She pushed again. “And the reason you can’t get them out of the cavern on your own is . . . ?”
“Because the Medb got here before me. Kizira found the other three Alterants and is holding them.”
Of course the Medb had found the three Alterants.
Evalle rubbed the back of her neck. “How did you find this out?”
“From the spirits of a young Civil War soldier and old man who plays checkers. They live in the chamber where I left the three Alterants. After running into dead ends in this place all day—pun intended—I returned to their chamber. That’s when the two spirits revealed themselves and told me where the Alterants were.”
“So the spirits are working with Kizira?”
He shook his head. “Not even.”
“Then how did Kizira get involved?”
“When I asked how I could find her, they said they told her to leave.”
Evalle would have enjoyed watching Kizira sent packing. “She didn’t blast them into Never Never Land?”
“This place is loaded with supernatural power that could cause a catastrophic chain reaction. Not even Kizira would want to be down here if it blew. She made them an offer. If they’d act as messengers if and when someone showed up looking for the Alterants, she and her men would leave as soon as she got what she wanted. The spirits are liaisons for now, but they don’t like her being down here.”
Evalle muttered, “I’m not so crazy about that myself. What does she want?”
“A specific Alterant.”
She waited for him to say more, but Tristan liked to feed out one small piece of information at a time. “Who does Kizira want?”
“Me.”
“She knew you were coming back for them? Does that mean she knew you’d escaped again?” Which would lead Evalle to believe that Tristan might have been playing her for sure and leading her into a trap. But it was too late to find a way out.
“No, she didn’t know for sure I would be back, not until today. I figure she’s had someone squatting here to see if I caved and told VIPER where to find the three escapees to keep them from starving to death, or maybe she thought I’d cut a deal with Macha or VIPER to trade the missing Alterants for my freedom, which I would never do.”
Evalle flinched at the unfair strike to her conscience. “You said Kizira didn’t know for sure that you would be back until today. How’d she find out?”
“Thanks to your friends at VIPER probably.”
She had him now. “How do you figure that?”
“With VIPER hunting Alterants and word of me escaped, Nightstalkers would hear about it.”
Grady hadn’t known about Tristan escaping, but Grady had been laying low while working through his new ability to take human form on his own at times.
Unease squirmed along her neck.
If VIPER knew Tristan had escaped, did that mean the Tribunal would send Sen after her before her time ran out? No, gods and godesses were slippery as eels to maneuver around, but their word was law. They said they’d send Sen only when her time was up.
If they wanted her, they could find her. She shook her head at him. “Way to go, Tristan. You use me to escape and now I’m an accessory to your jailbreak.”
“Oh, give me a break. Like you wouldn’t have escaped if you’d been in my shoes? I had three lives at stake.”
She ignored his question, because the truth was, she’d have probably done the same thing. “If I help you get those three out of here, then I want you to agree to let me take them into the Tribunal so they have a chance at freedom, or no Alterant will ever be safe.”
“My opinion won’t matter much if you have to get them out of here for me.”
He had no expectation of leaving here with her and the other three. She didn’t want to admire him for being willing to trade himself. “How do you know Kizira wants you?”
“Because the soldier spirit gave me a message she’d left with him specifically if I returned looking for them. Kizira said she’d trade me for those three. I was going to wait to go into all this until we were closer—”
“—or until you had me so lost in here I would go along with anything.”
“Same difference. If you get those three out of here alive, then just assure me they get a chance to plead their cases.”
She’d considered everything that might have been driving Tristan’s actions up until now except a selfless motive. “That’s my plan. How long have you known these Alterants?”
“A week. The witch that opened the portal for the Kujoo was a freelancer, not Medb. I’d heard rumors about other captured Alterants and traded her some of my blood to find them. When I did, I released those three and found this place to hide them. I was coming back for them once I got my hands on the Ngak Stone . . . you screwed that up, too.”
“I’m not going there again about the Ngak Stone. Why did Kizira let you go after those Alterants in the first place?”
“She didn’t know. Once I had the ability to teleport I had freedom to pop in and out as I needed.”
She still didn’t trust him. “Why are you willing to take the place of those three Alterants?”
Tristan’s wintergreen eyes turned hard as rock ice. “Because they trusted me to watch out for them and not use them. I’m the only one standing between them and death or cages. And, if they win their freedom, they’ll watch over someone important to me.”
Another new secret about Tristan, but he kept looking past her to the tunnel, clearly wanting to go.
“Fine. Let’s go get them, but I’m not completely sold on your plan. We may revise it.” She turned to head in the only direction offered and had an odd moment of feeling bad about tracking dirt on rugs. Some were the old braided styles, and others were expensive-looking designs.
“Revise my plan in what way?” Tristan stepped up next to her. The tunnel had an easy six feet of width.
“It may take two of us to get them out of here. I’ll think of Plan B by the time we get there. Any chance Kizira has converted some of these spirits into dangerous ghouls, like that one you had attack me in Piedmont Park?”
