Apollo's Ghost-Hunting Daughter

Chapter 16

"You were saying?"

"Wheesht," I spat

A spot of midday burglary was ill-advised, but we didn't have much of a choice. While Kane distracted the facility owner by peppering him with questions regarding the storage units, their guarantees, the special heating capabilities, the rates, and anything else he could think of, Kipps and I had walked straight through the gates as if we belonged. The information Kipps and Paulo had seen lead us right through the maze of buildings to storage unit D15.

The overpowering reek of the Thames whipped down the aisles between the roughly constructed concrete buildings set with uniform rows of faded blue rollup doors. Each building was a duplicate of the one before, squatty with a tin roof and rusted drainpipes. Each side had twenty units, and there was plenty of room to maneuver a car between the buildings. While there had been security cameras near the gate and at the perimeter--Kipps and I had wisely ditched our recognizable jackets and rapiers at his flat and done our best to avoid looking directly at them--there were few cameras within the compound. This was probably a selling feature for lowlifes like Donovan and Lighton, who didn't want proof of their illegal activities recorded.

A padlock kept the door of unit D15 firmly shut. It was threaded through a hefty metal loop at the bottom right-hand side of the door and a matching one on the building.

I had a set of lockpicks in my hands and was trying my best to trip the tumblers, but it was proving difficult. The lock kept slipping, and Kipps wasn't doing anything to make it easier. He was staring over my shoulder, and my palms were a sweaty mess.

"Just hold the damn thing steady," I said.

Kipps abandoned his watch and knelt beside me, holding the lock in place at the right angle. I readied the lock picks again and remembered what Paulo had taught me one night at the Greek restaurant. With the extra hand, I made quick work of the lock and it snapped open. Triumphant, I ripped it free from the door and set it against the building as Kipps stood and pulled the door open.

We flicked on our torches and shone them into the room, not quite sure what to expect. There were massive shelves full of silver-glass boxes and all manner of knickknacks stuffed in milk crates. Even from outside the door, I could feel the sudden burst of psychic pressure that was released.

Salt and iron filings littered the floor. Strips of iron lined the room, and I was willing to bet the metal shelves were iron as well.

Kipps started forward, but I reached out and pulled him back.

"It's too easy," I said, crouching down and changing the angle of my light.

Sure enough, it glinted off something at knee height.

"Trip wire," I noted, pointing it out to Kipps.

The beam of yellow-white light traced the wire to the wall where a cluster of magnesium flares were positioned. That many in this small a space would spell a fatal end for any idiot who tripped the wire.

We scanned the room carefully for other trip wires, but there weren't any. We also considered other types of traps, but couldn't identify any. The floor was a single slab of cement, so the likelihood of pressure plates underfoot was minimal. After a detailed scan of the room, during which I carefully noted the placement of every object in sight, I edged forward. Kipps reached out a hand to help me balance as I negotiated the trip wire, then very carefully clambered over it himself.

"There's so much stuff here," he whispered.

Somehow, hushed tones felt more than appropriate in such a space.

I had to agree. The sheer number of silver-glass boxes was staggering, and I could feel the psychic energies, even through the glass. They were potent Sources and artifacts.