A door opened in a darkened office.
Feet padded on hard thin carpet.
The quiet and darkness of the office were broken by the scraped-metal sounds of the Docklands Light Railway passing outside the windows, and electric sparks outlining figures that moved between the desks.
“Are we even in the right place?” whispered Edna.
“The nice lady at Reception said that Magical Affairs were through Human Resources, and first left past Development,” Gretel intoned. She added, “Are humans resources?”
“God, yes,” sighed Kevin. “But like everything else on the planet, they’re a resource that’s been screwed up.”
There was a thump in the dark. It was Gretel bumping into a computer-laden desk, which shuddered under the force of the impact.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in a voice like a gale through a cheese grater.
“I’m surprised we haven’t seen more security,” said Edna. “Surely if this wendigo character knew we were coming, he’d be trying harder to stop us?”
“Oh my God,” moaned Kevin. “Have you guys been living in like, the twelfth century? Never invite the wrath of God by wondering why things are going well!”
“Are you always this pessimistic?” asked Edna, ruffling within her purple cardigan.
“Uh… undead, duh?”
A pair of double doors swung back before Gretel’s cautious touch, revealing a long white corridor. It was lit by fluorescent tubing and bore such motivational notices as THE FUTURE IS STABLE GROWTH and IS YOUR DATA SOUND? At the far end stood another pair of doors. Kevin sniffed the air, then flung out a hand to stop Gretel advancing.
“Uh, guys, I don’t want to fulfil the pessimistic undead cliché,” he declared. “But I’m like, smelling major-league magic down here. And I’m no wizard, so I don’t want to be like, cleaning up from that shit.”
Edna peered round the vampire. “What does major-league magic smell like?”
“You know eucalyptus?”
“Really? Is that what it smells like?”
“No, I was just hoping I could get you to stop asking annoying questions.”
“You really are a very difficult young man, aren’t you?”
Gretel, perhaps with a more sensible grasp of the situation, picked up a heavy red fire extinguisher by the door. She tossed it thoughtfully from hand to hand like a juggling ball.
“Uh, you’re not thinking of—” began Kevin as Gretel drew her arm back and, with the ease of a fast bowler throwing an orange, lobbed the extinguisher down the hall. It travelled ten yards through the air, struck an invisible barrier and exploded with a great ringing bang that sent white foam spilling up the walls.
“You are correct, Kevin,” mused the troll as the cowering Kevin and Edna waited for the last of the shrapnel to fall. “The corridor does appear to be warded.”
“But we need to go this way to find the sacrifices!” wailed Edna.
“See, I’m pessimistic,” muttered Kevin, “but at least I can handle stress.”
Gretel looked thoughtfully down the corridor, then up at the ceiling.
“I’m not very good at numbers,” she said. “But if one of you would be prepared to count footsteps, I may have an idea.”
At the far end of the corridor the double doors swung back. A security guard, hand on his radio, hurried through. He gawped at the foam splattered everywhere and the red metal shards buried in the walls.
“Backup, backup, third floor,” he babbled.
“Okay, now,” muttered Kevin, “let’s try going with Plan B, shall we?”
They ran.