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“Is that it?” someone asks. “I thought it would be more dramatic. Can we open it now?”
I shake my head and don’t bother to turn around as I hold up the two components that are “leftover.” “I have to find a home for these first.”
There’s a moment of shocked silence. I’m pretty sure they’re all wondering if I missed a piece somewhere, like putting together DIY furniture. They don’t understand that it would be impossible to do that with this puzzle—the sequence has to be exact. If I didn’t put the right piece in the right place, I wouldn’t be able to move on to the next step. I don’t waste time explaining, just bend to examine the spot where I placed the previous component. If my guess is right, these last two pieces will act as a handle for the door. I just don’t know where the handle is supposed to be.
“Excuse me, Ronan,” I call over my shoulder. “Could I borrow you for a moment?”
There’s a flurry of whispers as Ronan comes to stand beside me. I try not to be annoyed by my observers. “How can I help?” he asks quietly.
“What’s the standard design layout of a dragon door?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “And has it changed over time? Like, would the designer have laid it out differently all those millennia ago to how someone might do it now?”
He hesitates. “Uh—”
“Sorry,” a cheerful voice interrupts as Wing Leader Brandt joins us. “So sorry, but I’m nosy and desperate to see what’s inside. How can I help?”
I don’t miss the stark relief that crosses Ronan’s face, but with Brandt waiting, I don’t have time to ask. I explain what I need to know.
He nods. “We dragons don’t have a special door design. We just steal things like that from the elves, since they’d already done the hard work before we even decided to change forms.”
Does that even make sense? He’s still talking, though.
“The doors we had were basically the same as what you have on Earth. A rectangle with a handle.”
“It’s the handle placement I need to know,” I tell him. “Left or right side of the door? Or in the middle?”
He cocks his head. “Huh. I… Hold on.” While everyone watches, he closes his eyes and extends a hand as though reaching for a door handle. “Left side,” he declares. “Definitely the left side.”
“Thank you.” That means I’m on the wrong side, so I turn around and walk along the face of the door to the other side. “Have all the photos been taken?” I call. This might take me a while to figure out, or I might be done in thirty seconds. Better to get the process moving.
“All photos are done,” Micah says, coming over to me. “Anything you need?”
I smile at him. I didn’t think of it, but I’m glad he’ll be with me for the last pieces. I hold them up. “We’re looking for a notch or somewhere these will fit. I talked to Ronan when he was here last week, and he agrees that it wouldn’t be possible to solve the puzzle in dragon form, so it’s likely to be somewhere within arm’s reach of a standard biped.”
We start looking. After so many hours working on it, the vagaries of the door are as familiar to me as the lines of my hands. This shouldn’t take too long—I’m actually surprised I didn’t notice the abnormality while I was working in this area.
“Cam?” Micah murmurs. “Could this be it?”
I turn so fast, I overbalance and fall sideways into the wall. Micah grabs me before I fully hit it, saving me from a massive headache. I can handle a small bruise to my upper arm, but my skull wouldn’t have enjoyed all those metal components.
“Thanks!” I lean up and kiss him, to a chorus of gasps. Oops. Oh well… screw professional propriety. “Show me.”
The irregular spot he points out could be a production error. The door was made by hand, and sometimes tools slip. But… I press my pinky finger to it and realize it’s deeper than it looks, and angled.
I look again at the two components in my hand. If I fit them together like so, and then… I slide the end of the “handle” into the depression. It doesn’t work, so I pull back and change the angle slightly.
This time, it slides in properly and clicks into place. My heart starts to beat harder. This is really it.
“Who—” I stop to clear my throat. “Who wants the honors?”
“You’ll do it,” Damaris says immediately, her tone brooking no argument. I glance over my shoulder to see her aiming a gimlet stare at everyone else. “You’ve earned it.”
Nobody disagrees.
I turn back to the handle and glance up at Micah.
“Are you ready?” he asks, and I know he’s asking about more than just the door.
There’s no doubt in my mind when I say, “Yes,” and pull down the handle.
