I look over my shoulder at Jasper. If he tries to stop us again I might listen. But he nods a little—go ahead—and so I push open the door with one spread-fingered hand all the way until it bumps back against the wall to be sure there is no one hiding back there.

I take a deep breath as I step into the darkness inside. The smell hits me first. Mildew and dust and something else, thick and rotten. My throat clamps shut and I try not to gag.

“Hurry up,” comes a voice to our right in front of the blotted-out windows. “And close the goddamn door.”

In the dim light, I can make out only a short, slight outline. He sounds super pissed, but at least he isn’t huge.

“You sure?” Jasper asks.

I nod, though I am not sure that I am sure, and motion for Jasper to close the door.

“Come on, come on,” the small guy says, stepping from directly in front of the window so we can see something of his face now. He has messy, shoulder-length hair and a bony face. He’s wearing oversized clothes—a green denim army jacket and super-low, baggy jeans. Massive black gauges stretch out his earlobes. Both the clothes and his angry voice seem meant to make up for his size. He’s waving us toward the back of the room. “Let’s go. Hurry up.”

He was expecting us—or somebody like us—but he’s also annoyed that we’re there. He heads past us toward the back of the room and jerks open a door. Dim light from a stairway down brightens the room. I can see now he is even younger than I thought. And smaller.

“Hello?” he snaps, waving us toward the steps. “Come on, let’s go. They’re down there.”

Jasper peers in the direction of the stairs without taking another step. “They who?”

“Fuck off,” the kid spits back, like he’s sure Jasper is messing with him. He pulls himself tall, too, for emphasis. Or taller. “Get down there now or get the fuck out.”

Jasper makes a noise then: something between a huff and a laugh. Then he closes the space between them and I think: don’t Jasper. This will not end well. But he is already looming over the jittery kid with the stretched-out ears.

“What did you just say?” Jasper asks.

The kid leans in. Stupidly unintimidated. “I said: get down there or—”

Jasper has grabbed him by the throat. In one hand. And so fast and sudden that I have to blink to believe what I am seeing. But there is Jasper, this small kid’s neck locked under the fingers of one hand. He has him lifted, too. On his toes. It is not the first time that Jasper has done this either. He is too good at it. A complete and terrifying natural.

“Jasper,” I whisper.