Chapter Fourteen Damien #2
The door had just shut when two figures stalked down the hall intersecting mine. I held my breath, thankful their focus remained ahead. It was when I glimpsed the backs of their heads that I nearly dropped the damn box.
Hayes. He spoke with some lord I didn’t recognize, which wasn’t a surprise seeing as I wasn’t exactly part of their society.
They paused before an unmarked door lacking a fancy golden plaque or any signage at all. I leaned around the corner, clearly visible by this point.
“I will uphold his end of the deal,” the other man muttered, clearly irritated. “We’ve all had trouble.” He ran a hand through his graying hair, looking at anything but his companion. Sweat beaded across his brow.
Hayes sighed heavily. “No excuses,” he said, motioning to the open door.
The lord glared before they each vanished inside.
“We can’t afford another error. Not with so much on the damned line.
You of all people should know how serious this is.
If we don’t make it appear seamless, it all goes to hell, and then we’ll be hanging on the palace walls.
So get your act together, and uphold your end. ”
What was Hayes doing here of all places?
I stood there holding a stolen box of records, praying that Wren continued to work her magic.
I continued to wait until the two bastards eventually exited the room three minutes later.
And then I carefully set down the box and, on silent feet, trailed after.
Not once did they look over their shoulders, their heavy boots echoing in the hall as they made their way to the back exit—which was odd all by itself and required a very exclusive key I had no hope of replicating.
Either way, their lack of awareness granted me a chance to catch the door to the chamber they’d been talking in before it clicked into place and locked.
A relieved exhale left me when I slipped inside.
A larger space, not unlike the last. Boxes occupied every square inch, some of the papers slipping free of the lids. I didn’t have time to waste. Wren would need to charm the pants off the assistant to get me out of here, so I had to be quick in my perusal.
Low-turned gas lamps hung from silver brackets, illuminating the space in an ethereal light. The air itself smelled different from in the other space, more like peppermint and some other scent I couldn’t name. Colder, too, I thought, rubbing my hands to keep the chill at bay.
Grabbing the closest box, I flipped the lid and peered inside. The papers were organized by names and dates, though these weren’t dated too far back. Pinching a sheet, I slid it out and held it to the light as a prickling feeling slithered down my spine.
Matilda Canmore.
I knew that name from somewhere, didn’t I?
I stared at her name, the odd prickling growing worse the longer I looked.
Wait—
My thumb and forefinger gripped the page so hard I feared I’d ruin it. Matilda Canmore. The laundry worker who had been missing for months now. Clipped to the page was a black-and-white photo. Her eyes shut, her face pale.
Almost as if she were dead.
My breathing picked up as I scanned the page, my hands slick with sweat.
Matilda Canmore
Age: 21
Occupation: Laundry worker
Death Date: January 23
Notes: Matilda had little to no effect, and was therefore replaced by another. She lasted three minutes before succumbing to death. Barely anything of importance extracted.
A bright light blinded me seconds before an image flashed before my eyes.
I bit my tongue at the assault, even as the light softened, allowing me to see a woman I’d never met.
Her face contorted with agony, her shouts mumbled pleas.
Fuck, her screams rang in my ears, so loudly, I feared I’d burst an eardrum.
I managed to open my eyes.
The cold gray room greeted me; the woman and her shouts absent.
Even the ringing in my ears had faded.
Whatever I’d just experienced had to be a result of lack of sleep or the sheer fact that I had snuck into this building and could be arrested at any moment. That, and I stared at a dead woman.
Still, my hands shook. My vision blurred. I didn’t understand what I read. What Matilda had to do with Cameron Hayes’s interest in this room. No idea what the notes meant, or why they’d taken the time to record and photograph her.
I took another page.
Henry Windsor
Age: 24
Occupation: Butcher’s assistant
Death Date: February 10
Notes: Extremely agitated individual. Needed to be sedated. Successful procedure—three years divided.
Died five minutes after extraction.
Just as a man’s blond head and young face took form behind my eyes, a door slammed in the hall, making me jump. Sweat trickled down my brow, a droplet landing on the closed eyes of Henry, his body rigid and lifeless.
Dead.
He was dead.
I glanced up. If this box matched the others—filled with missing people from the Void…
Voices mingled together and a hoarse laugh filtered down the hallway. I ground my teeth and tucked the two pages behind the back of my shirt and into my waistband. Since my mirror ceased working, I was extra careful peeking out into the corridor once the noise faded. No one lingered.
Even as I ran the same way I’d come, I felt the sudden urge to return to that horrid room. To study every single photograph and read the cruel “notes” posted at the bottom of the page. A single page worth an entire life.
Three years, Henry’s file had read. Successful procedure.
What the fuck were they doing to those people?
I’d returned to the Gifts section, only to discover my box missing. Some poor worker likely placed it back inside, safe and sound. I didn’t have time to grab it again. Not with Wren still out there.
If she hadn’t abandoned me yet.
Then laughter echoed, addictive and cheery, from beyond the double doors leading to the lobby, and I knew she hadn’t. A foreign wave of relief cooled my insides. I’d taken longer than expected, yet Wren had made do, sticking to her promise.
I leaned against the door and peeked through a small gap. A pleasant buzz shot through me, and I looked down, finding my hands gradually vanishing from sight. The invisibility trailed up my arms and continued, until eventually, my body disappeared.
Maybe I’d been right about the closeness to her being connected to my mirror—which would prove to be an utter pain in the ass.
Nevertheless, she stayed, doing her best to seduce the sweating front desk attendant, his cheeks rosy with shyness. She leaned toward him, her hand on his chest as she laughed at something he must’ve said. It couldn’t have been that funny, but she acted like it had been hilarious.
Invisible to everyone, including her, I was struck in the gut when she shifted her chin ever so slightly, and for just an instant, it felt like our eyes met, her stare directly locking onto mine as if drawn to me.
She shook her head and returned to the man, drawing his focus to the far end of the lobby, where water and tea were laid out on an elegant mahogany console.
Of course, he busied himself pouring her a cup of tea, and she angled her body so he wouldn’t see me should I reappear.
Somehow, she’d sensed me.
When I pushed on the front doors, eliciting a creak, Wren giggled, masking the sound and allowing me my escape.
Fresh air blasted across my damp face, the chill like a slap. I debated bolting and making a run for the Void without telling her what I’d seen. She might go running back to her father and tell him everything. She might turn me in.
But…fuck me. My gut wasn’t screaming at me to run. It didn’t beg me to leave her without a trace. Something deep, deep down told me she wasn’t like her parents.
Wren was rare. And maybe rare was exactly what I needed in order to get to the truth.
I’d trust my instincts; instincts that had more to do with a feeling. Because back in that alleyway, her scent had jogged an old, nearly forgotten memory, the threads unraveling until I put all the pieces together.
The fact remained, no matter if I told Wren or not—while I’d failed to get the names I needed, I uncovered something else.
Something people had been killed over.
Something I might be killed over.