Bodies slumped against the railings on every floor. He wondered how many of them were already dead. Given the road they were on, it was a technicality.
A filthy Dark Caster stumbled toward him, her golden eyes glazed, as if she was feverish. Other Casters wandered out of the stairwells with the same dazed expression on their faces, like zombies. None of them seemed to notice him—or anything else. He trudged up the stairs, dodging the junkies huddled in the corners smoking Sunshine from tinfoil pipes. When he reached the seventh floor, he spotted a dealer.
The Incubus stood in the corner, doling out cellophane bags filled with what looked like yellow rocks to the addicts shoving cash into his hands.
“I don’t have any money,” an emaciated girl said to him. “But I’ll trade my powers.”
The Incubus laughed, baring his canines, and shoved her away. “You ran out of powers a long time ago. No money, no Shine.”
The Shine—that was what they called the high that people got from Sunshine.
Nox felt sick just watching them, but he didn’t have time to play hero. He elbowed his way to the front of the line, holding up a hundred-dollar bill between his fingers. “Then it looks like I came to the right place.”
Come on, already.
The dealer raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You must be having a serious party. How much do you want?”
“I’m not looking to score any Sunshine,” Nox said. “I want information.”
He thought of the TFPs at his disposal. But this particular scumbag was too pathetic to waste one on. The pull of Shine to an addict was a power all its own—and one that required nothing more special than money.
And unlike TFPs, Nox had almost an infinite supply of that.
It was impossible to gauge an Incubus’ emotions when the only thing you could see in their black eyes was your own reflection. “What kind of information?”
Nox pulled out another hundred. “I’m looking for a Caster who hangs out here. People call him the Chemist.”
The Incubus laughed and snatched the hundreds. “Not anymore.”
“Do you know where he is or not?”
The Incubus nodded toward the stairs. “Eighteenth floor. Apartment 13. Unless he jumped, he’ll be inside.” He saluted, pocketing the money.
Nox ignored him.
There was only one junkie who interested him. One he’d known a long time ago, before the guy was an addict—after his mom had been taken and his father was a broken man.
When Abraham Ravenwood governed everything about their lives and Nox’s childhood was full of rules. But one rule was more important than all the others combined: Never ask about Abraham’s labs.
Nox closed his eyes as the memories came flooding back….
Mom was making tea when Abraham burst into the kitchen, looking more agitated than usual.
“Get your stuff.” He snapped his fingers at Mom. “There’s a problem that needs dealin’ with.”
She nodded. “Hurry up, Lennox. Get your things.”
“The boy’s stayin’ here.” Abraham’s tone made it clear his decision wasn’t up for discussion. “This is important business, and I’m no babysitter.” He eyed me coldly. “Give the kid a pack a matches. Maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll set himself on fire.”
Mom looked panicked, but she didn’t argue. No one argued with the original Blood Incubus in the Ravenwood line.
“Go up to my room,” Mom whispered. “Lock the door and stay there until I get back.” I nodded. “I want to hear you promise me,” she said, looking desperate.
“I—I promise,” I stammered, terrified of saying anything to provoke Abraham’s cruelty.
“Now go.”
I bolted up the winding staircase in the foyer and watched him drag Mom out of the house. I kept my promise and stayed in her room—the one we shared when Abraham allowed me to visit her—for the first few hours. Then I realized this was my chance to see the labs Abraham was always disappearing to with his grandson, Silas. I wondered what a man like him was making in there. Surveillance equipment to spy on my mom and the other Supernaturals he forced to work for him?
Weapons or bombs?
Or the thing that terrified me almost as much as a threat to my family—the possibility that Abraham was testing the powers of the enslaved Casters on animals.
This was my chance to find out.
So I took it.
Sneaking out of the house was the easy part. Most of Abraham’s thugs were stupid.
The labs were underground, but I knew the entrance was somewhere behind the plantation’s original carriage house. What I didn’t expect was how easy the heavy metal door was to find. It reminded me of a tornado shelter in the movies. Then again, when you were as feared as Abraham, you probably didn’t have to worry about people breaking into your supersecret labs.
The door was so heavy that I almost gave up. But on the last try, it cracked open enough for me to wedge myself inside.
Whenever I imagined the labs, they always looked like the medieval alchemy labs from my favorite books. But there was nothing medieval about this place. Everything was shiny and state-of-the-art.
He was definitely making bombs.
I was surprised the hallway was empty. Maybe Abraham took his thugs with him and Mom. Or maybe they weren’t allowed down here, either.
Farther down the hallway, I noticed a long window like the ones parents look through in hospitals to see their brand-new babies. I crawled below the window, and it took me a while to gather up the courage to peek inside. I didn’t want to think about what Abraham would do to me if someone caught me down here.