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“How do you get Donny to help you?” He set down his gun, turning to give me all of his attention. “She only takes my calls 30 percent of the time and mocks me most of the conversation.”

“She has a code about helping cocky white men.” I shrugged. “It’s almost as if you don’t need help from women because the whole world is designed to make your life easier.”

“Touché.” Dante grinned, stepping closer. “But you, Hadley Harris, are definitely designed to ensure that my life is as hard as possible.”

How he managed to find the energy to make sexual innuendos at a time like this was beyond me. And how those sexual innuendos hit just the right place was something for me to bury deep.

So I ignored him. “Let’s go.”

The coordinates Donny gave us were less than a mile from an old grain factory that was a favorite for teenagers to drink in, at least back in my day. Teenagers today couldn’t just be happy drinking around a bonfire; now they made videos of themselves doing stupid shit then posted them online. Idiots. Breaking the law, recording yourself doing it, then posting it online made you a special kind of stupid.

Which I guessed was the reason there were high fences bordering the factory itself.

I had bolt cutters in my car a half-mile back, but we didn’t have time. Climbing the fence wasn’t impossible, but I was calculating the likelihood of the Black Annis being in there.

They liked to nest in dark, silent areas. And with all the teenage activity there, I doubted it was overly quiet.

The factory looked ominous and creepy in the nocturnal stillness, looming in the faint moonlight. It was the perfect setting on paper, but my instincts weren’t pinging as they usually did. Occam’s razor was a solid theory most of the time, but this felt too obvious, too Scooby Doo.

“You don’t think she’s in there,” Dante said, watching my profile.

“No.” I tapped my fingers on the cool metal of the fence.

“Donny could be wrong.”

“Donny is never wrong.” I scanned the area the best I could in the limited light. I couldn’t see shit, so I turned my flashlight on, aiming it at the incline to our left. Dying grass, discarded beer cans … and bingo, an old drainage system.

Dead leaves and whatever else covered the ground crumpled under my boots as I walked toward a grate in the ground that was half hidden by overgrowth.

I wrenched at leaves and weeds to expose the grate. Man-sized. Just.

I wrapped my fingers around the rusted metal and pulled. There was a slight metal scrape, a little give, but nothing.

“Need some muscle?”

I didn’t look up at Dante, nor did I release the grate that must’ve warped with time and felt like it was a hundred pounds.

I just pulled again. Another screech sounded, another slight give. The skin on my palms chafed and ripped a little too, but I got the grate free, tossing it onto the ground to the left with a heft and a burning in my shoulders. That would definitely hurt tomorrow.

“She doesn’t need no man,” Dante sang.

Again, I ignored him, looking downward, sniffing the air. It smelled fetid, like rot and something else. Something unearthly.

A cold chill traced its way down my spine as I crouched low, rolling back on my heels, preparing to jump.

There was pressure on my shoulder. A hand. Firm grip. The burning in my shoulder was for a different kind of reason then, not entirely unpleasant. I finally looked up at Dante.

“We’re just jumping into dark holes in the ground with no idea where they lead, how deep they are, or what’s beneath?” He asked playfully but with a tension to his words. His hand clasped me tighter than was comfortable. “I like my boots. And prefer you without your legs broken.”

I shrugged off his hand. “Scared?”

A heavy, uncomfortable silence hung between us. “You’re not scared enough of hurting yourself, Harris. At least let me go first.”

“Have you forgotten your chivalry? Ladies first.” Then before he could argue with me, I jumped into the hole.

“My boots are definitely ruined,” Dante whined as splashing sounds echoed off the walls.

Again, I ignored him. I was used to doing this shit alone, without the constant narration, the remarks, the worrying about my safety. It was irritating. As was his spicy scent, that was thankfully overpowered by the stench of the sewer.