The cavernous room hewn into the base of the Mule Mountains in southern Arizona dripped with condensation, infusing the air with a fetid vegetative rot. Row upon row of demons slumbered in the shadows. The demons were dead ringers for the Grinch, green, fuzzy, and standing on two legs, except they had curved scorpion tails. Muted sun slashed the space, all hard edges, creating a path barely wide enough for someone to navigate sideways through the sleeping spawn.

Making sure no part ...