The basement was a series of interconnected corridors with creepy fluorescent lights lining the ceiling. The walls were a dull gray cement, and if the doors weren’t the normal sort, you’d think this was the type of storage place where murderers came to leave corpses stuffed in freezers. A distinct chill permeated my bones, and I shoved my hands deep into my jeans pockets to keep them warm. It didn’t help. Hell was, apparently, freezing over.
My sneakers made no sound as I crept forward. The corridor wasn’t long enough to feel as if the other end was lost in shadows, but not knowing what might wait around the sharp bend ahead was worse. A feeling of otherness emanated from that corner, as if whatever haunted this place was just a step ahead, egging me on, knowing I’d have to go in that direction eventually.
A shadow crossed the edge of my sight.
I jumped with a yelp and whirled around. The corridor was empty, the stairs bathed in a strong light. A shiver ran up my back, and I couldn’t stop a shudder when it reached my neck.
Just a rat. Rats loved creepy basements. Telling myself this, I faced the corridor again and made my way down its length, passing a couple of unmarked doors with electronic locks and admiring how clean everything looked. I remembered thinking the same the previous two times I had investigated the place. I hoped they paid the cleaning crew their weight in gold, and I hoped they never needed a temp to fill in. Because, yikes.
The thought was disturbing enough to shake me out of my slow progress. I hurried my steps and checked my phone. No reception down here—this was basically a horror movie, so why would there be reception?—but Kane still hadn’t answered. I hoped this meant he was asking his boss. He usually answered my texts pretty fast.
While the basement had almost a maze pattern, it wasn’t too hard to tell where I was. Not this close to the stairs, anyway. The doors were all the same, but some had metal name plates indicating who the rooms belonged to, and they were grouped differently on each stretch. Whoever had designed this place had had some fun. Kane thought they had just given their kid some crayons and had them go at it, but I’d always felt there was a deeper pattern buried in here. Along with some corpses, probably.
That was why a while back I’d decided to make another excursion down here, my curiosity leading the way while I attempted to draw a map on my phone. But after a few corridors, it had seemed so silly, and the place so gloomy and silent and empty that it had been easy to imagine myself stumbling, breaking my ankles, and dying of starvation before anyone found me. Needless to say, the trip was cut short. Thanks to that exploration, though, I knew where to find P&S’s archives.
Proctor & Sullivan was written very clearly on the plate attached to one of the dark gray metal doors.
The thing is, though, the door right next to it was slightly ajar.
I licked my lips, staring at the small crack into darkness. Like dangling chocolate cake in front of my face, really. The two doors were side by side, so even with no P&S written on it, I knew they both belonged to the company. That was the whole point of most of the businesses in the building: the official face, and the private face. And the private face always had something to do with the Fae.
As did the slight wisps of magic dangling from the door. A broken ward.
I focused on the door in front of me, closed tight, the electronic lock’s tiny red light scolding at my thoughts. Don’t get involved, it said. Grab the files and go back upstairs, ye little adventuress. Protect yer soul from the evils of curiosity.
I have no excuses for what I did next. None. Zero. But there you have it.
The first thing I noticed when poking the open door wider was the smell. I scrunched my nose in distaste. A sleeping potion had been used there, and not long before. Like most things carrying Fae magic, potions had their own set of give-and-take.
You see, Fae magic is all about the trade. And the Fae always take more than they give.
In this case, a sleeping potion would send you to sleep, but not before you became aware of the horrid smell and knew you had a few moments to spare before you fell like a log.
The second thing I noticed was that something was blocking the door.
I ran my finger across the wall, searching for the light switch. When I found it, another two things came to light: One, how many clients could P&S possibly have that they required the two dozen filing cabinets and piles of boxes stacked against the walls, and two, the thing blocking the door was an unconscious person on the floor. At least, I hoped he was unconscious. I wasn’t about to touch him to make sure.
I mean, there was no blood. That was encouraging, right?
The man was crumpled on his side, like he had been trying to get out of the room in a hurry when the sleeping potion had caught hold. Yes, sometimes I shocked myself with my powers of deduction. Too bad the Jerk wouldn’t allow me to use them for a worthier cause.
Carefully stepping over the body, I turned in a slow circle, finding nothing seemingly out of place except for one of the drawers. It lay slightly open, the way metal drawers get when you try to slam them shut in a hurry and they bounce back. I had little experience with this since I was more of a nudge-closed kind of girl, but it seemed a likely scenario.
And why had he tried to close that drawer?
I opened it the whole way, and something rolled against the metal base. Pulling the files close to the front revealed an empty space with a sphere the size of my fist lying inside. I caught my breath at the unmistakable whisper of power.
A hidden Fae artifact. Oh, my.
The mother of all smiles began to spread across my face, and my chest expanded beyond reason, all giddiness and glee. My first Artifact Hunter find. Mine.
I reached inside the drawer but hesitated before touching the ball. The sleeping potion that got the guy on the floor had to be related to this artifact. Would there be another if I took it out of the drawer? But the smell wasn’t as strong here as by the door. No, it was more likely the guy on the floor had triggered some kind of trap, possibly related to the broken ward on the door, and scared someone might find the artifact on his person, had hidden it before collapsing. Which would make the artifact his, not mine. But then, I assured myself, all artifacts had been someone else’s before being rediscovered.
I would return it if need be, of course, but for now, there was no point in destroying my Artifact Hunter fantasy. With this in mind, I took the ball out of the drawer.
It was beautiful—a smooth, light-gray sphere warm to the touch with a series of green lines forming patterns on its surface. Not etched, but part of the material. It didn’t feel like metal or stone, but something more vital, like heavy polished wood.
“What shall I call you?” I purred in a low voice, rotating the ball while tracing the patterns. All Fae artifacts deserved a name. The grander the name, the more dangerous the artifact, the more stories would be written about it. Not to worry, though, nobody was dumb enough to name a Worldender or Extinctionpleaser.
Having Fae blood in me, no matter how distilled, meant I could activate his ball if I wished to do so.
I didn’t. Whatever this thing did—release some kind of power, become some kind of weapon, be a conduit for other types of magic—it would claim a toll. With all Fae magical things, you’d better make damn sure you knew exactly what you were giving up before paying it.
A sharp inhale in the eerily silent room almost made me drop the ball. Clutching it to my chest, I spun toward the door and froze.
The man from the lobby stood there. His dark eyes went from the guy on the floor to me, to the artifact, to me, to the guy on the floor, and back to me. By then my heart had lodged itself in my throat, and my eyes were about to fall out they were open so wide.
There was only one thing to do.
I gave him a smile so bright it was about to scorch everything in sight. “Hello! Do you work here?”