Page 32 of Triumph of the Wolf (Magnetic Magic #6)

Ahead of us, Bolin ran toward the warehouse Duncan had seen.

The size of a football stadium, it was larger than I’d imagined.

Its outer walls were a combination of cement and corrugated metal, and it had a flat roof with not a single window visible.

As Duncan had said, it would fit into an industrial setting more than here in the strange garden.

At least the way was clear, a brick walkway surrounding the building on all sides and keeping the vegetation away from the walls.

We caught up to Bolin at a pair of solid metal doors with a keypad next to them. He tapped buttons, trying to guess the combination.

“That’s not going to work.” Duncan grabbed one of the metal handles, planted a foot on the opposite door, and heaved.

Bolin snorted. “That won’t either. Maybe some vines could be summoned and coerced to slip underneath and open it from the other side.”

As Bolin eyed the narrow crack under the doors, Duncan heaved, his muscles straining under his shirt.

“You didn’t bring grenades this time?” I asked.

“ Of course I did, my lady,” Duncan said, his voice tight as he pulled. Something snapped. A metal hinge or one of his joints? “But we’ll save them for the hard obstacles.”

“There!” someone yelled from the path behind us.

Two of the men ran into view, lifting their rifles. Magic pricked at my veins, the full moon offering its power, promising I could turn into a wolf easily here.

But, with another snap, Duncan tore open the door. A broken hinge clattered onto the brick walkway, and Bolin uttered a startled oath and scrambled aside. With the door in his hands, Duncan whirled and heaved it at the men.

They weren’t so startled that they didn’t shoot, but their bullets went astray. Several struck the door as it flew end over end toward them. Those bullets left silvery streaks in the air, promising what my senses had told me. Their magic made them a threat to werewolves.

We leaped into the dark building and put our backs to the wall inside. Footsteps pounded as the men in heavy boots ran in our direction.

“If someone hadn’t thrown the door away,” I said, lifting my sword, “we could have locked them out.”

“Tally ho!” Duncan called cheerfully as he leaned over and hurled something through the doorway. One of his grenades.

“Shit!” someone outside cried, the footfalls reversing direction.

Someone got off a shot, a bullet whizzing through the doorway and leaving a silver streak, but Duncan had already pulled back. The bullet clanged off one of many towering metal vats to either side of a walkway heading down the center of the building.

Outside, the grenade blew, a booming explosion in the previously still night.

The cement floor under our feet reverberated, the walls trembling slightly, though they seemed sturdy and held.

The whole building was sturdy. We didn’t hear so much as a clunk to indicate something had fallen off a shelf.

Not that I saw any shelves anywhere. Twice as tall as us, and much wider, the vats blocked the view of much of the building, with darkness adding to the obscurity. Not seeing any bugs inside, I pushed my mask up for a better view. Duncan’s already hung around his neck.

Inside, the air overwhelming with floral and chemical scents, the place reminded me a lot of the potion factory on the lavender farm where I’d first encountered Abrams. It was hotter, some of the open vats bubbling like molten ore, but the interior of the building had a similar look and maybe layout.

In the dim lighting, that was hard to determine.

The only illumination came from the glow of screens and panels on the sides of the vats.

Just visible in the shadows of the high ceiling, metal catwalks ran along the walls and crisscrossed over the vats.

Allowing access to the tops of them? A machine similar to a crane rose up from the center aisle—something that could lift giant barrels of chemicals to dump?

Near the wall not far from us, plastic barrels were stacked, many of them emanating magic.

A lot of the vats did too. More than one of those barrels glowed green even through its plastic sides.

“Wholesome ingredients, I’m sure,” I muttered.

“She’s in here, I think.” Bolin touched his chest then pointed, not straight down the center aisle but toward a distant corner. Dozens of giant vats and who knew what else blocked the view in that direction. In most directions.

“So is he,” Duncan said in a grim tone.

I followed his gaze to one of the catwalks, my senses telling me who he meant before I spotted the dark wolf in the shadows.

“How’d he get inside?” I glanced toward the doorway next to us—since Duncan had thrown the grenade, nobody else had tried to run in—but realized there had to be other entrances.

“You could ask him.” Duncan waved as he held gazes with the kid.

Lykos was focused on him. I doubted he would answer my questions.

“I suppose I can’t throw a salami outside and hope he’ll run off and eat it.”

“Probably not. He seems determined to… do as Abrams ordered.” Duncan shook his head sadly. “As you pointed out, I’m going to have to confront him.”

“I’ll help you.” I suspected Lykos didn’t plan to leap into a one-on-one fight with the older, larger, and stronger Duncan. He had to have laid a trap.

Duncan turned toward a wall with a metal support post, rivets running up the sides. “I’ll deal with him. You’d better keep an eye on Bolin.”

I cursed. Bolin had already started down a walkway along the wall, doubtless hoping he could follow it to the corner that held Jasmine. Meanwhile, Duncan gripped the edges of the post and climbed toward the catwalk. Lykos padded back into the shadows, disappearing behind vats and machinery.

Luring Duncan away from me, my mind wanted to add, though it was possible the kid didn’t care about me in the least.

“Help Bolin,” Duncan called softly down to me. “I’ll take care of Abrams and Lykos.”

“Anyone think we should stick together and deal with our problems as a strong and cohesive group?” I called, the words both for Duncan and Bolin.

Neither man looked back at me. Duncan pulled himself over the railing of the catwalk, hazy blue-gray smoke that wafted from one of the vats obscuring his form. He trotted in the direction Lykos had gone, soon disappearing from my view.

“Men,” I grumbled and jogged off after Bolin.