I watched as Oliver took a step back from the mighty flame before I blew it out from existence, its smoke leaving a ghostly trail behind. "What?" he exclaimed. "The same air from the balloon is in here? How?"

"It's the way the lavatory is designed," I pointed out, trying not to sound too prideful. Really, it had been a lucky guess at best. "The Romans invented sewages ages ago, and yet it was crafted much better than most of the pipes running through the houses we live in." I glanced over at him. "Or at least, the ones most people live in. So many people are starting to come to America now, that houses need to be built, and built quickly. So most of the gases that come from human waste..." I gestured to the water closet. "...like methane and hydrogen, are left to sit and stew in lower pipes before it's fully flushed away. There were several cases of people bringing candles in their lavatory late at night, and horrible accidents would ensue from the flammable gases. We're lucky it only grew the flame that high rather than causing a whole fire."

"That almost makes me glad to just have to dig a hole in the ground," Oliver admitted.

"Lovely." I rolled my eyes, not even caring to watch my attitude. Boys...

"So what now? How do you suppose we make acid out of air?" Oliver asked.

"It isn't just made of air," I muttered, digging my hand through the satchel on my hip. My hand landed on the bottle of chloroform. I sighed. I have to be sure to only use a little, or else I'll have nothing for surgery. I pushed aside a small cup holding a straw toothbrush, to make room for the glass bottle. "We're also going to need something called chlorine." I screwed open the top of the chloroform, being careful not to take a whiff of the contents. I had made that mistake once before as a curious child, and knew better than to try it once again. The colorless liquid sat in its glass jar on the counter, and I dumped a large amount into the cup that had the toothbrush, hoping it would reserve it for later.

After leaving the bottle open for a minute, I tested to make sure the air was inside by striking another match. It remained lit inside the jar, which meant it had made its way inside. With that, I quietly turned on the sink water to fill the bottle a little bit more, and screwed the lid back on tight. I could only pray that it would hold well enough.

"Is it acid?" Oliver wondered aloud, crouching down to inspect the contents with one eye, the other squinted for a better look.

"Not yet," I admitted, looking away. "Truth be told, they have to be combined, but I'm not sure how to go about doing that."

"Hmmmm. How's about a spoon?"

I didn't even bother to stop my hand from slapping into my own face. "What do you take this for? Cookie dough? You can't just mix it." I looked over at it, my mind flashing back to everything I had ever read on science. I knew the acid was used to add a citric taste to foods, and the specific passage I had seen it in had claimed it was a very unhealthy practice, being made of chlorine, but how to combine it? "Most chemical concoctions are produced through heat, but also unlike cookies, it is most likely going to need a lot. A simple toss in the oven wouldn't be even close to enough. What if it should need to be five hundred degrees? I don't know how to bring up the temperature that high." And if I can't, we cannot collect the heart pieces. Who knows how many could be behind that door. How many others would I have to kill to find what I needed? How many more lives would have to be on my hands, ones that I would regret for the rest of my stolen life?

"Eva. It's all right." At the sound of his voice, I looked up, realizing with a start that I had begun to cry. "We'll find something. Isn't this the home of a Gadgeteer? He would have to have some tools to melt metal. Like a..." I watched as he began to tap his fingers in front of him, trying to think of the word. "A lötlampe!"

"A what?"

"You know! Those tanks of gas that can shoot flames out of a spout. Like a sink, but of fire. They have them in Germany. That's how they bent the metal panels of Der Luftsturm into place." His eyes were practically sparkling as he spoke, and it finally dawned on me what he was talking about.

"A blowtorch. You're talking about a blowtorch," I corrected, almost in wonder. "Oliver! That could work! That could truly work!" I shot up from my squatted position, grabbing his forearms as my brain began to run with the notion.

Just as Oliver had suspected, back in the main room, there was a gasoline powered blowtorch on the table. I couldn't seem to find a mask to go with it though, so, dangerous as it was, I decided to work without it. I glanced at the moon out the windom, beginning to droop low in the sky. We didn't have any time to dawdle.

Back in the lavatory, I steadied the glass bottle's positioning on the sink's granite counter. I was glad that the Gadgeteer was able to afford such a luxurious vanity, since it could tolerate the heat I was about to imbue into it. I turned my head back to Oliver, standing guard behind me.

