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“Oh yeah?” Darien’s tone was threatening. “Then what are they?”
“Keep secrets from each other and make jokes about your girl’s perfect pussy.”
Darien lunged across the truck. He punched Malakai in the face, fist glancing off his cheek as the Reaper ducked his head to the right. An open palm smacked Darien in the face, flattening his nose as Malakai pushed him back—
“Stop, stop, stop!” Malakai shouted.
“Get your hand off my face or I’ll bite it—”
“Look!”
Gripping Malakai by the jacket, jaw clenched with anger, Darien followed his line of sight.
A van was crawling down the road below, the glow of its headlights bleaching the pavement that was riddled with potholes.
Darien let go of Malakai with a shove that knocked the Reaper’s head into his window. “Showtime,” he said quietly, placing a hand on the steering wheel and his chin on his knuckles, watching closely as the van lurched to a stop right out front of the warehouse.
In under five minutes, the shifts had switched. The hellsehers that had been guarding the perimeter of the building piled into the van and drove away, the new group assuming their positions. There was less of them now—only six, which would make this plan a cinch.
“Ready?” Darien turned to Malakai to see him dripping Venom into his eyes, head tipped back against his seat.
He put the cap back on, scrubbing away the single dark tear that dripped like ink down his cheek, and offered the bottle to Darien. “Sure you don’t want any?” Black webbing spread through the skin around his eyes and on his temples.
“I’m sure.” He cracked open his door. “I’ve got enough salts in my system to keep me floating till dawn.”
They got out of the truck, closing the doors softly behind them. Mortifer had cloaked the truck tonight with spells that made the black paint blend into the night, making it harder for someone to spot the vehicle if they were to drive by. The thought put Darien at ease as they crept down the road, sticking to the dense shadows where demons picked at old bones. Glowing eyes watched them from the dark but made no move to approach. The predators here were tiered, and the ones on the bottom rung were smart enough to know their place.
When they were nearing the warehouse, Darien clicked his tongue, motioning for Malakai to take the men on the left while he went in on the right.
In under three minutes, they had downed all the men, rendering them unconscious instead of killing them. There were cameras mounted on every corner, but Darien paid them no mind; earlier that night, at Hell’s Gate, Tanner had hacked the security system, and Darien knew he was currently following through with masking the live feed with old footage. No one would see. No one would know.
Malakai came around the left-front corner of the building just as Darien came from the right. They met each other at the front doors, skin and clothes taking on an eerie green hue in the floodlights.
Darien took out his phone and pulled up the same security software Tanner was currently watching. The numbers ticked down on the screen, Ancient Reunerian that showed precisely when they would be able to open the door. No locks were on the latches. Locks weren't needed if you could afford the best spells.
He murmured, “Three, two, one…”
When zero flashed on the screen, Darien and Malakai rolled up the metal door, stepping through the now-empty area where a wall of spells had previously buzzed.
Inside the warehouse were stacks upon stacks of identical silver briefcases. There had to be over two hundred of them.
Boots clapped on cement as they walked into the big open space, using their Sight to check for any spells or other deterrents for thieves.
“Since when do Blood Staves get their own shiny briefcases?” Malakai asked, his husky voice echoing.
Darien stopped in front of one of the stacks. They were carefully placed, not a scratch on them. He pulled one off the top and set it on the ground, crouching down before it. As he flipped open the latches and lifted the lid, Malakai came over, squatting down beside him.
Darien breathed, “What the hell is this shit?”
Inside the briefcase, nestled in the hollows of a velvet protective casing, were seven cylinders made of glass. The substance inside them bubbled like soda, each cylinder containing a different shade. Red, orange, yellow, green, purple, white, and black. There was less of the last two than there were the others; the black and white tubes hardly had anything in them.
“To answer your question,” Malakai began, “I have no idea what this shit is.” He turned his head to look at Darien, hair swaying. “But it looks like we’ve got an even bigger problem than we thought.”
These weren’t Blood Staves. He didn’t even know if they were weapons at all.
Malakai leaned in for a closer look. “Do you think they’re drugs?”
Darien shrugged. “If Gaven’s selling weapons and drugs, then the MPU is going to hit the jackpot when we throw him behind bars.”
