Jaxson…you know, if he gets freaky.”
Casey laughed and disappeared through a door in the side of the building.
“You still there?” I asked the silent phone, wondering what the wolfsbane
factory looked like inside.
“Yes.” Jaxson’s voice was even more strained than it was earlier, and I
smiled, imagining the irritated look on his face.
“Where should I meet you?”
“My apartment.”
I scanned the parking lot, making sure the coast was clear. “All right. I’ll
call when I’m headed your way.”
“Wait, what? Where are—”
“Got to go. Talk soon.” With that, I hung up and turned the phone on
silent. Sliding out of the truck, I casually glanced around the building and
slipped through the side door.
My feet stopped short as a mix of disbelief and shock snaked up my
spine.
Before me, stretching the length of the building, were copper stills, steel
vats, and tables manned by workers assembling parts. On either side of them
stood floor-to-ceiling shelves with plastic shipping crates and an appalling
array of arms—smoke bombs, grenades, cannisters, and boxes of what looked
like ammunition.
It was an unholy cross between an industrial meth lab and a weapons
manufacturing plant.
“Fuck,” I gasped, my eyes watering and my skin puckering with blisters,
no doubt from the wolfsbane in the air.
Casey was speaking to a woman who handed him a couple of glass vials.
He looked over his shoulder, and his eyes bugged out when they landed on
me.
“What is that?” I croaked to a man who was clicking several plastic
pieces into an oblong object. My skin burned, and my throat was beginning to