It was, but then again, no one could hide from the dead. Especially when they had you narrowed down to a small area. That’s why we’d dealt with Marie first instead of rushing here. She hadn’t known Katie was in Detroit, but with a little time, she would’ve found her.

I flashed a tight smile at the four men, feeling the vampire version of adrenaline surging through me.

“All right, boys. Let’s go get our girl.”

We landed on the roof of a large, square building with graffiti covering every inch of the safety ledge. Across the street, a far taller building blocked out the moonlight, its beautiful architecture in stark contrast to the rot I could smell within.

“Where are we?” I whispered.

“The Roosevelt Warehouse,” Bones said, also keeping his voice very low. “More commonly known as the Detroit book depository. Tunnels connect it to the old train station across the street. Perhaps that’s how Katie’s been traveling back and forth between the two.”

Fabian nodded, looking sad as he glanced around.

“I came here before, when it was new. I love books, but it’s so hard for me to read. I have to float behind people as they turn pages—”

“Fabian, where did the ghosts say Katie was?” I interrupted.

He snapped out of his reminiscing. “Follow me.”

Fabian passed through one of the barricaded doors of the hut-like structure on the roof. Impatience made me want to kick it open, but that would be too loud. I waited while Bones telekinetically pulled out the boards, then opened it as quietly as the rusted hinges allowed.

I still flinched at the noise it made, that creaking sounding like two pots banging together with my frazzled nerves. Once inside, it only took a glance at the deteriorated metal staircase to make me mime a “we’re flying” directive.

Bones grabbed Tate, holding him with an ease that belied the other vampire’s heavier build. Soundlessly, we streaked down the stairwell, following Fabian, who weaved in and out of the narrow space until he disappeared through another door.

This one wasn’t boarded up. It was cracked open, letting in a putrid whiff of the smell beyond. I pushed myself through with as little sound as possible, my gaze widening at the room beyond.

The scent of old smoke was almost overpowered by the odor of rotting paper, urine, death, and desperation. Books, magazines, and manuals lined the floor a foot deep in places, the ink almost unreadable from time and exposure to water. Small creatures had made nests in the literary rubble, some of them still there, though in varying states of decomposition.

From the smell, they weren’t the only bodies in this room, but as Fabian beckoned me onward, I didn’t pause at the shoe sticking out from a pile of ruined parchment. That person was long past my ability to help, anyway.