A whiff of something curled out from behind the boards, the smell of coal fire and a metallic tang. This was the place and they were playing shy.

Fine.

Fully not expecting them to answer unless I made a big enough scene, I kept on knocking and started talking. “Bob-John said to come see you. I’m working with Eammon at the Hollows Group, and I didn’t want that crap weaponry that was being offered at the . . .”

I didn’t know what to call it. Diagon Alley wannabe? A market? “That place with the idiot twins who think they know how to make weapons.”

Lame, I sounded lame, but there was a creaking sound, and the boarded-up door opened a crack.

A hand stretched out, and a super high-pitched voice whispered, “The card. And hush. Too much noise. Boss is sleeping.”

I flopped the card into the palm of a hand covered in the strangest skin I’d seen. Ever. Yellowy green and very fishlike in appearance, the skin had a hint of scales across the top of the knuckles.

The hand and arm disappeared and then the door creaked open a little farther, showing off a pair of eyes that glowed in the shadows. Eyes that matched the yellow-green skin. “You alone?”

“I have a big bad wolf waiting for me, but he’s not here right now,” I drawled, and the eyes narrowed. I smiled. I needed a weapon, and I was going to get one.

One way or another.

10

The door—if the boarded-up plywood could be called that—to 66 Factors Row was peeled back and I took my fancy new flashlight out of my bag. A girl cannot be too prepared, and after the previous night, I was not taking any chances. I flicked the light on and stepped into the shadows of the dark room.

“You are who?” that whispering voice asked.

“Breena O’Rylee.”

Another low grumbled question. “Daughter or granddaughter?”

I took a quick guess that this person knew Gran, which meant I was in the right place at the very least. “Granddaughter.”

“Ah. Right, daughter dead.”

My guts clenched, thinking for a moment it might be a threat, but no, whoever this was seemed to have a thing for pointing out the obvious. “So, are you the Smiths? You make weapons?”

“Ah, yes, he makes lots of weapons. Comes with me.” There was a clicking sound, maybe those long fingers snapping at me. I swung the flashlight around and got a glimpse into the darkness. There wasn’t much to see, just more shadows, boxes, shapes that weren’t really anything.

I followed the narrow-framed, fishlike person, who led me deeper into the room. I did a quick look behind me and could still see the door, so there was no—oof. I bumped into the body in front of me.

“Sorry.”