THE CELLAR DOORS CLANGED shut behind us, plunging the space into complete darkness. Someone fumbled with a lock—or I assumed that was what caused the snick of metal against metal. Then Aunt May flicked on a light.
The bare bulb swung from a wire above her. An ancient incandescent, the light barely put a dent in the shadows separating metal racks full of bottles and boxes. An additional glow oozed down from a tiny window, likely right at street level while at the same time far above Aunt May’s head.
Despite the mitigating effects of bulb and filthy window, the overwhelming darkness made the cellar resemble a horror-movie set.
Ambience, however, was less important than the girl I’d come for. Carly shivered in a black lace nightie, perched at the edge of a metal folding chair. Her chin was
