by Kami Garcia
Liv’s expression softened. She glanced at the strange-looking device on her wrist. Link hadn’t seen her selenometer in so long that he’d almost forgotten about it. It looked like a crazy black watch, but Link knew it measured all kinds of stuff, like the moon’s gravitational pull.
She’d used it before, when things were almost this grim. The sight of it brought back all kinds of crazy, terrible memories.
He looked away.
“You and Ridley should never have gone to New York. I had a bad feeling about it from the beginning,” Liv said. “I never should’ve helped you fake that acceptance letter.” Liv had been a key part of Link’s Escape from Gatlin plan, especially the part that involved a little forgery and the invention of a fictional Bible college named Georgia Redeemer.
Link turned red.
“Wait a minute,” Floyd said. “What was Link supposed to do, just give up his dream? Ridley basically sold him in a card game, and Link didn’t even know it. It’s not like she’s an angel. I watched it happen.”
“Excuse me?” Liv stared at Floyd for a long moment, and the Illusionist seemed to shrink back in her chair a little. “Who’s the girl?”
It was the same question John had asked.
Two questions, really.
Who is this Dark Caster and why is she with you?
Link didn’t answer, and Floyd tensed. “The girl has a name. Two, actually. If you want to get technical.”
“Oh, I always want to get technical,” Liv said.
Link put his hand on her arm. As much as he appreciated the concern, it wasn’t helping. “Come on, Liv. Freakin’ out on Floyd won’t help us find Rid any faster. I need your A-game right now.”
“I’m not freaking out. I’m just stating the facts.” Liv looked like she was about to cry, which was when Link realized none of this emotion was about Floyd at all. Liv was worried about Ridley, too.
John slid his arm around her shoulder, giving her a sympathetic squeeze.
Link looked at Liv and John. “It’s okay, you guys. Floyd is our friend from New York—Rid’s and mine. She wants to help, and right now, we need all the help we can get.”
Liv looked away.
Link tugged on Floyd’s arm. “Give Liv a break. One of her best friends is missin’.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Floyd shrugged sheepishly. “I know. I mean, how you all feel. Ridley’s a pain in the butt, but she’s our pain in the butt, right?”
Link almost fell over. It was pretty much the nicest thing Floyd had ever said about Rid, and he knew what it cost her to say it.
“Well, she’s certainly not anyone else’s.” Liv sighed.
Link smiled, in spite of everything. It already felt better, just knowing he had John and Liv back by his side.
“Are you guys positive Silas Ravenwood has her?” Liv asked him, getting back to business, the gears in her head already turning.
Link shook his head. “No. I mean, I didn’t see him take her or anythin’. But one of his trucks hit the Beater, and now she’s gone.”
Liv frowned. “Do we know where Silas might be keeping her?”
“We’re pretty sure he’s running things from somewhere near the labs. That’s why we need John’s help.”
John looked sick at the mention of the place where he grew up and Abraham experimented on him, but he just nodded.
Liv sighed and took out her little red journal. She began scribbling furiously, most likely writing down everything that had just happened, if only for the records the Keepers were responsible for maintaining. Who knew? Link could never track where her brain was headed next. When she finished, she closed the book. “We need to get going.”
“What do you mean, we?” John looked at her, sounding shocked. “You have classes.”
“I can email my professors and tell the Keepers overseeing my training that there’s an emergency at home,” she said. “Where you go, I go. That’s the deal.”
She held up her hand. Her ring was dead now, just like John’s and Link’s. The sight of the colorless rings made her point even clearer.
“Liv,” John said quietly. “We’re talking about Silas Ravenwood. It’s too dangerous.”
She pocketed her journal. “That’s why you need me. And that’s why I’m coming.”
He shook his head. “Liv, please.” The way John said her name, the way he looked at her—Link could hear it all in his voice. The crazy feelings John had for her. All the crazy fears about what could happen to her.
Been there, Link thought.
I’m still there. Still crazy. Still afraid.
It never gets any better. Not when you love someone so much it breaks you.
Liv stood up and tucked her pencil behind her ear. “We can argue about it on the way.”
CHAPTER 6: NOX
South of Heaven
Less than an hour later, Nox stood in front of the Heavens. The name of the high-rise was a cruel joke on the Caster junkies squatting inside. Mortals might have invented street drugs, but Dark Casters had perfected them.
This was where the stitched yellow sun on the embroidered pillow had sent him.
Straight to the source of the Sunshine itself.
Sunshine was the Syndicate’s latest achievement: a designer narcotic synthesized in Syndicate-run kitchens all over the Underground—a toxic combination of opiates and Dark magic. Casters who tried the stuff were hooked after one hit. It was the reason Nox had banned Sunshine from his clubs, Dark Casters and their demands notwithstanding. Sunshine led to trouble, and pain.
Nox had never been interested in drugs himself. His only addictions were power and control, at least until he met Ridley. Whether or not there should be a twelve-step program for getting away from the pull of that particular Siren was another matter entirely.
The thought of what Silas might be doing to her, if she was still alive, sent him through the revolving metal door and into the building.
Get in and get out. For her.
