“That’s the address,” Shane says, pointing to a section of a brick building about thirty feet in front of us. We pass a tiny convenience store and an even tinier restaurant serving lamb and chicken kabobs. A long line of people blocks its entrance, but they’re not waiting to order anything. They’re waiting to get into the white-walled building just ahead. By the way the humans are dressed, it has to be a club or a rock concert. I really don’t get the girls’ clothing choices. It’s cold out here, and they’re all dressed in short skirts and skimpy tops.
Shane stops before we reach the front of the line, staring down at his phone before looking back up again. A metal door is set into the plain brick wall. It’s dented and has orange rust stains at the top and a streak of something black and sticky-looking in the middle. It’s the kind of door you don’t touch because you’re afraid of what you’ll find on the other side.
I look up at the second story. The four evenly spaced windows are dark. The building is probably deserted—completely deserted. If the remnants were here, they’d have a light of some sort, either a candle burning or a magically lit glass orb. We’ve come this far, though, and I need to be certain Paige isn’t on the other side of the door.
When I step forward, Aren stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Behind me,” he says.
I was going first just so I could get us through the line of humans, but he parts the crowd with his shoulder. He’s careful not to let his skin touch anyone else’s. A few girls protest, thinking that we’re cutting in line, but Aren flashes them a smile, and says, “Just passing through.”
Of course, they don’t protest then. One of them even returns his smile. She reaches for his arm and says in a heavy British accent, “No need to hurry off.”
He barely manages to dodge her touch. I’m beside him the next instant, and the girl’s expression turns sour. My action was more to keep them separate than to claim him as mine, but I don’t mind if that’s the way she’s seeing this.
Her gaze shifts to Trev, but before I have to rescue the other fae, the line moves. She forgets about us the second she turns away.
We reach the door, and Aren looks down at me. “Are you sure you want to go inside?”
I could let Aren go in without me. He could do a quick search and be out here in no time. But if I’m wrong and the remnants are actually here and one of them happens to be an illusionist, Aren and Trev won’t see an attack coming. I won’t let them be vulnerable like that.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’m sure.”
His jaw clenches, but he discreetly takes out a dagger from under his shirt.
“Shane, wait out here,” he says. “Warn us if you see fae.”
He reaches for the door but doesn’t turn the handle. He looks back at me. “Tell me you’re armed.”
I’m so, so close to saying I’m not just to see how he’ll react, but it’s not the time to kid around. I reach behind my back and take my dagger out, keeping it concealed beneath my coat.
He nods once, then twists the handle.
I don’t expect it to move. I expect us to have to break in somehow, but the door swings open without a sound, a fact that creeps the hell out of me. The door looks old and heavy; it shouldn’t glide open like a well-oiled hinge.
I have to force myself to step inside the dark, musty-smelling room. When I do, I’m immediately on edge. This place doesn’t feel right. The air is dense. It tastes like a warning, and the way the door clicks shut behind Trev triggers a memory. That’s how the door to the girls’ locker room sounded ten years ago when I entered it. Volleyball practice was over. I’d forgotten my gym bag and had to borrow the key from the janitor. I couldn’t find the light switch, so I blindly felt my way along the lockers, counting them off until I reached the sixth one. It took only a second to grab my bag, but when I turned around, I wasn’t alone.
That wasn’t the first time I had seen Thrain, but it was the first time he knew I saw him. Even though I didn’t know anything about him then, when he smiled in the dark, the way the edarratae flashed across his sunken eyes and the hollows of his face made him look menacing.
“McKenzie?” A whisper from Aren. He’s stopped just in front of me. Chaos lusters flash across his face, and I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the remainder of the memory, reminding myself that this isn’t my high-school locker room. It’s an empty foyer to what must be a bankrupt hotel or apartment building. I think we came in the back entrance because a glass door is on the opposite side of the room. The glass is painted black. A few scratches in the paint let in a miniscule amount of light. Now that my eyes are adjusting, though, that light is enough for me to see what might have once been the check-in counter a few paces to the right of the door.
“Upstairs?” I whisper back to Aren, nodding toward a narrow staircase on the left side of the room. A tiny elevator with a gated door that you manually open and close is next to it, but even if tech didn’t bother fae, I wouldn’t want to use it. It doesn’t look extremely dependable.
Aren studies me. I try to force the tension out of my shoulders and to relax my grip on my dagger, but I’m sure he notices how stiff I am. He looks relaxed, but alert, and by the slight tilt of his head, I can tell he hears every creak and groan of the building despite the rumbling bass from the club next door.
Trev walks past us and climbs the stairs. I give Aren a tight-lipped smile and follow, feeling the beat of the music on my skin as I step into a long hallway. This hotel must extend over more than one shop. A slant of street-light comes in through a boarded-up window, providing just enough illumination to see a dozen closed doors lining both sides of the hall.
Aren stops beside the first door, puts a finger to his lips, then slowly reaches for the handle.
It gives the softest click as it turns.
I hold my breath. I don’t know if it’s better for him to throw the door open or to open it slowly, hoping that if someone is on the other side, they won’t hear him enter.
He opts for the second method. The door silently moves, inch by inch, until the whole dank, empty room is revealed. A single bed occupies more than half of the space inside. It’s made, but the flowered comforter is faded and moth-eaten. At the foot of the bed, a sliding door leads to a bathroom barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and stand-up shower. It’s obvious no one’s here. No one’s been here for months, maybe years.
“Check the other rooms,” Aren whispers to Trev.
Trev moves to the door opposite us and turns the handle. Just like the first one—and just like the metal door we entered through—it turns without the least bit of resistance. Goose bumps prickle across my skin because that’s wrong. Even if the owner deserted this place at the last minute, he or she would have locked up. There should be some sign of a break-in. Honestly, there should be some sign of life. This is definitely not a Hilton, but if I had no place to live, I’d stay here. London is a big city; there should be squatters in an abandoned building like this.
Aren moves to the next door. Once again, it opens and, once again, the room is empty save for a bed. Trev’s second room is the same, but it’s not until they’re both opening their fourth doors that I breathe a little easier. If the remnants were here, they would have made an appearance by now. I don’t know if I’m more frustrated or relieved. I want to find Paige, but I’m glad we’re not going to start a fight in the middle of this city.
I walk to the other end of the hall. A second staircase occupies the space where Aren’s last door is. It’s steep and narrow, and I think it leads directly outside. Maybe an emergency exit or something.