Slayer(80)

Leo leans forward to inspect a label. “Wearing a gun on his hip,” he whispers. Sure enough, there’s a bulge covered by the apron that’s decidedly gun-shaped. He’s a security guard disguised as a clerk.

Guarding . . . tea?

We meander. There are a few varieties of tea I recognize—English Breakfast, which I like. Earl Grey, which tastes like old ladies’ underpants soaked in perfume. Chamomile and ten different types of green. But then there are bins with weird names and descriptions of the effects. Those don’t have any prices listed.

“Excuse me.” Leo steps in front of the fake clerk with an air of vague annoyance. “There are no prices. How much is the ‘Dreams of My Enemy’s Weakness’ tea? Is it caffeinated, or is it like Sleepytime?”

The guard raises one scarred eyebrow. “That’s available by special order only.”

I cluck my tongue. “Bummer. What about . . .” I peer around the guard to an empty container. “What about ‘Happiness in a Cup’? That sounds yummy. Ooh, guaranteed to cure depression and ease anxiety! Maybe I’ll slip it in my mom’s teacup the next time I want to ask for more allowance. Is it like Saint-John’s-wort?”

“It has similar effects to psychotropic drugs,” the guard says, his expression as friendly as a machine gun. “All organic, of course. It’s a natural mood enhancer.”

“I think I heard about that from a friend!” I look heavily at Artemis and Leo. “You remember. My friend I met at Cillian’s. When will it be restocked?”

“The supplier’s having technical difficulties. You can sign up for our mailing list.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. I take it with a smile. It has a website listed under the Naked Grains logo. Along the bottom is some weird triangley symbol, like a logo.

“Thanks! Do you have any—” I try to think of the most absurd food product imaginable. “Probiotic chocolate?”

“Aisle four.”

“Fantastic!” I hurry out of the guard’s aisle and go several down before stopping to huddle with Artemis and Leo. “An armed guard for tea?”

“All the tea with no prices had a special symbol on the bottom of the label,” Leo says. I hold up the mailing list slip. He nods. “That’s it. The interlocking triangles.”

“There might be something here after all.” Artemis studies the back of the store. I use every ounce of Slayer strength I possess not to shout I TOLD YOU SO.

There’s an employees-only door along the back wall. It’s closing after someone, and I see a flash of gray leather. I recognize that outfit. “She was at the pit!”

Artemis cracks her knuckles. “We need a distraction. Nina, go pull over a shelf. Make a mess. A big one.”

My irritation flares. Why does Artemis get to call the shots? She’s not the Slayer or my Watcher. But this isn’t the time or place to fight about this. I go to the coffee aisle. Glancing to either side to make sure no one will get hurt, I reach between two coffee bins, grab the metal shelving support, and tug.

The shelves groan and tip at a dangerous angle. I dart to the next aisle and am rewarded with the sound of plastic crashing and thousands of beans of coffee—expensive, expensive coffee—spilling onto the floor. I guess I’ll never know the difference between Kenyan beans and Guatemalan beans. And neither will anyone trying to clean them up.

Artemis and Leo are waiting, staring at a display of organic salt conveniently located next to the staff door. Several employees run out. Artemis hooks her foot to catch the door before it closes.

The room is about what I’d expect from an employee room. Two tables, some chairs, a vending machine filled with more preservatives and fake cheese powder than the rest of the store combined. But against the back wall is a metal door, heavily reinforced, with a keypad lock.

“Bingo,” Artemis says. “Nina, you know the code.”

“I do?”

“Your fist.”

I glare at her, but at the same time, it doesn’t escape me that she’s starting to accept I have these powers. Maybe asking me to use them is her way of finally acknowledging this isn’t going away.

I punch through the keypad and pull out all the wires. There’s a clicking noise, and Artemis opens the door. We creep down a winding metal staircase, then through another fortified door to a massive basement space. It arches overhead like at one point it had been a cellar. Or a sewer. It has to run beneath the entire block.

And it’s filled with cage after cage of demons.

“Split up.” Artemis turns but pauses. “Be careful. Promise?”

“Promise,” I say. “You too.”

She disappears, sprinting down the length of the wall toward the back.

Leo and I ease cautiously down the nearest row. I’m glad he didn’t leave my side. The cages are almost all filled. It’s much more orderly than the derelict warehouse that held the other cages. That seemed like a temporary setup. This is very permanent.

Seeing demons in tiny cages, curled up sleeping or slouched and staring dead-eyed at me, is unnerving. I know, rationally, that if I ran into them on the street, I’d be terrified. But here, like this, they’re not the drawings and dire warnings I’ve studied. They’re . . . beings. None of them react to us. None of them make a sound. Either they’re drugged or they’re used to visitors. Or they’ve been caged so long, they don’t care about anything anymore.