Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,65

him to do.

“Take it down.” I flicked my hand. “We have no choice.”

Rather than his usual antics, Ambrose simply placed a hand on the can’s shadow and inhaled its essence. He took his treat for good behavior then went to clear the rest of the area for magical traps or alarms.

Ears popping as the ward dropped, I rubbed them before turning to Midas and Ford. “We’re clear.”

Midas took my elbow a second later and helped me stand. Ford wasn’t far behind him.

There was a dawning knowledge in Ford’s eyes that worried me, but it faded so fast, I figured it must be paranoia catching up with me again. As if it ever left my side these days.

All too soon, I was cupping the doorknob in my palm and wishing it was locked or bolted or welded shut. I wanted more time to believe, to hope, but it was warm, dented, scratched, and…it turned easily when I twisted my wrist.

Hot air exhaled in my face, and I gagged on the stench. I wished I couldn’t identify the scents, but I knew each by heart. People had stayed here, in the heat, their bodies ripe, with no access to working facilities. That didn’t mean it was the people we were searching for, not in this neighborhood. The homeless had a tendency to den up wherever they could for as long as they could, until they got caught or arrested, and this place had all the earmarks of having been used for just that purpose.

The lobby had tears filling my eyes from the onionlike foulness, but it got worse the deeper we ventured into the clinic until I wished I had brought Vicks to wipe under my nose. I didn’t know how the gwyllgi could stand it. It must be killing them to keep going while their keen senses were assaulted by squalor.

We cleared the restrooms, which were…yeah…about as disgusting I had expected with no running water to flush the multiple contributions that had been made over the last few days or weeks.

A large room that might have been an office yielded better results, or at least less disgusting ones.

Supplies were stacked high against the far wall, several cases of water and wholesale protein bars. Toilet paper, wet wipes, and basic hygiene materials. That might have sparked hope, had any of them been opened. I reminded myself they were delivered yesterday, that they might not be needed yet, but I was appalled by the conditions around me and terrified of what else we would discover.

Midas gripped my shoulder in silent support then jerked his chin toward the hall.

I nodded back, tightened my hands on my swords, and began kicking open doors to the individual exam rooms. The first three were cramped, filthy, and empty of everything but waste—human and otherwise. The fourth held strong beneath my shoe, and contact sent a zing of recognition through me.

“Ward,” I mouthed to Midas, then I swept out my arm to usher the guys behind me.

I didn’t have to ask Ambrose twice. He attacked the door with gusto, feasting on its residual magic. Energy tingled under my skin when he finished, and he rubbed his belly with satisfaction. For his power to be spilling over into me, he was flush, and that was more dangerous than anything we had faced yet.

Bracing for the worst, I kicked open the door, and it slammed against the wall, pinned by the knob piercing the sheetrock. Across the room, propped in a corner, sat Addie.

Pupils blown wide, her eyes unfocused, Addie trembled. Her hands shook in her lap, jittery like an addict in withdrawal, and her shoulders twitched. Her teeth chattered, and she shivered as if she were freezing in the muggy room.

No two ways about it. She had been drugged into a stupor and didn’t recognize help had finally arrived.

A hard lurch of my heart propelled me forward while Midas growled a warning at my back, but I couldn’t leave her there. I couldn’t bear to see her so drawn and pale. I rushed to her, hit my knees at her side, and stifled a yelp when she punched me in the jaw hard enough I saw stars.

“You’re not Hadley,” she snarled. “Get the fuck out.”

Perfect. Wonderful. Fantastic even. Just marvelous.

The coven must have cobbled together a shoestring glamour to play mind games with their prisoners. The simple illusion wouldn’t fool anyone who knew me for long, and it wouldn’t trick a gwyllgi nose at all, but drugs, depravation, and