Page 53 of Bewitched By the Wicked Witch
"Can you bypass it?"
"Probably, but it'll take time, and there's a good chance it'll register the intrusion even if I can get us through."
"Then we find anotherway in," I decided, leading us around the perimeter of the building. "There has to be emergency exits, maintenance access, something that isn't quite so heavily fortified."
We circled the structure twice before Cosmo's superior night vision spotted what we'd missed, a partially concealed grate near the building's foundation that appeared to provide access to utility tunnels.
"Maintenance entrance," Callum confirmed, examining the grate. "Connects to the old steam tunnels that run under this whole district. We might be able to get inside without triggering the main security systems."
The grate was secured with nothing more sophisticated than heavy-duty padlocks, presumably because whoever had installed the electronic security hadn't considered the possibility that intruders would be willing to crawl through utility tunnels to reach their target.
Callum made quick work of the locks with a combination of magic and mundane lockpicking skills that made me wonder exactly what kind of training the High Council had provided him. Within minutes, we were squeezing through the narrow opening into a cramped maintenance tunnel that smelled of rust and old steam pipes.
"This is remarkably unpleasant," Cosmo complained as we crawled through the confined space. "My magnificent coat was not designed for utility tunnel exploration."
"Your magnificent coat will survive," I muttered, trying not to think about what was soaking through my costume at the knees.
The tunnel led to a larger chamber that had clearly been part of the building's original infrastructure, butsomeone had been busy making modifications. Modern lighting had been installed alongside the old steam pipes, and the tunnel continued deeper into the building's foundation than the original blueprints would have suggested.
"Someone's expanded this significantly," Callum observed, studying where new construction met old infrastructure. "This isn't just maintenance access anymore."
We emerged from the utility tunnel into what should have been the building's basement, but instead found ourselves in a space that extended far beyond the warehouse's footprint. The chamber was clearly artificial, carved from the bedrock beneath the industrial district with professional precision.
"This is massive," I whispered, staring at tunnels that branched off in multiple directions. "This isn't just about four missing girls. This is something much bigger."
And somewhere in this underground maze, four girls were running out of time.
Twenty-Four
Callum
"Well," Sage said, brushing utility tunnel grime off her witch costume with the sort of composure typically reserved for garden parties, "this is certainly more extensive than I expected. Very 'ancient underground network meets modern torture facility meets someone's expensive midlife crisis.'"
"We need to find those girls," I said, helping her navigate the step down from the utility access into what appeared to be a subterranean highway system designed by someone with both unlimited funding and deeply concerning hobbies.
Cosmo padded between us, his starlit eyes gleaming as he assessed our surroundings with the critical air of a property inspector. "Well, the good news is the climate control is excellent," he observed with dry satisfaction. "The bad news is someone's clearly been very busy turningOld Hollows into Swiss cheese. With significantly more sinister intent than actual cheese production."
"What do you mean?" Sage asked, moving to examine walls where ancient stonework met modern electrical systems in a marriage that should have required multiple permits and probably several environmental impact studies.
"These tunnels are pre-colonial," I said, running my fingers along stones worn smooth by centuries of use. "The original settlers built on top of something that was already here. Though I suspect the original architects weren't planning on industrial-scale magical extraction."
Sage followed my gaze, taking in carved symbols that spoke of power and containment with the sort of professional precision that suggested either centuries of practice or very expensive consultants. "Someone's retrofitted this entire network. This isn't weekend DIY projects, this is major infrastructure with a budget that would make the Pentagon jealous."
"The magical containment systems alone would cost more than most people's houses," I said, examining enchantments that flickered with the sort of quality that came with premium price tags. "You can't just hire random contractors for this without permits, oversight, and probably several uncomfortable conversations with city planning."
"Which means whoever orchestrated this had connections all the way to the top," Sage concluded with the grim satisfaction of someone watching conspiracy theories prove themselves correct. "Official channels, council approval, and possibly their own line item in the municipal budget."
Cosmo had moved ahead to scout, returning with his usual melodramatic flair. "You need to see this," he announced with the enthusiasm of someone about to reveal a particularly gruesome party trick. "Both of you. Immediately. And perhaps bring your emotional support, because this gets significantly worse."
He led us deeper into what was beginning to resemble a magical underground city designed by people with no regard for zoning laws or basic human decency. The passages branched and twisted, forming a network that extended far beneath the town's foundations with the scope of someone's very ambitious and very disturbing vision.
"This is massive," I whispered, staring at room after room that told the story of years of careful planning. "This operation spans the entire magical community. This is someone's life's work. Very illegal, very expensive life's work."
We passed chambers filled with supplies organized with military precision, laboratories where science had clearly been conducted without any pesky ethical oversight, and storage areas that spoke of systematic operations rather than improvised villainy.
"Whoever runs this operation," Sage observed, examining a perfectly organized inventory system, "they're very clinically thorough or they have serious obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Possibly both."
But it was the cells that made even Cosmo's usual commentary fall silent.