He flinched this time at the reminder and muttered, “That was unavoidable at the time.”
“Oh, really? Sort of like my having to send you back to South America?” Before Tristan could go off again on how he’d gotten the shaft, she said, “Just answer the question. What are we up against?”
“I haven’t seen any rabid ghouls. I don’t think the Medb want to piss off these ghosts, with all this energy concentrated into one place. I’ve met some benign spirits, but there’s a few hostile ones down here, too.”
She sized up the slashes in his jeans and shirt, which could have been made by claws. “What’s your next step?”
“To ask the soldier spirit to take a message to Kizira that I’m ready to trade me for the hostages.”
Evalle cast a wary glance at the strange mix of decorations along the tunnel. Junk furnishings had been placed alongside pieces Sotheby’s would salivate to represent. She rubbed her arms against the chill that had settled in her bones, and not entirely from the temperature change. Working back through Tristan’s plan, she remembered something he hadn’t explained. “How am I supposed to get those three Alterants out of here if I can’t teleport?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s time.”
“That’s if you live long enough to tell me.”
“Then you better make sure I stay alive.” He grinned, enjoying having the upper hand. For about five seconds.
An unearthly howl pierced the air. The guttural sound picked up volume quickly as it headed straight for them.
He yelled, “Ah, hell.”
“What is it?”
“The spirit of some guy with a pitchfork who thinks everyone is trying to steal his pigs.”
“Can he hurt us?”
“No, but the damn pitchfork can. Don’t use your kinetic power in here.”
“Why?”
“Been there, don
e that and got the claw marks to prove it doesn’t work.” Tristan swung around and cursed ghosts, tunnels and the day he was born.
She turned around and saw why.
The tunnel behind them had vanished, hidden by a brick wall that had formed right down to where it cut across the middle of a rug.
The bellowing got louder and echoed everywhere.
She spun back around, and the corridor they’d been walking through originally had now split into two directions. What the . . .
Evidently this maze changed shape and direction at the will of the ghosts down here.
Each length before her appeared identically black, endless and filled with the blood-curdling banshee sound of the spirit racing toward them.
With a pitchfork.
TWENTY-FIVE
In order to be heard over the bellowing spirit, Evalle yelled, “Can’t I even throw up a wall of protective energy?”
They had to do something to stop the crazy ghost she expected to burst into view any minute holding a pitchfork like a weapon.
“Kinetics won’t stop him,” Tristan shouted. The high-pitched screeching could make a human’s ears bleed. “Energy just ricochets and hurts like hell when it hits you.”
Hesitation got you killed. She stared down the long corridor to where in thirty yards the tunnel split like a Y into two directions. “How do we tell which tunnel he’s coming at us from?”
“We can’t.”
“Then what do we do?” Where was a ghost buster when you needed one?
“Run.” He grabbed her hand and ran straight toward the split for the tunnels, dragging her with him.
She jerked her hand away and kept up with him.
Shrieking drilled the air with the power of a warning siren cranked to high in a small space.
Ten feet from the tunnel divide, Tristan veered off into the left vein.
Splitting up would be of no help if either one of them got stabbed. She followed him. Fifty feet into the dark void, gas lanterns started appearing on the wall. Flames danced into view, lighting a passage draped in flowering vines.
Thick patches of clover covered the ground.
Peacefully silent.
Evalle swept a look over her shoulder, then back at Tristan. “Will he follow us?”
“I don’t think so. The two times I saw him he was always running in one direction and only stopped once.”
“What made him stop that time?”
“His pitchfork buried in my chest.”
Was Tristan joking? No. There were three holes in his shirt. “What’d he do after his pitchfork got stuck?”
“Yanked it out and took off running again.”
“And you healed.” She put her hand over her stomach. That might not be so bad except for getting skewered. “Wonder what he died of?”
“His head hangs to one side like he fell and broke his neck while he was chasing whoever he thought had stolen his pigs.”
“Is that the worst thing down here?”
“No.”
Of course not. “Then what is?”
“Knowing what’s down here will only make you jumpy, expecting everything to be a threat.”
“Just once, I’d like a straight answer.”
“I’d like to live a normal life,” he said. “Maybe you’ll get a straight answer when I get what I want.”
In other words, never, but that wouldn’t detour her from trying to get as much out of him as she could. “Explain to me why Kizira wants you?”
“She doesn’t want me so much as what I am.”
“What are you that I’m missing here?”
“I told you. A Belador Alterant.”
“Really? You’re the one who keeps saying you aren’t a Belador,” she pointed out.
He made a grinding sound in his throat. “Fine. I’m an Alterant with Belador blood. Does that make it easier? Did you ever try to track down your father or pull your birth records?”
“No, I know it’s a dead end.”
Tristan shook his head. “You haven’t even tried to trace your roots to find out your blood background, when you’ve been free to do so. And you say you really want to help all Alterants. Sure.”
He paused at a crossing in the tunnels only long enough to make a right turn into another endless walk with the same outdoor look.
