Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
acelynn
The alley behind the Queen’s Table was quiet as a grave and just as welcoming.
Even though the sun was barely up, it already felt like I had stepped into an oven.
The air was thick with the stale taste of last night’s beer and the sour bite of pee.
To the left of the warped emergency exit door, there was an outdoor AC unit working overtime, humming like a sleeping animal.
Across from the door was a large industrial trash can that smelled like it hadn’t been picked up in weeks.
I kept close to the shadows, even though I knew there were no cameras overhead. I had checked yesterday when I took the garbage out at the end of my shift.
Watson’s words still lingered in the back of my mind—There’s a basement. Vince keeps the hemlock stocked in there. Don’t get caught.
I moved farther down the alleyway, coming upon the two stainless steel doors that almost blended into the darkness the brick walls cast over them.
The padlock was fresh, the brass clean from the constant handling, which meant this wasn’t a forgotten item.
Someone had been down here recently. But they weren’t there now.
I knew Kaius and Vince were gone for the day.
He had told me last night that they had to make a trip down to the border to negotiate the movement of the Muze that was being brought in.
It was a larger one than normal, and I knew Kaius didn’t trust anyone to handle it but himself.
Astoria was with Nolan. They had left for his house to try to get some sort of sleep before coming back here to open the bar later tonight.
And Josie…well, I didn’t actually know where she was, but it wasn’t in the bar or one of the dorms. She had made it clear that she didn’t have a room here, but wouldn’t elaborate on where she called home.
I slipped the pick from my pocket, the metal cold and familiar against my fingers.
Working one end into the lock, I coaxed the tumblers into place until I heard a faint click.
A sharp thrill rushed through me as I undid the chains around the handle and eased them open, the hinges moaning in protest until they were just wide enough to slip inside. The stairs dropped into pure darkness.
The air was heavy, cool, and faintly damp.
The mix of rust, dust, and something sharper, like leaves or bitter roots, filled my nose.
I switched on my phone’s flashlight, letting the beam of light carve out a path for me through the dark.
I reached the bottom of the stairs. The basement was small, with a long wood workspace table taking up most of the space.
Surrounding the table were shelves lined with glass bottles and small jars filled with strange substances.
Handwritten labels curled at edges, indicating what was in each container.
Powdered nightshade. Belladonna extract. Snake venom.
My eyes scanned each row, taking in every deadly thing just in the small space. I turned to look over my shoulder, coming upon another steel door. It was clear that it led into a man-made room. A place where their victims went to die.
Finally, after a moment, I found what I was looking for.
Three shelves down, dead center, was a full row of the beautiful purple liquid I was searching for.
My pulse quickened because I was coming to realize that this wasn’t just about replenishing my supply.
It wasn’t about building immunity. This was protection.
I knew what a lethal dose looked like, and if I needed to protect myself, I had a means to do it.
My fingers brushed against the vials before I began to gather four of them, making sure to take from the back to hide the fact that any were missing from the naked eye.
Tucking them into the pockets of my jeans for safekeeping, I made sure they were secure.
My skin was itching to get out of here before someone came down those stairs.
But I had to see if any of their other sins were hidden here.
I moved toward the metal door behind me, pushing through it and coming into the room of horrors.
The walls were pure concrete, and there was a rusty drain in the center of the room.
At least I prayed that the color was from rust, but I had a sick feeling it wasn’t.
A single folding chair sat over top of the drain, the legs bolted into the ground to ensure the person sitting in it would stay put.
I gagged at the stench emanating from the room.
It reminded me of the smell of burning flesh.
Stumbling out of the room, I scanned the space behind the table, coming upon crates stamped with what appeared to be false shipping labels.
As I picked one up, I could hear the faint rattling of loose ammunition.
A battered metal filing cabinet, worn from age, was pressed into the corner of the room.
It was the only thing that didn’t look like it belonged in this place.
I moved quickly, ripping open the top drawer.
My flashlight’s beam caught on something scrawled across the top drawer in red paint.
A spade.
The sight hit me low in my gut, a cold recognition that made my hands clench.
I plucked the manila folder out from the crammed space.
While this folder was relatively small, others were so full that the seams were splitting.
A few of them bore names I didn’t know, but all I cared about was the one with my family name.
Inside the folder, they were separated by tags.
One for me, one for my brother, and one for each of my parents.
I tabbed through them, crime scene photos I had never seen spilling into the beam of my flashlight.
Angles of the charred house I hadn’t been allowed to re-enter.
A bloody handprint was smeared across the white fridge in the kitchen.
My mother’s fingers were visible beneath a linen sheet.
My throat tightened, but I forced myself to flip through every single page.
Witness every single image and burn them into my brain.
My family’s deaths would not be forgotten.
The police reports were riddled with black bars—entire paragraphs redacted. It made my blood boil. What were they trying to cover up? Witness statements had large red stamps across them that read “WITHHELD.” At the back of my father’s tab, there was a single loose photo.
Detective Parsons was standing in my family’s front yard the night of the massacre, a sick smile spread across his face. My chest went cold. It felt like someone had ripped my heart from it. I slammed the file shut, barely registering that my breathing had gone shallow and quick.
A faint creak sounded from the bar above.
I froze, every muscle locking up. Before I could even think, I was racing up the stairs and out of the basement.
My movements were sloppy as I shut the double metal doors tight and locked them back into place.
Then I fled from the alley, not looking back to see if I had been caught.