I cast a blur spell and slid inside. The windows were filthy and when the door closed behind me, the light went out. Damn it, I needed a flashlight. Everyone said I relied too much on my spells. They might have a point. I used the light ball. It was easy enough to extinguish in a hurry, and safer than stumbling in the dark.

As I stepped past the entrance, I caught a whiff of smoke. There was the acrid scent of burned paper, but something sweeter, too. My shoe sent a white tube rolling silently across the floor. Cigarette? I bent. No, a joint. Was that what I smelled? Yes, I know what pot smells like—never tried it, knowing drugs could do funky things with my powers. But the scent seemed sweeter. Spicier. Cloves?

I walked a few more steps and picked up another burning scent. Candles. I found one on the floor, as if it had been dropped. I picked it up. Still warm. The sides were rough. I brought the light ball down lower and saw faint scratches. Symbols.

The hair on my neck prickled. A ritual? Was this what Michael found? Or, worse, stumbled on?

I walked slower as I scanned the floor for chalk marks. I found disturbances in a thick layer of dust that seemed to serve the same purpose. Ritual markings. Like the chalk mark in the crime-scene photos, they were faint. Easily overlooked.

Someone had definitely conducted a ritual here tonight.

I cast the sensing spell again. Still negative for people. I had my cell on vibrate, but I checked it anyway. No calls. No texts.

As I made my way deeper into the building, the dust on the floor thickened and I could make out footprints; lots of scuff marks at first, then clear impressions in spots where no one had ventured in a while. Men’s loafers. Like Michael’s.

The tracks led to a set of wooden stairs going up to an observation deck. I could see a couple of desks up there, and more boxes. Extra storage and a place for a security guard to work, looking out over the floor below. The perfect place to get a good view of the whole warehouse.

Michael’s were the only prints leading up. As I started to climb, I noticed something dart between boxes below. Glowing green eyes flashed. A hiss. Then a waving tail as a cat tore off.

I seemed to be attracting cats these days. I shook my head, glanced back up the stairs, and cast my sensing spell. Nothing. I cast again, to be sure. Nothing. Michael must have gone down a set of stairs I couldn’t see. I’d find those, then maybe climb up and get a look from above.

The cat moved alongside me, hopping over the boxes, turning every few seconds to spit at me, pissed off, it seemed, because I insisted on traveling in the same direction.