My boyfriend was the one who could pick a % (reading this as ebook), and he picked 42.
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.
A set of big dark eyes locked on me from under a tussle of choppy, blue-and-black hair that looked like the girl had cut it herself. Her nose was small, dotted with freckles. A tiny diamond stud winked on her left nostril. She was older than me -by at least a couple of years- and she looked like she belonged in detention for punching someone in the stomach.