Fear Her Wrath III: It Runs on Blood

Chapter 2

As soon as I left Crookley Street, I sent word to the Prioress—that's Ellie G, the voice in my ear—to send my agents to all the known wax museums in the Fen. Oh yeah, I have agents now. My friend Anaya calls them "Nightwrath Inc."—she thinks she's clever like that—but really, they're just volunteers who believe in what I do, which probably makes them even crazier than I am. Fatima Ibrahim, George Rusby, and Terrence Rashad all turned up nothing, but Hazel McFarren—ever the overachiever—found a dilapidated old museum that wasn't even on the city maps and sent word that it looked promising.

Okay, so she actually said "This is definitely it, hurry, hurry, hurry!" and kept calling Ellie G back to make sure I was really on my way. I found her pacing the curb about half a block from the museum, which was on a narrow side street that the city seemed to have forgotten. There were a lot of streets like that in the Fen, lined with boarded-up doors and lit only by moonlight—places that nobody would think to set foot even if they had a good reason. You never knew who, or what, you'd run into in the more forsaken parts of the Fen.

"Nightwrath!" said Hazel breathlessly. "I-I found the—."

I shushed her, and she put her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Even on an apparently deserted street, I didn't want Hazel announcing my presence at the top of her voice. I had a lot of enemies in this city, and that list was always getting longer. It made my job a lot easier if they didn't know where to find me.

"Sorry," she said. "I scouted the museum just like you said, and it looks like it's all locked up, but there's a back entrance where someone's been recently—because there's no dust on the lock—so I thought we could..."

"Okay," I interrupted. "Sounds like this is his hideout. Thanks, Hazel. I'll take it from here."

Hazel looked disappointed.

"I can stay and help," she said, shifting on her feet. "If you need me, I mean."

"I'll be okay," I said firmly. "You did great. You just better get home before your mom notices you snuck out."

"Oh, y-yeah," said Hazel, hanging her head and slouching her shoulders dejectedly. "Um, if you need anything—."

"I'll have the Prioress keep you updated," I said. "Seriously, you did really good. See ya, Hazel."

"B-bye!" she said as she almost sprinted off into the darkness. I was still unsure about bringing Hazel McFarren into this. She was three years younger than me, and her eagerness to be helpful sometimes—well, usually—made her reckless and pushy. But, this time she'd come through. This was definitely the Waxworker's hideout. No one else had any reason to be hanging around an abandoned wax museum that hadn't been touched in nearly century. The alley that led to the back entrance was plastered with old posters advertising freak shows, prize fights, and long-forgotten vaudeville acts—most of them barely legible after decades of cold and damp. The bricks beneath my feet were cracked and uneven, like they hadn't seen any maintenance since Marbrose City phased out horse carts. Only the door showed any sign of having been used fairly recently, which matched what Hazel had told me. I made short work of it with my lock picking kit, then hesitated, listening to the eerie silence all around me.

"Sneaking into a deserted wax museum in the middle of the night," I mumbled. "Not creepy at all."

I pulled the handle, and the door opened with a creak that could have been heard across the river. I ducked inside as quickly as I could, closing the door behind me and plunging myself into pitch darkness. It took just a moment for my night vision to kick in, and when it did, I found myself in what appeared to be the employee entrance of the museum, complete with a rusty punch clock and an old wooden desk and spindly chair for a nightwatchman. I couldn't see a light switch, and the wiring in this ancient building probably didn't work anyways. So, I'd be exploring in the dark. As Marbrose City's answer to Batman, you'd think that would be good news, but getting the drop on people had never been my strong suit.