Page 91 of Malice

“Let’s go.”

Chapter

Thirty-Nine

The warehouse looms ahead, and it’s like we’re about to walk into the same nightmare, only it’s worse this time. We pause just outside, knowing there’s no time for hesitation. We have to act, and we have to act now.

The place is in bad shape. It was completely engulfed in flames not that long ago, and only the main structure of the metal building remains. It can’t be safe to go inside, yet we cross the gravel lot without a second thought.

The administrative section of the building burned completely to the ground, leaving only the garage bays in the back. The particular section we’re heading toward holds onto memories—taunting and teasing us the closer we get.

Suddenly, the hunter who jammed the needle into my arm back at the store stumbles out from behind the shell of a burnt-out delivery truck.

His throat has been slashed—neat and clean, in a single line. Antonio and I recognize it instantly: a ritual kill. Vivian must have needed his blood. The same way Marcus Henry needed Antonio’s.

The reanimated corpse narrows in on us, but doesn’t attack.

“I think he’s their watchdog,” Antonio says, pulling his knife from his belt. “If we kill it, it’ll alert them.”

“What do you have in mind?” I ask.

“I’ll distract it.”

He steps forward, spinning the knife in his hand, visibly threatening the corpse. It moves with impressive speed for a dead guy, but Antonio is faster.

He takes off, leading it away from the warehouse.

I pause, listening for anything that might give away what’s happening inside, then move closer, ducking behind the semi for cover.

Voices echo faintly from inside the warehouse but are too distant, too distorted to make out.

The mark on my palm begins to burn. If the demon knows I’m here… it’s too late. Silently, I move around the truck, mapping the area as I go. I need a way in that keeps me out of sight and away from the jagged metal edges left behind from the fire.

One of the things the fire marshal couldn’t explain was how contained the fire had been. Because it wasn’t a normal fire. The damage stayed localized to the center of the building, not spreading the way it should have. The rest of the structure only burned because it was deliberately lit.

I move forward with practiced, careful steps, slipping silently toward a second-story window. Climbing up, I pull myself inside and land softly on the balcony that overlooks the warehouse floor below.

The door behind me is burned through. The office beyond it is destroyed—charred furniture, collapsed ceiling, debris scattered everywhere. It makes moving difficult, but it also gives me cover. It’s dark and suffocating, with the smell of smoke still clinging to everything.

I can hear Vivian and Marco below, out of sight but unmistakably there. They’re trying to call for Vaelric. I hold my hand out in front of me, testing to see if I can use magic. A small ball of energy flickers to life in my palm before I close my fingers, extinguishing it. Good.

I move forward, peering through a break in the ceiling, trying to get a visual on them. My foot catches on something and I nearly trip. I catch myself at the last second, looking down. A satchel. A vial of blood rolls free, and I throw my hand out, using magic to stop it from clattering against a metal beam. Even though I know old blood won’t work for the ritual, I don’t want the Order having mine ever again.

Glancing behind me, making sure I’m still alone, I crouch and pick up the vial. I’m about to shove it into my pocket when I see the name.

It’s not mine.

My stomach drops and I open the bag, finding more vials. Each labeled with a different name and they’re much more recent than the vial of my blood they used. Some are from just weeks ago. There’s a notebook inside the satchel along with the vials. I pull it out slowly, my chest tightening as I flip it open and see names. Dozens of them with notes scribbled beside each one.

My heart climbs into my throat as I flip back to the beginning, scanning. Experiments. Failures. Half the names are crossed out, which can only mean one thing.

They didn’t survive.

I keep flipping pages, knowing my name will be in here but still feeling like I’m going to throw up when I see it. My name, but it’s underlined three times with a star drawn beside it, indicating to look at the note written at the bottom on the page.

Most promising subject. High resilience.

I stare at it, reading it over and over again, but it doesn’t fully sink in. I wasn’t the only one the Order kidnapped and ran tests on. I’m just the only one who survived. Blinking, I look up and realize the whole room has fallen silent.