Wyatt and I grew quieter and quieter as we went deeper and deeper down the winding steps.
Finally, we stopped at the first landing.
One of the Rogelios –maybe the first?– had dubbed the levels in the dungeon as the levels of Hell.
Maybe it was fitting at one time, but now we didn’t actually have any prisoners here, as far as I knew. Only those convicted of treason could be kept in an actual dungeon, and nothing like that had happened in nearly a century. My father got close, but we never were able to prove he’d been the one to try to kill me.
“Well?” Wyatt whispered.
I shrugged. “Let’s start checking doors.”
There was nothing to see for about twenty minutes. Wyatt and I carefully peeked into each cell, and only a few rats blinked back at us.
It gave me the fucking creeps. Who the hell had let us play down here when we were kids?
I was beginning to think Alejandro had wanted me dead a lot longer than my eighteenth birthday.
Just as we were about to give up, some shadows spilled from the walls, then danced along the floor. One seemed to skip around a corner, then came back and prodded at me.
“Fucking weird,” Wyatt whispered harshly.
The shadow seemed offended.
I glared at Wyatt, then began walking backward, following the shadow. I was ready to waste the rest of his night if I had to, I was sick of his attitude toward the shadows.
“Rafe,” Wyatt whispered harshly, and then froze as we rounded the corner.
This section of the dungeon looked visibly…newer. Or at least better kept.
The walls and floors were clean, and there were electric lights on the walls instead of the sconces from the last hall.
A feeling of dread washed over me. My stomach began to churn as I made my way forward. I heard the softest beeping sound in the distance, on the other side of the wall down another set of stairs. A shadow dipped down the nearest set of stairs and sprang back out quickly.
“Rafe,” Wyatt whispered. “Wait–”
There was no waiting. This was it. Whatever we were here to see, it was down these stairs, I just knew it. So I drew closer, even as Wyatt hissed at me to stop. My feet moved me of their own accord as more dread filled my stomach.
I knew what I was about to see. Somehow, deep down, I’d known about this place. I’d known what was kept here. Shafer wasn’t speaking cryptically, and neither was Marion. I was beginning to think they were two of the most truthful people I knew outside of my budding family Chain with Skye.
Wyatt followed me even as his panic increased. It was as if I could hear his heartbeat pounding alongside mine as we quickly descended the spooky steps into an even cleaner section of the dungeon.
Our breathing was hushed in the heavy silence, our footsteps echoing loudly. We arrived at the first of several steel doors, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that I wasn’t about to see what I thought I was about to see.
My heart sank as I opened my eyes, peering through the little window on the steel door.
Inside, in the center of the room, was exactly what I didn’t want to see.
A hospital bed.
With dozens of wires attached to a frail, ghostly figure that was nearly lost in the sheets.
Shadows slipped into the electric lock system, frying the passcode box before the door unlocked, and more shadows pulled it open.
Wyatt was frozen in the doorway as I made my way forward, coming to a stop at the bedside of one very, very old man; so old he gave Shafer a run for his money. He looked like some kind of spookydecoration. Inhuman. So frail and thin that just looking at him felt like it could break a bone.
His green eyes were open, owlishly staring up at me while the heart rate monitor began to beep faster. I glanced at the monitors, nearly cringing when I saw how high his numbers were, then looked back to his face. His breathing rattled again, and one of his eerily thin hands reached for the oxygen machine attached to his face.
I shook my head, gently stopping him with a hand to his clammy wrist. I glanced at Wyatt, who’d finally made his way into the room. He looked aghast, somewhere between disbelief and horror as he moved forward. He placed a hand on the man’s forehead, wincing as he got a read on him.
