband. To the unexpected visitor.
Viv blinked. “You didn’t know I was coming.”
Elizabeth jabbed a sword above the sofa, then swung the other blade over her own head, narrowly missing her husband—who carried on with his tinkering without flinching.
“I knew it was you the moment the fringe of death didn’t frighten you off.” Elizabeth hurled a sword toward Viv.
Viv caught the handle reflexively, dropping into a defensive position just in time to parry a dizzying flurry of Elizabeth’s expert thrusts.
The fight, if one could call it that, was over in under thirty seconds. Viv’s hands were palm-up in the air, her temporary rapier lying useless at her oil-stained feet.
“Impressive.” Elizabeth sheathed her sword. “Most people don’t last ten seconds against me.”
“Not even five,” said Stephen from his upside-down perch on the ceiling.
Elizabeth motioned Viv to the sofa, which might or might not have been rigged to murder anyone whose derrière touched the cushion. “Biscuit? Today we have oat, cinnamon raisin, and shortbread.”
Viv decided to risk the sofa. “I’ll take one of each, if you’ve enough to go around.”
“Exactly the combination I would have chosen myself,” Elizabeth said in approval. She piled a plate high with biscuits and passed it to Viv. “How did you enjoy our mechanical butler system?”
“That was a mechanical… butler?”
“The murder room is at the rear door,” Elizabeth answered, as though that explained anything. “The front door is merely designed to test the mettle of those who come to call. Anyone who makes it through the entryway deserves an audience—and a biscuit. I couldn’t resist adding a sword fight. I’m sorry I put you at a disadvantage.”
“Oh, I was never at a disadvantage,” Viv assured her. “I could have murdered you at any time.”
“You could not have done,” Elizabeth said hotly. “I had you disarmed in seconds without even trying!”
“I don’t need a sword. I have Sally.” Viv licked her fingers.
Elizabeth glanced around. “Who is Sall—”
Viv opened the sugar shaker in her reticule and flung her furry pet into the air.
The tarantula landed in the middle of Elizabeth’s plate of biscuits.
“Aaugh,” she screamed, tossing the plate aside and springing to her feet. “Whatisthat?”
“Wolf spider,” said her husband as he dropped down from the ceiling. Not to rescue his wife, but to perform several press-ups before tossing the leather helmet from his head and helping himself to the remaining biscuits.
“Sally is my personal defense tarantula,” Viv explained, crossing her legs at the ankles.
“Your personal defense tarantula,” Elizabeth repeated. “What is it trained to do?”
“Oh, I haven’t trained her to do anything. All I need is for Sally to do whatever a wild tarantula wants to do.”