The square atrium on the other side gave Nox a clear view of all eighteen floors above him. Each floor was identical. Numbered metal doors lined the walls behind the broken metal railings overlooking the atrium. In another life, the Heavens had been a low-rent tenement building, until the Syndicate took over.
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 infi
nite 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.
When I finally peered through the glass, I saw that rows of hospital beds lined the walls, each one outfitted with medical equipment and glowing monitors.
Casters and Incubuses were lying, unmoving, in the beds. The only clue that they were still alive was the lines zigzagging across the monitors.
A boy was lying in the last bed. He was about my age, and unlike the others, he was awake. There was no mistaking the expression on his face as he twisted and writhed in the hospital bed. This kid was in serious pain.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” The voice came from behind me, and I almost jumped out of my skin. A skinny, nervous-looking Caster in a white lab coat stood behind me.
“I—I’m lost,” I stammered, praying he’d believe me.
“This isn’t a place you want to get lost. You need to get out of here before anyone else sees you, or you’ll end up like him.” He pointed at the boy twisting in the bed.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“You’re not too smart, are you? Unless you want him experimenting on you next, leave now.”
The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, and the doctor—or whatever he was—panicked. He opened a closet behind me and shoved me inside.
“There’s someone out here,” a harsh voice said from the other side of the door.
“Relax. It’s just the Chemist,” another man said.
“What are you doing outta the lab?” the harsh voice snapped.
“I—I needed a moment,” the Chemist stammered.
The other man laughed. “Can’t stomach your job?”
“I was told this was a genetics project. Putting a kill switch in a child and experimenting on Casters isn’t what I signed on for,” the Chemist responded.
“You signed on for whatever Abraham Ravenwood says you did. Now get back in there.”
I waited for what felt like hours before I crawled out of the closet, and I promised myself I’d never go back there again.
Nox shook off the memory as he climbed the last flight of stairs.
I’ll find you, Ridley. I promise. Just be alive when I get there.
The eighteenth floor was definitely no penthouse. With its broken railings and missing doors leading into uninhabitable apartments, it looked like the whole floor was in the process of being demolished. Only one door remained intact, with the number thirteen spray-painted across the front.
He paused at the door, praying the Chemist was alive inside. If the rest of the eighteenth floor was any indication, it was doubtful. He banged on the door and waited.
Nothing.
Screw this, Nox thought, turning the knob. It rattled a few times, and he gave the door a hard shove. The rotted wood gave way, and the stench hit his nostrils the moment the door opened—the smell of spoiled food and mold and rot.
The Chemist had to be dead. Nothing short of a decomposing corpse could smell this bad. But Nox had to know for sure. He crossed the threshold just as an old man in a filthy lab coat turned the corner.
Nox did a few mental calculations. The Chemist couldn’t have been more than forty years old the first time Nox saw him, but the man standing before him now looked closer to seventy than fifty. His fingertips were burned, a result of smoking from one homemade aluminum pipe too many.
The man in the lab coat gave him the once-over. “I can cook up whatever you’ve got and double it, if you give me a taste.” The man swayed on his feet and reached out for the wall to steady himself.
“I’m not interested in getting high,” Nox said, disgusted. “I’m looking for the Chemist.”
The man in the dingy lab coat backed away clumsily. “Sorry, don’t know anyone by that name.”
Nox pointed at his coat. “You sure about that?”
It took a moment for the junkie to realize he was wearing his lab coat. “This thing? I found it down on the first floor.” The Chemist’s voice sounded much younger than his appearance suggested, and Nox had seen enough addicts to know how drugs aged a person. He also knew what made junkies talk. He held up another hundred-do
llar bill.
The Chemist’s eyes widened.
“I need some information, and I’m willing to pay for it.” What was left of this guy wasn’t worth wasting Nox’s powers on.
The desperate man shoved his hands in his pockets, practically salivating. “What is it you need to know?”
Not so fast. I have to be sure.
Nox pulled his hand back, and the junkie’s eyes followed the bill. “You can’t help me,” he said. “Only the Chemist can help me, and you’re not him. Right?”
He could almost see the internal battle waging in the man’s mind.
“What kind of information does this Chemist have that’s so important?” the man asked.
“One thing. The location of the lab where he used to work.”
“No.” The man shook his head. “You should forget whatever you know about that place.”
“Are you saying you know where it is?” Nox asked.
The Chemist’s eyes darted to the doorway. He ran his hands through his hair, almost compulsively, like he was trying to pull it out. “We shouldn’t be talking about this. If the wrong people heard you asking these kind of questions, they’d kill you—and me.”
“You let me worry about that.”
“No. That’s how people die. That’s how everyone dies.” His eyes moved restlessly, avoiding Nox.
“If you’re the person I think you are, it’s a little late to develop a conscience.”
The Chemist disappeared into what was left of a tiny galley kitchen. He rummaged through the empty drawers, desperately searching for something—most likely a fix.
Nox sighed, waving the money between his fingers. “You need this, don’t you? Tell me what I want to know.”
When the man realized there was nothing left in the kitchen except for a few balls of tinfoil and a half dozen plastic lighters, he began searching the cupboards, one at a time. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nox moved toward the Chemist and slammed one of the cupboards shut just inches from the junkie’s face. “I know what you were doing in Abraham’s labs. Experimenting on Casters and Incubuses—and that kid.”
