I followed her to the bust of Joan of Arc. She twisted the statue’s head, and a far wall rumbled and descended into the floor. We darted down the dark, hidden staircase into the weapons room. A giant, gleaming sword that looked like it weighed more than me hung on the wall beside a pair of tomahawks made from two giant fangs.
A cabinet was filled with beakers full of funky monster parts. Jars of fire juice collected from the tongue of the Jersey Devil. Bottles of knockout troll farts. Venomous spittle. Gorgon armpit hives. A boll of evil elf earwax.