“Yeah. That seems better than the other option with all the twisting and
bones snapping.” Savannah gave me a wry smile. “If I had to be a werewolf,
I think I know what I’d choose.”
She’d probably choose death. Her reproach for our kind was blatantly
obvious.
The guards at the gate had been expecting us, but it took ten minutes of
running background checks before they let us pass wearing visitor badges.
Finally, they stepped aside and waved us into the highest-security prison in
the US.
Half a dozen men and women in tactical uniforms were waiting to escort
us. I heard the chatter in their earpieces as they led us down a bare concrete
corridor lit by fluorescent bulbs— Level B is secure. Three-twenty-four has
been subdued. Even with the spells and design of the prison, the guards here
had their work cut out for them. Bentham held some of the world’s most
dangerous Magica criminals.
We took an elevator ride down to Level E and were escorted past a dozen
cells with iron doors. The guards stopped in front of a door with a glowing
number 36 in a triangle.
Time to meet the Ripper.
Savannah’s shoulders tensed as she glanced toward cell 37, which had
once held Kahanov. She held herself strong, but I could feel her unease and
smell her rising trepidation. A desire to go to her rose in me, but I fought it
down. She’d all but forced me into bringing her here. She could handle
herself.
Savannah looked back to cell 36, jaw set. “Kahanov and the Ripper were
neighbors.”
Neve nodded.
“Give this one a wide berth,” the guard said as he unlocked the door with
an iron key once he finished dispelling the magic charms.
“Oh, the Ripper knows better than to pull any tricks,” Neve said as she