“Is that all?” Nick asked after his next Firebolt failed to garner a single death message or point of experience.

“Maybe . . . I can't see anything more than black dots,” Bonnie said. “How did you even notice them, boss?”

“I didn’t see them at all,” Lucas explained. “I just remembered the warning and saw the strings on the ground. There aren’t many tiny creatures in the game, but I figured they still might be too small to see. I think what we saw were small droplets of water clinging to the web.” I hate tiny mobs . . . Those stupid things are too small to hit and yet too damaging to ignore.

“Well, good job,” Nick said, channeling another Firebolt into the ground. “Free experience is all they are.”

“But didn’t the warning mention to not use fire?” Bonnie said. “I mean, whoever wrote it ain’t gonna tell me what not to burn—damn denizens of nightmares those little things are—but it did mention not to use Fire.”

“No, it said don’t burn the whole house down. That was probably just a joke,” Nick reasoned.

“That’s a lot of smoke though,” Lucas said, pointing to the grey and white clouds billowing up from the spreading flames where Bonnie had thrown the bottles of liquor. The growing plumes of smoke were even crawling across the ceiling. “I mean a lot.”

“Do we need to split? Ya think it’s going to leak into the mansion and alert the guards, ruining your plan?” Nick asked.

“Not just yet,” Lucas answered, but he started backing up even as he said it. He wanted to make sure that he’d have time to evacuate before anyone noticed him if someone did come down the hall, but he didn’t think that it was likely anyone would investigate.

“I don’t hear any footsteps. I think you’re good, boss, but if it makes you feel any better, I can go forward some, check it out, stab some stuff to be sure . . . I mean, after the smoke dies down, of course,” Bonnie suggested.

“Yeah, it’s getting really smoky in here,” Nick commented. “I’m starting to struggle to breathe too. Should we bail?”

“Just duck some, and here . . .” Lucas took out a spare shirt, ripped off three strips of cloth, and then tossed it to Nick and Bonnie. “Just in case. It won’t help much, but it should slow down any damage we start taking.”

“‘Kay,” Nick said as he grabbed the cloth and wrapped it around his mouth as a makeshift mask. “But I don’t get it. Alcohol doesn’t make smoke like this. I’ve burned plenty of stuff back home. Molotov cocktails blow up with big flames, but they never produce smoke like this.”

Bonnie nodded. “Yeah, he’s onto something. This ain’t exactly right.”