She stiffened at the censure. “Unlike you and most of the world, I can’t go out in sunlight. I’m bound by my vows to do my duty, which includes being on a VIPER team. I’ve been doing everything I can on the Internet, but nothing on me shows up. I only have so many ways and time to search.”
“I understand—”
“Really? I don’t think so.” She stopped and waited for him to turn around. “If we were a recognized race, the Tribunal would have to give us the same rights as everyone else. That’s what I wish you’d realize.”
“Not going to happen, Evalle. We’d have to be accepted into a pantheon. Who would take us? Macha?”
“I don’t know.” If she had all the answers, she wouldn’t be stuck in the middle of this maze. “But I’d like a chance at life where I don’t have to constantly dodge getting locked up. You can’t just run, Tristan. Look what happened here. You had nowhere better to take three Alterants than to an underground tomb. How are they going to be safe anywhere else when they weren’t down here?”
“You keep expecting me to put my trust in people like Brina, who screwed me in the first place, and the Tribunal, who don’t give a rat’s ass about any of us.”
“I trusted you to bring me into a place I have no way to leave without your teleporting me back out. I did it because I want to find a way to help all of us. Show me a little faith by sharing what you know.”
He gave her a withering look. “I am showing you trust by bringing you here. I’m making a leap of faith that you’ll do as you say and not hand over those three and walk away with your freedom. And I wouldn’t be doing this if I had a choice. That’s more than you deserve after sending me back to the jungle when, if you’ll recall, Brina didn’t deny that I had been caged unfairly. I’m willing to do what it takes to get these three to a better place. My question is what you’ll do when faced with the decision of your freedom over theirs.”
She’d already told him her plan.
He could bite her boots. She was willing to fight to give these three a chance at life and freedom.
That had to be enough.
But she hadn’t survived to this point by lying down for anyone. “I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know if a pantheon will ever consider a bunch of half-breeds. But if you think enough of those three Alterants that you’re willing to hand over your life to the Medb in trade, then why can’t you care enough to fight for the chance to be accepted as a true race?”
He dropped his head, staring down at the clover hugging the soles of his boots. “I have a lot more at stake besides these three.” He raised his head and his soul lay bare in his eyes. “When I can rest assured that everything that matters to me is safe, I’ll fight. But I’m not trusting anyone with what’s mine to protect until then.”
He turned and strode away. End of conversation.
She followed him. Who was he talking about that he had to protect? Now wasn’t the time to push him again, but she’d pry that clam open later when she had a way to keep it open.
He slowed as they neared another crossroads in the tunnels, then kept walking straight ahead where the path curved left, then right, then left for so long that Evalle thought for sure they’d gone in a circle.
Lights flickered along the corridor. She started to ask Tristan if he knew what that meant, when he held up a hand for her to stop and be silent.
She paused ten feet behind him and checked over her shoulder for brick walls, crazy guys with pitchforks or some new terror. When she turned back around, a figure wavered in front of Tristan, taking form little by little until it turned into a soldier, complete with a bayonet-tipped rifle, dirt-smudged Confederate uniform and
a bloody rag tied around his head.
He looked to be in his early twenties until she took in his sad eyes, which had seen many years of hard miles.
Evalle remained very still to prevent disturbing the spirit. Nightstalkers like Grady were hard to rattle, but Grady was accustomed to dealing with humans and nonhumans.
She doubted that before meeting Tristan this soldier ghost had seen a human in the past hundred years. He’d probably never run across anything like Alterants or a Medb witch priestess.
Tristan asked the soldier, “Did you take my message to the witch?”
The young man nodded. He spoke in a sleepy voice. “She said iffin you don’t show up in a half hour she’s killin’ hostages.”
“A half hour from when?” Tristan asked.
The ghost stared off into infinity, then said, “Now.”
Tristan’s voice tightened with stress. “Where is the witch?”
“I kin show you, but she sent another message.”
“What?”
“She’s got a holt of four hostages. Says she’s goin’ to kill the new one last.”
Evalle had opened her empathic senses to see if she could detect something from the soldier ghost. She only picked up weariness and a sense of being imposed upon.
When Tristan asked who the fourth hostage was, the soldier said, “Petrina.”
Tristan roared, “No!” He raised fists with muscles bulging in his forearms. Bones popped . . . he was changing into his beast.
The ghost vanished.
TWENTY-SIX
Quinn grabbed at the air above his head.
Had to kill whatever was beating a spike into his skull with a sledgehammer. His fingers closed on empty air, hands hitting each other.
If he could just see it, but his eyes were shut.
He dropped his arms, fingers fisting the sheets.
Pounding started again, but this time it came from outside his aching head. He focused on the sound.
Someone was banging on the door.
What door? Why didn’t he know where he was? He knew how to access anything in a mind, especially his.
Reaching deep inside, he searched for the center of his control and found it ravaged. A wasteland of scattered thoughts and mental shields that had once been his safe zone.
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