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The smoky wisps shifted, swirling like water between my fingers and toward the wall in a steady stream . . . as though they were being sucked out of the room?

“Do not give up hope, Adam. The day you stop having faith is the day your brother wins.”

I twisted onto my knees and wafted the smoky vapor away from the wall, revealing a grated vent. “Hey. Do you think I could fit in there?”

Victor looked at the narrow grate, then me. “Perhaps. But you may not be able to get out, and you have no idea where it leads.”

“One way to find out.” Rocking back on my heels, I shook out my numb fingers, rolled my shoulders, popped the muscles in my neck, and eyed the vent. I could fit in there; I was small. That was the point to this skin, it was small and unthreatening.

“Are you sure?” Victor asked. He didn’t seem convinced by the idea.

“Have a little faith.” I grinned.

“Very well.” He popped the grate off and we both peered into the dusty darkness beyond.

A niggling little thread of doubt wanted me to pick at it. Nope, I was not backing down. I could do this. “And hey, if it fails, we’ve always got the nuclear option.”

“Indeed. Be careful.”

“Always,” I said, echoing Zee’s sly sideways smile, and then after dropping onto my front, I reached into the gap and wiggled inside.

Like threading a needle. I could do this. Just so long as I didn’t think about how dragons weren’t meant to fit into tiny, cold dark spaces. No, I was not thinking about that, or the fact that my shoulders brushed both sides. I couldn’t turn around, but that was fine, I wouldn’t need to, because the vent would eventually open up into somewhere with lots of space, then I’d go find Zee and we’d take out Stephanie, stopping her icy power from freezing everyone in the cellar, ending her reign of terror, and living up to our hero name. Happy ever after, here we come—or a happy for now anyway.

There definitely weren’t rats or gremlins in this vent.

Right?

I shuffled by a few dust balls, and tried not to look too long at the crispy, curled-up spiders.

When we got out of this we’d go somewhere hot, like Zee had wanted, with beaches and palm trees and definitely no crazy bad people. There had to be somewhere like that in the USA. Victor would know where.

I flicked a huge dead spider away.

Yes, fine sandy beaches and no more ice.

A junction split the duct up ahead. I figured my right was as good as left, and shimmied down the right-hand duct. Muffled voices sounded up ahead, then the sounds of clanging metal. I froze, listening, but the sounds had stopped too.

Inch by inch, I wormed my way closer to the light, climbing a slight incline. At least it wasn’t as cold here, just really greasy. Layers of clinging grease clung to my arms, trying to trap me in place. I wriggled . . . glued . . . stuck. This . . . was . . . fine. I just needed to add a bit more oomph to my shuffle technique, and⁠—

The vent dropped out from under me, my insides whooshed, and a second later I landed hard on a floor with the resounding clangs of bits of metal vent raining around me.

When it was over, the silence was almost painful.

The entire hotel had probably heard that.

I blinked into the settling dust, coughed, and looked up at the towering figure of a burly man wearing a white apron and holding a cleaver. Huh, the sandwich-making chef.

“Hi there . . . uhm . . .” I got my hands under me and clambered to my feet. Broken bits of vent clattered off, while dust and dead spiders fell from my hair. “So . . . you’re probably surprised to see a man fall from that vent, but I have a perfectly good explanation⁠—”

The cleaver swung, its deadly blade flashing an inch in front of my face. I sprang back, stumbled over bits of ducting, and fell against a metal table. “Uh, just a sec—” Another swing had me dashing sideways. A third swept above my head right after I’d ducked. For a big guy, the chef was fast. “Just so—” He swung again, and I skipped backward. “You know, this is—” Again, and again I danced back. “A really bad idea!”

“The sandwiches should have rendered you helpless,” the big chef growled. He raised the cleaver and brought it down.

I grabbed his wrist, blocking the blow and holding him locked in my grasp. “You made a mistake . . . didn’t count on us being the real SOS Hotel heroes.”

Rage scrunched his puffy red face. “Why would they be here?”

“To stop people like you.”