"Shut the door!" I whispered, unsure of how loud the tool would be. Once he had tightened it with a click, I aimed the spout away from my body, and pushed in the small button at the top. Instantly, a cobalt flame shot forth, connecting with the bottle and counter, making only a small hiss in protest working at such an hour.

"It has to be hot enough. It's blue," Oliver pointed out.

"Yes, it's more than hot enough." I smiled, running the flame around the sides in an attempt to make sure it was heated evenly.

"Is it done?" I heard him ask a second later, and I shut off the tool to check. Sure enough, the liquid inside had become the slightest tinge of yellow, as opposed to the colorless fluid it had been only minutes before.

"Yes... Yes, it is! We did it Oliver!" I could barely hide my excitement.

"Shhh! Who's the loud one now?" he shot back with a raised eyebrow, but I could see a sense of proudness on his face, along with... something else, but I couldn't quite identify it. It rested in the edges of his smile, in the soft crinkles of his eyes. Whatever it was, it was positive, and filled my chest with pride and a bashful kind of joy.

I really did it.

"So what now?"

"Now," I answered. "We have to get it in the lock."

It didn't take long to find a bit of iron wire, too tough for the acid to dissolve. At last, we were back in front of the door, dipping the thin strip of wire into the bottle, careful to drip any, and inserting the end into the lock.

"That won't work," I heard Oliver mention behind me.

"What do you mean? It's melting the zinc just fine," I confirmed, glancing in the dripping keyhole once again.

"But won't that just fuse the mechanism together? Wouldn't it be better to melt the bolt I couldn't push in before?"

"I'm sure-" I started, before turning to see his face again. He just sat there behind me, as he had when I created the concoction. I heard his voice again. It has to be hot enough. It's blue...

He's trying to help. Stepping back for a moment, I pulled back the wire, and, dipping more on it, ran it through the door crack until I felt it connect with the bolt. It took much longer, but I felt the wire sink lower and lower each time I dipped it, until it suddenly slipped down the crack with a start. Running it up and down the crack again and again, I felt a sense of thrill fill my body. It was gone. Melted away entirely. I reached for the door handle, giving it a small pull. I held my breath.

It swung away from the frame to reveal a staircase below. That was where the pieces had to be. Giving me a nod, Oliver took the matchbox lightly from my hand, lighting it and stepping in front of me as we slowly headed down the steps. Ghastly shadows flung across odd shapes as the floor opened up before us. To our immediate left, lay a desk coated in odd and ends.

At this, I pushed forward, practically running to the desk and running my hands along the metal bits. Not all of them were heart pieces, admittedly, not being a random screw, gear, or spring, but they were there. Copper vena cavas, iron aortas, and...

"Oliver! He has the right ventricle in Silver!" I showed the rounded portion of the heart to him, before stuffing it in my bag. "And here is a tricuspid valve in Gold! Yes!"

"A what? Is that one of the ones you need?" he asked. I nodded. "Then what about these?" I saw him holding a handful of other random gold and silver bits.

As I took a closer look though, I frowned, knowing my heart would have sunk if it were only whole. "No... I'm sorry. I have most of the pieces, which means that those would just be duplicates. Keep the Silver, but I'm afraid the valve is the only piece I'm going to be able to get here. Thank you for looking though."

He smiled, taking a step backwards. "It's-" He was cut off as he tripped over something, resulting in him falling backwards in a crash.

"Oliver, watch out!" I rushed over, but he was already getting up.

"What's with that expression?" he asked. "Don't tell me you thought a little trip was going to hurt me more than tumbling out of the Rusty Spigot?" But his face changed as he turned to greet the same sight I had, as the clicking noise I had heard the whole time began to rise in volume.

The dark cellar began to clear as lights flashed on in pairs of two all around, like eyes aglow until the force of them made the room as bright as midday afternoon. The room was filled with wind-up spiders, insects, and horrid creatures that looked like the weapons Automatons were rumoured to truly be. A thing of glowing eyes and sharp fingers, inching closer with every ticking second towards our frozen bodies.