Page 20 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Eleven

"Great idea. How do you plan to ask him now?" Malachi asks, his gaze fixed on the man's lifeless body.

"I can talk to the dead, remember?" I roll my eyes, exasperated.

"I know that, but with the case dragging on... No offense, we need answers—immediately." He crosses his arms, his impatience clear.

"Thanks. Glad to know you have so much faith in my abilities," I shoot back.

Malachi doesn’t respond. I can feel his frustration, but he knows as well as I do that there’s no other way.

"Damien’s different," I add, pressing my fingers to my temples, as if it might ease the tension building there. "He eludes me somehow, but that’s not important right now. The point is, I’ll get the answers we need.

Give me a minute." I step away from Eduard’s body, not wanting to look at the bloodstains that mar my clothes.

I close my eyes and focus. I picture Eduard’s face, fresh in my mind, and the cold rush of air fills the room instantly. He’s freshly dead—this could get complicated if he’s struggling to cross over. But tonight, I hope luck is on our side.

When Eduard appears before me, I know my chances have improved.

"What? Why?" His voice shakes with confusion, and the look in his eyes tightens my throat. For a moment, I almost feel sympathy for him. But I shake it off—now isn’t the time for feelings.

"Listen, I’m sorry for what happened to you, but it’s done now. I need you to tell me where Viktor is keeping the Avids tonight." I glance over at Malachi, who’s staring at me, bewildered. He can’t hear or see Eduard’s ghost, and I know seeing this takes some getting used to.

"Why would I tell you anything, you conniving little bitch?" Eduard snarls, his form fading in and out with his rage.

I click my tongue, taking a step closer, my eyes narrowing.

"Now, now, Eduard. You may think you can talk to me like that because you’re already dead, but if you don’t give me the answers I need, that man over there.

.." I flick my wrist toward Malachi. "He won’t stop with what he did to you. And trust me, we’ll find your entire family.

Your death? It’ll be merciful compared to what we’ll do to them. "

His eyes widen in outrage, but he bitterly spills everything I need to know before his spirit storms off.

“Now you can leave them alone. At least there can’t be anything worse than you on this side,” he howls and vanishes behind the veil.

Damn, that was easier than I expected—assuming he’s not leading us into a trap.

I turn to Malachi. “He thinks they’re under the stables.”

His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Nice work. Let’s go.” He motions for me to follow him.

“Wait. If we’re leaving, I need to change. I can’t go out there with blood-stained all over the front of my dress. What if someone sees me?” I gesture to the mess across the front of my outfit, emphasizing the obvious.

“I’m counting on it. If we do this right, we may get away with it. Put this on for now.”

He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s huge but warm, and I quickly button it up, the fabric drowning me but at least hiding the blood.

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand.

I let him lead me into the hallway. It’s eerily quiet—no guards, no servants. Everyone must still be at the party. Malachi moves quickly, and I struggle to keep up in my heels, the pace almost sending me stumbling a few times.

He catches me, his muscles firm beneath the fabric of his shirt. Without hesitation, he offers his elbow for me to hold onto better, and I reluctantly take it.

“Come in on the south side and stay within the tree line until my signal,” he murmurs, and I stare up at him in confusion.

“Uh, what?”

“It’s my comms,” he explains. “I have a safe house near here where some of my people have been waiting. I told one of my men to stay close tonight in case anything went down.”

We reach the back door, and the freezing air bites at my exposed skin as we step outside. The snow crunches underfoot, icy and slippery, and I instantly regret my choice of shoes.

“I take it wearing boots would’ve been a giveaway if we’re seen,” I mutter, clinging tighter to his forearm for balance.

“You’re quick,” he says with a self-indulgent look on his face.

“Quick enough to know I’m going to break my neck if you keep this pace,” I retort, glaring at him.

He slows slightly, guiding me more steadily as we navigate the slick path.

“Fuck,” Malachi mutters, fiddling with his ear again.

“What?” I ask, glancing up at him.

“He’s not answering. He must not be in range,” he says, frustrated.

“Maybe you’ll reach him better from the stables, especially if he’s on the outskirts of the property,” I suggest, trying to sound optimistic.

In the distance, I can make out the stables, their shadowy outline faintly illuminated by the snow. I glance back at the mansion behind us. Thankfully, the party is on the opposite side of the house, and I don’t see any movement or light from back here.

