I clapped him on the shoulder. “You did great. Now, let’s go find your dad and the others.”

At the mention of Angelo, Felix straightened up, wiped the sweat off his face, and drew the sword belted to his waist. He nodded at me, and we headed over to an access door that led down into the warehouse. Felix stayed by the door while I crept over to the far side of the roof, staring down at the street below. I watched the guards for a minute, then moved back over to the door.

“How does it look?” Felix asked.

“The same as before. The guards are still patrolling all around the warehouse. It doesn’t seem like anyone saw or heard us leap over here. So let’s get inside and get everyone out.”

I reached out and tried the access door, but it was locked. Nothing I couldn’t fix. I reached up, grabbed the chopstick lock picks out of my hair, and went to work. It was a simple lock and it took me less than a minute to pick it. Still, I winced at the snick of the door swinging open. I didn’t know where the guards might be posted inside, but at least some of the Draconis had enhanced senses, so we needed to be as quiet as possible from here on out.

I looked at Felix, who nodded back at me and clutched his sword a little tighter. I drew my own weapon, feeling the star carved into the hilt pressing into my skin, just like the one on the library table had.

Thinking of my mom, I entered the warehouse with Felix right behind me.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The access door led to a set of metal stairs that spiraled down, down, down into the warehouse. I crept down the stairs, stopping every few feet to look and listen, but I didn’t hear anything, so I felt safe enough to keep going. Felix’s harsh, raspy breaths tickled the back of my neck, but for once, he didn’t start talking to fill in the silence. He knew how dangerous this was.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, which opened up into a long hallway. Felix pulled out his phone and checked the time.

“Twenty minutes until Devon is supposed to meet Victor,” he whispered.

He sent a quick text to Devon, telling him that we were inside the warehouse. A few seconds later, his phone lit up with a new message.

“Devon is in position on the far side of the lochness bridge,” Felix whispered again. “He says that he’ll cross the bridge and be on the street in front of the warehouse right at nine o’clock, just like Victor wanted. Oscar is staying put in the alley down the street to watch Devon’s back.”

“All right then,” I whispered back. “We need to find the others and free them before that happens. Come on.”

We crept down the hallway, once again stopping every few feet to look and listen. The deeper we went into the warehouse, the more faint murmurs I heard, although the voices were too far away for me to make out the exact words. Felix looked at me, nodding and clutching his sword and phone tight. He heard the murmurs too. Together, we moved on.

We reached another door at the end of the hallway. I picked that one open as well and we stepped out into the main part of the warehouse. We were on the second floor now, on a wide concrete balcony with a metal railing that ringed all four sides of the warehouse. I motioned for Felix to get down on his stomach, and together, the two of us slithered over to the edge of the balcony and peered down at the first floor of the warehouse.

Cages lay below us.

Three large cages took up a good chunk of the front of the warehouse. All the cages were lined with thick bars covered with a tightly woven mesh—ironmesh, if I had to guess—and all were filled with people and pixies. Most of the folks trapped inside were dirty and bloody, with cuts and bruises on their faces, arms, and legs, but my heart lifted when I saw that all of them were wearing silver Sinclair cuffs on their wrists. Far more guards and pixies were still alive than I’d dared to hope, given the destruction at the Sinclair mansion.

Draconi guards sporting blood-red cloaks and hats patrolled around the three cages, but not as many as I would have expected. If I had been Victor, I would have had more guards in here, watching my prisoners. But he had most of his men posted outside, waiting for Devon to show up with the black blades. Of course he did. Victor thought that the Sinclairs were beaten and that he’d already won. He was wrong.

“Look!” Felix whispered in an excited voice, pointing at one of the cages. “There’s my dad! And Reginald too!”

Sure enough, Angelo and Reginald were in one of the cages. Reginald was talking to a group of pixies that were huddled together on a wooden bench, while Angelo was looking at a cut on the face of one of the Sinclair guards.

“Look!” Felix whispered again, pointing to another cage. “I see Deah and Seleste too!”

Deah was sitting on a wooden bench, curled into a tight ball, her knees against her chest, with one of her shoulders slumped up against the mesh-covered bars. No cuts or bruises marred her body, although she kept grimacing and rubbing her sprained ankle. Meanwhile, Seleste was moving from one side of the cage to the other, aimlessly circling like a goldfish in a bowl, her gauzy white dress fluttering around her.

Some more of the tightness in my chest eased. They were okay and Victor hadn’t hurt or tortured them. This part of my family was still alive.

But my heart dropped when I realized that I didn’t see Mo or Claudia anywhere in the cages. I looked once, twice, three times, but they weren’t down below with the rest of the Sinclairs. So where were they?

“Hey,” Felix muttered, echoing my troubled thoughts. “I don’t see Claudia or Mo. Do you?”

I shook my head, and we both scanned the rest of the warehouse for them. Rows of wooden crates took up the back half of the building, and I spotted a long glass window set into one of the walls on the opposite side of the building. The window looked like it was part of some large office, and I leaned down a little more, trying to see through the glass. I could tell there were people in there, although not how many. But some of them were guards, given the red cloaks swirling around their bodies.

One of the guards moved away from the window and I spotted the edge of a man’s shoe—black and patterned with white hibiscus flowers. The same kind of shoe that Mo had worn to dinner last night.

I waited, my breath in my throat, hoping that the shoe would move, wiggle, or give me some other indication that he was still alive. But it remained still on the floor. I hoped that meant that Mo was just unconscious or tied down. I wouldn’t let myself think the worst—I would not.