Alcohol & Economics - Something Dangerous - Part 14

She was gasping for air, clawing at the smoke that clung angrily to her throat and reduced her vision to blurry tears. Something was wrong, so very wrong. There shouldn’t be this much smoke in the house, not like this. Perhaps Merci had forgotten to open up the vents before stoking the hearth. She’d done so once before, while they were in Dublin, Deceit recalled.

She forced herself farther into the inky darkness, the taste of smoke coating her airways, almost making the child choke. Relying on only memory, she propelled herself forward through the series of halls and rooms that made up the relatively unused section of home. It seemed like an eternity before she finally made it to the source of the air pollution in the West Wing: the drawing room.

Deceit clenched the doorknob, willing it not to stick. She coughed, choking on the soot her fingers pushed into the air. The knob was so hot, it scorched her small hands. Still, Deceit fought with it, though her hazy mind could not conjure a reason as to why it was so important. Finally, the knob gave way and a lone screw fell to the floor, hot enough to leave a single mark on her favorite socks. She gave it no notice as she pushed the door open with all her might.