Run the Day Read Online Free Page B

Anyways. They locked Grannok away in one of the cells, but one night an angry mob of townsfolk broke in. They believed Grannok had been possessed by the Devil, and went in loaded down with pitchforks, torches, and the like. They were furious about all the victims.
    So, right there in the cell, they strung Grannok up and hung him, beat him, then lit him on fire. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, the man's mind was gone, but the people didn't care. They just wanted justice, some kind of closure. I can't really blame them. But, long story short, the reason it's called Grannok's Cell, is because his ghost still supposedly haunts it."
    I took in a deep gulp of air after I finished rattling off the story. Grannok's Cell under the Bastille also happened to be where Hack used to take me to practice some of the more dangerous aspects of being a mage, once upon a time. Evocation, lethal forces, stuff like that. He used to say it was shielded from outside influences, or something. It was probably why he wanted to meet there.
    "Well? Does Grannok still haunt the Bastille?" Swift asked, turning the car onto one of the streets that led downtown.
    The Bastille was located in the civic square, by the old courthouse and an ice cream parlor. There was an antique carousel ringed with fantastical creatures nearby, and right across the street was an old abandoned theater. The library was spitting distance away, too. Most of the buildings in the downtown area were around a hundred years old, or older, and they had a lot of stories to tell.
    "Not entirely sure. I've never seen Grannok, but the building practically hums with activity from the Other Side." I said as we pulled into the parking lot beside the Bastille.
    In this part of town were a lot of old growth trees, towering things, and they kept the red brick building in almost perpetual shade. Though the place had gone through numerous renovations and owners, the Bastille still looked like a prison. There were towers at each corner, and the iron bars on all the windows. These days the place saw business as Hanford's trendiest nightclub.
    I snagged my bag and Swift and I got out of the car. We walked around the building to the front, passing by a cluster of city landscapers maintaining the grounds around the square. By the grand stone water fountain not far away a pack of old men sat at a picnic table, drinking from bottles in brown bags and playing checkers.
    It was all stupendously normal.
    To the casual observer, life as usual, another quiet day. We walked up the steps of the Bastille and approached two massive oaken doors studded with iron rivets, and I glanced up at the unlit neon sign proclaiming the building's newest name.
    "Nightside? Serious?" I pounded on the door with a balled fist.
    "I think they're closed, Thomas." Swift said from behind me.
    "There's always someone here, even if there's not."
    Swift was about to say something but I held up a hand for silence, just as one of the heavy doors swung open of its own accord. Inside everything was dark except where slashes of light cut through the iron bars on the windows, and revealed the main floor of the club. A great empty space, apparently a dance floor, it had an area with high-top tables and a bar off to one side, and a large stage on the other. In the back, by the restrooms, was an unmarked door tucked into the corner.
    "What's that supposed to mean?" Swift asked as we walked inside.
    "It means what it means," I said over my shoulder and began making my way across the room to the back.
    We had made it about half way across when the front door shut itself with a thud that echoed through the room. I cringed a little, and looked back to see Swift standing at the ready, hands raised up and curled into tight fists.
    "Calm down, the caretaker knows me. We're probably safer in here than we are outside." I told Swift and continued walking.
    "That's comforting. Who's the caretaker?" Swift asked.
    "What," I said and approached