God, I hope no one sees us. If someone does, we’ll have to play it off. We could always pretend we’re sneaking off to hook up. Malachi already has Gary convinced that’s his goal, so it would probably work. But Marco? He’d... I don’t even want to think about it.

“Stay quiet and stay behind me. If we get caught, run back to your room and make sure no one sees you,” Malachi whispers, not giving me time to object before sliding the large stable door open.

The heavy door creaks slightly as it moves, and we slip inside.

The scent of hay and horses fills the space, mingling with the faint tang of manure and wood polish.

The overhead lights are on, casting long shadows across the stalls.

At least twenty horses peek out from their enclosures, some snorting softly at our presence.

“What now?” I ask as I scan the space.

I half-expect to see some obvious clue—a trapdoor or hidden staircase—but there’s nothing immediately out of place. Rows of pristine stalls and the lingering quiet of the stable.

“He said under the stables, right?” he asks.

I nod, and he starts moving further in, his boots muffled against the hay-strewn floor. “Let’s find out how to get down there.”

I follow closely, scanning the walls and floors for any sign of an entry point. The horses shift in their stalls, their ears twitching as if sensing the tension in the air. My pulse quickens.

“Look over here,” I say, pointing to the floor near the feed bin. The faint scratches across the wood look too deliberate, like the bin’s been moved over and over again.

Malachi steps closer, narrowing his eyes as he examines the marks.

“Stand back,” he says with unnecessary authority.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. Men.

He braces himself and pushes the bin aside with a grunt, revealing a small hatch door flush with the floor. No lock, no chain, only a plain metal handle. I guess Viktor trusts that no one would dare be out here doing what we’re doing right now.

Malachi pulls the hatch open, the faint creak of the hinges making my nerves jump. He peers into the dark space below, the faint glow of a single, dim light visible through the opening.

“I’m not waiting here, so don’t even say it,” I snap before he has a chance to speak.

He gives me a disgruntled look, one brow raised like he’s about to argue, but then he shakes his head and grabs the sides of the ladder bolted to the edge of the hatch.

He descends quickly, his movements quiet and deliberate. The moment his boots hit the ground, he glances back up at me, waiting.

I lower myself onto the ladder, but after a few steps down, I jump the rest of the way, landing with a soft thud beside him.

We’ve made it.

The air is damp and cold, with the faint scent of earth and rust lingering in the space. A narrow corridor stretches out ahead leading to a single door, lit by a flickering bulb hanging from the low ceiling.

“Not creepy at all down here,” I mutter as we approach the door.

Malachi pulls it open instantly, as if he has no reason to believe anyone other than the Avids would be down here. I guess he figures the hatch wouldn’t have been covered if someone else were lurking.

The smell hits me like a physical blow—an unbearable mix of feces and ammonia. I gag, pressing my hand to my nose to block out the stench.

Malachi stops inside the doorway, his broad frame blocking my view. I peer around him and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The room stretches out far beyond the size of the stables above, dimly lit by wavering, uneven bulbs.

Rows of rusty, decrepit cages line the walls, old jail cells with thick, corroded bars.

Each one contains a bucket and a filthy, tattered mattress—if there’s a mattress at all. Some have nothing but a pile of hay.

These conditions aren’t fit for animals, let alone people.

“It’s worse than I thought,” Malachi says with unmistakable anger.

I glance up at him. For once, his usual smug expression is gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. It’s unsettling to see him shaken, though I can’t blame him—this place feels like a physical embodiment of despair.

The quiet sound of shuffling pulls my attention to one of the cages. In the dim light, I can make out a figure huddled in the distance, too still. The sight makes my stomach drop, and I grip Malachi’s arm without thinking.

“Are they even alive?” I whisper, unsure if I want to know the answer.

His jaw tightens. “We’re about to find out.”

He steps forward, the soft clink of his shoes on the concrete floor echoing through the room.

In the far corner, there are two stalls, each caging one person. The figures are huddled together on the floor, pressed against the bars, their hands gripping each other tightly like it’s the only thing keeping them alive.

I stop dead in my tracks. The world slows, my knees buckle beneath me, and I think I’m falling, but Malachi grabs my arm, steadying me before I hit the ground.