“You’re a liar,” Candy says.
“Nope. I’ll show you.”
With only the lights on our cell phones, we get to the shop and I jimmy the lock with the black blade.
Inside is a collection of old furniture. Stuffed exotic birds, some of which bear a strong resemblance to dinosaurs. There’s a coin set from Atlantis. A glass cage that once held a Fury, now empty. Strange weapons. Canopic jars.
Candy turns in a circle.
“How are we going to find anything in all this junk?”
“We’re not. Muninn kept the good stuff in the back.”
Through the back is a door that leads to a steep stone staircase. Lucky for us, lucky for the world, the light switch at the top of the stairs still works. Floodlights flicker on for what seems like miles in every direction. If the collection upstairs seemed out of control, the stuff down here is worse, mostly because of the sheer scale.
Rows of shelves spread out in all directions. I know Muninn had a system for his junk, but I never understood it. Aside from small collections in the shop, the hoard down here he put together over, in his own words, “ice ages.” In the distance is the prow of an ancient ship. Part of a silent-movie film set. An old L.A. red car train.
“Double fuck me,” says Candy. “Upstairs was bad enough. We could spend the rest of our lives down here.”
“No. Mustang Sally said that Muninn could help us and the most complicated way is often the easiest. Something like that.”
“Maybe she’s talking about a puzzle. You solve it and it’ll open a portal or a hot-air balloon will pop out.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Let’s split up, grab anything that looks like a puzzle, and meet back here in an hour.”
Candy looks around.
“What if I get lost?”
“Yeah. That.”
I look around and find a bag of worn old Greek drachmas. Hand it to her.
“Do a Hansel and Gretel. Drop one of these every few minutes when you go, then you can follow them back.”
“Thanks, Nancy Drew. I know how the story goes.”
We take off in opposite directions. One row over, I find an old grocery-store shopping cart full of candlesticks and vases. The vases go on a shelf with no problems, but some of the candlesticks try to squirm away or wrap themselves around my arms. A pair of snake-headed sticks hiss at me. I turn the cart on its side and dump the rest of the sticks. Some crawl away under the shelves.
There are some kids’ picture puzzles in the next row and some puzzle boxes on a high shelf. There’s a whole carton of those fucking games where you roll a ball bearing around and try to get it on the clown’s eyes and mouth. I pile the whole damned box in the cart.
“How are you doing?” yells Candy.
“Finding junk. Nothing that screams ‘portal to Hell.’ How about you?”
“The same. But I did find a cute pair of velvet Mary Janes. They’re perfect for Chihiro. Do you think Mr. Muninn would mind if I take them?”
“He has a million pairs of shoes down here. Take them, and if he gets testy, I’ll trade him something.”
“Do you think we’ll see him?”
“Only if he wants to see us, so bring the shoes.”
“There’s no way I’m wearing these shoes in Hell.”
“That’s not the point. The fact you have something of his might get his attention.”
“Taking them is part of the mission? Awesome.”