His face brightened. “That’s probably it. Anyway, good luck,” he said, and headed back over toward the well.

Julius set up two easels and attached the Wheels of Misfortune to them, miniature versions of the one Pat Sajak uses. One Wheel listed the types of equipment I might be given to survive with, while the other listed the challenges, sporting names like Scarifying Scarabs, Sinking Sand Trap, Grievous Guillotine, Watery Grave, Leaping Lizards, and Ravenous Rats. A chill ran down my spine. Although I was a native New Yorker—and therefore rat-familiar by association—the idea of them in particular creeped me out like nobody’s business.

As I tried to shake off the heebie-jeebies, the Inspectre turned to Wesker. “Is everything about ready?”

Wesker walked around the well once and checked out the Wheels. He gave the Inspectre a nod.

“Now, then,” the Inspectre said, “all that’s left is the pat down. If you’ll permit me . . . ?”

I held my arms apart and spread my legs farther apart. This felt dangerously similar to my past brushes with the law, but I knew it was simply to make sure I wasn’t bringing anything into the Oubliette that would prove helpful in the test.

The Inspectre stopped when he felt the leather holster I usually hung my retractable bat in. It didn’t help that I had forgotten to remove the bat from it. He gave me a stern look.

“Sorry,” I said, reaching inside my coat and pulling the bat out of it. I handed it over. “Force of habit.”

“You mean being a cheater?” Wesker asked, moving closer, no doubt to keep an eye on me.

I ignored him, but after the Inspectre was done with his search, Wesker started looking me over as well.

“What’s that?” he said, pointing at a rectangular-shaped item in my front pocket.

“My cell phone,” I said, “but if I get to the point where I have to throw it at whatever challenge awaits me down there, I’ve probably already failed, right?”