“None of what we are doing is exactly legal right now, Acelynn. What do you need?” he asked, eyes sharpening as he waited for my reply.
“Hemlock.” I didn’t bother to beat around the bush. “I would prefer it in liquid form like the Knights use, but I understand if you can only get it in the plant form.”
For a second, something unreadable passed over his face, a mixture between concern and calculation.
“I don’t think I can get you either. The plant doesn’t grow in the desert, and I am pretty sure the only one who has the facilities to do so is Vincent,” Watson said.
I cursed under my breath.
He ran a hand over his jaw. “But there has been talk about a basement under the Queen’s Table. It’s where they keep the supply for when they need it. No one gets in unless they are trusted, and even then, it is rare that you see anyone but Kaius, Nolan, or Vincent emerge from there.”
My thoughts flashed back to the first night I met Astoria. She had mentioned the basement and probably didn’t think I would think anything of the comment. But it made sense. Where else did they go when they wanted the torture to be long and drawn out? There was no way they could interrogate someone behind the bar without getting caught.
“The Knights stash a lot down there,” Watson continued. “If they don’t want the world to see it, then it’s hidden below ground. Poisons, relics, old records—all the Knights’ dirty little secrets stored for their eyes only.”
“And you don’t know where the entrance would be?”
He shook his head. “No. I have only heard whispers of it from other detectives. But it is somewhere under the bar. The otherbunker is in their nightclub, the Excalibur, and I don’t think they store even a fraction of their items there in case of a raid.”
My fingers drummed against my thigh, mind wandering to the secrets that the basement held in it. I knew I had to get in there to take the hemlock, but maybe there were also answers I needed stored away there too. I smiled devilishly at Watson. “Sounds like a fun field trip.”
His eyes narrowed. “If you go looking for the basement, make sure you are alone. I mean, bar completely empty. If you get caught, you might never get back out.”
With that, he headed for the door, leaving behind the faint scent of rain-soaked wool and the uncomfortable knowledge that the line between ally and enemy was thinner than I once thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
acelynn
The alleybehind 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 thebrick 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, comingupon 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.
